. ^ 
 
 ft? 
 
 : 
 
 7 <Bk l i 
 
 
 \ tf" • ■ V 
 
 
 < ;*; 
 
 : 
 
 
 *&**"*"* 
 
 *m 
 
 *fc»fc 
 
 SKirarc 
 
 
 
 » ** CI 
 
 . v 
 
 <**^ 
 
 - 
 
 
 / 
 
 
 
 
 ■M 
 
 * 
 
 -H 
 
 
 
 !V^ 
 
 
 
 i v^MV.-Va^apfc^wVVlBtri 
 
ass 
 
 l!ook_«Ou2 
 
 
 27SZ 
 
 PRKSKNTKI) ffl 
 
.3 
 
 7$0 
 
 'J 
 
*/ 
 
 
 e^cy- 
 
 i^a^ //- WT 
 
HEL&IESlPIEAIEiE 
 
 
THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 COMPLETE. 
 
 ACCURATELY PRINTED PROM THE TEXT OF THE CORRECTED COPY 
 
 LEFT BY THE LATE 
 
 GEORGE STEEVENS, Esq. 
 
 H)ittj a ftitunrir, 
 
 BY ALEXANDEE CHALMERS, A.M. 
 
 v 
 
 IN ONE YOLUME. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 SHELDON & COMPANY, 
 
 498 & 500 BROADWAY. 
 
 1866. 
 
 
,52 
 IS 6 6 
 
 
SKETCH 
 
 OF THE 
 
 LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 BY ALEXANDER CHALMERS, A.M. 
 
 William Siiakspeahe was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, in Warwickshire, on the 23d day of April, 
 1564. Of the rank of his family it is not easy to form an opinion. Mr. Rowe says that by the 
 register and certain public writings relating to Stratford, it appears that his ancestors were " of good 
 figure and fashion," in that town, and are mentioned as " gentlemen," an epithet which was more 
 determinate then than at present, when it has become an unlimited phrase of courtesy. His father, 
 John Shakspeare, was a considerable dealer in wool, and had been an officer and bailiff (probably 
 high-bailiff or mayor) of the body corporate of Stratford. He held also the office of justice of the 
 peace ; and at one time, it is said, possessed lands and tenements to the amount of £ 500, the reward 
 of his grandfather's faithful and approved services to King Henry VII. This, however, has been 
 asserted upon very doubtful authority. Mr. Malone thinks " it is highly probable that he distinguished 
 himself in Bosworth Field on the side of King Henry, and that he was rewarded for his military 
 services by the bounty of that parsimonious prince, though not with a grant of lands No such grant 
 appears in the Chapel of the Rolls, from the beginning to the end of Henry's reign." But whatever may 
 have been his former wealth, it appears to have been greatly reduced in the latter part of his life, as we 
 find, from the. books of the Corporation, that, in 1579, he was excused the trifling weekly tax of fourpence 
 levied on all the aldermen ; and that, in 1586, another alderman was appointed in his room, in conse- 
 quence of his declining to attend on the business of that office. It is even said by Aubrey, 1 a man 
 sufficiently accurate in facts, although credulous in superstitious narratives and traditions, that he followed 
 for some time the occupation of a butcher, which Mr. Malone thinks not inconsistent with probability. 
 It must have been, however, at this time, no inconsiderable addition to his difficulties that he had a 
 family of ten children. His wife was the daughter and heiress of Robert Arden of Wel'ingcote, in 
 the county of Warwick, who is styled " a gentleman of worship." The family of Arden is very 
 ancient, Robert Arden of Bromich, Esq., being in the list of the gentry of this country returned by the 
 commissioners in the twelfth year of King Henry VI, A. D. 1433. Edward Arden was sheriff of the 
 county in 1568. The woodland part of this country was anciently called Ardern, afterwards softened 
 to Arden ,- and hence the name. 
 
 Our illustrious poet was the eldest son, and received his early education, however narrow or liberal, 
 at a free school, probably that founded at Stratford. From this he appears to have been soon removed, 
 and placed, according to Mr. Malone's opinion, in the office of some country attorney, or the seneschal 
 of some manor court, where it is highly probable he picked up those technical law phrases that so 
 frequently occur in his plays, and could not have been in common use, unless among professional men. 
 Mr. Capell conjectures, that his early marriage prevented his being sent to some university. It 
 appears, however, as Dr. Farmer observes, that his early life was incompatible with a course of educa- 
 tion ; and it is certain, that " his contemporaries, friends and foes, nay, and himself likewise, agree in 
 his want of what is usually termed literature." It is, indeed, a strong argument in favor of 
 Shakspeare's illiterature, that it was maintained by all his contemporaries, many of whom have left upon 
 record every merit they could bestow on him ; and by his successors, who lived nearest to his time, 
 when " his memory was green ;" and that it has been denied only by Gildon, Sewell, and others down 
 to Upton, who could have no means of ascertaining the truth. 
 
 In his eighteenth year, or perhaps a little sooner, he married Anne Hathaway, who was eight years 
 
 older than himself, the daughter of one Hathaway, who is said to have been a substantial yeoman in 
 
 the neighborhood of Stratford. Of his domestic economy, or professional occupation at this time, we 
 
 \iave no information ; but it would appear that both were in a considerable degree neglected by hia 
 
 « MSS. Aubrey, Mus. Ashnnl. Oxon, examined by Mr. Malone. 
 
 ■*-T-**- f— 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 associating with a gang of deer-stealers. Being detected with them in robbing the park of Sir Thomas 
 Lucy of Charlecote, near Stratford, he was so rigorously prosecuted by that gentleman, as to be 
 obliged to leate his family and business, and take shelter in London. Sir Thomas, on this occasion; 
 is said to have been exasperated by a ballad Shakspeare wrote, probably his first essay in poetrv, c' 
 which the following stanza was communicated to Mr. Oldys : — 
 
 A parliemente member, » justice of peace, 
 At home a poor scare-crcve, at London an asse, 
 If lowsie is Lucy, as some Tolke miscalle it, 
 Then Lucy is lowsie whatever befall it: 
 
 He thinks himself create, 
 
 Yet an asse in his state 
 We allowe by his ears but with asses to mate. 
 If Lucy be lowsie, as some volke miscalle it, 
 SiDg lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it. 
 
 These lines, it must be confessed, do no great honor to our poet; and probably were unjust; foi 
 although some of his admirers have recorded Sir Thomas as a " vain, weak, and vindictive magistrate," 
 he was certainly exerting no very violent act of oppression, in protecting his property against a man 
 who was degrading thj commonest rank of life, and had, at this time, bespoke no indulgence by 
 superior talents. The ballad, however, must have made some noise at Sir Thomas's expense, as the 
 author took care it should be affixed to his park-gates, and liberally circulated among his neighbors. 
 
 On his arrival in London, which was probably in 1586, when he was twenty-two years old, he is 
 said to have made his first acquaintance in the play-house, to which idleness or taste may have 
 directed him, and where his necessities, if tradition may be credited, obliged him to accept the office of 
 call-boy, or prompter's attendant. This is a menial whose employment it is to give the performers 
 notice to be ready to enter, as often as the business of the play requires their appearance on the stage. 
 Pope, however, relates a story, communicated to him by Rowe, but which Rowe did not think deserving 
 of a place in the life he wrote, that must a little retard the advancement, of our poet to the office just 
 mentioned. According to this story, Shakspeare's first employment was to wait at the door of the 
 play-house, and hold the horses of those who had no servants, that they might be ready after the 
 performance. But " I cannot," says his acute commentator, Mr. Steevens, " dismiss this anecdote 
 without observing, that it seems to want every mark of probability. Though Shakspeare quitted 
 Stratford on account of a juvenile irregularity, we have no reason to suppose that he had forfeited the 
 protection of his father, who was engaged in a lucrative business, or the love of his wife, who hai' 
 already brought him two children, and was herself the daughter of a substantial yeoman. It is 
 unlikely, therefore, when he was beyond the reach of his prosecutor, that he should conceal his plan 
 of life, or place of residence, from those who, if he found himself distressed, could not fail to afford 
 him such supplies as would have set him above the necessity of holding horses for subsistence." Mr. 
 Malone has remarked, in his " attempt to ascertain the order in which the Plays of Shakspeare were 
 written, that he might have found an easy introduction to the stage : for Thomas Green, a celebrated 
 comedian of that period, was his townsman, and perhaps his relation. The genius of our author 
 prompted him to write poetry ; his connection with a player might have given his productions a 
 dramatic turn : or his own sagacity might have taught him that fame was not incompatible with profit, 
 and that the theatre was an avenue to both. That it was once the general custom to ride on horseback 
 to the play, I am likewise yet to learn. The most popular of the theatres were on the Bankside ; and 
 we are told by the satirical pamphleteers of that time, that the usual mode of conveyance to these 
 places of amusement was by water, but not a single writer so much as hints at the. custom of riding 
 to them, or at the practice of having horses held during the hours of exhibition. Some allusion to this 
 usage (if it had existed) must, I think, have been discovered in the course of our researches after 
 contemporary fashions. Let it be remembered, too, that we receive this tale on no higher authority 
 than that of Cibber's Lives of the Poets, vol. i, p. 130. Sir William Davenant told it to Mr. Betterton, 
 who communicated it to Mr. Rowe, who, according to Dr. Johnson, related it to Mr. Pope." Mr. 
 Malone concurs in opinion, that this story stands on a very slender foundation, while he differs from 
 Mr. Steevens as to the fact of gentlemen going to the theatre on horseback. With respect, likewise, 
 to Shakspeare's father being " engaged in a lucrative business," we may remark, that this could not 
 have been the case at the time our author came to London, if the preceding dates be correct. He is 
 said to have arrived in London in 1586, the year in which his father resigned the office of alderman, 
 unless, indeed, we are permitted to conjecture that his resignation was not the consequence of his 
 necessities. 
 
 But in whatever situation he was first employed at the theatre, he appears to have soon discovered 
 those talents which afterwards made him 
 
 Th' applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! 
 
 Some distinction he probably first acquired as an actor, although Mr. Rowe has not been able to 
 discover any character in which he appeared to more advantage than that of the ghost in Hamlet. 
 The instructions given to the player in that tragedy, and other passages of his works, show an intimate 
 acquaintance with the skill of acting, and such as is scarcely surpassed in our own days. He appears 
 to have studied nature in acting as much as in writing. But all this might have been mere theory. 
 VIr. Malone is of opinion he was no great actor. The distinction, however, which he might obtain as 
 an actor could only be in his own plays, in which he would be assisted by the novel appearance of 
 author and actor combined. Before his time, it does not appear that any actor could avail himself of 
 the wretched pieces represented on the stage. 
 
 Mr. Rowe regrets that he cannot inform us which was the first play he wrote. More skilful research 
 
 has since found, that Romeo and Juliet, and Richard II and III were printed in 1597, when he was 
 
 thirty-three years old ; there is also some reason to think that he commenced as a dramatic writer in 
 
 592, and Mr. Malone even places his first play, "First Part of Henry VI," in 1589. His plays, 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 however, must have been not only popular, but approved by persons of the higher order, as we are 
 certain, that he enjoyed the gracious favor of Queen Elizabeth, who was very fond of the stage: and 
 the particular and affectionate patronage of the Earl of Southampton, to whom he dedicated his poema 
 of " Venus and Adonis," and his " Tarquin and Lucrece." On Sir William Davenant's authority, it 
 has been asserted, that this nobleman at one time gave him a thousand pounds to enable him to com- 
 plete a purchase. At the conclusion of the advertisement prefixed to Lintot's edition of Shakspcare's 
 poems, it is said, " That most learned prince, and great patron of learning, King James the First, was 
 pleased, with his own hand, to write an amicable letter to Mr. Shakspeare ; which letter, though now 
 lost, remained long in the hands of Sir William D'Avenant, as a credible person now living can testify." 
 Dr. Farmer with great probability supposes, that this letter was written by King James, in return for 
 the compliment paid to him in Macbeth. The relater of this anecdote was Sheffield, Duke of Buck- 
 ingham. 3 These brief notices, meagre as they are, may show that our author enjoyed high favor in 
 his day. Whatever we may think of King James as a " learned prince," his patronage, as well as 
 that of his predecessor, was sufficient to give celebrity to the founder of a new stage. It may be added, 
 that his uncommon merit, his candor, and good nature, are supposed to have procured him the admira- 
 tion and acquaintance of every person distinguished for such qualities. It is not difficult, indeed, to 
 suppose, that Shakspeare was a man of humor, and a social companion, and probably excelled in that 
 species of minor wit not ill adapted to conversation, of which it could have been wished he had been 
 more sparing in his writings. 
 
 How long he acted has not been discovered, but he continued to write till the year 1614. During 
 his dramatic career he acquired a property in the theatre, 3 which he must have disposed of when he 
 retired, as no mention of it occurs in his will. His connection with Ben Jonson has been variously 
 related. It is said, that when Jonson was unknown to the world, he offered a play to the theatre, 
 which wa's rejected after a very careless perusal, but that Shakspeare having accidentally cast his eye 
 on it, conceived a favorable opinion of it, and afterwards recommended Jonson and his writings to the 
 public. For this candor he was repaid by Jonson, when the latter became a poet of note, with an 
 envious disrespect. Jonson acquired reputation by the variety of his pieces, and endeavored to arrogate 
 the supremacy in dramatic genius. Like a French critic, he insinuated Shakspcare's incorrectness, his 
 careless manner of writing, and his want of judgment; and, as he was a remarkably slow writer him- 
 self, he could not endure the praise frequently bestowed on Shakspeare, of seldom altering or blotting 
 out what he had written. Mr. Malone says, " that not long after the year 1600, a coolness arose betwee* 
 Shakspeare and him, which, however he may talk of his almost idolatrous affection, produced on his 
 part, from that time to the death of our author, and for many years afterwards, much clumsy sarcasm, 
 and many malevolent reflections." But from these, which are the commonly received opinions on this 
 subject, Dr. Farmer is inclined to depart, and to think Jonson's hostility to Shakspeare absolutely 
 groundless; so uncertain is every circumstance we attempt to recover of our great poet's life. Jonson 
 had only one advantage over Shakspeare, that of superior learning, which might in certain situations 
 give him a superior rank, but could never promote his rivalship with a man who attained the highest 
 excellence without it. Nor will Shakspeare suffer by its being known, that all the dramatic poets 
 before he appeared were scholars. Greene, Lodge, Peele, Marlowe, Nashe, Lily, and Kyd, had all, 
 says Mr. Malone, a regular university education; and, as scholars in our universities, frequently com- 
 posed and acted plays on historical subjects. 4 
 
 The latter part of Shakspeare's life was spent in ease, retirement, and the conversation of his friends. 
 He had accumulated considerable property, which Gildon (in his "Letters and Essays," 1694) stated 
 to amount to £300 per annum, a sum at least equal to £1000 in our days; but Mr. Malone doubts 
 whether all his property amounted to much more than £200 per annum, which yet was a considerable 
 fortune in those times, and it is supposed that he might have derived £200 per annum from the theatre 
 while he continued on the stage. 
 
 He retired some years before his death to a house in Stratford, of which it has been thought iin 
 portant to give the history. It was built by Sir Hugh Clopton, a younger brother of an ancient family 
 in that neighborhood. Sir Hugh was Sheriff of London in the reign of Richard III, and Lord Mayor 
 in the reign of Henry VII. By his will, he bequeathed to his elder brother's son, his manor of Clopton, 
 &c, and his house by the name of the Great House in Stratford. A good part of the estate was in 
 possession of Edward Clopton, Esq., and Sir Hugh Clopton, Knight, in 1733. The principal estate 
 had been sold out of the Clopton family for above a century, at the time when Shakspeare became the 
 purchaser ; who having repaired and modelled it to his own mind, changed the name to New Place, 
 which the mansion-house, afterwards erected in the room of the poet's house, retained for many years. 
 The house and lands belonging to it continued in the possession of Shakspeare's descendants to the 
 time of the Restoration, when they were re-purchased by the Clopton family. Here, in May, 1742, 
 when Mr. Garrick, Mr. Macklin, and Mr. Delane, visited Stratford, they were hospitably entertained 
 under Shakspeare's mulberry tree by Sir Hugh Clopton. He was a barrister at law, was knighted by 
 King George I, and died in the 80th year of his age, in December, 1751. His executor, about the year 
 1752, sold New Place to the Rev. Mr. Gastrell, a man of large fortune, who resided in it but a few 
 years, in consequence of a disagreement with the inhabitants of Stratford. As he resided part of tho 
 year at Litchfield, he thought he was assessed too highly in the monthly rate towards the maintenance 
 of the poor; but being very properly compelled by the magistrates of Stratford to pay the whole of 
 what was levied on him, on the principle that his house was occupied by his servants in his absence, 
 he peevishly declared that that house should never be assessed again ; and soon afterwards pulled It 
 down, sold the materials, and left the town. He had some time before cut down Shakspeare's mulberry 
 
 » Note by Mr. Malone to "Additional Anecdotes of William Shakspeare." 
 
 » In 1 003, he and several others obtained a licence from King James to exhibit comedies, tragedies, histories, 4c, 
 at the Globe Theatre and elsewhere. 
 
 * This was the practice in Milton's days. " One of his objections to academical education, as it was then conducted, 
 la, that men iesigned for orders in the Church wer^ permitted to act plays," &c. Johnson's Life 'tf MiHsn. 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 tree,' to save himself the trouble of showing it to those whose admiration of our great pcet leJ there 
 to visit the classic ground on which it stood. That Shakspeare planted this tree appears to be suffi- 
 ciently authenticated. Where New Place stood is now a garden. Before concluding this history, it 
 may be necesary to mention, that the poet's house was once honored by the temporary residence of 
 Hei..*iftta Maria, queen to Charles I. Theobald has given an inaccurate account of this, as if she had 
 been obliged to take refuge in Stratford from the rebels ; but that was not the case. She marchea 
 from Newark, June 16, 1643, and entered Stratford triumphantly about the 22d of the same month, 
 at the head of three thousand foot, and fifteen hundred horse, with one hundred and fifty wagons, and 
 a train of artillery. Here she was met by Prince Rupert, accompanied by a large body of troops. 
 She resided about three weeks at our poet's house, which was then possessed by his grand-daughter, 
 Mrs. Nashe, and her husband. 
 
 During Shakspeare's abode in this house, his pleasurable wit, and good nature, says Mr. Rowe, 
 engaged him the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friendship, of the gentlemen of the neighborhood. 
 Among these, Mr. Rowe tells a traditional story of a miser or usurer, named Combe, who, in conver- 
 sation with Shakspeare, said he fancied the poet intended to write his epitaph if he should survive him. 
 and desired to know what he meant to say. On this Shakspeare gave him the following, probablj 
 extempore : 
 
 Ten in the hundred lies here engraved, 
 
 'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved ; 
 
 If any man ask, who lies in this tombe? 
 
 Oh I ho I quoth the devil, 'tis my John-a-Combe. 
 
 The sharpness of the satire is said to have stung the man so severely, that he never forgave it 
 These lines, however, or some which nearly resemble them, appeared in various collections, both befor* 
 and after the time they were said to have been composed ; and the inquiries of Mr. Steevens and Mr 
 Malone, satisfactorily prove that the whole story is a fabrication. Betterton is said to have heard it 
 when he visited Warwickshire on purpose to collect anecdotes of out poet, and probably thought it 01 
 loo much importance to be nicely examined. We know not whether it be worth adding of a stor) 
 which we have rejected, that a usurer in Shakspeare's time did not mean one who took exorbitant, 
 but any interest or usance for money, and that ten in the hundred, or ten per cent., was then the 
 ordinary interest of money. It is of more consequence, however, to record the opinion of Mr. Malone, 
 that Shakspeare, during his retirement, wrote the play of Twelfth Night. 
 
 He died on his birth-day, Tuesday, April 23, 1616, when he had exactly completed his fifty-second 
 year, and was buried on the north side of the chancel, in the great church at Stratford, where a monu- 
 ment is placed in the wall, on which he is represented under an arch, in a sitting posture, a cushion 
 spread before him, with a pen in his right hand, and his left rested on a scroll of paper. The following 
 Latin distich is engraved under the cushion : 
 
 Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem, 
 Terra tegit, populus mceret, Olympus habit. 
 
 "The first syllable in Socratem," says Mr. Steevens, "is here made short, which cannot be allowed. 
 Perhaps we should read Sophoclem Shakspeare is then appositely compared with a dramatic author 
 among the ancients ; but still it should be remembered, that the eulogium is lessened while the metre 
 is reformed; and it is well known, that some of our early writers of Latin poetry were uncommonly 
 negligent in their prosody, especially in proper names. The thought of this distich, as Mr. Toilet 
 observes, might have been taken from the Faery Queene of Spenser, B. ii, c. ix, st. 48, and c. x, st. 3. 
 
 " To this Latin inscription on Shakspeare may be added the lines which are found underneath it oa 
 
 his monument : 
 
 Stay, passenger, why dost thou go so fast? 
 Bead, if thou canst, whom envious death hath placed 
 Within this monument; Shakspeare, with whom 
 Quick nature died ; whose name doth deck the tomb 
 Far more than cost ; since all that he hath writ 
 Leaves living art but page to serve his wit. 
 
 Obiit, An°. Dni. 1616. 
 
 set. 53, die 23 Apri. 
 
 "It appears fiom the verses of Leonard Digges, that our author's monument was erected before the 
 year 1623. It has been engraved by Vertue, and done in mezzotinto by Miller." 
 
 On his grave-stone, underneath, are these lines, in an uncouth mixture of small and capital letters: 
 
 Good Friend for Iesus SAKE fnrbeare 
 To diGO T-E Dust EncloAsed HERc 
 
 Blese be T-E Man £ spares T-Es Stones 
 
 And curst be He moves my Bones. 
 
 lc is uncertain whether this request and imprecation were written by Shakspeare, or by one of his 
 friends. They probably allude to the custom of removing skeletons after a certain time, and depositing 
 them in charnel-houses ; and similar execrations are found in many ancient Latin epitaphs. 
 
 We have no account of the malady which, at no very advanced age, closed the life and labors of this 
 unrivalled and incomparable genius. 
 
 His family consisted of two daughters, and a son named Hamnet, who died in 1596, in the twelfth 
 year of his age. Susannah, the eldest daughter, and her father's favorite, was married to Dr. John 
 
 § " As the curiosity of this house and tree brought much fame, ana more company and profit to the town, a certain 
 man, on some disgust, has pulled the house down, so as not to leave one stone upon another, and cut down the tree, 
 and piled it as a stock of firewood, to the great vexation, loss, and disappointment of the inhabitants; however, an 
 honest silversmith bought the whole stock of.wood, and makes many odd things of this wood for the curious." Letter 
 \a Annual Register, 1700. Of Mr. Gastrell and his lady, see Boswell's Life of Dr. Johnson, vol. ii, p. 350. Edit. 1793. 
 
 'The ou'y notice we hare of his person is from Aubrey, who says, "he was a handsome well-shaped man;" and 
 adds, "verie good company, and of a very ready, and pleasant and smooth wit." 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. vg 
 
 Hall, a physician, who died November, 1635, aged sixty. Mrs. Hall died July 11, 1649, aged sixty- 
 six. Tney left only one child, Elizabeth, born 1607-8, and married April 22, 1626, to Thomas Nashe, 
 Esq., who died in 1647; and afterwards to Sir John Barnard, of Abington, in Northamptonshire 
 but died without issue by either husband. Judith, Shakspeare's youngest daughter, was married to a 
 Mr. Thomas Quiney, and died February, 1661-62, in her seventy-seventh year. By Mr. Quiney she 
 nad turee sons, Shakspeare, Richard, and Thomas, who all died unmarried. Sir Hugh Clopton, who 
 was born two years after the death of Lady Barnard, which happened in 1669-70, related to Mr. 
 Macklin, in 1742, an old tradition, that she had carried away with her from Stratford, many of her 
 grandfather's papers. On the death of Sir John Barnard, Mr. Malone thinks these must have fallen 
 into the hands of Mr. Edward Bagley, Lady Barnard's executor ; and if any descendant of that gentle- 
 man be now living, in his custody they probably remain. To this account of Shakspeare's family we 
 have now to add, that among Oldys's papers is another traditional gossip's story of his having been 
 the father of Sir William Davenant. Oldys's relation is thus given : 
 
 "If tradition may be trusted, Shakspeare often baited at the Crown Inn or Tavern in Oxford, in his 
 journey to and from London. The landlady was a woman of great beauty and sprightly wit, and her 
 husband, Mr. John Davenant, (afterwards mayor of that city,) a grave melancholy man; who, as well 
 as his wife, used much to delight in Shakspeare's pleasant company. Their son, young Will. Dave- 
 nant, (afterwards Sir William,) was then u little school-boy in the town, of about seven or eight years 
 old, and so fond also of Shakspeare, that whenever he heard of his arrival, he would fly from school 
 to see him. One day, an old townsman, observing the boy running homeward almost out of breath, 
 asked him whither he was posting in that heat and hurry. He answered, to see his ^orf-father Shaks- 
 peare. There's a good boy, said the other, but have a care that you don't take God's name in vain. 
 This story, Mr. Pope told me at the Earl of Oxford's table, upon occasion of some discourse which 
 arose about Shakspeare's monument, then newly erected in Westminster Abbey." 
 
 This story appears to have originated with Anthony Wood, and it has been thought a presumption 
 of its being true, that, after careful examination, Mr. Thomas Warton was inclined to believe it. Mr. 
 Steevens, however, treats it with the utmost contempt; but does not, perhaps, argue with his usual 
 attention to experience, when he brings Sir William Davenant's "heavy, vulgar, unmeaning face," as 
 a proof that he could not be Shakspeare's son. 
 
 In the year 1741, a monument was erected to our poet in Westminster Abbey, by the direction of 
 the Earl of Burlington, Dr. Mead, Mr. Pope, and Mr. Martyn. It was the work of Scheemaker, (who 
 received £300 for it,) after a design of Kent, and was opened in January of that year. The performers 
 of each of the London theatres gave a benefit to defray the expenses, and the Dean and Chapter of 
 Westminster took nothing for the ground. The money received by the pertbrmance at Drury Lane 
 theatre amounted to above £200, but the receipts at Covent Garden did not exceed £100. 
 
 From these imperfect notices, which are all we have been able to collect from the labors of his 
 biographers and commentators, our readers will perceive that less is known of Shakspeare than of 
 almost any writer who has been considered as an object of laudable curiosity. Nothing could be more 
 highly gratifying than an account of the early studies of this wonderful man, the progress of his pen, 
 his moral and social qualities, his friendships, his failings, and whatever else constitutes perso;.<ti history. 
 But on all these topics his contemporaries and his immediate successors have been equally silent, and 
 if aught can be hereafter discovered, it must be by exploring sources which have hitherto escaped the 
 anxious researches of those who have devoted their whole lives, and their most vigorous talents, to 
 revive his memory and illustrate his writings. In the sketch we have given, if the dates of his birth 
 and death be excepted, what is there on which the reader can depend, or for which, if he contend 
 eagerly, he may not be involved in controversy, and perplexed with contradictory opinions and autho- 
 rities ? 
 
 It is usually said that the life of an author can be little else than a history of his works ; but this 
 opinion is liable to many exceptions. If an author, indeed, has passed his days in retirement, his life 
 can afford little more variety than that of any other man who has lived in retirement; but if, as is 
 generally the case with writers of great celebrity, he has acquired a pre-eminence over his contempo- 
 raries, if he has excited rival contentions, and defeated the attacks of criticism or of malignity, or if he 
 has plunged into the controversies of his age, and performed the part either of a tyrant or a hero in 
 literature, his history may be rendered as interesting as that of any other public character. But what- 
 ever weight may be allowed to this remark, the decision will not be of much consequence in the case 
 of Shakspeare. Unfortunately, we know as little of his writings as of his personal history. The 
 industry of his illustrators for the last thirty years has been such, as probably never was surpassed in 
 the annals of literary investigation ; yet so far are we from information of the conclusive or satisfactory 
 kind, that even the order in which his plays were written, rests principally on conjecture, and of some 
 plays usually printed among his works, it is not yet determined whether he wrote the whole, or any 
 part. 
 
 Much of our ignorance of every thing which it would be desirable to know respecting Shakspeare's 
 works, must be imputed to the author himself. If we look merely at the state in which he left his 
 productions, we should be apt to conclude, either that he was insensible of their value, or that, while 
 lie was the greatest, he was at the same time the humblest writer the world ever produced — " that he 
 thought his works unworthy of posterity — that he levied no ideal tribute upon future times, nor had 
 any farther prospect, than that of present popularity and present profit." T And such an opinion, although 
 *t apparently partakes of the case and looseness of conjecture, may not be far from probability. But 
 before we allow it any higher merit, or attempt to decide upon the affection or neglect with which lit? 
 reviewed his labors, it may be necessary to consider their precise nature, and certain circumstances in 
 his situation which affected them v and, above all, we must take into our account the character and 
 predominant occupations of the times in which he lived, and of those which followed his decease. 
 
 'Dr. Johnson's Preface. 
 
LIFE OF 8HAKSPEARE. 
 
 With respect to himself, it does not appear that he printed any one of his plays, and only eleven of 
 them were printed in his lifetime. The reason assigned fti this is, that he wrote them for a particulai 
 theatre, sold them to the managers when only an actor, reserved them in manuscript when himself a 
 manager, and when he disposed of his property in the theatre, they were still preserved in manuscript 
 to prevent their heing acted by the rival houses. Copies of some of them appear to have been surrep 
 titiously obtained, and published in a very incorrect state; but we may suppose, that it was wiser in 
 the author or managers to overlook this fraud, than publish a correct edition, and so destroy the 
 exclusive property they enjoyed. It is clear, therefore, that any publication of his plays by himself 
 would have interfered, at first with his own interest, and afterwards with the interest of those to whom 
 he had made over his share in them. But even had this obstacle been removed, we are not sure that 
 he would have gained much by publication. If he had no other copies but those belonging to th< 
 theatre, the business of correction for the press must have been a toil which we are afraid the taste ol 
 the public at that time would have poorly rewarded. We know not the exact portion of fame he 
 enjoyed: it was probably the highest which dramatic genius could confer; but dramatic genius was 
 a new excellence, and not well understood. His claims were probably not heard out of the jurisdiction 
 of the master of the revels, certainly not beyond the metropolis. Yet such was Shakspeare's reputation, 
 that we are told his name was put to pieces which he never wrote, and that he felt himself too confident 
 in popular favor to undeceive the public. This was singular resolution in a man who wrote so unequally, 
 that at this day, the test of internal evidence must be applied to his doubtful productions with the 
 greatest caution. But still how far his character would have been elevated by an examination of his 
 plays in the closet, in an age when the refinements of criticism were not understood, and the sympathies 
 of taste were seldom felt, may admit of a question. " His language," says Dr. Johnson, " not being 
 designed for the reader's desk, was all that he desired it to be if it conveyed his meaning to the 
 audience." 
 
 Shakspeare died in 1616 ; and seven years afterwards appeared the first edition of his plays, published 
 at the charges of four booksellers, — a circumstance from which Mr. Malone infers, " that no single 
 publisher was at that time willing to risk his money on a complete collection of our author's plays." 
 This edition was printed from the copies in the hands of his fellow-managers, Heminge and Condcll, 
 which had been in a series of years frequently altered through convenience, caprice, or ignorance. 
 Heminge and Condell had now retired from the stage ; and. we may suppose, were guilty of no injury 
 to their successors, in printing what their own interest only had formerly withheld. Of this, although 
 we have no documents amounting to demonstration, we may be convinced, by adverting to a circum 
 stance, which .will, in our days, appear very extraordinary, namely, the declension of Shakspeare's 
 popularity. We have seen that the publication of his works was accounted a doubtful speculation; 
 and it is yet more certain, that so much had the public taste turned from him in quest of variety, that 
 for several years after his death the plays of Fletcher were more frequently acted than his. and during 
 the whole of the seventeenth century, they were made to give place to performances, the greater part 
 of which cannot now be endured. During the same period, only four editions of his works were 
 published, all in folio; and perhaps this unwieldy size of volume may be an additional proof that they 
 were not popular; nor is it thought that the impressions were numerous. 
 
 These circumstances which attach to our author and to his works, must be allowed a plausible weight 
 in accounting for our deficiencies in his biography and literary career; but there were circumstances 
 enough in the history of the times to suspend the progress of that more regular drama of which he 
 had set the example, and may be considered as the founder. If we wonder why we know so much 
 less of Shakspeare than of his contemporaries, let us recollect that his genius, however highly and 
 justly we now rate it, took a direction which was not calculated for permanent admiration, either in 
 the age in which he lived, or in that which followed. Shakspeare was a writer of plays, a promoter of 
 an amusement just emerging from barbarism ; and an amusement which, although it has been classed 
 among the schools of morality, has ever had such a strong tendency to deviate from moral purposes, 
 that the force of law has, in all ages, been called in to preserve it within the bounds of common decency. 
 The Church has ever been unfriendly to the stage. A part of the injunctions of Queen Elizabeth is 
 particularly directed against the printing of plays; and, according to an entry in the books of the 
 Stationers' Company, in the forty-first year of her reign, it is ordered, that no plays be printed, except 
 allowed by persons in authority. Dr. Farmer also remarks, that in that age, poetry and novels were 
 destroyed publicly by the bishops, and privately by the puritans. The main transactions, indeed, of 
 that period, could not admit of much attention to matters of amusement. The Reformation required 
 all the circumspection and policy of a long reign to render it so firmly established in popular favoi as 
 to brave the caprice of any succeeding sovereign. This was effected, in a great measure, by the diffusion 
 of religious controversy, which was encouraged by the Church, and especially by the puritans, who 
 were the immediate teachers of the lower classes, were listened to with veneration, and usually inveighed 
 against all public amusements, as inconsistent with the Christian profession. These controversies 
 •continued during the reign of James I, and were, in a considerable'degree, promoted by him, although 
 Tie, like Elizabeth, was a favorer of the stage, as an appendage to the grandeur and pleasures of the 
 Court. But the commotions which followed in the unhappy reign of Charles I, when the stage was 
 totally abolished, are sufficient to account for the oblivion thrown on the history and works of our great 
 bard. From this time, no inquiry was made, until it was too late to obtain any information more 
 satisfactory, than the few hearsay scraps and contested traditions above detailed. '* How little," says 
 Mr. Steevens, " Shakspeare was once read, may be understood from Tate, who, in his dedication to the 
 altered play of King Lear, speaks of the original as an obscure piece, recommended to his notice by a 
 friend; and the author of the Tatler having occasion to quote a few lines out of Macbeth, was content 
 to receive them from D'Avenant's alteration of that celebrated drama, in which almost every original 
 Deauty is either awkwardly distuised, or arbitrarily omitted." 8 
 
 • Mr. Ste*f ens's Advertisement to the Reader, first printed in 1773. 
 
in fifty years after his death, Dryden mentions that he was then become "a little obsolete." In the 
 beginning of the last century, Lord Shaftesbury complains of his "rude unpolished style, and his 
 antiquated phrase and wit." It is certain, that for nearly a hundred years after his death, partly owing 
 to the immediate revolution and rebellion, and partly to the licentious taste encouraged in Charles IPs 
 time, and perhaps partly to the incorrect state of his works, he was almost entirely neglected. Mr. 
 Malone has justly remarked, "that if he had been read, admired, studied, and imitated, in the same 
 degree as he is now, the enthusiasm of some one or other of his admirers in the last age would have 
 induced him to make some inquiries concerning the history of his theatrical career, and the anecdotes 
 of nts private life." 9 
 
 His admirers, however, if he had admirers in that age, possessed no portion of such enthusiasm. 
 That curiosity, which in our days has raised biography to the rank of an independent study, was scarcely 
 known, and where known, confined principally to the public transactions of eminent characters. And 
 if, in addition to the circumstances already stated, we consider how little is known of the personal 
 history of Shakspeare's contemporaries, we may easily resolve the question, why, of all men that have 
 ever claimed admiration by genius, wisdom, or val™- who have eminently contributed to enlarge the 
 taste, promote the happiness, or increase the reputation of their couitry, we know the least of Shaks- 
 peare: and why, of the few particulars which seem entitled to credit, vhen simply related, and in which 
 there is no manifest violation of probability, or promise of importance there is scarcely one which has 
 not swelled into a controversy. After a careful examination of all that nodern research has discovered, 
 we know not how to trust our curiosity beyond the limits of those barrel, lates which afford no personal 
 history- The nature of Shakspeare's writings prevents that appeal to intc-nal evidence, which in other 
 cases has been found to throw light on character. The purity of his morO, for example, if sought in 
 his plays, must be measured against the licentiousness of his language, ano. 'he question will then be, 
 how much did he write from conviction, and how much to gratify the taste of \rs hearers'? How much 
 did he add to the age, and how much did he borrow from it? Pope says, "ho was obliged to please 
 the lowest of the people, and to keep the worst of company ;" and Pope might have said, more : for 
 although we hope it was not true, we have no means of proving that it was false. 
 
 The only life which has been prefixed to all the editions of Shakspeare of the eighteenth century, is 
 that drawn up by Mr. Rowe, and which he modestly calls, "Some Account," &c. In this we have 
 what Rowe could collect when every legitimate source of information was closed, a few traditions that 
 were floating nearly a century after the author's death. Some inaccuracies in his account have been 
 detected in the valuable notes of Mr. Steevens and Mr. Malone, who, in other parts of their respective 
 editions, have scattered a few brief notices which we have incorporated in the present sketch. The 
 whole, however, is unsatisfactory. Shakspeare, in his private character, in bis friendship?, in his amuse- 
 ments, in his closet, in his family, is no where before us; and such was the nature of the writings on 
 which his fame depends, and of that employment in which 1ig was engaged, that being in no important 
 respect connected with the history of his age, it is in vain to look into the latter for any information 
 concerning him. 
 
 Mr, Capell is of opinion, that he wrote some prose works, because "it can hardly be supposed that 
 he, who had so considerable a share in the confidence of the Earls of Essex and Southampton, coul<i 
 be a mute spectator only of controversies in which they were so much interested." This editor, how- 
 ever, appears to have taken for granted, a degree of confidence with these two statesmen, which he 
 ought first to have proved. Shakspeare might have enjoyed the confidence of their social hours; but 
 it is mere conjecture that they admitted him into the confidence of their state affairs. Mr. Malone, 
 whose opinions are entitled to a higher degree of credit, thinks that his prose compositions, if they 
 should be discovered, would exhilit the same perspicuity, the same cadence, the same elegance and 
 vigor, which we find in his plays. It is unfortunate, however, for all wishes and all conjectures, that 
 not a line of Shakspeare's manuscript is known to exist, and his prose writings are no where hinted at. 
 We have only printed copies of his plays and poems, and those so depraved by carelessness or ignorance, 
 that all the labor of all his commentators has not yet been able to restore them to a probable purity. 
 Many of the greatest difficulties attending the perusal of them, yet remain, and will require, what it is 
 scarcely possible to expect, greater sagacity and more happy conjecture than have hitherto boen em- 
 ployed. 
 
 Of his Poems, it is perhaps necessary, that some notice should be taken, although they have never 
 been favorites with the public, and have seldom been reprinted with his plays. Shortly after his death, 
 Mr. Malone informs us, a very incorrect impression of them was issued out, which in every subsequent 
 edition was implicitly followed, until he published a corrected edition in 1780 with illustrations, &c. 
 Bui the peremptory decision of Mr. Steevens on the merits of these poems must be our apology for 
 omitting them in the present abridgement of that critic's labors. " We have not reprinted the Sonnets, 
 &c, of Shakspeare, because the strongest act of Parliament that could be framed would fail to compel 
 readers into their service. Had Shakspeare produced no other works than these, his name would have 
 reached us with as little celebrity as time has conferred on that of Thomas Watson, an older and mucn 
 more elegant sonnetteer." 
 
 The elegant preface of Dr. Johnson gives an account of the attempts made in the early part of the 
 ast century to revive the memory and reputation of our poet, by Rowe, Pope, Theobald, Haniner, and 
 Warburton, whose respective merits he has characterized with candor, and with singular felicity of 
 expression. Shakspeare's works may be overloaded with criticism, for what writer has excited so muck 
 curiosity, and so many opinions? but Johnson's preface is an accompaniment worthy of the genius it 
 celebrates. His own edition followed in 1765; and a second, in conjunction with Mr. Steevens, in 
 1773. The third edition of the joint editors appeared in 1785, the fourth in 1793, and the last and 
 most complete, in 1803, in twenty-one volumes octavo. Mr. Malone's edition was published in 1790, 
 in ten volumes, crown octavo, and is now become exceedingly scarce. His original notes and improvo 
 
 •Mr. Italone's Preface to his edition, 1790. 
 
LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 ments, however, are incorporated in the editions of 1793 and 1803, by Mr. Steevens. Mr. Malon# 
 says, that " from the year 1716 to the date of his edition in 1790, — that is, in seventy-four years, above 
 30,000 copies of Shakspeare have been dispersed through England." Among the honors paid to his 
 genius, we ought not to forget the very magnificent edition undertaken by Messrs. Boydell. Still less 
 ought it to be forgotten how much the reputation of Shakspeare was revived by the unrivalled ex- 
 cellence of Garrick's performance. His share in directing the public taste towards the study of 
 Shakspeare was, perhaps, greater than that of any individual in his time, and such was his zeal, and 
 such his success, in this laudable attempt, that he may readily be forgiven the foolish mummery •*' 
 the Stratford Jubilee. 
 
 When public opinion had begun to assign to Shakspeare the very high rank he was destined to hold, 
 he became the promising object of fraud and imposture. This, we have already observed, he did not 
 wholly escape in his own time, and he had the spirit or policy to despise it. 1 It was reserved for modem 
 impostors, however, to avail themselves of the obscurity in which his history is involved. In 1751, a 
 book was published, entitled, "A Compendious or briefe examination of certayne ordinary Complaints 
 of diuers of our Countrymen in those our days: which, although they are in some Parte unjust and 
 frivolous, yet are they all by way of dialogue thoroughly debated and discussed by William Shakespeare, 
 Gentleman." This had been originally published in 1581; but Dr. Farmer has clearly proved that 
 W. S., gent., the only authority for attributing it to Shakspeare in the reprinted edition, meant William 
 Stafford, gent. Theobald, the same accurate critic informs us, was desirous of palming upon the 
 world a play called " Double Falsehood," for a posthumous one of Shakspeare. In 1770, was reprinted 
 at Feversham, an old play called "The Tragedy of Arden of Feversham and Black Will," with a. 
 preface attributing it to Shakspeare, without the smallest foundation. But these were trifles compared 
 to the atrocious attempt made in 1795-6, when, besides a vast mass of prose and verse, letters, &c, 
 pretendedly in the handwriting of Shakspeare and his correspondents, an entire play, entitled Vortigern, 
 was not only brought forward for the astonishment of the admirers of Shakspeare, but actually per- 
 formed on Drury Lane stage. It would be unnecessary to expatiate on the merits of this play, which 
 Mr. Steevens has very happily characterized as " the performance of a madman without a lucid interval," 
 or to enter more at large into the nature of a fraud so recent, and so soon acknowledged by the authors 
 of it. It produced, however, an interesting controversy between Mr. Malone and Mr. George Chalmers, 
 which, although mixed with some unpleasant asperities, was extended to inquiries into the history and 
 antiquities of the stage, from which future critics and historians may derive considerable information. 
 
 1 Mr. Malone has given a list of fourteen plays ascribed to Shakspeare, either by the editors of the two later folios, 
 or by the compilers of ancient catalogues. Of these Pericles has found advocates for its admission into his works. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Sketch of the Life of Shakspeare, 
 
 Page iii 
 
 Henry IV — Part Second, 
 
 . 401 
 
 Tempest, ..... 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, . 
 
 21 
 
 Henry VI — Part First, 
 
 . 457 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, . 
 
 . 40 
 
 Part Second, . 
 
 481 
 
 Twelfth Night, 
 
 64 
 
 Part Third, 
 
 509 
 
 Measure for Measure, . 
 
 . 85 
 
 Richard III, . . 
 
 536 
 
 Much ado about Nothing, 
 
 109 
 
 Henry VIII 
 
 568 
 
 Midsummer's Night's Dream, 
 
 . 131 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, 
 
 596 
 
 Love's Labor's Lost, . . . 
 
 149 
 
 Timon of Athens, . 
 
 626 
 
 Merchant of Venice, . . . 
 
 . 173 
 
 CORIOLANUS, . . 
 
 648 
 
 As You Like It, ... 
 
 195 
 
 Julius Cesar, 
 
 678 
 
 All's Well that Ends Well, 
 
 . 218 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra, . 
 
 701 
 
 Taming of the Shrew, . . 
 
 243 
 
 Cymbeline, . . . 
 
 731 
 
 Winter's Tale, .... 
 
 . 266 
 
 Titus Andronicus, 
 
 762 
 
 Comedy of Errors, . • . 
 
 293 
 
 Pericles, . . . ■ 
 
 784 
 
 Macbeth, 
 
 . 309 
 
 King Lear, . . 
 
 805 
 
 •Cing John, ..... 
 
 330 
 
 Romeo and Juliet, . 
 
 835 
 
 Richard II, . . 
 
 . 352 
 
 Hamlet, . . . 
 
 862 
 
 Hen in IV — Part First, . 
 
 376 
 
 Othello, . < 
 
 s&e 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ,110X80, King of Naples. 
 
 6ebastian, his brother. 
 
 Pro3peiio, the rightful Duke of Milan. 
 
 A jtox i o, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan. 
 
 Ferdinand, son to the king of Naples. 
 
 Gonzalo, an honest old Counsellor of Naples. 
 
 Adrian, > r , 
 t, > Lords. 
 
 TRANCISCO, ) 
 
 Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave. 
 Trinculo, a Jester. 
 Stephano, a drunken Butler. 
 
 Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners. 
 
 Miranda, Daughter to Pruspero 
 
 Ariel, an airy Spirit. 
 Iris, 
 
 Ceres, 
 Juno, 
 Nymphs, 
 Reapers, 
 
 > Spirits. 
 
 Other Spirits attending on Prosper*. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I.— On a Ship at Sea. 
 A Storm with thunder and lightning. 
 
 Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain. 
 
 Master. Boatswain, — 
 Boats. Here, master: what cheer? 
 Master. Good : Speak to the mariners : fall to't 
 yarely 1 , or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Mariners. 
 
 Boats. Heigh, my hearts; cheerly, cheerly, my 
 hearts ; yare, yare : Take in the top-sail ; Tend to 
 the master's whistle. — Blow till thou burst thy 
 wind, if room enough ! 
 
 Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdi- 
 nand, Gonzalo, and others. 
 
 Ahn. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the 
 master? Play the men. 
 
 Bouts. I pray now, keep below. 
 
 Ant. Where is the master, boatswain? 
 
 Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our 
 labor ! keep your cabins : you do assist the storm. 
 
 Gon. Nay, good, be patient. 
 
 Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care 
 these roarers for the name of king? To cabins: 
 silence: trouble us not. 
 
 Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou hast 
 aboard 
 
 Boats. N->ne that I moie love than myself — 
 
 » Readily 
 
 You are a counsellor; if you can command these 
 elements to silence, and work the peace of the 
 present, 5 we will not hand a rope more ; use your 
 authority. If you cannot, give thanks you have 
 lived so long, and make yourself ready in your 
 cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. — 
 Cheerly, good hearts, — Out of our way, I say. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow; 
 methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him : 
 his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good 
 fate, to his hanging ! make the rope of his destiny 
 our cable, for our own doth little advantage ! If he 
 be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Boatswain. 
 
 Boats. Down with the top-mast; yare; lower, 
 lower; bring her to try with main course. [A cry 
 within.'] A plague upon this howling ! they are 
 louder than the weather, or our office. — 
 
 Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo. 
 
 Yet again ? what do you here ? Shall we give o'er 
 and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? 
 
 Seb. A pox o' your throat ! you bawling, blas- 
 phemous, uncharitable dog! 
 
 Boats. Work you, then. 
 
 Ant. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent 
 noise-maker, we are less afraid to be drowned than 
 thou art. 
 
 • Present in «t«i»i 
 
 « 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Gon. I'll warrant him from drowning; though 
 the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as 
 leaky as an unstaunched' wench. 
 
 Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold; set her two 
 courses; off to sea again, lay her off. 
 
 Enter Mariners, wet. 
 
 Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Boats. What, must our mouths be cold? 
 
 Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let us 
 assist them, 
 For our case is as theirs. 
 
 Seb. I am cat of patience. 
 
 Ant. We are merely 3 cheated of our lives by 
 drunkards. — 
 This wide-chapped rascal; — 'Would thou mightst 
 
 lie drowning 
 The washing often tides! 
 
 Gon. He'll be hanged yet; 
 
 Though every drop of water swear against it, 
 And gape at wid'st to glut him. 
 [A confused noise within.] Mercy on us ! — We 
 split, we split ! Farewell, my wife and children ! — 
 Farewel ;, brother ! — We split, we split, we split. — 
 
 Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Exit. 
 
 Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. 
 
 Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of 
 sea for ai. acre of barren ground; long heath, brown 
 furze, any thing: the wills above be done! but I 
 would fain die a dry death. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— The island: before the cell of Fnos- 
 pi:ao. Enter Prospkro and Miranda. 
 
 Mir. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them: 
 The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, 
 But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, 
 Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd 
 With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel, 
 Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, 
 Dash'd all to pieces. 0, the cry did knock 
 Against my very heart! Poor souls! they perish'd. 
 Had I been any god of power, I would 
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
 It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and 
 The freighting souls within her. 
 
 Pro. Be collected; 
 
 No more amazement: tell your piteous heart, 
 There's no harm done. 
 
 Mira. O, wo the day ! 
 
 Pro. No harm. 
 
 1 have done nothing but in care of thee, 
 (Of thee, my dear one! thee my daughter!) who 
 Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
 Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
 Then Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 
 Knd thy no greater father. 
 
 Mira. More to know 
 
 Did never meddle with my thoughts. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis time 
 
 I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand, 
 And pluck my magic garment from me. — So ; 
 
 [Lays down his mantle. 
 Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eves; have 
 
 comfort. 
 The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd 
 The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
 I have with such provision in mine art 
 So safely order'd, that there is no soul — 
 No, not so much perdition as a hair, 
 Betid to any creature in the vessel 
 
 • Incontinent. * Absolutely. 
 
 Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink 
 
 Sit down; 
 For thou must now know further. 
 
 Mira. /ou have often 
 
 Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd 
 And left me to a bootless inquisition ; 
 Concluding, Slay, not yet. — 
 
 Pro. The hour's now come 
 
 The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; 
 Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember 
 A time before we came unto this cell' 
 I do not think thou canst ; for then thou wast not 
 Out 5 three years old. 
 
 Mira. Certainty, sir, I can. 
 
 Pro. By what] by any other bouse, or personl 
 Of any thing the image tell me, that 
 Hatli kept with thy remembrance. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis far off; 
 
 And rather like a dream than an assurance 
 That my remembrance warrants: had I not 
 Four or five women once, that tended me? 
 
 Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda : but how 
 is it, 
 That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else 
 In the dark backward and abysm of time? 
 If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here, 
 How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 
 
 Mira. But that I do not 
 
 Pro. Twelve years since, 
 Miranda, twelve years since, thy father was 
 The duke of Milan, and a prince of power. 
 
 Mira. Sir, are not you my father? 
 
 Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
 She said — thou wast my daughter; and thy father 
 Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
 A princess ; — no worse issued. 
 
 Mira. 0, the heavens! 
 
 What foul play had we, that we came from thence? 
 Or blessed was't we did? 
 
 Pro. Both, both, my girl. 
 
 By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence, 
 But blessedly holp hither. 
 
 Mira. 0, my heart bleeds 
 
 To think o' the teen s that I have turn'd you to, 
 Which is from my remembrance ! Please you fur- 
 ther. 
 
 Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, cail'd Antonio,— 
 I pray thee, mark me, — that a brother should 
 Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself, 
 Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
 The manage of my state ; as, at that time, 
 Through all the signiories it was the first, 
 And Prospero the prime duke; being so reputed 
 In dignity, and, for the liberal arts, 
 Without a parallel ; those being all my study, 
 The government I cast upon my brother, 
 And to my state grew stranger, being transported. 
 And wrapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
 Dost thou attend me? 
 
 Mira. Sir, most needfully. 
 
 Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suite, 
 How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom 
 To trash 1 for over-topping; new-created 
 The creatures that were mine; I say, or chang'd 
 
 them, 
 Or else new-form'd them : having both the key 
 Of officer and office, set all hearts 
 To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was 
 The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, 
 And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'st 
 
 not: 
 I pray thee mark me. 
 
 • Quite. • Sorrow. ' Cut away 
 
 ! 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 3 
 
 Mire. O good su I do. 
 
 Pro. I thus neglecting wordlr ends, all dedi- 
 cate 
 To closenr^s, and the bettering of my mind 
 With that, which, but by being so rctir'd, 
 O'er-priz' I all popular rate, in my false brother 
 Awak'd an evil nature: and my trust, 
 Like a good parent, did beget of him 
 A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
 As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit, 
 A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
 Not only with what my revenue yielded, 
 But what my power might else exact, — like one 
 Who, having unto truth, by telling of it, 
 Made such a sinner of his memory, 
 To credit his own lie, — he did believe 
 He was the duke ; out of the substitution, 
 And executing the outward face of royalty, 
 With all prerogative: — Hence his ambition 
 Growing, — Dost hear? 
 
 Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 
 
 Pro. To have no screen between this part he 
 play'd 
 And him he play'd it for, he needs will be 
 Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library 
 Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
 He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
 (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
 To give him annual tribute, do him homage; 
 Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
 The dukedom, yet unbow'd (alas, poor Milan !) 
 To most ignoble stooping. 
 
 Mira. the heavens! 
 
 Pro. Mark his condition, and the event; then 
 tell me, 
 If this might be a brother. 
 
 Mira. I should sin 
 
 To think but nobly of my grandmother : 
 Good wombs have borne bad sons. 
 
 Pro. ' Now the condition. 
 
 This king of Naples, being an enemy 
 To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; 
 Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises, — 
 Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, — 
 Should presently extirpate me and mine 
 Out of the dukedom ; and confer fair Milan, 
 With all the honors, on my brother: Whereon, 
 A treacherous army levied, one midnight 
 Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
 The gates of Milan; and i' the dead of darkness, 
 The ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
 Me, and thy crying self. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for pity ! 
 
 I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then, 
 Will cry it o'er again, it is a hint, 
 That wrings mine eyes. 
 
 Pro. Hear a little further, 
 
 And then I'll bring thee to the present business 
 Which now's upon us; without the which, this 
 
 story 
 Were most impertinent. 
 
 Mira. Wherefore did they not 
 
 That hour destroy us? 
 
 Pro. Well demanded, wench; 
 
 My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst 
 
 not; 
 (So dear the love my people bore me) nor set 
 A mark so bloody on the business ; but 
 With colors fairer painted their foul ends. 
 In few, they hurried us abroad a bark ; 
 Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepar'd 
 A. rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats 
 
 Instinctively had quit it : there they hi ik-' us, 
 To cry to the sea that roar'd to us; to sigh 
 To the winds, whose pity, sighing lack again, 
 Did us but loving wrong. 
 
 Mira. Alack ! what trouble 
 
 Was I then to you ! 
 
 Pro. ! a cherubim 
 
 Thou wast, that did preserve me! Thou didst 
 
 smile, 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full sail; 
 Under my burden groan 'd; which rais'd in me 
 An undergoing stomach", to bear up 
 Against what shouH ensue. 
 
 Mira. How came we ashore' 
 
 Pro. By Providence divine. 
 Some food we had, an-t some fresh water, that 
 A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
 Out of his charity (who being then appointed 
 Master of this design,) did give us ; with 
 Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, 
 Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentle- 
 ness, 
 Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me, 
 From my own library, with volumes that 
 I prize above my dukedom. 
 
 Mira. 'Would I might 
 
 But ever see that man ! 
 
 Pro. Now I arise : — 
 
 Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
 Here in this island we arriv'd ; and here 
 Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
 Than other princes can, that have more time 
 For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. 
 
 Mira. Heavens thank you for't! And now I 
 pray you, sir, 
 (For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason 
 For raising this sea-storm? 
 
 Pro. Know thus far forth. — 
 
 By accident most strange, bountiful fortune, 
 Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies 
 Brought to this shore : and by my prescience 
 I find my zenith doth depend upon 
 A most auspicious star; whose influence 
 If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
 Will ever after droop. — Here cease more ques« 
 
 tions ; 
 Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, 
 And give it way ; — I know thou canst not choose. — 
 [Mirajjda sleeps. 
 Come away, servant, come: I am ready now: 
 Approach, my Ariel; come. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Ari. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I 
 come 
 To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly, 
 To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
 On the curl'd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task 
 Ariel, and all his quality. 
 
 Pro. Hast thou, spirit, 
 
 Perform'd to point 9 the tempest that I bade thee? 
 
 Ari. To every article. 
 I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, 
 Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, 
 I flamed amazement: Sometimes, I'd divide, 
 And burn in many places; on the top-mast, 
 The yards, and bowsprit, would I (lame distinctly 
 Then meet, and join : Jove's lightnings, the precur 
 
 sors 
 0' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 
 • Stubborn resolution. • The minutest article. 
 
TEMPEST. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 *hd sight-outrunning were not: The fire, and 
 
 cracks 
 Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
 Seem' d to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble. 
 Yea, his dread trident shake. 
 
 Pro. My brave spirit! 
 
 Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil' 
 Would not infect his reason? 
 
 Ari. Not a soul 
 
 But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
 Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners, 
 Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
 Then all a-fire with me : the king's son, Ferdinand, 
 With hair up-staring, (then like reeds, not hair,) 
 Was the first man that leap'd : cried, Hell is empty, 
 And all the devils are here. 
 
 Pro. Why, that's my spirit! 
 
 But was not this nigh shore? 
 
 Art. Close by, my master. 
 
 Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe? 
 
 Ari. Not a hair perish'd ; 
 
 On their sustaining garments not a blemish, 
 But fresher than before; and, as thou bad'st me, 
 In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle: 
 The king's son have I landed by himself; 
 Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs, 
 In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting, 
 His arms in this sad knot. 
 
 Pro. Of the king's ship, 
 
 The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd, 
 And all the rest o' the fleet? 
 
 Ari. Safely in harbor 
 
 Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once 
 Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 From the still-vex'd Bermoothes 9 , there she's hid: 
 The mariners all under hatches stow'd; 
 Whom, with a charm join'd to their sufler'd labor, 
 I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet, 
 Which I dispers'd, they all have met again; 
 And are upon the Mediterranean flote 3 
 Bound sadly home for Naples; 
 Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, 
 And his great person perish. 
 
 Pro. Ariel, thy charge 
 
 Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work: 
 What is the time o' the day? 
 
 Ari. Past the mid season. 
 
 Pro. At least two glasses : The time 'twixt six 
 and now, 
 Must by us both be spent most preciously. 
 
 Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give 
 me pains, 
 Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, 
 Which is not yet perform'd me. 
 
 Pro. How now? moody? 
 
 What is't thou canst demand? 
 
 Ari. My liberty. 
 
 Pro. Before the time be out? no more. 
 
 Ari. I pray thee 
 
 Remember, I have done thee worthy service; 
 Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd 
 Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst 
 
 promise 
 Co bate me a full year. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou forget 
 
 From what a torment I did free thee? 
 
 Ari. No. 
 
 Pro. Thou dost; and think'st 
 It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep ; 
 To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; 
 T.o do me business in the veins o' the earth, 
 When it is bak'd vrith frost 
 
 1 Bust! o, tumult 
 
 ' Bermudas. 
 
 » Wave. 
 
 Ari. I do not, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou 
 forgot 
 The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, 
 Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her] 
 
 Ari. No, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou hast: where was she born? 
 
 speak; tell me. 
 
 Ari. Sir, in Argier. 4 
 
 Pro. 0, was she so? I must, 
 
 Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, 
 Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, 
 For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terrible 
 To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
 Thou know'st, was banish'd ; for one thing she did, 
 They would not take her life : Is not this true? 
 
 Ari. Ay, sir. 
 
 Pro. This blue-ey 'd hag was hither brought with 
 child, 
 And here was left by the sailors: Thou, my slave, 
 As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant: 
 And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate 
 To act her earthly and abhorr'd commands, 
 Refusing her grand hests s , she did confine thee, 
 By help of her more potent ministers, 
 And in her most unmitigable rage, 
 Into a cloven pine; within which rift 
 Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain 
 A dozen years ; within which space she died, 
 And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy 
 
 groans, 
 As fast as mill-wheels strike : Then was this island 
 (Save for the son that she did litter here, 
 A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honor'd with 
 A human shape. 
 
 Ari. Yes; Caliban her son. 
 
 Pro. Dull tiling, I say so; he, that Caliban, 
 Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st 
 What torment I did find thee in: thy groans 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 Of ever-angry bears : it was a torment 
 To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
 Could not again undo; it was mine art, 
 When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape 
 The pine, and let thee out. 
 
 Ari. I thank thee, master. 
 
 Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak, 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
 Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 
 
 Ari. Pardon, master. 
 
 I will be correspondent to command, 
 And do my spriting gently. 
 
 Pro. Do so ; and after two days 
 
 I will discharge thee. 
 
 Ari. That's my noble master ! 
 
 What shall I do? say, what? what shall I do? 
 
 Pro. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea 
 Be subject to no sight but mine ; invisible 
 To every eye-ball else. Go take this shape, 
 And hither come in't : hence, with diligence. 
 
 [Exit Ariki. 
 Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ; 
 Awake ! 
 
 Mira. The strangeness of your story put 
 Heaviness in me. 
 
 Pro. Shake it off: Come on, 
 
 We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
 Yields us kind answer. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir, 
 
 I do not love to look on. 
 
 Pro. But, as 'tis, 
 
 We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 
 « Algiers. » Command*. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Fetch in our wood ; and se res in offices 
 That profit us. What ho . slave ! Caliban, 
 Thou earth, thou ! speak. 
 
 Cal. [ Within'.'] There's wood enough within. 
 
 Pro. Come forth, I say : there's other business 
 for thee : 
 Comt forth, thoa tortoise ! when 1 
 
 Re-enter Am el like a luater-nympfo 
 
 Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
 Hark in thine ear. 
 
 Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil 
 himself 
 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! 
 
 Enter Caliban. 
 
 Cal. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
 With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
 Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
 And blister you all o'er ! 
 
 Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 
 cramps, 
 Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 6 
 Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, 
 All exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
 As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging 
 Than bees that made them. 
 
 Cal. I must eat my dinner. 
 
 This island's mine, by Sycorax, my mother, 
 Which thou tak'st from me. When thou earnest 
 
 first, 
 Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me; 
 
 wouldst give me 
 Water with hemes in't; and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
 That burn by day and night ; and then I loved thee, 
 And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, 
 The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile; 
 Cursed be I that did so; — all the charms 
 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you ! 
 For I am all the subjects that you have, 
 Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me 
 In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me 
 The rest of the island. 
 
 Pro. Thou most lying slave, 
 
 Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I have us'd 
 
 thee, 
 Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'd thee 
 in mine own cell, till thou did'st seek to violate 
 The honor of rny child. 
 
 Cal. Q ho, O ho ! — 'would it had been done ! 
 Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else 
 This isle with Calibans. 
 
 Pro. Abhorred slave; 
 
 Which any print of goodness will not take, 
 Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
 Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each 
 
 hour 
 One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, 
 Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like 
 A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes 
 With words that made them known : But thy vile 
 
 race, 
 Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good 
 
 natures 
 Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
 Deservedly confin'd into this rock, 
 Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison. 
 
 Cal. You taught mc language ; and my profit on't 
 Is, I know how to curse : the red plague rid ' you, 
 For learning me your language ! 
 
 • Fairies. ' Destroy. 
 
 Pro. Hag-seed, /.ence \ 
 
 Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best, 
 To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice 1 
 If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
 What I command, I'll rack thee with old crampe 
 Fill all thy bones with aches; make thee roar, 
 That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
 
 Cal. No, 'pray thee! — 
 
 I must obey: his art is of such power [Aside 
 
 It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
 And make a vassal of him. 
 
 Pro. So, slave ; hence ! 
 
 [Exit Caliban 
 
 Re-enter Ariel, invisible, playing and singing; 
 F erdix an d following him. 
 
 Ariel's Song. 
 Come unto these yellow sands 
 
 And then take hands: 
 Courfsied ivhen you have, and kiss'd, 
 
 {The wild waves whist s ) 
 Foot it feut/y here and there,- 
 And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
 
 Hai-k, hark! 
 Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedly. 
 
 The watch-dogs bark: 
 Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedly 
 
 Hark, hark/ I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticlere 
 Cry, cock-a-doodle-do. 
 
 Fer. Where should this music be? i' the air, cr 
 the earth 1 
 It sounds no more : — and sure, H waits upon 
 Some god of the island. Sitting ">n a bank, 
 Weeping again the king my fath. \ wreck, 
 This music crept by me upon the v;\-*.ers; 
 Allaying both their fury, and my passion, 
 With its sweet air; thence I have follow'd it, 
 Or it hath drawn me rather: — But 'tis gone. 
 No, it begins again. 
 
 Ariel sings. 
 
 Fall fathom Jive thy father lies; 
 Of his bones are coral made; 
 Those are pearls, that were his eyes: 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: 
 Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell. 
 [Burden, ding-dong. 
 Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd 
 father : — 
 This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
 That the earth owes 9 : — I hear it now above me. 
 
 Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance 
 And say, what thou seest yond'. 
 
 Mira. What is't? a spirit? 
 
 Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, 
 It carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit. 
 
 Pro. No, wench; it eats and sleeps, and hath 
 
 such senses 
 
 As we have, such : This gallant which thou seest, 
 
 Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'c" 
 
 With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou mights' 
 
 call him 
 A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows, 
 And strays about to find them. 
 
 Mira. I might call hir. 
 
 A thing divine ; for ncthing natural 
 I ever saw so noble. 
 
 • Being stilled, silenced. ?wns. 
 
Pro. It goes on, [Aside. 
 
 As my soul prompts it: — Spirit, fine spirit! I'll 
 
 free thee 
 Within two days for this. 
 
 Fer. Most sure the goddess 
 
 On whom these airs attend ! — Vouchsafe my prayer 
 May know, if you remain upon this island; 
 And that you will some good instruction give, 
 How I may hear me here: My prime request, 
 Wluch I do last pronounce, is, you wonder! 
 If you be maid, or no? 
 
 Mir a. No wonder, sir ; 
 
 But, certainly a maid. 
 
 Fer. My language ; heavens ! — 
 
 I am the best of them that speak this speech, 
 Were I but where 'tis spoken. 
 
 Pro. How ! the best ! 
 
 What wert thou if the king of Naples heard thee 1 
 
 Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
 To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me ; 
 And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ; 
 Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
 The king my father wreck'd. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for mercy! 
 
 Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords; the duke of 
 Milan, 
 And his brave son being twain. 
 
 Pro. Th& duke of Milan, 
 
 And his more braver daughter, could control ' thee, 
 If now 'twere fit to do't : — At the first sight 
 
 [Aside. 
 They have chang'd eyes: — Delicate Ariel, 
 I'll set thee free for this! — A word, good sir: 
 I fear, you have done yourself some wrong: a word. 
 
 Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently? This 
 Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
 That e'er I sighed for: pity move my father 
 To be inclin'd my way! 
 
 Fer. O, if a virgin, 
 
 And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you 
 The queen of Naples ! 
 
 Pro. Soft, sir, one word more. — 
 
 They are both in either's powers ; but this swift 
 
 business 
 I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside. 
 Make the prize light. — One word more; I charge 
 
 thee, 
 That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp 
 The name thou ow'st not; and hast put thyself 
 Upon this island, as a spy to win it 
 From me, the lord on't. 
 
 Fer. No, as I am a man. 
 
 Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
 temple : 
 If the ill spirit have so fair an house, 
 Good things will strive to dwell with't. 
 
 Pro. Follow me. — [To Ferd. 
 
 Speak not you for him , ne's a traitor. — Come. 
 I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: 
 Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
 The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and hunks 
 Wherein the acorn cradled: Follow. 
 
 Fer. No; 
 
 I will resist such entertainment, till 
 Mine enemy has more power. [He draws. 
 
 Mira. O dear father, 
 
 Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
 He's gentle, and not fearful. 11 
 
 Pro. What, I say, 
 
 My foot my tutor! — Put thy sword up, traitor; 
 Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con- 
 science 
 Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward 3 ; 
 For I can here disarm thee with this stick, 
 And make thy weapon drop. 
 
 Mira. Beseech you, father! 
 
 Pro. Hence; hang not on my garments. 
 
 Mira. Sir, have pity ; 
 
 I'll be his surety. 
 
 Pro. Silence : one word more 
 
 Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What ! 
 An advocate for an impostor 1 hush! 
 Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he, 
 Having seen but him and Caliban : Foolish wench ' 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him ar« angels. 
 
 Mira. My affections 
 
 Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
 To see a goodlier man. 
 
 Pro. Come on; obey: [To Ferd 
 
 Thy nerves are in their infancy again, 
 And have no vigor in them. 
 
 Fer. So they are: 
 
 My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
 My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, 
 The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats, 
 To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, 
 Might I but through my prison once a day 
 Behold tills maid: all corners else o' the earth 
 Let liberty make use of; space enough 
 Have I in such a prison. 
 
 Pro. It works : — Come on.— 
 
 Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. — 
 [To Ferd. and Mir. 
 Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel. 
 
 Mira. Be of comfort: 
 
 My father's of a better nature, sir, 
 Than he appears by speech; this is unwonted, 
 Which now came from him. 
 
 Pro. Thou shalt be as fre« 
 
 As mountain winds: but then exactly do 
 All points of my command. 
 
 Ari. To the syllable. 
 
 Pro. Come, follow : speak not for him. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 (SCENE I. — Another part of the Island. 
 
 tinier Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
 Adrian, Francisco, and others. 
 
 Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be m ?rry : you have cause 
 (So have we all) of joy ; for lur escape 
 Is much beyond our loss: out hint of woe 
 fc commop ; everv day some sailor's wife, 
 » Confute. 
 
 The masters of some merchant, and the merchant, 
 Have just our theme of woe: but for the miracle 
 I mean our preservation, few in millions 
 Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh 
 Our sorrow with our comfort. 
 
 Alon. Pr'ythee, peace! 
 
 Scb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 
 
 Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 
 » Frightful. s Guard. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Seb. Look, he's wii ding up the watch of his wit; 
 By and by it will strike. 
 Gon. Sir, 
 
 Seb. One: Tell. 
 
 Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's 
 offered, 
 "omes to the entertainer — 
 
 Seb. A dollar. 
 
 Gon. Dolor comes to him, indeed; you have 
 spoken truer than you purposed. 
 
 Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you 
 should. 
 
 Gon. Therefore, my lord, — 
 
 Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue ! 
 
 Alon. I pr'ythee, spare. 
 
 Gon. Well, I have done : But yet — 
 
 Seb. He will be talking. 
 
 Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good 
 wager, first begins to crow? 
 
 Seb. The old cock. 
 
 Ant. The cockrel. 
 
 Seb. Done : the wager ? 
 
 Ant. A laughter. 
 
 Seb. A match. 
 
 Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, — 
 
 Seb. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Ant. So you've pay'd. 
 
 Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible, — 
 
 Seb. Yet. 
 
 Adr. Yet— 
 
 Ant. He could not miss it. 
 
 Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and 
 'lelicate temperance.* 
 
 Ant. Temperance was a delicate wench. 
 
 Seb. Ay, and a subtle ; as he most learnedly de- 
 livered. 
 
 Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. 
 
 Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. 
 
 Ant. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 
 
 Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life. 
 
 Ant. True; save means to live. 
 
 Seb. Of that there's none, or little. 
 
 Gon. How lush 5 and lusty the grass looks ! how 
 green! 
 
 Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. 
 
 Seb. With an eye 6 of green in't. 
 
 Ant. He misses not much. 
 
 Seb. No : he doth but mistake the truth totally. 
 
 Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed 
 almost beyond credit) — 
 
 Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. 
 
 Gon. That our garments, being, as they were, 
 drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their 
 freshness, and glosses ; being rather new dy'd, than 
 Btain'd with salt water. 
 
 Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, 
 would it not say, he lies] 
 
 Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 
 
 Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh 
 as when we put them on first in Afric, at the mar- 
 riage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the 
 king of Tunis. 
 
 Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper 
 wrll in our return. 
 
 Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a 
 paragon to their queen. 
 
 Gon. Not since widow Dido's time. 
 
 Ant. Widow? a pox o' that! how came that 
 widow in? Widow Dido! 
 
 Seb. What if he had said, widower ^Eneas too? 
 good lord, how you take it ! 
 
 • Temperature. 
 
 Rank. 
 
 « Shade of eoltr. 
 
 Adr. Widow Dido, said you? vou make m 
 study of that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis 
 
 Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
 
 Adr. Carthage? 
 
 Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 
 
 Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp 
 
 Seb. He hath raised the walls, and houses too. 
 
 Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy 
 next? 
 
 Seb. I think he will carry this island home in 
 his pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 
 
 Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, 
 bring forth more islands. 
 
 Gon. Ay? 
 
 Ant. Why, in good time. 
 
 Gon. Sir, we were talking, that our garments 
 seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at 
 the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. 
 
 Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 
 
 Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 
 
 Ant. O, widow Dido; ay, widow Dido. 
 
 Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first 
 day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. 
 
 Ant. That sort was well fish'd for. 
 
 Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar- 
 riage? 
 
 Alon. You cram these words into mine ears 
 against 
 The stomach of my sense: 'Would I had never 
 Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence, 
 My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too, 
 Who is so far from Italy removed, 
 I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
 Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish 
 Hath made his meal on thee ! 
 
 Fran. Sir, he may live. 
 
 I saw him beat the surges under him, 
 And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water, 
 Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
 The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head 
 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
 Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
 To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, 
 As stooping to relieve him ; I not doubt, 
 He came alive to land. 
 
 Alon. No, no, he's gone. 
 
 Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great 
 loss; 
 That would not bless our Europe with your daugh- 
 ter, 
 But rather lose her to an African ; 
 Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, 
 Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. 
 
 Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd other- 
 wise 
 By all of us ; and the fair soul herself 
 Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
 Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost 
 
 your son, 
 I fear, forever: Milan apd Naples have 
 More widows in them of this business' making, 
 Than we bring men to "omfort them : The fault's 
 Your own. 
 
 Alon. So is the dearesi of the loss. 
 
 Gon. My lord Sebastian, 
 
 The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness. 
 And time to speak it in: you rub the sore, 
 When you should bring the plaster. 
 
 Seb. Very welj 
 
 Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 
 
 Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir. 
 When you are cloudy. 
 
8 
 
 TEMPEST 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Seb. Foul weather? 
 
 Ant. Very foul. 
 
 Gun. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord, — 
 
 Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed. 
 
 Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 
 
 Gon. And were the king of it, what would I 
 do? 
 
 Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. 
 
 Gon. V the commonwealth I would by con- 
 traries 
 Execute all things: for no kind of traffic 
 Would I admit; no name of magistrate; 
 Letters should not be known; no use of service, 
 Of riches or of poverty; no contracts, 
 Succession ; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none : 
 No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil: 
 No occupation ; all men idle, all ; 
 And women, too; but innocent and pure: 
 No sovereignty: — 
 
 Seb. And yet he would be king on't. 
 
 Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth for- 
 gets the beginning. 
 
 Gon. All things in common nature should pro- 
 duce, 
 Without sweat or endeavor : treason, felony, 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
 Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, 
 Of its own kind, all foison 1 , all abundance, 
 To feed my innocent people. 
 
 Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects'? 
 
 Ant. None, man; all idle; whores and knaves. 
 
 Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir, 
 To excel the golden age. 
 
 Seb. 'Save his majesty ! 
 
 Ant. Long live Gonzalo! 
 
 Gon. And, do you mark me, sir? — 
 
 Alon. Pry'thee, no more : thou dost talk nothing 
 to me. 
 
 Gon. I do well believe your highness; and did 
 U to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are 
 of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always 
 use to laugh at nothing. 
 
 Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. 
 
 Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am 
 nothing to you; st^ you may continue, and laugh 
 at nothing still. 
 
 .4??/. What a blow was there given ! 
 
 Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 
 
 Gon. You are gentlemen of brave metal: you 
 would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would 
 continue in it five weeks without changing. 
 
 Enter Ariel invisible, playing solemn music. 
 
 Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 
 
 Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry. 
 
 Gon. No, I wan-ant you; I will not adventure 
 my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, 
 for I am very heavy ? 
 
 Ant. Go sleep, and hear us. 
 
 [All sleep but Alox., Seb., and Ant. 
 
 Alon. What, all so soon asleep! Iwishminecyes 
 Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I 
 
 find 
 They are inclined to do so. 
 
 Seb. Please you, sir, 
 
 Do not omit the heavy offer of it ; 
 It seldom visits sorrow : when it doth, 
 \t is a comforter. 
 
 Ant. We two, my lord, 
 
 Will guard your person, while you take your rest, 
 And watch your safety. 
 
 ' Plenty. 
 
 Alon. 
 
 Thank you : wondrous heavy. — 
 [Alonso sleeps. Exit Ahibl. 
 
 Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them ! 
 
 Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. 
 
 Seb. Why 
 
 Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not 
 Myself dispos'd to sleep. 
 
 Ant. Nor I; my spirits are nimble. 
 They fell together all, as by consent; 
 They dropp'd as by a thunder-stroke. What might 
 Worthy Sebastian ? — 0, what might ? — N« 
 
 more : — 
 And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face, 
 What thou shouldst be : the occasion speaks thee ; 
 
 and 
 My strong imagination sees a crown 
 Dropping upon thy head. 
 
 Seb. What, art thou waking? 
 
 A*nt. Do you not hear me speak? 
 
 Seb. I do ; and surely 
 
 It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak'st 
 Out of thy sleep : What is it thou didst say? 
 This is a strange repose, to be asleep 
 With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving 
 And yet so fast asleep. 
 
 Ant. Noble Sebastian, 
 
 Thou let'st thy fortune sleep — die rather; wink'st 
 Whiles thou art waking. 
 
 Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ; 
 
 There's meaning in thy snores. 
 
 Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
 Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do, 
 Trebles thee o'er. 
 
 Seb. Well ; I am standing water. 
 
 Ant. I'll teach you how to flow. 
 
 Seb. Do so : to ebb, 
 
 Hereditary sloth instructs me. 
 
 Ant. '■ O, 
 
 If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish, 
 Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it. 
 You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed, 
 Most often do so near the bottom run, 
 By their own fear, or sloth. 
 
 Seb. Pr'ythee, say on: 
 
 The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
 A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed, 
 Which throes thee much to yield. 
 
 Ant. Tnus, sir, 
 
 Although this lord of weak remembrance, this, 
 (Who shall be of as little memory, 
 When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded 
 (For he's a spirit of persuasion only) 
 The king his son's alive : 'tis as impossible 
 That he's undrown'd, as he that sleeps here swims. 
 
 Seb. I have no hope 
 That he's undrown'd. 
 
 Ant. 0, out of that no hope, 
 
 What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, is 
 Another way so high a hope, that even 
 Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond, 
 But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with 
 
 me, 
 That Ferdinand is drown'd ? 
 
 Seb. He's gone. 
 
 Ant. Then, tell me, 
 
 Who's the next heir of Naples ? 
 
 Seb. Claribel. 
 
 Ant. She that is queen of Tunis; she that dwells 
 Ten leagues beyond man's life; she that from 
 
 Naples 
 Can have no note, unless the sun were post, 
 (The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born cliirtf 
 Be rough and razorable : she, from whom 
 
SCEK£ I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again ; 
 And, by that, destin'd to perform an act, 
 W hereof what's past is prologue ; what to come, 
 In yours and my discharge. 
 
 Seb. What stuff is this ? — How say you 1 ? 
 
 'Tis true, my brother's daughter 's queen of Tunis ; 
 ^o is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
 There is some space. 
 
 Ant. A space whose every cubit 
 
 Seems to cry out, How shall that Claribel 
 Measure us back to Naples ? — Keep in Tunis, 
 And let Sebastian wake ! — Say, this were death 
 That now hath seiz'd them ; why, they were no 
 
 worse 
 Than now they are : there be, that can rule Naples 
 As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate 
 As amply, and unnecessarily, 
 As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make 
 A chough 8 of as deep chat. O, that you bore 
 The mind that I do ! what a sleep were this 
 For your advancement! Do you understand me? 
 
 Seb. Methinks I do. 
 
 Ant. And how does your content 
 
 Tender your own good fortune ? 
 
 S*b. I remember, 
 
 You did supplant your brother Prospcro. 
 
 Ant. True: 
 
 And, look, how well my garments sit upon me; 
 Much feater than before : My brother's servants 
 Were then my fellows, now they are my men. 
 
 Seb. But, for }-our conscience — 
 
 Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that] if it were a kybe, 
 'Twould put me to my slipper; but I feel not 
 This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences, 
 Thai 6tand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they, 
 And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies your brother, 
 No better than the earth he lies upon, 
 If he were that which now he 's like ; whom I, 
 With this obedient steel, three inches of it, 
 Can lay to bed for ever : whiles you, doing thus, 
 To the perpetual wink for aye might put 
 This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who 
 Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, 
 They'll takj suggestion, as a cat laps milk; 
 They'll tell the clock to any business that 
 We say befits the hour. 
 
 Seb. Thy case, dear friend, 
 
 Shall be my precedent; as thou got'st Milan, 
 I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke 
 Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st ; 
 And I the king shall love thee. 
 
 Ant. Draw together: 
 
 And when I rear my hand, do you the like, 
 To fall it on Gonzalo. 
 
 Seb O, but one word ! 
 
 [They converse apart. 
 
 Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible. 
 
 Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger 
 That these, his friends, are in ; and sends me forth, 
 (For else his project dies,) to keep them living. 
 
 [Sings in Goxzalo's ear. 
 
 While you here do snoring lie, 
 Open-ey'd conspiracy 
 
 His time doth lake : 
 If of life you keep a care, 
 Shake off slumber, and beware: 
 
 Awake! awake! 
 
 Ant. Then let us both be sudden. 
 
 Gon. Now, good angels, preserve the king! 
 
 [They wake, 
 * A bird of the jackdaw kind. 
 
 Alon. Why, how now, ho ! awake ! Why are 
 3 - ou drawn \ 
 W T herefoie this ghastly looking? 
 
 Gon. What's the matt«r? 
 
 Seb. Whiles we stood here securing your repose, 
 Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
 Like bulls, or rather lions ; did it not wake you ? 
 It struck mine ear most terribly. 
 
 Alon. I heard nothing. 
 
 Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear; 
 To make an earthquake ! sure it was the roar 
 Of a whole herd of lions. 
 
 Alon. Heard you this, Gonzalo? 
 
 Gon. Upon mine honor, sir, I heard a humming, 
 And that a strange one too, which did awake me : 
 I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd : as mine eyes open'd, 
 I saw their weapons drawn : — there was a noise, 
 That's verity : 'Best stand upon our guard ; 
 Or that we quit this place : let's draw our weapons. 
 
 Alon. Lead off this ground ; and let's make fur- 
 ther search 
 For my poor son. 
 
 Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts ! 
 For he is, sure, i' the island. 
 
 Alon. ■ Lead away. 
 
 Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have 
 
 done : [Aside 
 
 So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter Caliban, with a burden of wood. 
 
 A noise of thunder heard. 
 
 Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
 From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make 
 
 him 
 By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me, 
 And yet I needs must curse. But they'll norpinch 
 Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire. 
 Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark 
 Out of my way, unless he bid them ; but 
 For every trifle are they set upon me : 
 Sometime like apes that moe" and chatter at me, 
 And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which 
 Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount 
 Their pricks at my foot-fall; sometime am I 
 All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, 
 Do hiss me into madness : — Lo ! now ! lo ! 
 
 Enter Thincwlo. 
 
 Here comes a spirit of his; and to torment me, 
 For bringing wood in slowly : I'll fall flat ; 
 Perchance, he will not mind me. 
 
 Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off 
 any weather at all, and another storm brewing; I 
 hear it sing i' the wind : yond' same black cloud, 
 yond' huge* one, looks like a foul bombard 1 tha> 
 would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as if 
 did before, I know not where to hide my head: 
 yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. 
 What have we here ? a man or a fisr ? dead or alive? 
 A fish : he smells like a fish ; a very ancient and fish- 
 like smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor-John. 
 A strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once 
 was.) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday- 
 fool there but would give a piece of silver ; there 
 would this monster make a man : any strange Deast 
 there makes a man : when they will not give a doit 
 to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten t<J 
 see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ' and his fLiu 
 
 » Make mouths. 
 
 ' A. black jack of leather to held beer. 
 R 
 
r 
 
 10 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act II 
 
 like arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose 
 my opinion, hold it no longer ; this is no fish, but an 
 islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. 
 [Thunder.'] Alas! the storm is coming again: my 
 best way is to creep under his gaberdine 3 ; there is no 
 other shelter hereabout: Misery acquaints a man 
 with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till 
 the dregs of the storm be past. 
 
 Enter Stephano, singing,- a bottle in his hand. 
 
 Ste. / shall no mure to sea, to sea, 
 Here shall I die ashore,- — 
 
 This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's 
 
 funeral : 
 Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks. 
 
 The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
 The gunner, and his mate, 
 
 Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, 
 But none of us cared for Kate .- 
 For she had a tongue with a tang, 
 Would cry to a sailor, Go hang : 
 
 She lov'd not the savor of tar or of pitch, 
 
 Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did 
 itch .- 
 Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 
 
 This is a scurvy tune too : but here's my comfort. 
 
 [Drinks. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me : ! 
 
 Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here? 
 Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men 
 of Inde? 3 Ha! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be 
 afeard now of your four legs ; for it hath been said, 
 As proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot 
 make him give ground: and it shall be said so 
 again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. 
 
 Cal. The spirit torments me : ! 
 
 Ste. This is some monster of the isle with four 
 legs ; who hath got, as I take it, an ague : Where 
 the devil should he learn our language ? I will give 
 him some relief, if it be but for that : If I can re- 
 cover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples 
 with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever 
 trod on neat's leather. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; 
 ['11 bring my wood home faster. 
 
 Ste. He's in his fit now ; and does not talk after 
 the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have 
 never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove 
 his fit : If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I 
 will not take too much for him : he shall pay for 
 him that hath him, and that soundly. 
 
 Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt 
 Anon, I know it by thy trembling : 
 Now Prosper works upon thee. 
 
 Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth ; 
 here is that which will give language to you, cat ; 
 open your mouth : this will shake your shaking, I 
 can tell you, and that soundly: you cannot tell 
 who's your friend : open your chaps again. 
 
 Trin. I should know that voice : It should be — 
 But he is drowned; and these are devils: 0! de- 
 fend me! — 
 
 Ste. Four legs, and two voices ; a most delicate 
 monster ! His forward voice now is to speak well 
 of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul 
 spt-oi-hcs, and to detract. If all the wine in my 
 pottle will recover him, I will help his ague : Come, 
 Amen ! I will pour some in thy other mouth. 
 
 Trin. Stephano! — 
 
 Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy ! 
 
 • Th« frock of a peasant. * India. 
 
 mercy !*This is a devil, and no monster! I will 
 leave him ; I have no long spoon. 
 
 Trin. Stephano ! — if thou beest Stephano, touch 
 me, and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo ; — be not 
 afeard, — thy gcod friend Trinculo. 
 
 Ste. If thou leest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll pu\\ 
 thee by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo's legs, 
 these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed. 
 How cam'st thou to be the siege 4 of this moon-calfl 
 Can he vent Trinculos? 
 
 Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder- 
 stroke: — But art thou not drowned, Stephano* 
 I hope now thou art not drowned. Is the storm 
 overblown ? I hid me under the dead moon-calf s 
 gaberdine, for fear of the storm : And art thou 
 living, Stephano? Stephano, two Neapolitans 
 'scaped ! 
 
 Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about ; my stomach 
 is not constant. 
 
 Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not 
 sprites. 
 That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor: 
 I will kneel to him. 
 
 Ste. How didst thou 'scape? How cam'st thou 
 hither? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 
 I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors 
 heaved overboard, by this bottle ! which I made of 
 the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I 
 was cast ashore. 
 
 Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy 
 True subject; for the liquor is not earthly. 
 
 Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escap'dst. 
 
 Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck; I can 
 swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Ste. Here, kiss the book: Though thou canst 
 swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 
 
 Trin. Stephano, hast any more of this? 
 
 Ste. The whole butt, man; my cellar is in a 
 rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How 
 now, moon-calf? how does thine ague? 
 
 Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven? 
 
 Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was 
 the man in the moon, when time was. 
 
 Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee ; 
 My mistress showed me thee, thy dog and bush. 
 
 Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will 
 furnish it anon with new contents: swear. 
 
 Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
 monster : — I afeard of him? — a very weak monster : 
 — The man i' the moon? — a most poor credulous 
 monster: — Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. 
 
 Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island : 
 And kiss thy foot: I pr'ythee, be my god. 
 
 Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunk- 
 en monster; when his god's asleep, he'll rob bis 
 bottle. 
 
 Cal. I'll kiss thy foot: I'll swear myself thy 
 subject. 
 
 Ste. Come on, then ; down and swear. 
 
 Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- 
 headed monster: A most scurvy monster! I could 
 find in my heart to beat him, — 
 
 Ste. Come, kiss. 
 
 Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink. 
 An abominable monster ! 
 
 Cal. I'll show thee the best springs ; I'll pludk 
 thee berries; 
 I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood er.cmgh. 
 A plague upon the tyrant that I serve . 
 I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow 'bee, 
 Thou wondrous man. 
 
 'StooL 
 
Act III. Scene I 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 11 
 
 Trhi. A most ridiculous monster! to make a 
 wonder of a poor drunkard. 
 
 Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs 
 grow ; 
 And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; 
 Show thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
 To snare the nimble marmozet ; I'll bring thee 
 To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee 
 Young sea-mells* from the rock: Wilt thou go 
 with me? 
 
 Ste. I pr'ythee now lead the way, without any 
 more talking. — Trinculo, the king and all our com- 
 pany else being drowned, we will inherit here. — 
 Here ; bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill 
 him by and by again. 
 
 Cal. Farcjoell, master; farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Sings drunkenly, 
 Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster 
 
 Cal. No more dams I'll make for fish; 
 Nor fetch in firing 
 At requiring, 
 
 Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish, 
 'Ban 'Ban, Ca — Caliban 
 Has a new master — Get a new man. 
 
 Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom, 
 hey-day, freedom! 
 Ste. brave monster ! lead the way. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Prospero's Cell. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. 
 
 Fer. There be some sports are painful ; but their 
 labor 
 Delight in them sets off; some kinds of baseness 
 Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be 
 As heavy to me, as 'tis odious; but 
 The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead, 
 And makes my labors pleasures: 0, she is 
 Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; 
 And he's composed of harshness. I must remove 
 Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, 
 Upon a sore injunction: My sweet mistress 
 Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such 
 
 baseness 
 Had ne'er like executor. I forget: 
 But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labors ; 
 Most busy-less, when I do it. 
 
 Enter Miranda; and Prospero at a distance. 
 
 Mira. Alas, now ! pray you 
 
 Work not so hard: I would the lightning had 
 Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile ! 
 Pray set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 
 'Twill weep for having wearied you : My father 
 Is hard at study ; pray now rest yourself; 
 He's safe for these three hours. 
 
 Fer. O most dear mistress, 
 
 The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
 What I must strive to do. 
 
 Mira. If you'll sit down, 
 
 I'll bear your logs the while : Pray, give me that ; 
 I'll carry it to the pile. 
 
 Fer. No, precious creature : 
 
 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
 Than you should such dishonor undergo, 
 While I sit lazy by. 
 
 Mira. It would become me 
 
 As well as it does you : and I should do it 
 With much more ease ; for my good will is to it, 
 And yours against. 
 
 Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected ; 
 
 This visitation shows it. 
 
 Mira. You look wearily. 
 
 Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning 
 with me, 
 When vou are by at night I do beseech you, 
 
 (Chiefly, that I might set it in my prayers,) 
 What is your name? 
 
 Mira. Miranda: — O my father, 
 
 I have broke your hest 6 to say so ! 
 
 Fer. Admir'd Miranda ! 
 
 Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
 What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady 
 I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time 
 The harmony of their tongues hath into bondag* 
 Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues 
 Have I lik'd several women; never any 
 With so full soul, but some defect in her 
 Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd\ 
 And put it to the foil : But you, O you, 
 So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best. 
 
 Mira. I do not know 
 
 One of my sex ; no woman's face remember, 
 Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
 More that I may call men, than you, good friend, 
 And my dear father; how features are abroad, 
 I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, 
 (The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish 
 Any companion in the world but you ; 
 Nor can imagination form a shape, 
 Besides yourself, to like of: but I prattle 
 Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
 Therein forget. 
 
 Fer. I am, in my condition, 
 
 A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; 
 (I would, not so !) and would no more endure 
 This wooden slavery, than I would suffer 
 The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul 
 
 speak ; — 
 The very instant that I saw you, did 
 My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
 To make me slave to it ; and, for your sake, 
 Am I this patient log-man. 
 
 Mira. Do you love me 1 
 
 Fer. heaven, earth, bear witness to thin 
 sound, 
 And crown what I profess with kind event, 
 If I speak true! if hollowly, invert 
 What best is boded me, to mischief! I, 
 Beyond all limit of what else i' the world. 
 Do love, prize, honor you. 
 
 Mira. I am a fool, 
 
 To weep at what I am glad of. 
 
 Pro. Fair encounter 
 
 > Sea gulls. 
 
 6 Command. 
 
 « Own'i. 
 
12 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act II f. 
 
 Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace 
 On that wliich breeds between them ! 
 
 Fer Wherefore weep youl 
 
 Mwa. At mine unworthiness, that dare not 
 offer 
 What I desire to give ; and much less take, 
 What I shall die to want : but this is trifling ; 
 And all the more it seeks to hide itself, 
 The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning ! 
 And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
 I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
 If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
 You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, 
 Whether you will or no. 
 
 Fer. My mistress, dearest, 
 
 And I thus humble ever. 
 
 Mira. My husband then] 
 
 Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
 As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand. 
 
 Mira. And mine, with my heart in't : And now 
 farewell, 
 Till half an hour hence. 
 
 Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! 
 
 [Exeunt Fin. and Mir. 
 
 Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be, 
 Who are surpris'd with all ; but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; 
 For yet, ere supper-time, must I perform 
 Much business appertaining. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter Stephano and Trinculo; Caliban fol- 
 lowing with a bottle. 
 
 Ste. Tell not me; — when the butt is out, we 
 will drink water; not a drop before: therefore 
 bear up and board 'em : Servant-monster, drink to 
 me. 
 
 Trin. Servant-monster] the folly of this island ! 
 They say, there's but five upon this isle : we are 
 three of them ; if the other two be brained like us, 
 the state totters. 
 
 Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee ; 
 thy eyes are almost set in thy head. 
 
 Trin. Where should they be set else] he were 
 a brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. 
 
 Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue 
 in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I 
 swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty 
 leagues, off and on, by this light. — Thou shalt be 
 my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. 
 
 Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list; he's no 
 standard. 
 
 Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster. 
 
 Trin. Nor go neither : but you'll lie, like dogs ; 
 anil yet say nothing neither. 
 
 Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
 beest a good moon-calf. 
 
 Cal. How does thy honor] Let me lick thy 
 shoe : I'll not serve him, — he is not valiant. 
 
 Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster; I am 
 in case to justle a constable : Why, thou deboshed 3 
 fish thou, was there ever man a coward, that hath 
 drunk so much sack -as I to-da} r ] Wilt thou tell a 
 monstrous lie, being but half a fish, and half a 
 monster ] 
 
 Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, 
 my lord] / 
 
 Trin. Lord, quoth he ! — that a monster should 
 be such a natural ! 
 
 Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death. I pr'y thee. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your 
 
 • Debauched. 
 
 head ; if you prove a mutineer, the next tree — The 
 poor monster's my subject, and he shall not suffei 
 indignity. 
 
 Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be plcas'd 
 To hearken once again the suit I made thee ] 
 
 Ste. Marry will I : kneel, and repeat it ; I wili 
 stand, and so shall Trinculo. 
 
 Enter Ariel, invisible. 
 
 Cal. As I told thee 
 Before, I am subject to a tyrant ; 
 A sorcerer, that by his cunning hath 
 Cheated me of this island. 
 
 Art. Thou liest. 
 
 Cal. Thou liest, tLou jesting monkey, thou , 
 I would my valiant master would destroy thee : 
 I do not lie. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any mere in 
 his tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of yout 
 teeth. 
 
 Trin. Why, I said nothing. 
 
 Ste. Mum then, and no more. — fTo Caliban. J 
 Proceed. 
 
 Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle; 
 From me he got it. If thy greatness will 
 Revenge it on him — for, I know, thou dar'st; 
 But this thing dare not. 
 
 Ste. That's most certain. 
 
 Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. 
 
 Ste. How now shall this be compassed ] Canst 
 thou bring me to the party ] 
 
 Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I'll yield him thee asleep, 
 Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head. 
 
 Art. Thou liest, thou canst not. 
 
 Cal. What a pied ninny's this! 9 Thou scurvj 
 patch ! — 
 I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, 
 And take his bottle from him : when that's gone, 
 He shall drink nought but brine ; for I'll not show 
 
 him 
 Where the quick freshes l are. 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter- 
 rupt the monster one word further, and, by this 
 hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a 
 stock-fish of thee. 
 
 Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing ; I'll go 
 further off. 
 
 Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied] 
 
 Ari. Thou liest. 
 
 Ste. Do I so ] take thou that. [Strikes him.'] As 
 you like this, give me the lie another time. 
 
 Trin. I did not give the lie : — Out o' your wits, 
 and hearing too ] — A pox o' your bottle ! this can 
 sack and drinking do. — A murrain on your mons- 
 ter, and the devil take your fingers ! 
 
 Cal. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee! 
 stand further off. 
 
 Cal. Beat him enough: after a little time, 
 I'll beat him too. 
 
 Ste. Stand further. — Come, proceed, 
 
 Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
 I' the afternoon to sleep: there thou may'st brain 
 
 him, 
 Having first seiz'd his books ; or with a log 
 Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake. 
 Or cut his wezand 3 with thy knife: Remember, 
 First to possess his books ; for without them 
 He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
 One spirit to command: They all do hate him, 
 As rootedly as I : Bum but his books ; 
 
 • Alluding to Trinculo's party-colored dress. 
 1 Springs. > Throat 
 
Scene Til 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 IS 
 
 He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,) 
 Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal. 
 And that most deeply to consider, is 
 The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 
 Calls her a nonpareil : I ne'er saw woman, 
 But only Sycorax my dam and she; 
 But she as far surpasseth Sycorax, 
 As greatest does least. 
 
 Ste. Is it so brave a lass? 
 
 Cal. Ay, my lord ; she will become thy bed, I 
 warrant, 
 And bring thee forth brave brood. 
 
 Ste. Monster, I will kill this man : his daughter 
 and I will be king and queen ; (save our graces ! ) 
 and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys : — Dost 
 thou like the plot, Trinculo ? 
 
 Trin. Excellent. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand ; I am sorry I beat thee : 
 but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy 
 head. 
 
 Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep ; 
 Wilt thou destroy him then ? 
 
 Ste. Ay, on mine honor. 
 
 Art. This will I tell my master. 
 
 Cal. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of plea- 
 sure; 
 Let us be jocund: Will you troll the catch 
 You taught me but while-ere ? 
 
 Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, 
 any reason: Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings. 
 
 Flout 'em, and shout 'em; and shout 'em and 
 
 flout 'em; 
 Thought is free. 
 
 Cal. That's not the tune. 
 [Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe. 
 
 Ste. What is this same 1 
 
 Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by 
 the picture of No-body. 
 
 Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy 
 likeness : if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list. 
 
 Trin. 0, forgive me my sins! 
 
 Ste. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee : — 
 Mercy upon us ! 
 
 Cal. Art thou afeard? 
 
 Ste. No, monster, not I. 
 
 Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, 
 Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt 
 
 not. 
 Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
 Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices, 
 That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep, 
 Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming, 
 The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches 
 Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I wak'd, 
 I cry'd to dream again. 
 
 Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, 
 where I shall have my music for nothing. 
 
 Cal. When Prospero is destroyed. 
 
 Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember the 
 ■tory. 
 
 Trin. The sound is going away : let's follow it, 
 and after, do our work. 
 
 Ste. Lead, monster; we'll follow. — I would I 
 could see this taborer : he lays it on. 
 
 Trin. Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another part of the Island. 
 
 inter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
 Adrian, Francisco, and others. 
 
 Gon. By'r lakin,' I can go no further, sir; 
 
 • Out lady. 
 
 My old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed. 
 Through forth-rights, and meanders ! by your pa- 
 tience, 
 I needs must rest me. 
 
 Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, 
 
 Who am myself attach'd with weariness, 
 To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
 Even heic I will put off my hope, and keep it 
 No longer for my flatterer: he is drown'd, 
 Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks 
 Our frustrate search on land : well, let him go. 
 
 Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope. 
 [Aside to Sebastiatt. 
 Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
 That you resolv'd to effect. 
 
 Seb. The next advantage 
 
 Will we take thoroughly. 
 
 Ant. Let it be to-night ; 
 
 For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
 Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance, 
 As when they are fresh. 
 
 Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 
 
 Solemn and strange Music ; and Prospero above, 
 invisible. Enter several strange Shapes, bring- 
 ing in a Banquet; they dance about it with 
 gentle actions of salutation ; and, inviting the 
 King, Sfc. to eat, they depart. 
 
 Alon. What harmony is this ? my good friends, 
 
 hark! 
 Gon. Marvellous sweet music! 
 Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What 
 
 were these? 
 Seb. A living drollery : 4 Now I will believe, 
 That there are unicorns ; that in Arabia 
 There is one tree, the phoenix' throne ; one phoenix 
 At this hour reigning there. 
 
 Ant. I'll believe both; 
 
 And what does else want credit, come to me, 
 And I'll be sworn 'tis true : Travellers ne'er did lie. 
 Though fools at home condemn them. 
 
 Gon. If hi Naples 
 
 I should report this now, would they believe me ? 
 If I should say I saw such islanders, 
 (For, certes, these are people of the island,) 
 Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
 Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
 Our human generation you shall find 
 Many, nay, almost any. 
 
 Pro. Honest lord, 
 
 Thou hast said well; for some of you there present 
 Are worse than devils. , [Aside. 
 
 Alon. I cannot too much muse, 
 
 Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, ex- 
 pressing 
 (Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
 Of excellent dumb discourse. 
 
 Pro. Praise in departing. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 
 Seb. No matter, since 
 
 They have left their viands behind ; for we have 
 
 stomachs. — 
 Will't please you taste of what is here ? 
 
 Alon. Not I- 
 
 Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear : When we 
 were boys, 
 Who would believe that there were mountaineers, 
 Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging 
 
 at them 
 Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men, 
 •Show. 
 
14 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Whose heads stood in their breasts 1 which now 
 
 we find, 
 Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us 
 Good warrant of. 
 
 Alon. I will stand to, and feed, 
 
 Although my last: no matter, since I feel 
 1 ne best is past : — Brother, my lord the duke, 
 Stand to, and do as we. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a 
 harpy ; claps his wings upon the table, and, 
 with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes. 
 
 Ariel. You are three men of sin, whom destiny 
 (That hath to instrument this lower world, 
 And what is in't,) the never-surfeited sea 
 Hath caused to belch up; and on this island 
 Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men 
 Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; 
 [Seeing Alon., Seb., dfc. draw their swords. 
 And even with such like valor, men hang and 
 
 drown 
 Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows 
 Are ministers of fate ; the elements 
 Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 
 Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs 
 Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
 One dowle' that's in my plume ; my fellow-ministers 
 Are like invulnerable : if you could hurt, 
 Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, 
 And will not be uplifted : But remember, 
 (For that's my business to you,) that you three 
 From Milan did supplant good Prospero; 
 Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it, 
 Him, and his innocent child ; for which foul deed 
 The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
 Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, 
 Against your peace : Thee of thy son, Alonso, 
 They have bereft ! and do pronounce by me. 
 Lingering perdition (worse than any death 
 Can be at once) shall step by step attend 
 You, and your ways ; whose wrath to guard you 
 
 from 
 (Which here, in this ^nost desolate i&le, else falls 
 Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow, 
 And a clear life ensuing. 
 
 He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft music, entet 
 the Shapes again, and dance with mops ana 
 mowes, and carry out the table. 
 
 Pro. [Aside.'] Bravely the figure of this narpy 
 hast thou 
 Perform 'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring • 
 Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
 In what thou hadfct to say : so, with good life, 
 And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
 Their several kinds have done : my high charmi 
 
 work, 
 And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
 In their distractions: they now are in my power; 
 And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit 
 Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,) 
 And his and my lov'd darling. 
 
 [Exit Prospero from above 
 Gon. I' the name of something holy, sir, why 
 stand you 
 In this strange stare] 
 
 Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous 
 
 Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
 The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder, 
 That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronoune'd 
 The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. 
 Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
 I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, 
 And with him there lie mudded. [Exit 
 
 Seb. But one fiend at a time 
 
 I'll fight their legions o'er. 
 
 Ant. I'll be thy second. 
 
 [Exeunt Seb. and Ant. 
 Gon. All three of them are desperate; their 
 great guilt, 
 Like poison given to work a great time after, 
 
 Now 'gins to bite the spirits: 1 do beseech 
 
 you 
 That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, 
 And hinder them from what this ecstacy 8 
 May now provoke them to. 
 
 Adr Follow, I pray you. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Prospero's Cell. 
 Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 
 
 Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, 
 Your compensation makes amends; for I 
 Have given you here a thread of mine own life, 
 Or that for which I live ; whom once again 
 I tender to thy hand; all thy vexations 
 Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
 Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, 
 I ratify this my rich gift. Ferdinand, 
 Do not smile at me, that I boast her off, 
 For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 
 And make it halt behind her. 
 
 Fer. I do believe it, 
 
 Against an oracle. 
 
 Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
 Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: But 
 If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
 Ml sanctimonious ceremonies may 
 With full and holy rites be minister'd. 
 No sweet aspersion 1 shall the heavens let fall 
 To make this contract grow; but barren hate, 
 » Down. • Pure, blameless. * Sprinkling. 
 
 Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew 
 The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, 
 That you shall hate it both : therefore, take heed, 
 As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 
 
 Fer. As I hope 
 
 For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, 
 With such love as 'tis now ; the murkiest den, 
 The most opportune place, the strongest suggestioi 
 Our worser Genius can, shall never melt 
 Mine honor into lust; to take away 
 The edge of that day's celebration, 
 When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are foun 
 
 der'd, 
 Or night kept chair'd below. 
 
 Pro. Fairly spoke: 
 
 Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own. — 
 What, Ariel ; my industrious servant Ariel ! 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Art. What would my potent master? here I am. 
 Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last ser- 
 vice 
 Did worthily perform ; and I must use you 
 • Alienation of mind. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 15 
 
 In such another trick : go, bring the rabble, 
 O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place: 
 Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
 Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
 Some vanity of mine art ; it is my promise, 
 And they expect it from me. 
 
 Ari. Presently 1 
 
 Pro. Ay, with a twink. 
 
 Ari. Before you can say, Come, and go, 
 And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so; 
 Each one tripping on his toe, 
 Will be here with mop and mowe : 
 Do you love me master '! no. 
 
 Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel : do not approach, 
 Till thou dost hear me call. 
 
 Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Look, thou be true ; do not give dalliance 
 Too much the rein ; the strongest oaths are straw 
 To the fire i' the blood: be more abstemious, 
 Or else good night, your vow ! 
 
 Fer. I warrant you, sir; 
 
 The white-cold virgin snow upon my heart 
 Abates the ardor of my liver. 
 
 Pro. Well.— 
 
 Now come, my Ariel ; bring a corollary,' 
 Rather than want a spirit ; appear, and pertly. — 
 No tongue ; all eyes ; be silent. [Soft ?nusic. 
 
 A Masque. Enter Iris. 
 Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas; 
 Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, 
 And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep ; 
 Thv banks with peonied and lillied brims, 
 Which spongy April at thy hest' betrims, 
 To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy 
 
 broom groves, 
 Wl ose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
 Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; 
 And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard, 
 Where thou thyself dost air : The queen o' the sky, 
 Whose wat'ry arch, and messenger, am I, 
 Bid* thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace, 
 He;e, on this grass-plot, in this very place, 
 To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain ; 
 Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 
 
 Enter Ceres. 
 
 Cer. Hail, many-colored messenger, that ne'er 
 Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; 
 Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers 
 Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers; 
 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 
 My bosky 2 acres, and my unshrubb'd down, 
 Rich scarf to my proud earth ; Why hath thy queen 
 Summon'd me hither, to this short-grass'd green ? 
 
 Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate; 
 And some donation freely to estate 
 On the bless'd lovers. 
 
 Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 
 
 If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know, 
 Do now attend the queen? since they did plot 
 The means, that dusky Dis 3 my daughter got, 
 Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company 
 I have forsworn. 
 
 Iris. Of her society 
 
 Be not afraid; I met her deity 
 Cutting the clouds towards Paphos; and her son 
 Dove-drawn with her: here thought they to have 
 
 done 
 Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, 
 Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid 
 
 * Surplus. 
 » Woody. 
 
 ' Command. 
 » Pluto. 
 
 Till Hymen's torch be lighted : but in vain ; 
 Mars' hot minion is returned again ; 
 Her waspish-headed son has broke his arro-*r«i, 
 Swears he will shoot no more, but play v.th spajw 
 
 rows, 
 And be a boy right out. 
 
 Cer. Highest queen nf state, 
 
 Great Juno comes : I know her by hei g-*it. 
 Enter Juno. 
 Juno. How does my bounteous sister ! Go wi^a 
 me, 
 To bless this twain, that they may pi^sperous be 
 And honor'd in their issue. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Juno. Honor, riches, marriage-blessing, 
 
 Long continuance, and increasing. 
 Hourly joys be still upon you! 
 Juno sings her blessings on you. 
 
 Cer. Earth's increase, and foison* plenty, ? 
 Barns, and garners never empty,- 
 Vines with clusfring bunches growiit^ 
 Plants, with goodly burden bowing; 
 Spring come to you, at the farthest. 
 In the very end of harvest ! 
 Scarcity and want shall shun you ,• 
 Ceres' blessing so is on you. 
 
 Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
 Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold 
 To think these spirits ? 
 
 Pro. Spirits, which by mine art 
 
 I have from their confines call'd to enact 
 My present fancies. 
 
 Fer. Let me live here ever; 
 
 So rare a wonder'd 6 father and a wife, 
 Make this place paradise. 
 
 [Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Irh 
 on employment. 
 
 Pro. Sweet now, silence 
 
 Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; 
 There's something else to do : hush, and be mute, 
 Or else our spell is marr'd. 
 
 Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wan- 
 d'ring brooks, 
 With your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looka, 
 Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
 Answer your summons; Juno does command: 
 Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
 A contract of true love ; be not too late. 
 
 Enter certain Nymphs. 
 You sunburn'd sicklcmen, of August weary, 
 Come hither from the furrow, and be merry; 
 Make holy-day : your rye-straw hats put on, 
 And these fresh nymphs encounter every one 
 In country footing. 
 Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join 
 
 with the Nymphs in a graceful dance,- toward* 
 
 the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly ana 
 
 speaks,- after which, to a strange, hollow, and 
 
 confused noise, they heavily vanish. 
 
 Pro. [Aside.'] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
 Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, 
 Against my life; the minute of their plot 
 Is almost come. — [7b the Spirits.'] Well done;— 
 avoid; — no more. 
 
 Fer. This is most strange : your father's in sonw 
 passion 
 That works him strongly. 
 
 Mira. Never till this day. 
 
 Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
 
 4 Abundance. » Able to produce 6uch woivUit 
 
16 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort, 
 As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir: 
 Our revels now are ended: these our actors, 
 \s I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air; 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind : We are sii h stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vex'd ; 
 Bear with my weakness : my old brain is troubled. 
 Be not disturb'd with my infirmity : 
 If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell, 
 And there repose; a turn or two I'll walk, 
 Tr still my beating mind. 
 
 Fer. Mira. We wish you peace. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Pro. Come with a thought : — I thank you : — 
 Ariel, come. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Ari. Thy thoughts I cleave to; What's thy plea- 
 sure] 
 
 Pro. Spirit, 
 
 vVe must prepare to meet with Caliban. 
 
 Ari. Ay, my commander: when I presented 
 Ceres, 
 I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear'd, 
 Lest I might anger thee. 
 
 Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these 
 varlets ] 
 
 Ari. I told you, sir, they were red hot with 
 drinking : 
 So full of valor, that they smote the air 
 For breathing in their faces; beat the ground 
 For kissing of their feet; yet always bending 
 Towards their project: Then I beat my tabor, 
 At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
 Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses, 
 As they smelt music ; so I charm 'd their ears, 
 That, calf-like, they my lowing follow'd, through 
 Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and 
 
 thorns, 
 Which enter'd their frail shins ; at last I left them 
 I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell, 
 There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
 O'er-stunk their feet. 
 
 Pro. This was well done, my bird. 
 
 Thy shape invisible retain thou still : 
 The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither, 
 For stale 6 to catch these thieves. 
 
 Ari. I go, I go. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
 Nurture" can never stick; on whom my pains, 
 Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 
 And as, with age, his body uglier grows, 
 So his mind cankers: I will plague them all, 
 
 Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, 
 
 Sf C . 
 Even to roaring: — Come, hang them on this line. 
 
 Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter 
 Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet. 
 Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole 
 may noi 
 Hear a foot fall ; we now are near his cell. 
 
 Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a 
 narmless fairy, has done little better than played 
 the Jack' with us. 
 
 Bait 
 
 • Jack with a lantern. 
 
 Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss, at 
 which my nose is in great indignation. 
 
 Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I 
 should take a displeasure against you ; look you. - 
 
 Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 
 
 Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favor still • 
 Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to 
 Shall hood-wink this mischance: therefore, speak 
 
 softly, 
 All's hush'd as midnight yet. 
 
 Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — 
 
 Ste. There's not only disgrace and dishonor in 
 that, monster, but an infinite loss. 
 
 Trin. That's more to me than my wetting : yet 
 this is your harmless fairy, monster. 
 
 Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'ei 
 ears for my labor. 
 
 Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet: Seest thou here 
 This is the mouth of the cell : no noise, and enter . 
 Do that good mischief, which may make this island 
 Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 
 For aye thy foot-licker. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand: I do begin to have 
 bloody thoughts. 
 
 Trin. O king Stephano! peer! O worthy 
 Stephano ! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee ! 
 
 Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. 
 
 Trin. 0, ho, monster ; we know what belongs 
 to a frippery : 9 — king Stephano ! 
 
 Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo ; by thi» hand, 
 I'll have that gown. 
 
 Trin. Thy grace shall have it. 
 
 Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you 
 mean, 
 To doat thus on such luggage 1 Let's along, 
 And do the murder first : if he awake, 
 From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches 
 Make us strange stuff. 
 
 Ste. Be you quiet, monster. — Mistress line, is 
 not this my jerkin 1 Now is the jerkin under the 
 line : now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, 
 and prove a bald jerkin. 
 
 Trin. Do, do : We steal by line and level, a'nt 
 like your grace. 
 
 Ste. I thank thee for that jest ; here's a garment 
 for't : wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king 
 of this country: Steal by line and level, is an ex- 
 cellent pass of pate ; there's another garment for't. 
 
 Trin. Monster, come, put some lime ' upon your 
 fingers, and away with the rest. 
 
 Cal. I will have none on't: we shall lose our time, 
 And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
 With foi eheads villainous low. 
 
 Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers ; help to bear 
 this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll 
 turn you out of my kingdom ; go to, carry this. 
 
 Trin. And this. 
 
 Ste. Ay, and this. 
 
 A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, 
 in shape of hounds, and hunt them about,' 
 Prospero and Ariel setting them on. 
 Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey! 
 Ari. Silver.' there it goes, Silver! 
 Pro. Fury! Fury! there, Tyrant, there ! hark, 
 hark! 
 [Cal., Ste., and Thin, are driven out. 
 Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joint* 
 With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews 
 With aged cramps ; and more pinch-spr tted nis\k« 
 
 them, 
 Than pard, a or cat o' mountain. 
 
 » A shop for sale of old clothes. l Bird-lima 
 
 * Leopard. 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 17 
 
 Ari. Hark, they roar. 
 
 Pro. Let them be hunted soundly: at this hour 
 Lie at my mercy all mine enemies: 
 
 Shortly shall all my labors end, and thou 
 Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little, 
 Follow, and do me service. [ Exeunt 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before the Cell of Prospero. 
 
 Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel. 
 
 Pro. Now does my project gather to a head : 
 My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 
 Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day ] 
 Ari. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, 
 You said our work should cease. 
 
 Pro. I did say so, 
 
 When first I rais'd the tempest Say, my spirit, 
 How fares the king and his] 
 
 Ari. Confin'd together 
 
 In the same fashion as you gave in charge; 
 Just as you left them, sir; all prisoners 
 In the lime-grove which weather-fends 3 your cell; 
 They cannot budge, till you release. The king, 
 His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted; 
 And the remainder mourning over them, 
 Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly 
 Him you term'd, sir, The good old lord, Gonzalo; 
 His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops 
 From eaves of reeds : your charm so strongly works 
 
 them, 
 That if you now beheld them, your affections 
 Would become tender. 
 
 Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit"? 
 
 Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human. 
 
 Pro. And mine shall. 
 
 Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
 Of their afflictions ] and shall not myself, 
 One of their kind, that relish all as sharply 
 Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art] 
 Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the 
 
 quick, 
 Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury 
 Do I take part: the rarer action is 
 In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent, 
 The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
 Not a frown further : Go, release them, Ariel ; 
 My charms I'll break, their senses I'll restore, 
 And they shall be themselves. 
 
 Ari. I'll fetch them, sir. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, 
 and groves; 
 A.nd ye, that on the sands with printless foot 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him, 
 When he comes back; you demi-puppets, that 
 By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make, 
 Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime 
 Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice 
 To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid 
 (Weak masters though you be) I have be-dimm'd 
 The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds, 
 And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault 
 Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder 
 Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout oak 
 With his own bolt: the strong-bas'd promontory 
 Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck'd up 
 The pine, and cedar : graves, at my command, 
 Have wak'd their sleepers; oped, and let them forth 
 By my so potent art: But this rough magic 
 I here abjure: and, when I have rtquir'd 
 » Defends from bad weather. 
 
 Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
 
 To work mine end upon their senses, that 
 
 This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, 
 
 Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, 
 
 And deeper than did ever plummet sound, 
 
 I'll drown my book. [Solemn Music. 
 
 Re-enter Am el : after him Alonso, with a frantic 
 gesture, attended by Gonzalo ; Sebastian and 
 Antonio in like manner attended by Adrian 
 and Francisco : They all enter the circle which 
 Prospero had made, and there stand charmed; 
 which Prospero observi?ig, speaks. 
 A solemn air, and the best comforter 
 To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, 
 Now useless, boiled within thy skull! There stand, 
 
 For you are spell-stopp'd. 
 
 Holy Gonzalo, honorable man, 
 Mine eyes, even sociable to the shew of thine, 
 Fall fellowly drops. — The charm dissolves apace: 
 And as the morning steals upon the night, 
 Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
 Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
 Their clearer reason. — my good Gonzalo, 
 My true preserver, and a loyal sir 
 To him thou follow'st ; I will pay thy graces 
 Home both in word and deed. — Most cruelly 
 Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter. 
 Thy brother was a furtherer in the act; — 
 Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and 
 
 blood, 
 You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition, 
 Expell'd remorse 4 and nature ; who, with Sebastian. 
 (Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,) 
 Would here have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee, 
 Unnatural though thou art ! — Their understanding 
 Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
 Will shortly fill the reasonable shores, 
 That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them, 
 That yet looks on me, or would know me : — Ariel, 
 Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; 
 
 [Exit Ariel. 
 I will dis-case me, and my self present, 
 As I was sometime Milan: — quickly, spirit: 
 Thou shalt ere long be free. 
 
 Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire 
 Prospero. 
 
 Ari. Wliere the bee sucks, there suck I; 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie: 
 There I couch when owls do cry. 
 On the bafs back I do Jfy, 
 After summer merrily: 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
 Under the blossom that ha?igs on the bough. 
 Pro. Why that's my dainty Ariel ; I shall mi* 
 thee; 
 But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so- 
 To the king's ship, invisible as thou art : 
 There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 
 Under the hatches ; the master and the boatswain, 
 Being awake, enforce them to this place: 
 Air resently, I pr'ythee. 
 
 4 Pity or tenderness of heaii 
 
At i. I drink the air before me, and return 
 "tr e'er your pulse twice beat. [Exit Ariel 
 
 Gon. All torment, trouble, wonder, and amaze- 
 ment 
 Inhabits here : Some heavenly power guide us 
 Out of this fearful country! 
 
 Pre. Behold, sir king, 
 
 The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospcro: 
 For more assurance that a living prince 
 Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body 
 And to thee, and thy company, I bid 
 A hearty welcome. 
 
 A/on. Whe'r 5 thou beest he, or no, 
 
 Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, 
 As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
 Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and since I saw thee, 
 The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
 I fear, a madness held me : this must crave 
 (An if this be at all) a most strange story. 
 Thy dukedom I resign ; and do entreat 
 Thou pardon me my wrongs : — But how should 
 
 Prospero 
 Be living and be here? 
 
 Pro. First, noble friend, 
 
 Let me embrace thine age ; whose honor cannot 
 Be measur'd, or confin'd. 
 
 Gon. Whether this be, 
 
 Or be not, I'll not swear. 
 
 Pro. You do yet taste 
 
 Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
 Believe things certain : — Welcome, my friends 
 
 all: — 
 But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, 
 
 [Aside to Seb. and Axt. 
 I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you, 
 And justify you traitors : at this time 
 I'll tell no tales. 
 
 Seb. The devil speaks in him. [Aside. 
 
 Pro. No:— 
 
 For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother 
 Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 
 Thy rankest fault; all of them; and require 
 My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know, 
 Thou must restore. 
 
 AUm. If thou beest Prospero, 
 
 Give us particulars of thy preservation: 
 How thou tiast met us here, who three hours since 
 Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have lost, 
 How sharp the point of this remembrance is ! 
 My dear son Ferdinand. 
 
 Pro. I am woe* for't, sir. 
 
 Alon. Irreparable is the loss; and Patience 
 Says, it is past her cure. 
 
 Pro. I rather think, 
 
 You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace, 
 For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid, 
 And rest myself content. 
 
 Alon. You the like loss ] 
 
 Pro. As great to me, as late ; and, portable 
 To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
 Than you may call to comfort you : for I 
 Have lost my daughter. 
 
 Alon. A daughter] 
 
 heavens! that they were living both in Naples, 
 The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish 
 Myself were inudded in that oozy bed 
 Where my son lies. When did you lose your 
 daughter' 
 Pro. In this lao.c tempest. I perceive, these lords 
 At this encounter do so much admire. 
 That they devour their reason ; and scarce think 
 Their eyes do offices of truth, their words 
 
 i Whether. 
 
 Sorry. 
 
 Are natural breat . , but howsoe'er you have 
 Been justled from your senses, know for certain. 
 That I am Prospero, and that very duke 
 Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most 
 
 strangely 
 Upon this shore, where you were wreck'd, \nu 
 
 landed, 
 To be the lord on't. No more yet of this ; 
 For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, 
 Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 
 Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 
 This cell's my court: here have I few attendant* 
 And subjects none abroad: pray you look in. 
 My dukedom since you have given me again, 
 I will requite you with as good a thing, 
 At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye 
 As much as me my dukedom. 
 
 The entrance of the cell opens, and discovers Fkr- 
 DiiTAjfD and Miranda playing at chess. 
 
 Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false. 
 
 Fer. No, my dearest love. 
 
 I would not for the world. 
 
 Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should 
 wrangle, 
 And I would call it fair play. 
 
 Alon. If this prove 
 
 A vision of the island, one dear son 
 Shall I twice lose. 
 
 Seb. A most high miracle ! 
 
 Fer. Tho' the seas threaten, they are merciful; 
 I have curs'd them without cause. 
 
 [Ferd. kneels to Alok. 
 
 Alon. Now all the blessing? 
 
 Of a glad father compass thee about ! 
 Arise, and say how thou cam'st here. 
 
 Mira. . ! wonder ! 
 
 How many goodly creatures are there here! 
 How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world, 
 That has such people in't! 
 
 Pro. 'Tis new to thee. 
 
 Alon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast 
 at play 1 
 Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
 Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, 
 And brought us thus together] 
 
 Fer. Sir, she's mortal. 
 
 But, by immortal Providence, she's mine; 
 I chose her, when I could not ask my father 
 For his advice ; nor thought I had one : she 
 Is daughter to. this famous duke of Milan, 
 Of whom so often I have heard renown, 
 But never saw before; of whom I have 
 Received a second life, and second father 
 This lady makes him to me. 
 
 Alon. I am hers: 
 
 But 0, how oddly will it sound, that I 
 Must ask my child forgiveness ! 
 
 Pro. There, sir, stop: 
 
 Let us not burden our remembrances 
 With a heaviness that's gone. 
 
 Gon. I have inly wept, 
 
 Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you 
 
 gods, 
 And on this couple drop a blessed crown ; 
 For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way 
 Which brought us hither! 
 
 Alon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo! 
 
 Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his is»u« 
 Should become kings of Naples] O, rejoice 
 Beyond a common joy ; and set it down 
 With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage 
 Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis* 
 
Scene I. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 19 
 
 And FerdinanJ, her brother, found a wife, 
 Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom, 
 In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves, 
 When no man was his own. 
 
 Alon. Give me your hands : 
 
 [To Fer. and Mir. 
 Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart, 
 That doth not wish you joy ! 
 
 Gon. Be't so ! Amen ! 
 
 Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain 
 amazedly following. 
 
 look, sir, look, sir ; here are more of us ! 
 
 1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land, 
 
 This fellow could not drown : — Now, blasphemy, 
 That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore? 
 Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? 
 
 Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found 
 Our king, and company : the next our ship, — 
 Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split, 
 Is tight and yare, 1 and bravely rigg'd, as when 
 We first put out to sea. 
 
 Ari. Sir, all this service } 
 
 Have I done since I went > Aside. 
 
 Pro. My tricksy* spirit! ) 
 
 Alon. These are not natural events; they 
 strengthen 
 From strarige to stranger: — Say, how came you 
 hither ? 
 
 Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
 I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, 
 And (how, we know not) all clapp'd under hatches, 
 Where, but even now, with strange and several 
 
 noises 
 Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains, 
 And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, 
 We were awak'd; straightway, at liberty: 
 Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
 Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master 
 Cap' ring to eye her: On a trice, so please you, 
 Even in a dream, were we divided from them, 
 And were brought moping hither. 
 
 Art. Was't well done? 1 
 
 Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou > Aside. 
 shalt be free. ) 
 
 Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod ; 
 And there is in this business more than nature 
 Was ever conduct" of: some oracle 
 Must rectify our knowledge. 
 
 Pro. Sir, my liege, 
 
 Do not infest your mind with beating on 
 The strangeness of this business ; at pick'd leisure, 
 Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you 
 (Which to you shall seem probable) of every 
 These happen'd accidents: till when, be cheerful, 
 And think of each thing well. — Come hither, 
 spirit; [Aside. 
 
 Set Caliban and his companions free : 
 Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my 
 
 gracious sir? 
 There are yet missing of your company 
 Some few odd lads, that you remember not. 
 Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano, 
 and Tu'xculo, in their stolen apparel. 
 
 Ste. Lvery man shift for all the rest, and let no 
 man take care lor himself; for all is but fortune: — 
 Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio ! 
 
 Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my 
 head, here's a goodly sight. 
 
 Ready. 
 
 • Clever, adroit. 
 
 • Conductor. 
 
 Cal. O Setebos, these b? brave spirits), indeed ! 
 How fine my master is! I am afraid 
 He will chastise me. 
 
 Seb. Ha, ha; 
 
 What things are these, my lord Antonio? 
 Will money buy them ? 
 
 Ant. Very like, one of them 
 
 Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. 
 
 Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords 
 Then say, if they be true: 1 — This mis-shapen knave, 
 His mother was a witch ; and one so strong 
 That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, 
 And deal in her command, without her power: 
 These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil 
 (For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them 
 To take my life : two of these fellows you 
 Must know, and own ; this thing of darkness I 
 Acknowledge mine. 
 
 Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 
 
 Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? 
 
 Seb. He is drunk now : Where had he wine ? 
 
 Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: Where 
 should they 
 Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them ? — 
 How cam'st thou in this pickle? 
 
 Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw 
 you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my 
 bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing. 
 
 Seb. Why, how now, Stephano? 
 
 Ste. 0, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but 
 a cramp. 
 
 Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah ? 
 
 Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 
 
 Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd 
 on. [Pointing to Caliban. 
 
 Pro. He is as disproportion^ in his manners, 
 As in his shape : — Go, sirrah, to my cell ; 
 Take with you your companions; as you look 
 To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. 
 
 </ri». Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter. 
 And seek for grace: What a thrice-double ass 
 Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship this dull fool? 
 
 Pro. Go to; away! 
 
 Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where 
 you found it. 
 
 Seb. Or stole it, rather. 
 
 [Exeunt Cal., Ste., and Trin. 
 
 Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train, 
 To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 
 For this one night ; which (part of it) I'll waste 
 With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it 
 Go quick away : the story of my life, 
 And the particular accidents gone by, 
 Since I came to this isle : And in the morn, 
 I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
 Where I have hope to see the nuptial 
 Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd; 
 And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
 Every third thought shall be my grave. 
 
 Alon. I iong 
 
 To hear the story of your life, which must 
 Take the ear strangely. 
 
 Pro. I'll deliver all ; 
 
 And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
 And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
 Your royal fleet far off. — My Ariel: — chick, 
 That is thy charge ; then to the elements 
 Be tree, and fare thou well [—[Aside.'] Please you 
 draw near. [Exeunt. 
 
 > Honest. 
 
w 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 EPILOGUE.— Spoken by Prospero. 
 
 Now my charms are all (fa-thrown, 
 And what strength I have's mine own; 
 Which is most faint : now, His true, 
 I must be here confined by you, 
 Or sent to Naples : Let me not, 
 Sinie I have my dukedom got, 
 And pardon' d the deceiver, dwell 
 In this bare island, by your spell; 
 But release me from my bands, 
 With the help of your good hands' 
 
 * Appltuse ; noise waa supposed to dissolve • spell. 
 
 Gentle breath of yours my sails 
 Must fill, or else my project fails, 
 Which was to please : Now I want 
 Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; 
 And my ending is despair, 
 Unlesis I be reliev'd by prayer; 
 Wldch pierces so, that xt assaults 
 Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 
 
 As you from crimes w,uldpardorid bi, 
 Let your indulgence set me free. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF YERONA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Duke of Milan, Father to Silvia. 
 
 Valentine, ) G tnthmen of Verona. 
 .Proteus, } J 
 
 Antonio, Father to Proteus, 
 Thuiuo, a foolish Rival to Valentine. 
 Eglamour, Agent for Silvia in her Escape. 
 Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine. 
 Ijaunce, Servant to Proteus. 
 
 Pantrtno, Servant to Antonio. 
 Host where Julia lodges in Milan. 
 Outlaws. 
 
 Julia, a Lady of Verona, beloved by Proteu?. 
 Silti a, the Duke's Daughter, beloved by Valentine. 
 Lucetta, Waiting-woman to Julia. 
 
 Servants, Musicians. 
 SCENE, sometiues in Verona; sometimes in Milan; and on the Frontiers of Mantua 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — An open Place in Verona. 
 Enter Valentine and Proteus. 
 
 Val. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus; 
 Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits : 
 Wer't not affection chains thy tender days 
 To the sweet glances of thy honor'd love, 
 I rather would entreat thy company, 
 To see the wonders of the world abroad, 
 Than living dully sluggardiz'd at home, 
 Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness. 
 But, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein, 
 Even as I would, when I to love begin. 
 
 Pro. Wilt thou begone ? Sweet Valentine, adieu ! 
 Think on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest 
 Some rare note-worthy object in thy travel: 
 Wish me partaker in thy happiness, 
 When thou dost meet good- hap; and, in thy danger, 
 If ever danger do environ thee, 
 Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
 For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine. 
 
 Val. And on a love-book pray for my success. 
 
 Pro. Upon some book I love, I'll pray for thee. 
 
 Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love. 
 How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love ; 
 For he was more than over shoes in love. 
 
 Val. 'Tis true; for you are over boots in love, 
 And yet you never swam the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. Over the boots 1 nay, give me not the boots. 1 
 
 Val. No, I'll not, for it boots thee not. 
 
 Pro. What? 
 
 Val. To be 
 
 In love, where scorn is bought with groans ; coy 
 
 looks, 
 With heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth, 
 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights: 
 If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain ; 
 
 'A humorous punishment at harvest-home feasts, &c. 
 f211 
 
 If lost, why then a grievous labor won ; 
 However, but a folly bought with wit, 
 Or else a wit by folly vanquished. 
 
 Pro. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool. 
 
 Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at; I am not Love. 
 
 Val. Love is your master, for he masters you* 
 And he that is 60 yoked by a fool, 
 Methinks should not be chronicled for wise. 
 
 Pro. Yet writers say, As in the sweetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wifs of all. 
 
 Val- And writers say, As the most forward bu i 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
 Even so by love the young and tender wit 
 Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud, 
 Losing its verdure even in the prime, 
 And all the fair effects of future hopes. 
 But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, 
 That art a votary to fond desire 1 
 Once more adieu: my father at the road 
 Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 
 
 Pro. And thither will I bring thee, Valentine. 
 
 Val. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. 
 At Milan let me hear from thee by letters, 
 Of thy success in love, and what news else 
 Betideth here in absence of thy friend; 
 And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 
 
 Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan! 
 
 Val. As much to you at home ! and so farewell ! 
 [Exit Valentine 
 
 Pro. He after honor hunts, I after love: 
 He leaves his friends to dignify them more; 
 I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. 
 Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me; 
 Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, 
 War with good counsel, set the world at nought- 
 Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with 
 thought. 
 
Enter Speed. 
 
 Speed. Sir Proteus, save you: saw you my 
 master 1 
 
 Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for 
 Milan. 
 
 Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already ; 
 And I have play'd the sheep in losing him. 
 
 Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray, 
 An if the shepherd be awhile away. 
 
 Speed. You conclude that my master is a shep- 
 herd then, and I a sheep 1 
 
 Pro. I do. 
 
 Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether 
 1 wake or sleep. 
 
 Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 
 
 Speed. This proves me still a sheep. 
 
 Pro. True; and thy master a shepherd. 
 
 Speed. Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance. 
 
 Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another. 
 
 Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not 
 the sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and 
 my master seeks not me ; therefore, I am no sheep. 
 
 Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, 
 the shepherd for food follows not the sheep; thou 
 for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages 
 follows not thee : therefore thou art a sheep. 
 
 Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. 
 
 Pro. But dost thou hear] gav'st thou my letter 
 to Julia] 
 
 Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter 
 U) her, a laced mutton; 1 and she, a laced mutton, 
 gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for my labor. 
 
 Pro. Here's too small a pasture for such a store 
 of muttons. 
 
 Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were 
 best stick her. 
 
 Pro. Nay, in that you are astray, 'twere best 
 pound you. 
 
 Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve 
 me for carrying your letter. 
 
 Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, a pinfold. 
 
 Speed. From a pound to a pin ] fold it over and 
 over, 
 Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your 
 lover. 
 
 Pro. But what said she] did she nod] 
 
 [Speed nods. 
 
 Speed. I. 
 
 Pro. Nod, I] why, that's noddy. 3 
 
 Speed. You mistook, sir; I say, she did nod: 
 and you ask me, if she did nod ; and 1 say, I. 
 
 Pro. And that set together, is — noddy. 
 
 Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it 
 together, take it for your pains. 
 
 Pro. No, no, you shal' have it for bearing the letter. 
 
 Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear 
 with you. 
 
 Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ] 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly; having 
 nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains. 
 
 Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 
 
 Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. 
 
 Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: What 
 «id she] 
 
 Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and 
 the matter, may be both at once delivered. 
 
 Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains: What 
 paid she] 
 
 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. 
 Pro. Why] Couldst thou perceive so much 
 fiom her] 
 
 Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from 
 her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your 
 letter: And being so hard to me that brought your 
 mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling 
 her mind. Give her no t"ken but stones ; for she's 
 as hard as steel. 
 
 Pro. What, said she nothing] 
 
 Speed. No, not so much as take this for thy 
 
 pains. To testify your bounty, I thank you, you 
 have testern'd ' me ; in requital whereof, henceforth 
 carry your letters yourself: and so, sir. I'll commend 
 you to my master. 
 
 Pro. Go, go, begone, to save your ship from 
 wreck; 
 Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, 
 Being destined to a drier death on shore:— - 
 I must go send some better messenger; 
 I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines, 
 Receiving them from such a worthless post. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Garden of Julia's house. 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta. 
 
 Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone 
 Wouldst thou then counse-1 me to fall in love] 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam, so you stumble not unheed- 
 fully. 
 
 Jul. Of atl the fair resort of gentlemen, 
 That every day with parle encounter me, 
 In thy opinion, which is worthiest love] 
 
 Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll show 
 my mind 
 According to my shallow simple skill. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour ? 
 
 Luc. As of a knight well spoken, neat and fine , 
 But were I you, he never should be mine. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the ricfe Mercatio S 
 
 Luc. Well of his wealth; but of himself, so, so. 
 
 Jul. What think'st thou of the gewtle Proteus ] 
 
 Luc. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns in us! 
 
 Jul. How now! what means this passion at his 
 name] 
 
 Luc. Pardon, dear madam ; 'tis a passing shame, 
 That I, unworthy body as I am, 
 Should censure b thus on lovely gentlemen. 
 
 Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ] 
 
 Luc. Then thus, of many good I think him 
 
 best. 
 
 Jul. Your reason ] 
 
 Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason; 
 I '*.iink him so, because I think him so. 
 
 Jul. And wouldst thou have me cast my love 
 on him ] 
 
 Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. 
 
 Jul. Why, he of all the rest, hath never mov'd me. 
 
 Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. 
 
 Jul. His little speaking shows his love but small 
 
 Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all 
 
 Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love. 
 
 Luc. 0, they love least, that let men know their 
 love. 
 
 Jul. I would I knew his mind. 
 
 Luc. Peruse this paper madam. 
 
 Jul. To Julia, — Say, from wtaml 
 
 Luc. That the contents will show. 
 
 Jul. Say, say; who gave it theel 
 
 Luc. Sir Valentine's page; and sent, I think, 
 from Proteus: 
 He would have given it you, but I, teing in the way, 
 Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, I pray 
 
 a A term for a courtesan. 
 
 1 A same at cards. 
 
 ' Given me a sixpence. 
 
 i Pass senteiK*. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEKGNA. 
 
 Jul. Now, bj idv modesty, a goodly broker! 6 
 bare you presume to harbo- wanton lines? 
 Td whisper arid conspire against my youth? 
 .Vow, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth, 
 And you an office, tit for the place, 
 There, take the paper, see it be return'd ; 
 Oi else return no more into my sight. 
 
 Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than 
 hate. 
 
 Jul. Will you begone ? 
 
 Luc. That you may ruminate. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd the letter. 
 It were a shame to call her back again, 
 And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
 What fool is she, that knows I am a maid, 
 Am: would not force the letter to my view? 
 Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that 
 Which they would have the profferer construe, Ay. 
 Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love, 
 That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, 
 And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod! 
 How churlishly I chid Lucetta hence, 
 When willingly I would have had her here ! 
 How angrily 1 taught my brow to frown, 
 When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile! 
 My penance is, to call Lucetta back, 
 And ask remission for my folly past: — 
 What ho! Lucetta! 
 
 Re-enter Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. What would your ladyship? 
 
 Jul. Is it near dinner time ? 
 
 Luc. I would it were ; 
 
 That you might kill your stomach 7 on your meat, 
 And not upon your maid. 
 
 Jul. What is't you took up 
 
 So gingerly? 
 
 Luc. Nothing. 
 
 Jul. Why didst thou stoop then ? 
 
 Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall. , 
 
 Jul. And is that paper nothing? 
 
 Luc. Nothing concerning me. 
 
 Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 
 
 Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns, 
 Unless it have a false interpreter. 
 
 Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in 
 rhyme. 
 
 Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune : 
 Give me a note: your ladyship can set. 
 
 Jul. As little by such toys as maybe possible; 
 Best sing it to the tune of Light o' love. 
 
 Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
 
 Jul. Heavy 1 belike it hath some burden, then. 
 
 Luc. Ay; and melodious were it, would you 
 sing it. 
 
 Jul. And why not you? 
 
 Luc. I cannot reach so high. 
 
 Jul. Let's see your song : — How now, minion ? 
 
 Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out : 
 And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. 
 
 Jul. You do not? 
 
 Lw. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 
 
 Jut. You, minion, are too saucy. 
 
 Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, 
 And mar the concord with too harsh a descant ; s 
 There wanteth but a mean* to fill your song. 
 
 Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base. 
 
 Luc. Indeed I did the base* for Proteus. 
 
 Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
 Here is a coil Q with protestation ! 
 
 [Tears the letter. 
 
 • Matchmaker. 
 
 • A term in music. 
 A challenge 
 
 * Passion or obstinacy. 
 » The tenor in music. 
 » Bustle, stir. 
 
 Go, get you gone ; and let the papers he : 
 You would be fingering them, to anger me. 
 
 Luc. She makes it strange; but she would be 
 best pleas'd 
 To be so anger'd with another letter. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same! 
 
 hateful hands, to tear such loving words ! 
 Injurious wasps! to feed on such sweet honey, 
 And kill the bees, that yield it, with your stings! 
 I'll kiss each several paper for amends. 
 
 And here is writ — kind Julia; — unkind Julia! 
 As in revenge of thy ingratitude, 
 
 1 throw thy name against the bruising stones, 
 Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
 Look, here is writ — love-wounded Proteus: — 
 Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed, 
 Shall lodge thee till thy wound be throughly heal'd: 
 And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 
 
 But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down ? 
 Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away, 
 Till I have found each letter in the letter, 
 Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind bear 
 Unto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock, 
 And throw it thence into the raging sea! 
 Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ,— 
 Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus, 
 To the sweet Julia: — that I'll tear away ; 
 And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
 He couples it to his complaining names: 
 Thus will I fold them one upon another; 
 Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 
 
 Re-enter Lucetta. 
 Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your father 
 
 stays. 
 Jul. Well, let us go. 
 Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales 
 
 here? 
 Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 
 Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down : 
 Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 
 Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 
 Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights you 
 see; 
 I see things too, although you judge I wink. 
 Jul. Come, come, wiii'C please you go ? [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — The same. A Room in Antonio's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Astosio and Panthino. 
 
 Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad 3 talk was that, 
 Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister ? 
 
 Pant. 'T:vas of his nephew Proteus, your son. 
 
 Ant. Why, what of him? 
 
 Pant. He wonder'd that your lordship 
 
 Would suffer him to spend his youth at home ; 
 While other men, of slender reputation, 4 . 
 Put forth their sons to seek preferment out: 
 Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there; 
 Some, to discover islands far away ; 
 Some, to the studious universities. 
 For any, or for all these exercises, 
 He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet; 
 And did request me to importune you, 
 To let him spend his time no more at hom s, 
 Which would be great impeachment 5 to his age, 
 In having known no travel in his youth. 
 
 Ant. Nor need'st thou much importune me to 
 that 
 Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
 I have consider'd well his loss of time ; 
 And how he cannot be a perfect man, 
 
 * Serious. ' Little jonsequence. ■ Kecrccch. 
 
24 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Ac i II 
 
 Not being try'd and tutor'd in the world: 
 Experience is by industry achiev'd, 
 A.nd perfected by the swift course of time: 
 Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ? 
 
 Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant, 
 How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
 Attends the emperor in his royal court. 
 
 Ant. I know it well. 
 
 Pant. 'Twcre good, I think, your lordship sent 
 him thither : 
 There shall he practise tilts and tournaments, 
 Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen ; 
 And be in eye of every exercise 
 Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 
 
 Ant. I like thy counsel ; well hast thou advis'd : 
 And that thou mayst perceive how well I like it, 
 The execution of it shall make known; 
 Even with the speediest execution 
 I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 
 
 Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Al- 
 yhonso, 
 With other gentlemen of good esteem, 
 Are journeying to salute the emperor, 
 And to commend their service to his will. 
 
 Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go; 
 And, in good time, — now will we break with him." 
 
 Enter Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
 Here is her hand the agent of her heart ; 
 Here is her oath for love, her honor's pawn : 
 0, that our fathers would applaud our loves, 
 To seal our happiness with their consents ! 
 O heavenly Julia ! 
 
 Ant. How now? what letter axe you reading 
 there ! 
 
 Pro. May't please your lordship, tis a word or 
 two 
 Of commendation sent from Valentine, 
 Deliver'd by a friend that came from him. 
 
 Ant. Lend me the letter ; let me see what news. 
 
 Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that he 
 writes 
 How happily he lives, how well belov'd, 
 And daily graced by the emperor ; 
 Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 
 
 Ant. And how stand you affected to his wisl 1 
 
 Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, 
 And not depending on his friendly wish. 
 
 Ant. My will is something sorted with his wisl 
 Muse 1 not that I thus suddenly proceed ; 
 For what I will, I will, and there ar end. 
 I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time 
 With Valentinus in the emperor's court ; 
 What maintenance he from his friends receives, 
 Like exhibition 9 thou shalt have from me. 
 To-morrow be in readiness to go : 
 Excuse it not, for I am peremptory. 
 
 Pro. My lord. I cannot be so soon provided ; 
 Please you, deliberate a day or two. 
 
 Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent aftei 
 thee: 
 No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. — 
 Come on, Panthino ; you shall be employ'd 
 To hasten on his expedition. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. and Pant, 
 
 Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of 
 burning ; 
 And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd 
 I fear'd to show my father Julia's letter, 
 Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
 And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
 Hath he excepted most against my love. 
 0, how this spring of love resembleth 
 
 The uncertain glory of an April day ; 
 Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 
 
 And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 
 
 Re-enter Panthino. 
 
 Pant. Sir Proteus, your father caRs for you ; 
 He is in haste, therefore, I pray you, go. 
 
 Pro. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto 
 And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed. 
 
 Speed. Sir, your glove. 
 
 Val. Not mine : my gloves are on. 
 
 Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is 
 but one. 
 
 Val. Ha ! let me see : ay give it me, it's mine : — 
 Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! 
 Ah Silvia ! Silvia ! 
 
 Speed. Madam Silvia ! madam Silvia ! 
 
 Val. How now, sirrah ? 
 
 Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 
 
 v al. Why, b\t, who bade you call her? 
 
 Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 
 
 Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. 
 
 Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too 
 slow. 
 
 Val. Go to, sir ; tell me, do you know madam 
 Silvia 1 
 
 Speed. She that your worship loves ! 
 
 Val. Why, how know you that I am in love ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, by these special marks: First, you 
 have learned, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms 
 like a male-content ; to relish a love-song, like a 
 • Break the matter to him. 
 
 robin-red-breast ; to walk alone, like one that had 
 the pestilence ; to. sigh, like a school-boy that had 
 lost his A, B, C ; to weep, like a young wench that 
 had buried her grandam : to fast, like one that takes 
 diet ; 9 to watch, like one that fears robbing ; to speak 
 puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. ' You were 
 wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock ; when 
 you walked, to walk like one of the lions ; when 
 you fasted, it was presently after dinner ; when you 
 looked sadly, it was for want of money ; and now 
 you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when 
 I look on you, I can hardly think you my r master 
 
 Val. Are all these things perceived in me? 
 
 Speed. They are all perceived without you. 
 
 Val. Without me? They cannot. 
 
 Speed. Without you? nay r , that's certain, for 
 without you were so simple, none else would : but 
 you are so without these follies, that these follies 
 aie within you, and shine through you like tho 
 water in a urinal ; that not an eye, that sees you, 
 but is a physician to comment on your malady. 
 
 Val. But, tell nic dostthou know my lady Silvia! 
 
 Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits al 
 supper ? 
 
 Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she I mean 
 
 ' Wonder. 
 * Under a regimen. 
 
 • Allowance. 
 ' AJlUallovrmas. 
 
&CENR I. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 25 
 
 Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 
 
 Val. Dost thou know her hy my gazing on her, 
 and yet know'st her not ? 
 
 Speed. Is she not hard favored, sir 1 
 
 Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favored. 
 
 Speed. Sir, I know that well enough. 
 
 Val. What dost thou know ? 
 
 Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well 
 favored. 
 
 Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but 
 her favor influite. 
 
 Speed. That's because the one is painted, and 
 the other out of all count. 
 
 Val. How painted ? and how out of countl 
 
 Speed. Many, sir, so painted, to make her fair, 
 that no man counts of her beauty. 
 
 Val, How esteemest thou me ? I account of her 
 beauty. 
 
 Speed. You never saw her since she was de- 
 formed. 
 
 Val. How long hath she been deformed? 
 
 Speed. Ever since you loved her. 
 
 Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her ; and 
 till I see her beautiful. 
 
 Speed, If you love her, you cannot see her. 
 
 Val. Why? 
 
 Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had 
 mine eyes ; or your own had the lights they were 
 wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going 
 ungartered. 
 
 Val. What should I see then ? 
 
 Speed, Your own present folly, and her passing 
 deformity : for he, being in love, could not see to 
 garter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see 
 to put on your hose. 
 
 Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last 
 morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 
 
 Speed, True, sir ; I was in love with my bed ; I 
 thank you, you swinged 2 me for my love, which 
 makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. 
 
 Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 
 
 Speed, I would you were set ; so, your affection 
 would cease. 
 
 Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some 
 lines to one she loves. 
 
 Speed. And have you ? 
 
 Val. I have. 
 
 Speed. Are they not lamely writ ? 
 
 Val, No, boy, but as well as I can do them : — 
 Peace, here she comes. 
 
 Enter Silvia. 
 
 Speed, excellent motion ! 3 exceeding pup- 
 pet! now will he interpret to her. 
 
 Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good- 
 morrows. 
 
 Speed, 0, give you good even ! here's a million 
 of manners. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- 
 sand. 
 
 Speed. He should give her interest ; and she gives 
 it him. [Aside. 
 
 Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter, 
 Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
 Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, 
 But for my duty to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. I thank you, gentle servant, 'tis very clerkly* 
 done. 
 
 Val, Now, trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
 For being ignorant to whom it goes, 
 T writ at random, very doubtfully. 
 
 1 Whipped. 
 
 * lake a scholar. 
 
 * A puppet-show. 
 
 Sil. Perchance you think too much of so mucn 
 
 pains ? 
 Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write, 
 Please you command, a thousand times as much : 
 And yet, — 
 
 «St7. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel ; 
 And yet I will not name it : — and yet I care not 
 And yet take this again ; — and yet I thank you ; 
 Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
 Speed. And yet you will ; and yet another yet. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Val. What means your ladyship ? do you not 
 
 like it ? 
 Sil. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ, 
 But since unwillingly, take them again ; 
 Nay, take them. 
 
 Val, Madam, they are for you. 
 Sil. Ay, ay ; you writ them, sir, at my request : 
 But I will none of them ; they are for you : 
 I would have had them writ more movingly. 
 Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. 
 Sil. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over : 
 And if it please you, so ; if not, why, so. 
 Val. If it please me, madam ! what then ? 
 Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labor ; 
 And so good-morrow, servant. [Exit Silvia. 
 
 Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, 
 As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 
 
 steeple ! 
 My master sues to her; and she hath taught her 
 
 suitor, 
 He being her pupil, to become her tutor. 
 O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better ? 
 That my master, being scribe, to himself should 
 write the letter? 
 Val. How now, sir ? what are you reasoning 
 with yourself? 
 
 Speed. Nay, I was rhyming ; 'tis you that have 
 the reason. 
 
 Val. To do what ? 
 
 Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. 
 
 Val. To whom ? 
 
 Spetd. To yourself: why, she woos you by a 
 
 figure ? 
 Val. What figure? 
 Speed, By a letter, I should say. 
 Val. Why, she hath not writ to ine. 
 Speed. What need she, when she hath made you 
 write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest? 
 Val. No, believe me. 
 
 Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir : But did 
 you perceive her earnest I 
 
 Val. She gave me none, except an angry word. 
 Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
 Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend. 
 Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and 
 there an end. 
 
 Val. I would it were no worse. 
 Speed. I'll wan-ant you, 'tis as well. 
 
 For often you have writ to her,- and sn:., in mo- 
 desty, 
 
 Or else for want of idle time, couldnot agah > eply.- 
 
 Orfeari?ig else some messenger, that might her 
 mind discover, 
 
 Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto 
 her lover. — 
 
 All this I speak in print ; for in print I foui d it.- 
 Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner-time. 
 
 Val. I have dined. 
 
 Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir : though the came- 
 leon Love can feed on the air, I am one that aao 
 
 c 
 
26 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Ac i II 
 
 nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat: 
 O, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 *r!ENB IT. — Verona. A room in Julia's House. 
 Enter Proteus and Julia. 
 
 Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
 
 Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
 
 Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 
 
 Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner: 
 Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 
 
 [Giving a ring. 
 
 Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here take 
 you this. 
 
 Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
 
 Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
 And when that hour o'erslips me in the day, 
 Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake, 
 The next ensuing hour some foul mischance 
 Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! 
 My father stays my coming ; answer not ; 
 The tide is now : nay, not the tide of tears ; 
 That tide will stay me longer than I should : 
 
 [Exit Julia. 
 Julia, farewell. — What ! gone without a word ? 
 Ay, so true love should do; it cannot speak ; 
 For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. 
 
 Enter Panthtno. 
 Pant. Sir Proteus, you are staid for. 
 Pro. Go ; I come, I come ; — 
 Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. A Street. 
 
 Enter Launce, leading a dog. 
 
 Laun. Nay, it will be this hour ere I have done 
 weeping ; all the kind * of the Launces have this 
 very fault : I have received my proportion, like the 
 prodigious son, and am going with sir Proteus to 
 the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the 
 sourest-natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, 
 my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howl- 
 ing, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house 
 in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted 
 cur shed one tear ; he is a stone, a very pebble- 
 stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog .•• a 
 Jew would have wept to have seen our parting ; 
 why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept 
 herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you 
 the manner of it : This shoe is my father ; — no 
 this left shoe is my father ; — no, no, this left shoe 
 is my mother ; — nay, that cannot be so neither ;— 
 yes, it is so, it is so ; it hath the worser sole ; This 
 shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this my 
 rather ; A vengeance on't ! there 'tis : now, sir, this 
 staff is my sister ; for, look you, she is as white as a 
 lily, and as small as a wand ; this hat is Nan, our 
 maid ; I am the dog : — no, the dog is himself, and 
 am the dog ; — O, the dog is me, and I am myself 
 ay, so, so. Now come I to my father ; Father, y%ur 
 blessing,- now should not the shoe speak a word 
 for weeping ; now should I kiss my father ; well, he 
 weeps on : now come I to my mother, (0, that she 
 could speak now !) like a wood 6 woman ; — well, I 
 kiss her ; — why there 'tis; here's my mother's breath 
 up and down ; now come I to my sister ; mark the 
 moan she makes ; now the dog all this while sheds 
 cot a tear, nor speaks a word ; but see how I lay 
 the dust with mj tears. 
 
 • Kindred • Creay, distracted. 
 
 Enter Pawthino. 
 
 Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard ; thy masiei 
 is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars 
 What's the matter! why weepest thou, man? Away 
 ass ; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer 
 
 Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost : for 
 it is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty'd. 
 
 Pant. What's the unkindest tide ? 
 
 Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here ; Crab, my dog. 
 
 Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood ; 
 and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage ; and, in 
 losing thy voyage, lose thy master ; and, in losing 
 thy master, lose thy service ; and in losing thv 
 service, — Why dost thou stop my mouth ! 
 
 Laun. For fear thou should'st lose thy tongue. 
 
 Pant . Where should I lose my tongue ? 
 
 Laun. In thy tale. 
 
 Pant. In thy tail ! 
 
 Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and tho 
 master, and the service ? The tide! — Why, man, if 
 the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my 
 tears ; if the wind were down, I could drive the 
 boat with my sighs. 
 
 Pant. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to 
 call thee. 
 
 Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. 
 
 Pant. Wilt thou go? 
 
 Laun. Well, I will go. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Milan. An Apartment inthe Duke' t 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. 
 
 Sil. Servant — 
 
 Val. Mistress ? 
 
 Speed. Master, sir Thurio fiowns on you. 
 
 Val. Ay, boy, it's for love. 
 
 Speed. Not of you. 
 
 Val. Of my mistress then. 
 
 Speed. 'Twere good, you knock'd him. 
 
 Sil. Servant, you are sad. 1 
 
 Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
 
 Thu. Seem you that you are not ? 
 
 Val. Haply, I do. 
 
 Thu. So do counterfeits. 
 
 Val. So do you. 
 
 Thu. What seem I that I am not? 
 
 Val. Wise. 
 
 Thu. What instance of the contrary 7 
 
 Val. Your folly. 
 
 Thu. And how quote 8 you my folly' 1 
 
 Val. I quote it in your jerkin. 
 
 Thu. My jerkin is a doublet. 
 
 Val. Well, then, I'll double your folly. 
 
 Thu. How? 
 
 Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio ? do you change 
 color ? 
 
 Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind of 
 cameleon. 
 
 Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your 
 blood, than live in your air. 
 
 Val. You lrave said, sir. 
 
 Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 
 
 Val. I know it well, sir; you always end ere 
 you begin. 
 
 Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and 
 quickly shot off". 
 
 Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. 
 
 Sil. Who is that, servant ? 
 
 Val. Yourself, sweet lady; for you gave the fire ; 
 sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship 8 
 
 ' Serious. 
 
 • Note, observe. 
 
SCKNE IV. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 27 
 
 looks and spends what he borrows, kindly in your 
 company. 
 
 Thu Sir, if you spend word for word with me, 
 I shall make your wit bankrupt. 
 
 Veil. I know it well, sir ; you have an exchequer 
 of words, and I think no other treasure to give 
 your followers : for it appears by their bare liveries, 
 that they live by your bare words. 
 
 SiL No more, gentlemen, no more ; here comes 
 my father. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
 Sir Valentine, your father's in good health : 
 What say you to a letter from your friends 
 Of much good news ] 
 
 Val. My lord, I will be thankful 
 
 To any happy messenger from thence. 
 
 Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your country- 
 man] 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
 To be of worth, and worthy estimation, 
 And not without desert so well reputed. 
 
 Duke. Hath he not a son] 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well deserves 
 The honor and regard of such a father. 
 
 Duke. You know him well] 
 
 Val. I knew him as myself; for from our infancy 
 We have conversed and spent our hours together ; 
 And though myself have been an idle truant, 
 Omitting the sweet benefit of time, 
 To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; 
 Yet hath sir Proteus, for that's his name, 
 Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
 His years but young, but his experience old ; 
 His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe ; 
 And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
 Come all the praises that I now bestow,) 
 He is complete in feature, and in mind, 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
 
 Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but if he make this good, 
 He is as worthy for an empress' love, 
 As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
 Well, sir ; this gentleman is come to me, 
 With commendation from great potentates ; 
 And here he means to spend his time awhile : 
 I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 
 
 Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he. 
 
 Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth: 
 Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, sir Thurio : — 
 For Valentine, I need not 'cite 9 him to it : 
 I'll send him hither to you presently. [Exit Duke. 
 
 Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, 
 Had cjme along with me, but that his mistress 
 Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
 
 SiL Belike that now she hath enfranchis'd them 
 Upon some other pawn for fealty. 
 
 Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners 
 still. 
 
 SiL Nay, then he should be blind ; and being 
 blind, 
 How could he see his way to seek out you 1 
 
 Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 
 
 Thu. They say that love hath not an eye at all. 
 
 Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself; 
 Upon a homely object love can wink. 
 
 Enter Proteus. 
 
 SiL Have done, have done ; here conies the 
 gentleman. 
 
 * Incite. 
 
 Val. Welcome, dear Proteus! — Mistress, I be 
 seech you, 
 Confirm his welcome with some special iavor. 
 
 SiL His worth is warrant for his welcome hither 
 If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 
 
 Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him 
 To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 
 
 SiL Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 
 
 Pro. Not so, sweet lady ; but too mean a servan 
 To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 
 
 Val. Leave off discourse of disability: — 
 Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 
 
 Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 
 
 SiL And duty never yet did want his meed ; 
 Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress 
 
 Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. 
 
 SiL That you are welcome ] 
 
 Pro. No ; that you are worthless. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Madam, my lord your father would speak 
 with you. 
 
 SiL I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant. 
 Come, sir Thurio, 
 Go with me : — Once more, new servant, welcome : 
 I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs ; 
 When you have done, we look to hear from you. 
 
 Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt Silvia, Thuiiio, and Speed. 
 
 Val. Now, tell me, how do all from whence 
 you came ] 
 
 Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much 
 commended. 
 
 Val. And how do yours ] 
 
 Pro. I left them all in health. 
 
 Val. How does your lady ] and how thrives 
 your love ] 
 
 Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you ; 
 I know you joy not in a love-discourse. 
 
 Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now ; 
 I have done penance for contemning love ; 
 Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 
 With bitter fasts, with penitential groans, 
 With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs ; 
 For, in revenge of my contempt of love, 
 Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, 
 And made them watchers of mine own heart' 
 
 sorrow. 
 O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord ; 
 And hath so humbled me, as I confess, 
 There is no woe to his correction, 
 Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 
 Now, no discourse, except it be of love ; 
 Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep, 
 Upon the very naked name of love. 
 
 Pro. Enough ■ T read your fortune in your eye 
 Was this the idol that you worship so 1 
 
 Val. Even she ; and is she not a neavenly saint ! 
 
 Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon. 
 
 Val. Call her divine. 
 
 Pro. I will not flatter her. 
 
 Val. O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises. 
 
 Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills 
 And I must minister the like to you. 
 
 Val. Then speak the truth by her ; if not divine, 
 Yet let her be a principality, 
 Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 
 
 Pro. Except my mistress. 
 
 Val. Sweet, except not any 
 
 Except thou wilt except against my love. 
 
 Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own ? 
 
 Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too 
 She shall be dignified with this high honor,— 
 
28 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act I! 
 
 To bear my lady's train ; lest the base earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss, 
 And, of so great a favor growing proud, 
 Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, 
 And make rough winter everlastingly. 
 
 Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ? 
 
 Val. Pardon me, Proteus ; all I can, is nothing 
 To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing ; 
 She is alone. 
 
 Pro. Then let her alone. 
 
 Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is mine 
 own ; 
 And I as rich in having such a jewel, 
 As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 
 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
 Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee, 
 Because thou seest me dole upon my love. 
 My foolish rival, that her father likes, 
 Only for his possessions are so huge, 
 Is gone with her along ; and I must after, 
 For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 
 
 Pro. But she loves you? 
 
 Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd; 
 
 Nay, more, our marriage hour, 
 With all the cunning manner of our flight, 
 Determin'd' of: how I must climb her window ; 
 The ladder made of cords ; and all the means 
 Plotted, and 'greed on, for my happiness. 
 Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber, 
 In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 
 
 Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth : 
 I must unto the road, to disembark 
 Some necessaries that I needs must use ; 
 And thtn I'll presently attend you. 
 
 v al. Will you make haste? 
 
 Pro. I will.— [Exit Val. 
 
 Even as one heat another heat expels, 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
 So the remembrance of my former love 
 Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
 Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise, 
 Her true, perfection, or my false transgression, 
 That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus? 
 She's fair ; and so is Julia, that I love : — 
 That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd; 
 Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 
 Bears no impression of the thing it was. 
 Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold; 
 And that I love him not, as I was wont: 
 O ! but I It ve his lady too, too much ; 
 And that's the reason I love him so little. 
 How shall I dote on her with more advice,' 
 That thus without advice begin to love her? 
 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld, 
 And that hath dazzled my reason's light; 
 But when I look on her perfections, 
 There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
 If I can check my erring love, I will ; 
 If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE Y.—The same. A Street. 
 Enter Speed and Launce. 
 
 Speed. Launce! by mine honesty, welcome to 
 Milan. 
 
 Latin. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth; for 
 I am not welcome. I reckon this always — that a 
 man is never undone, till he be hanged ; nor never 
 welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid, 
 •ind the hostess say welcome. 
 
 bpeed. Ccme on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale- 
 
 « Cm further knowledge. 
 
 house with you presently ; wnere, for one shot of 
 five-pence, thou shalthave five thousand welcomes. 
 But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madans 
 Julia? 
 
 Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
 parted very fairly in jest. 
 
 Speed. But shall she marry him ? 
 
 Laun. No. 
 
 Speed. How then? shall he marry her? 
 
 Laun. No, neither. 
 
 Speed. What, are they broken? 
 
 Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish. 
 
 Speed. Why then, how stands the matter with 
 them? 
 
 Laun. Marry, thus; when it stands well with 
 him, it stands well with her. 
 
 Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand thee 
 not. 
 
 Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst 
 not ! My staff understands me. 
 
 Speed. What thou say'st? 
 
 Laun. Ay, and what I do too: look thee, I'll 
 but lean, and my staff understands me. 
 
 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 
 
 Laun. Why stand under and understand is all 
 one. 
 
 Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match? 
 
 Laun. Ask my dog: if he say, ay, it will; if 
 he say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say 
 nothing, it will. 
 
 Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. 
 
 Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from 
 me, but by a parable. 
 
 Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
 how say'st thou, that my master has become a 
 notable lover? 
 
 Laun. I never knew him otherwise. 
 
 Speed. Than how? 
 
 Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him 
 to be. 
 
 Speed. Why, thou whoreson ass, thou mistakes! 
 me. 
 
 Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant 
 thy master. 
 
 Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. 
 
 Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he 
 burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with rne to 
 the alehouse, so; if not, thou art a Hebrew, a Jew, 
 and not worth the name of a Christian. 
 
 Speed. Why ? 
 
 Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity 
 in thee, as to go to the alehouse with a Christian: 
 Wilt thou go? 
 
 Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VI. — The same. An Apartment in tin 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Proteus. 
 
 Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; 
 And even that power, which gave me first my oath, 
 Provokes me to this threefold perjury. 
 Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear: 
 sweet-suggesting' love, if thou hast sinn'd, 
 Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it 
 At first I did adore a twinkling star, 
 But now I worship c jelestial sun. 
 Unheedful vows may needfully be broken ; 
 And he wants wit, that wants resolved will 
 
 a Tempting. 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 29 
 
 To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. — 
 
 Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
 
 Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd 
 
 With twenty thousand soul-confirming oaths. 
 
 I cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 
 
 But there I leave to love, where I should love. 
 
 Jul : a I lose, and Valentine I lose: 
 
 If I keep them, I needs must lose myself; 
 
 If I lose them, thus find I by their loss, 
 
 For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia. 
 
 I to myself am dearer than a friend ; 
 
 For love is still more precious in itself. 
 
 And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair ! 
 
 Shows Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
 
 I will forget that Julia is alive, 
 
 Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead ; 
 
 And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, 
 
 Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 
 
 I cannot now prove constant to myself, 
 
 Without some treachery used to Valentine : — 
 
 This night he meaneth with a corded ladder 
 
 To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window; 
 
 Myself in counsel, his competitor : 3 
 
 Now presently I'll give her father notice 
 
 Of their disguising, and pretended ' flight : 
 
 Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine; 
 
 For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter: 
 
 But Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross, 
 
 By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 
 
 Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift, 
 
 As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. — Verona. A room in Julia's House. 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta. 
 
 Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ; gentle girl, assist me ! 
 And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, — 
 Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
 Are visibly character 'd and engraved, — 
 To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean, 
 How, with my honor, I may undertake 
 A journey to my loving Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 
 
 Jul. A true devoted pilgrim is not weary 
 To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps: 
 Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly : 
 And when the flight is made to one so dear, 
 Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 
 
 Jul. 0, know'st thou not, his looks are my 
 soul's food? 
 Pity the dearth that I have pined in, 
 By longing for that food so long a time. 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou wouldst as soon go kindle fire with snow, 
 A s seek to quench the fire of love with words. 
 
 Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire ; 
 But qualify the fire's extreme rage, 
 Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 
 
 Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns; 
 The current, that with gentle murmur glides, 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; 
 But, when his fair course is not hindered, 
 He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in hi 3 pilgrimage; 
 
 1 Confedf rate. 
 
 4 Intended. 
 
 And so by many winding nooks he strays, 
 With willing sport to the wild ocean. 
 Then let me go, and hinder not my course : 
 I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, 
 And make a pastime of each weary step, 
 Till the last step have brought me to my love; 
 And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil,' 
 A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 
 
 Luc. But in what habit will you go along": 
 
 Jul. Not like a woman; for I would prevent 
 The loose encounters of lascivious men : 
 Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
 As may beseem some well-reputed page. 
 
 Luc. Why, then your ladyship must cut your hair. 
 
 Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings, 
 With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots : 
 To be fantastic may become a youth 
 Of greater time than I shall show to be. 
 
 Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make youi 
 breeches ] 
 
 Jul. That fits as well, as — 'tell me, good my 
 lord, 
 What compass will you wear your farthingale?' 
 Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. You must needs have them with a cod- 
 piece, madam. 
 
 Jul. Out, out, Lucetta ! that will be ill-favor'd. 
 
 Luc. A round hose, madam, now's not worth a 
 pin, 
 Unless j'ou have a cod-piece to stick pins on. 
 
 Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have 
 What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly : 
 But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me, 
 For undertaking so unstaid a journey] 
 I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. 
 
 Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not 
 
 Jul. Nay, that I will not. . 
 
 Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go. 
 If Proteus like your journey, when you come, 
 No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone: 
 I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal. 
 
 Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: 
 A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
 And instances as infinite of love, 
 Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 
 
 Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 
 
 Jul. Base men that use them to so base effect! 
 But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth: 
 His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles; 
 His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; 
 His tears pure messengers sent from his heart* 
 His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from eartn. 
 
 Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come 
 to him ! 
 
 Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that 
 wrong, 
 To bear a hard opinion of his truth : 
 Only deserve my love, by loving him ; 
 And presently go with me to my chamber, 
 To take a note of what I stand in need of, 
 To furnish me upon my longing 6 journey. 
 All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 
 My goods, my lands, my reputation; 
 Only in lieu thereof, despatch me hence: 
 Come, answer not, but to it presently ; 
 I am impatient of my tarriance. r Bxvuni 
 
 « Trouble. 
 
 • Longed for. 
 
30 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 SCENE I. — Milan. An Ante-room in the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray, awhile ; 
 We have some secrets to confer about. — 
 
 [Exit Thurio. 
 Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me 1 
 
 Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis- 
 cover, 
 The law of friendship bids me to conceal : 
 But, when I call to mind your gracious favors 
 Done to me, undeserving as I am, 
 My duty pricks me on to utter that 
 Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
 Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend, 
 This night intends to steal away your daughter; 
 Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
 I know, you have determin'd to bestow her 
 On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates; 
 And should she thus be stolen away from you, 
 It would be much vexation to your age. 
 Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather choose 
 To cross my friend in his intended drift, 
 Than, by concealing it, heap on your head 
 A pack of sorrows, which would press you down, 
 Being unpreventeu, to your timeless grave. 
 
 Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care ; 
 Which to requite, command me while I live. 
 This love of theirs myself have often seen, 
 Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep; 
 And oftentimes have purposV to forbid 
 Sir Valentine her company, and my court: 
 But, fearing least my jealous aim 1 might err, 
 And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, 
 (A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,) 
 I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find 
 That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
 And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this, 
 Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 8 
 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower, 
 The key whereof myself have ever kept; 
 And thence she cannot be convey'd away. 
 
 Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
 How he her chamber window will ascend, 
 And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 
 For which the youthful lover now is gone, 
 And this way comes he with it presently ; 
 Where, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
 But, good my lord, do it so cunningly, 
 That my discovery be not aim'd 9 at; 
 For love of you, not hate unto my friend, 
 Hath made me publisher of this pretence.' 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honor, he shall never know 
 That I had any light from thee of this. 
 
 Pro. Adieu, my lord; sir Valentine is coming. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast 1 ? 
 
 Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
 That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
 And I am going to deliver them. 
 
 Duke. Be they of much import? 
 
 Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
 My health, and happy being at your court. 
 
 T Guess. 
 • Guessed. 
 
 » Tempted. 
 •Design. 
 
 Duke. Nay, then, no matter itay with i ne awhile; 
 I am to break with thee of sc «e affairs, 
 That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought 
 To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter. 
 
 Val. I know it well, my lord; and, sure, the match 
 Were rich and honorable; besides, the gentleman 
 Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
 Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter: 
 Cannot your grace win her to fancy him ? 
 
 Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, fro- 
 ward, 
 Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty; 
 Neither regarding that she is my child, 
 Nor fearing me as if I were her father : 
 And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers, 
 Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her; 
 And, where I thought the remnant of mine age 
 Should have been cherish'd by her child-like dutj, 
 I now am full resolved to take a wife, 
 And turn her out to who will take her in: 
 Then let her beauty be her wedding dower; 
 For me and my possessions she esteems not. 
 
 Val. What would your grace have me to do in this 
 
 Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here, 
 Whom I affect; but she is nice and coy, 
 And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
 Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor, 
 (For long agone I have forgot to court: 
 Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd ;) 
 How, and which way, I may bestow myself, 
 To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 
 
 Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect noc words; 
 Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, 
 More than quick words, do move a woman's mind. 
 
 Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her. 
 
 Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best 
 contents her: 
 Send her another; never give her o'er; 
 For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
 If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 
 But rather to beget more love in you : 
 If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
 For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
 Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; 
 For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away: 
 Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces: 
 Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces 
 That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
 If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
 
 Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends 
 Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; 
 And kept severely from resort of men, 
 That no man hath access by day to her. 
 
 Val. Why then I would resort to her by night. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys 
 kept safe, 
 That no man hath recourse to her by night. 
 
 Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? 
 
 Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground, 
 And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
 Without apparent hazard of his life. 
 
 Val. Why then, a ladder, quaintly made of cords, 
 To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks, 
 Would serve to scale another Hero's tower, 
 So bold Leander would adventure it. 
 
 Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 
 Advise me where I may have suci a iadder. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 31 
 
 Val. When would you use it ? pray, sir, tell me 
 that. 
 
 Duke. This very night ; for love is like a child, 
 That longs for everything that he can come by. 
 Val. By seven o'clock I'll get you such a ladder. 
 
 Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone ; 
 How shall I best convey the ladder thither ? 
 
 Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
 Under a cloak, that is of any length. 
 
 Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn! 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. Then let me see thy cloak ; 
 
 I'll get mc one of such another length. 
 
 Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 
 
 Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak ? 
 I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. — 
 What letter is this same ? What's here? — To Silvia. 
 And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! 
 I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. 
 
 My thoughts do harbor with my Silvia nightly ,• 
 
 And slaves they are to me, that send them flying: 
 O, could their master come and go as lightly, 
 
 Himself would lodge where senseless they are 
 lying. 
 My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them; 
 
 While I, their king, that thither them importune, 
 Do curse the grace that with such grace hath 
 blessed them, 
 
 Because myself do want my servant's fortune: 
 I curse myself, for they are sent by me, 
 That they should harbor where their lord should be. 
 What's here ? 
 Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee : 
 
 'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. — 
 Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son,) 
 Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, 
 And with thy daring folly burn the world ? 
 Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee ? 
 Go, base intruder ! over-weening slave ! 
 Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; 
 And think, my patience, more than thy desert, 
 Is privilege for thy departure hence : 
 Thank me for this, more than for all the favors, 
 Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. 
 But if thou linger in my territories, 
 Longer than swiftest expedition 
 Will give thee time to leave our royal court, 
 By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 
 I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. 
 Begone, I will not hear thy vain excuse, 
 But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. 
 
 [Exit Duke. 
 Val. And why not death rather than live in tor- 
 ment ! 
 To die, is to be banish'd from myself; 
 And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her, 
 Is self from self; a deadly banishment ! 
 What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? 
 What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? 
 Unless it be to think that she is by, 
 And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
 Except I be by Silvia in the night, 
 There is no music in the nightingale ; 
 Unless I look on Silvia in the day, 
 There is no day for me to look upon : 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be, 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alivo 
 I flv not death, to fly his deadly doom . 
 Tarry I here, I but attend on death ; 
 But, fly I hcrcc, I fly away from life. 
 
 Enter Proteus and Launch. 
 
 Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out. 
 
 Lawn. So-ho ! so-ho ! 
 
 Pro. What seest thou ? 
 
 Laun. Him we go to find : there's not a hail 
 on's head, but 'tis a Valentine. 
 
 Pro. Valentine? 
 
 Val. No. 
 
 Pro. Who then ? his spirit ? 
 
 Val. Neither. 
 
 Pro. What then 1 
 
 Val. Nothing. 
 
 Laun. Can nothing speak? master, shall I strike? 
 
 Pro. Whom wouldst thou strike ? 
 
 Laun. Nothing. 
 
 Pro. Villain, foibear. 
 
 Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing: I pray you, — ■ 
 
 Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear : Friend Valentine, a 
 word. 
 
 Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good 
 news, 
 So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 
 
 Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine 
 For they are harsh, untunable, and bad. 
 
 Val. Is Silvia dead ? 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia !— 
 Hath she forsworn me ? 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. 
 
 Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me! — 
 What is your news ? 
 
 Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are 
 vanish'd. 
 
 Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news : 
 From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend 
 
 Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already, 
 And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 
 Doth Silvia know that I am banished? 
 
 Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath offered to the doom, 
 (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,) 
 A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
 Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd ; 
 With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
 Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became 
 
 them, 
 As if but now they waxed pale for woe : 
 But neither bended knees, pure hands held up, 
 Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 
 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; 
 But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
 Besides, her intercession chaf 'd him so, 
 When she for thy repeal was suppliant, 
 That to close prison he commanded her, 
 With many bitter threats of 'biding there. 
 
 Val. No more ; unless the next word that thou 
 speak'st 
 Have some malignant power upon my life : 
 If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear, 
 As ending anthem of my endless dolor. 
 
 Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help 
 And study help for that which thou lament'st. 
 Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
 Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love • 
 Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
 Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, 
 And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
 Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence i 
 Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
 The time now serves not to expostulate: 
 Come, I'll convey thee through the citv gatu 
 And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
 
32 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Of all that may concern thy love affairs : 
 As thou lov'st Silvia, th -ugh not for thyself, 
 Regard thy danger, and along with me. 
 
 Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy, 
 Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate. 
 
 Pro. Go, sirrah, find him out. Come, Valentine. 
 
 Val. O my dear Silvia! hapless Valentine ! 
 
 [Exeunt Valentine and Proteus. 
 
 Laun. I am but a fool, look you; and yet I have 
 the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave : 
 but that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives 
 not now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in 
 love ; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from 
 me ; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman : but 
 what woman, I will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a 
 milk-maid: yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had 
 gossips: yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's 
 maid, and serves for wages. She hath more quali- 
 ties than a water spaniel, — which is much in a 
 bare Christian. Here is the cat-log [pulling out 
 a paper] of her conditions. Imprimis, She can 
 fetch and carry. Why, a horse can do no more ; 
 nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only carry; there- 
 fore, is she better than a jade. Item, She can milk,- 
 look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. 
 
 Enter Speed. 
 
 Speed. How now, signior Launce] what news 
 with your mastership ] 
 
 Laun. With my master's ship 7 why, it is at sea. 
 
 Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the 
 word: What news then in your paper] 
 
 Laun. The blackest news, that ever thou heard'st. 
 
 Speed. Why, man, how black? 
 
 Laun. Why, as black as ink. 
 
 Speed. Let me read them. 
 
 Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head ; thou canst not read. 
 
 Speed. Thou liest, I can. 
 
 Laun. I will try thee ; tell me this : who begot 
 thee? 
 
 Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 
 
 Laun. illiterate loiterer! it was the son of 
 thy grandmother : this proves, that thou canst not 
 read. 
 
 Speed. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper. 
 
 Laun. There ; and Saint Nicholas 5 be thy speed ! 
 
 Speed. Imprimis, She can milk. 
 
 Laun. Ay, that she can. 
 
 Speed. Item, -S'Ae brews good ale. 
 
 Laun. And thereof comes the proverb, — Bless- 
 ing of your heart, you brew good ale. 
 
 Speed. Item, She can sew. 
 
 Laun. That's as much as to say, Can she sol 
 
 Speed. Item, She can knit. 
 
 Laun. What need a man care for a stock with 
 <i wench, when she can knit him a stock 7 
 
 Speed. Item, She can wash and scour. 
 
 Laun. A special virtue ; for then .she need not 
 be washed and scoured. 
 
 Speed. Item. She can spin. 
 
 Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels 
 when she can spin for her living. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues. 
 
 Laun. That's as much as to say, bastard vir- 
 tues; that, indeed, know not their fathers, and 
 therefore have no names. 
 
 Speed. Here follow her vices. 
 
 Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is not to he kissed fasting, in 
 respect of her breath. 
 
 Laun. WelL, that fault may be mended with a 
 breakfast: read on. 
 
 • 8t. Nicholas p»°8ided over young scholars. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth. 
 
 Laun. Shat makes amends for her sour breaih. 
 
 Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep. 
 
 Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep uot 
 in her talk. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is slow in words. 
 
 Laun. O villain, that set this down among her 
 vices! To be slow in words, is a woman's only 
 virtue: I pray thee, out with 't; and place it for her 
 chief virtue. 
 
 Speed. Item, -She is proud. 
 
 Laun. Out with that too; it was Eve's legacy, 
 and cannot be ta'en from her. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. 
 
 Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love 
 crusts. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is curst. 2 
 
 Laun. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 
 
 Speed. Item, She will often praise her liquor. 
 
 Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall: if she 
 will not, I will; for good things should be praised. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is too liberal.* 
 
 Laun. Of her tongue she cannot ; for that's writ 
 down she is slow of; of her purse she shall not; 
 for that I'll keep shut: now, of another thing she 
 may, and that I cannot help. Well, proceed. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, and 
 more faults than hairs, and more wealth than 
 faults. 
 
 Laun. Stop there; I'll have her: she was mine, 
 and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article: 
 rehearse that once more. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath more hair than wit, — 
 
 Laun. More hair than wit, — it may be; I'll 
 prove it: the cover of the salt hides the salt, and 
 therefore it is more than the salt; the hair that 
 covers the wit, is more than the wit ; for the greater 
 hides the less. What's next? 
 
 Speed. And more faults than hairs, — 
 
 Laun. That's monstrous : 0, that that were out ! 
 
 Speed. And more wealth than faults. 
 
 Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gra- 
 cious : Well, I'll have her ; and if it be a match, 
 as nothing is impossible, — 
 
 Speed. What then] 
 
 Laun. Why, then I will tell thee, — that thy 
 master stays for thee at the north gate. 
 
 Speed. For me? 
 
 Laun. For thee] ay; who art thou] he hath 
 staid for a better man than thee. 
 
 Speed. And must I go to him ] 
 
 Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast 
 staid so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 
 
 Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner] 'pox of 
 your love-letters ! [Exit. 
 
 Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my 
 letter: An unmannerly slave, that will thrust him- 
 self into secrets ! — I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's 
 correction. Exit 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. A Room in the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke and Thurio ; Proteus behind. 
 
 Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will 
 love you, 
 Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight. 
 
 Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me moMt, 
 Forsworn my company, and lail'd at me, 
 That I am desperate of obtaining her. 
 
 Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figuia 
 Trenched 5 in ice; which with an hour's heat 
 
 » Froward. * Licentious in language. ' Cut 
 
Dissolves to water and doth lose his form. 
 A little time will melt her frozen thoughts, 
 And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. — 
 How now. sir Proteus! Is your countryman, 
 According to our proclamation, gone ? 
 
 Pro. Gone, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously. 
 
 Pro. A little time, my loid, will kill that grief. 
 
 Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. 
 Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee 
 (For thou hast shown some sign of good desert) 
 Makes me the better to confer with thee. 
 
 Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, 
 Let me not live to look upon your grace. 
 
 Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect 
 The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter. 
 
 Pro. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke. And also, I think, thou art not ignorant 
 How she opposes her against my will. 
 
 Fro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 
 
 Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
 What might we do to make the girl forget 
 The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio? 
 
 Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine 
 With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent; 
 Three things that women highly hold in hate. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate. 
 
 Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it: 
 Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
 By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend. 
 
 Duke. Then you must undertake ts slander 
 him. 
 
 Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 
 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman; 
 Especially, against his very friend. 
 
 Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage 
 him, 
 Four slander never can endamage liim ; 
 Therefore the office is indifferent, 
 Being entreated to it by your friend. 
 
 Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it, 
 By aught that I can speak in his dispraise, 
 She shall not long continue love to him. 
 But, say this weed her love from Valentine, 
 It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. 
 
 Thu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him, 
 Lest it should ravel, and be good to none, 
 You must provide to bottom it on me: 
 
 Which must be done, by praising me as much 
 As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. 
 
 Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in thi* 
 kind ; 
 Because we know, on Valentine's report, 
 You are already love's firm votary, 
 And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
 Upon this warrant shall you have access, 
 Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
 For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy, 
 And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you; 
 Where } r ou may temper her, by your persuasion, 
 To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. 
 
 Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect: — 
 But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough; 
 You must lay lime, 1 to tangle her desires, 
 By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
 Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. 
 
 Duke. Ay, much the force of heaven-bred poesy 
 
 Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 
 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart: 
 Write till your ink be dry; and with your tears 
 Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line, 
 That may discover such integrity: — 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinewh • 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones 
 Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans 
 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
 After your dire lamenting elegies, 
 Visit by night your lady's chamber-window 
 With some sweet concert : to their instruments 
 Tune a deploring dump; 8 the night's dead silence 
 Will well become such sweet complaining griev 
 
 ance. 
 This, or else nothing, will inherit hei. 
 
 Duke. This discipline shows thou hast been hi 
 love. 
 
 Th u. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice. 
 Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver, 
 Let us into the city presently 
 To sort 9 some gentlemen. well skill'd in music: 
 I have a sonnet, that will serve the turn, 
 To give the onset to thy good advice. 
 
 Duke. About it, gentlemen. 
 
 Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after suppet 
 And afterward determine our proceedings. 
 
 Duke. Even now about it: I will pardon you. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Forest near Mantua. 
 Enter certain Out-laws. 
 
 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast; I see a passenger. 
 
 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down 
 
 with 'em. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed. 
 
 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have 
 
 about you ; 
 If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. 
 
 Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
 That all the travellers do fear so much. 
 
 Vol. My friends — ■ 
 
 1 Out. That's not so, sir; we are your enemies. 
 
 2 Out. Peace ; we'll hear him. 
 
 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 
 For he's a proper 6 man. 
 
 Val. Then know, that I have little wealth o lose ; 
 A man I run , cross'd with adversity : 
 • Well looking. 
 
 My riches are these poor habiliments, 
 
 Of which if you should here disfurnish me, 
 
 You take the sum and substance that I have. 
 
 2 Out. Whither travel you ? 
 Val. To Verona. 
 
 1 Out. Whence came you ? 
 Val. From Milan. 
 
 3 Out. Have you long sojoum'd there? 
 
 Val. Some sixteen months; and longer might 
 have staid, 
 If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. 
 
 1 Out. What, were you banish'd thence ? 
 Val. I was. 
 
 2 Out. For what offence ? 
 
 Val. For that which now torments me to rehearse 
 I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent; 
 But yet I slew him manfully in fight, 
 Without false vantage, or base treachery. 
 
 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so 
 But were you banish'd for so small a fault! 
 ' Birdlime. » Mournful elegy. » Cboooe out 
 
31 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Acr IV 
 
 Val. I was and held me glad of such a doom. 
 
 1 Out. Hav<; \_j the tongues 7' 
 
 Val. My youthful travel therein made me happy; 
 Or else I often had been miserable. 
 
 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, 
 This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 
 
 2 Out. We'll have him : sirs, a word. 
 Speed. Master, be one of them ; 
 
 It is an honorable kind of thievery. 
 Val. Peace, villain! 
 
 2 Out. Tell us this: Have you any thing to take 
 
 to? 
 Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 
 
 3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, 
 Such as the fury of ungoverncd youth 
 
 Thrust from the company of awfuP men: 
 Myself was from Verona banished, 
 For practising to steal away a lady, 
 An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 
 
 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman, 
 Whom, in my mood, 3 I stabb'd unto the heart. 
 
 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 
 But to the purpose, — (for we cite our faults, 
 That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives,) 
 And, partly, seeing you are beautified 
 
 With goodly shape ; and by your own report 
 A linguist; and a man of such perfection, 
 As we do in our quality much want; — 
 
 2 Out . Indeed, because you are a banish'd man, 
 Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you : 
 
 Are you content to be our general ? 
 
 To make a virtue of necessity, 
 
 And live, as we do, in this wilderness'? 
 
 3 Out. What say'st thou ? wilt thou be of our 
 
 consort? 
 Say, ay, and be the captain of us all: 
 We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee, 
 Love thee as our commander, and our king. 
 
 1 Out. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 
 
 2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we 
 
 have offer'd. 
 Val. I take your offer, and will live with you; 
 Provided that you do no outrages 
 On silly women, or poor passengers. 
 
 3 Out. No, we detest such vile base practices. 
 Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, 
 And show thee all the treasure we have got; 
 Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Milan. Court of the ralace. 
 
 Enter Piioteus. 
 
 Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine, 
 And now I must be as unjust to Thurio. 
 Under the color of commending him, 
 I have access my own love to prefer: 
 But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, 
 To be corrupted with my worthless gifts. 
 When I protest true loyalty to her, 
 She twits me with my falsehood to my friend: 
 When to her beauty I commend my vows, 
 She bids me think, how I have been forsworn 
 In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd: 
 And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips,* 
 The least whereof would quell a lover's hope, 
 Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love, 
 The more it grows and fawneth on her still. 
 B ut here comes Thurio: now must we to her window, 
 And give some evening music to her ear. 
 
 1 Languages. 
 
 * Aug<»r, resentment. 
 
 > Lp Wful. 
 
 4 Passionate reproaches. 
 
 Enter Thuhio and Musicians. 
 
 Tku. How now, sir Proteus, are you cre\A 
 before us? 
 
 Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for you know, that love 
 Will creep in service where it cannot go. 
 
 77m. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here. 
 
 Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
 
 Thu. Whom? Silvia? 
 
 Pro. Ay, Silvia, — for your sake. 
 
 Tku. Ithankyouforyourown. Now, gentlemen, 
 Let's tune, and to it lustily a while. 
 
 Enter Host, at a distance,- and Julia in boy's 
 clothes. 
 
 Host. Now, my young guest! methinks you're 
 allycholly; I pray you, why is it? 
 
 Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry. 
 
 Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I'll bring 
 you where you shall hear music, and see the 
 gentleman that you ask'd for. 
 
 Jul. But shall I hear him speak? 
 
 Host. Ay, that you shall. 
 
 Jul. That will be music. [Music plays. 
 
 Host. Hark! hark! 
 
 Jul. Is he among these? 
 
 Host. Ay, but peace, let's hear 'em. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Who is Silvia? What is she? 
 
 That all our swains commend her? 
 Holy, fair, and ivise is she,- 
 
 The heavens such grace did lend her, 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind, as she is fair? 
 
 For beauty lives toith kindness: 
 Love doth to her eyes repair, 
 
 To help him of his blindness,- 
 And, being help d, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sing, 
 
 That Silvia is excelling,- 
 She excels each mortal thing, 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling; 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 Host. How now ? are you sadder than you wern 
 before ? 
 How do you, man ? the music likes you not. 
 
 Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me not. 
 
 Host. Why, my pretty youth? 
 
 Jul. He plays false, father. 
 
 Host. How ? out of tune on the strings ? 
 
 Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves my 
 very heart-strings. 
 
 Host. You have a quick ear. 
 
 Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes ma 
 have a slow heart. 
 
 Host. I perceive you delight not in music. 
 
 Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 
 
 Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music ! 
 
 Jul. Ay ; that change is the spite. 
 
 Host. You would have them always play but 
 one thing? 
 
 Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. 
 But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, 
 often resort unto this gentlewoman ? 
 
 Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me. 
 he loved her out of all nick. s 
 
 Jul. Where is Launce? 
 
 Host. Gone to seek his dog; which, to-morrow, 
 by his master's command, he must cany for a 
 present to his lady. 
 
 » Beyond all reckoning. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 35 
 
 Jul. Peace! stand aside! the company parts. 
 Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! I will so plead, 
 lliat you shall say, my cunning drift excels. 
 Thu Where meet we ? 
 Pro. At saint Gregory's well. 
 Thu. Farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Thurio and Musicians. 
 
 Silvia appears above, at her window. 
 
 Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. I thank you for your music, gentlemen : 
 Who is that, that spake! 
 
 Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth, 
 You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. 
 
 Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 
 
 Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 
 
 Sil. What is your will ? 
 
 Pro. That I may compass yours. 
 
 Sil. You have your wish ; my will is even this, — 
 That presently you hie you home to bed. 
 Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man ! 
 f hink'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, 
 To be seduced by thy flattery, 
 That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows 1 
 Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
 For me, — by this pale queen of night I swear, 
 I am so far from granting thy request, 
 That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit; 
 And by and by intend to chide myself, 
 Even for this time I spend in talking to thee. 
 
 Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady ; 
 But 6he is dead. 
 
 Jul. 'Twere false, if I should speak it ; 
 
 For I am sure she is not buried. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. Say that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend, 
 Survives; to whom, thyself art witness, 
 I am betrothed : And art thou not asham'd 
 To wrong him with thy importunacy 1 
 
 Pro. I likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. 
 
 Sil. And so, suppose, am I; for in his grave 
 Assure thyself my love is buried. 
 
 Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 
 
 Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence; 
 Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. 
 
 Jul. He heard not that. [Aside. 
 
 Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate, 
 Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
 The picture that is hanging in your chamber; 
 To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep : 
 For, since the substance of your perfect self 
 Is else devoted, I am but a shadow; 
 And to your shadow, I will make true love. 
 
 Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, de- 
 ceive it, 
 And make it but a shadow, as I am. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir; 
 But, since your falsehood shall become you well 
 To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, 
 Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it: 
 And so good rest. 
 
 Pro. As wretches have o'er night, 
 
 That wait for execution in the morn. 
 
 [Exeunt Proteus, and Silvia from above. 
 
 Jul. Host, will you go? 
 
 Host. By my halidom, 6 I was fast asleep. 
 
 Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus! 
 
 Host. Marry, at my house: Trust me, I think 
 'tis almost day. 
 
 Jul. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
 That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exeunt. 
 
 • Holy damp, blessed lady. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. 
 
 Enter Eglamour. 
 
 Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
 Entreated me to call and know her mind ; 
 There's some great matter she'd employ me in - ■ 
 Madam, madam ! 
 
 Silvia appears above, at her window. 
 
 Sil. Who calls! 
 
 Egl. Your servant, and your friend, 
 
 One that attends your ladyship's command. 
 
 Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good mat 
 row. 
 
 Egl. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. 
 According to your ladyship's impose, 1 
 I am thus early come, to know what service 
 It is your pleasure to command me in. 
 
 Sil. Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
 (Think not I flatter, for I swear I do not,) 
 Valiant, wise, remorseful, 3 well accomplish'd 
 Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will 
 I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; 
 Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
 Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd. 
 Thyself hast lov'd; and I have heard thee say, 
 No grief did ever come so near thy heart, 
 As when thy lady and thy true love died, 
 Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
 Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
 To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode; 
 And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
 I do desire thy worthy company, 
 Upon whose faith and honor I repose. 
 Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
 But think upon my grief, a lady's grief; 
 And on the justice of my flying hence, 
 To keep me from a most unholy match, 
 Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. 
 I do desire thee, even from a heart 
 As full of sorrows as the sea of sands, 
 To bear me company, and go with me : 
 If not, to hide what I have said to thee, 
 That I may venture to depart alone. 
 
 Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances: 
 Which since I know they virtuously are plac'd, 
 I give consent to go along with you ; 
 Recking" as little whatbetideth me, 
 As much I wish all good befortune you. 
 When will you go 1 
 
 Sil. This evening coming. 
 
 Egl. Where shall I meet you! 
 
 Sil. At friar Patrick's cell 
 
 Where I intend holy confession. 
 
 Egl. I will not fail your ladyship: 
 Good-morrow, gentle lady. 
 
 Sil. Good-morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 
 Enter Launce, with his dog. 
 
 When a man's servant shall play the cur with him. 
 look you, it goes hard : one that I brought up of a 
 puppy ; one that I saved from drowning when three 
 or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it' 
 I have taught him — even as one would say pre' 
 cisely, Thus I would teach a dog. I was sent to 
 deliver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from 
 my master ; and I came no sooner into the dining 
 chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and 
 steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing when a 
 
 ' Injunction, command. 
 ■ Caring. 
 
 * Compassionate. 
 
3(i 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 curcai./iot keep 1 himse.r"in all companies! I would 
 have, as one should say, one that takes upon him 
 to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all 
 things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take 
 a fault upon me that he did, I think vevily he had 
 been hanged for 't; sure as I live, he had suffered 
 for 't : you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into 
 the company of three or four gentlemen-like dogs, 
 under the duke's table: he had not been there 
 (bless the mark !) a pissing while ; but all the cham- 
 ber smelt him. Out with the dog, says one ; What 
 cur is that? says another; Whip him out, says the 
 third ; Hang him up, says the duke. I, having been 
 acquainted with the smell before, knew it was Crab ; 
 and goes me to the fellow that whips the dogs: 
 Friend, quoth I, you mean to whip the dog? Ay, 
 marry, do I, quoth he. You do him the more 
 wrong, quoth I; 'twas I did the thing you wot 
 of. He makes me no more ado, but whips me out 
 of the chamber. How many masters would do 
 this for their servant? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have 
 sat in the stocks for puddings he hath stolen, other- 
 wise he had been executed : I have stood on the 
 pillory for geese he hath killed, otherwise he had 
 suffered for't: thou think'st not of this now! — ■ 
 Nay, I remember the trick you served me, when I 
 took my leave of madam Silvia ; did not I bid thee 
 still mark me, and do as I do] When didst thou 
 see me heave up my leg, and make water against 
 a gentlewoman's farthingale] didst thou ever see 
 me do such a trick] 
 
 Enter Proteus and Julia. 
 
 Pro. Sebastian is thy name] I like cnee well, 
 And will employ thee in some service presently. 
 
 Jul. In what you please ; I will do what I can. 
 
 Pro. I hope thou wilt. — How now, you whore- 
 son peasant] [To Launce. 
 Where have you been these two days loitering ] 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia the 
 dog you bade me. 
 
 Pro. And what says she to my little jewel] 
 
 Laun. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur; 
 and tells you, currish thanks is good enough for 
 such a present. 
 
 Pro. But she. received my dog] 
 
 Laun. No, indeed, she did not: here have I 
 brought him back again. 
 
 Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me ] 
 
 Laun. Ay, sir ; the other squirrel was stolen from 
 me by the hangman's boys in the market-place: 
 and then I offered her mine own ; who is a dog as 
 big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 
 
 Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again, 
 Or ne'er return again into my sight. 
 Away, I say : stay'st thou to vex me here] 
 A slave, that, still an end, a turns me to shame. 
 
 [Exit Launce. 
 Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
 Partly, that I have need of such a youth, 
 That can with some discretion do my business, 
 For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt; 
 But, chiefly, for thy face and thy behavior; 
 Which (if my augury deceive me not) 
 Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth : 
 Therefore know thou, for this I entertain thee. 
 Go presently, and take this ring with thee, 
 Deliver it to madam Silvia: 
 She love/' m° well, deliver'd it to me. 
 
 Jul. it seems you loved her not, to leave her 
 token : 
 8h«'s dead, belike. 
 
 1 .Restrain. 
 
 »In the end. 
 
 Pro. Not so; I think, the lives. 
 
 Jul, Alas! 
 
 Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas ! 
 
 Jul. I cannot choose but pity her. 
 
 Pro. Wherefore shouldst thou pity her ] 
 
 Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd youaswei. 
 As you do love your lady Silvia: 
 She dreams on him, that has forgot her love; 
 You dote on her, that cares not for your love. 
 'Tis pity, love should be so contrary ; 
 And thinking on it makes me cry, alas! 
 
 Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal 
 This letter; — That's her chamber. — 'Tell my lad; 
 I claim the promise for her heavenly picture. 
 Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
 Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary. 
 
 [Exit Photeus, 
 
 Jul. How many women would do aach a message] 
 Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd 
 A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs : 
 Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him 
 That with his very heart despiseth me] 
 Because he loves her, he despiseth me; 
 Because I love him, I must pity him. 
 This ring I gave him, when he parted from me, 
 To bind him to remember my good will: 
 And now am I (unhappy messenger) 
 To plead for that which I would not obtain; 
 To carry that which I would have refus'd; 
 To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd. 
 I am my master's true confirmed love; 
 But cannot be true servant to my master, 
 Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
 Yet I will woo for him ; but yet so coldly, 
 As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed 
 
 Enter Silvia attended. 
 
 Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean 
 To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia. 
 
 Sil. What would you with her, if that I be she? 
 
 Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience 
 To hear me speak the message I am sent on. 
 
 Sil. From whom ] 
 
 Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 
 
 Sil. O ! — he sends you for a picture ] 
 
 Jul. Ay, madam. 
 
 Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. 
 
 [Picture brought. 
 Go, give your master this: tell him from me, 
 One Julia that his changing thoughts forget, 
 Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. 
 
 Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. — 
 Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvis'd 
 Deliver'd you a paper that I should not; 
 This is the letter to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. I pray thee, let me look on that again 
 
 Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me. 
 
 Sil. There, hold. 
 I will not look upon your master's lines: 
 I know they are stuff'd with protestations. 
 And full of new-found oaths ; which he will break 
 As easily as I do tear his paper. 
 
 Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 
 
 Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me - . 
 For I have heard him say a thousand times, 
 His Julia gave it him at his departure : 
 Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring, 
 Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 
 
 Jul. She thanks you. 
 
 Sil. What say'st thou ] 
 
 Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her 
 Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her muct 
 
 Sil. Dost thou know her 1 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 37 
 
 Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself. 
 To think upon her woes, I do protest, 
 That I have wept a hundred several times. 
 
 Sil. Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook 
 her. 
 
 Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of 
 sorrow. 
 
 Sil. Is she not passing fair? 
 
 Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is: 
 When she did think my master lov'd her well, 
 She, in my judgment, was as fair as you; 
 But since she did neglect her looking-glass, 
 And threw her sun-expelling mask away, 
 The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks, 
 And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face, 
 That now she is become as black as I. 
 
 Sil. How tall was she? 
 
 Jul. About my stature: for at Pentecost, 3 
 When all our pageants of delight were play'd, 
 Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
 And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown; 
 Which served me as fit, by all men's judgment, 
 As if the garment had been made for me : 
 Therefore I know she is about my height. 
 And, at that time, I made her weep a-good, 4 
 For I did play a lamentable part: 
 Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 
 For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight; 
 Which I so lively acted with my tears, 
 That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 
 Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead, 
 If I in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 
 
 Sil. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth ! — 
 Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! — 
 
 I weep myself to think upon thy words. 
 Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give thee this 
 For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her 
 Farewell. [Exit Silvia 
 
 Jul. And she shall thank ycu for't, if e'er you 
 know her. — 
 A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful. 
 I hope my master's suit will be but cold, 
 Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
 Alas, how love can trifle with itself! 
 Here is her picture : Let me see ; I think, 
 If I had such a tire, 5 this face of mine 
 Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
 And yet the painter flatter'd her a little, 
 Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
 Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow: 
 If that be all the difference in his love, 
 I'll get me such a color'd periwig. 
 Her eyes are grey as glaas ; and so are mine : 
 Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high. 
 What should it be, that he respects in her, 
 But I can make respective in myself, 
 If this fond love were not a blinded god ? 
 Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up, 
 For 'tis thy rival. thou senseless form, 
 Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd 
 And, were there sense in his idolatry, 
 My substance should be statue in thy stead. 
 I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake, 
 That us'd me so; or else, by Jove I vow, 
 I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, 
 To make my master out of love with thee. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 ACT \. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. An Abbey. 
 Enter Erlamour. 
 
 Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky; 
 And now, it is about the very hour 
 That Silvia, at Patrick's cell, should meet me. 
 She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, 
 Unless it be to come before their time : 
 So much they spur their expedition. 
 
 Enter Silvia. 
 See, where she comes : Lady, a happy evening ! 
 
 Sil. Amen, amen ! go on, good Eglamour ! 
 Out at the postern by the abbey wall ; 
 I fear I am attended by some spies. 
 
 Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues off; 
 If we recover that, we arc sure enough. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. An Apartment in the 
 
 Duke's Palace. 
 
 Enter Tiiurio, Proteus, and Julia. 
 
 Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? 
 
 Pro. 0, sir, I find her milder than she was; 
 And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
 
 77m. What, that my leg is too long? 
 
 Pro. No ; that it is too little. 
 
 Thu. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat 
 rounder. 
 
 Pro. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my face ? 
 
 Pro. She says, it is a fair one. 
 
 Thu. Nay, then, the wanton lies, my face is black. 
 
 Pro. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is, 
 Dlack men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eves. 
 * VVhitsuatide. * In wood earnest. 
 
 Jul. "1 is true ; such pearls as put out ladies' eyes 
 For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside. 
 Thu. How likes she my discourse? 
 Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 
 Thu. But well, when I discourse of love, and 
 
 peace 
 
 Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your 
 peace. [Aside. 
 
 Thu. What says she lo my valor? 
 Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 
 Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Thu. What says she to my birth ? 
 Pro. That you are well derived 
 Jul. True; from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside. 
 Thu. Considers she my possessions? 
 Pro. 0, ay; and pities them. 
 Thu. Wherefore? 
 
 Jul. That such an ass should owe 6 them. [Aside. 
 Pro. That they are out by lease. 
 Jul. Here comes the duke. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. How now, sir Proteus ? how now, Thurio'' 
 Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late ? 
 Thu. Not I. 
 P~<>. Nor I. 
 
 Duke. Saw you my daughter • 
 
 Pro. Neither 
 
 7 mice. Why, then, she's fled unto that peasant 
 Valentine; 
 And Eglamour is in her company. 
 'Tis true ; for friar Laurence met them both, 
 
 » Head-dress. • Own 
 
39 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 As he in penance wander'd through the forest: 
 
 Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ; 
 
 But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it: 
 
 Besides, she did intend confession 
 
 At Patrick's cell this even; and there she was not: 
 
 These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
 
 Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, 
 
 But mount you presently; and meet with me 
 
 Upon the rising of the mountain foot 
 
 That bads towards Mantua, whither they are fled: 
 
 Despatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit. 
 
 Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl, 
 That flies her fortune when it follows her : 
 I'll after; more to be revenged on Eglamour, 
 Than for the love of reckless' Silvia. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love, 
 Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love, 
 Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Frontiers of Mantua. The Forest. 
 Enter Silvia and Outlaws. 
 
 Out. Come, come; 
 Be patient, we must bring you to our captain. 
 
 Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one 
 Have learn'd me how to brook this patiently. 
 
 2 Out. Come, bring her away. 
 
 1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her? 
 
 3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us, 
 But Moyses, and Valerius, follow him. 
 
 Go thou with her to the west end of the wood, 
 There is our captain ; we'll follow him that's fled ; 
 The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape. 
 
 1 Out. Come, I must bring you to our captain's 
 cave; 
 Fear not; he bears an honorable mind, 
 And will not use a woman lawlessly. 
 
 Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
 And, to the nightingale's complaining notes, 
 Tune my distresses, and record 8 my woes. 
 O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
 Leave not the mansion so long tenantless; 
 Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall, 
 And leave no memory of what it was ! 
 Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ; 
 Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! — 
 What halloing, and what stir is this to-day ? 
 These are my mates, that make their wills their law, 
 Have some unhappy passenger in chase: 
 They love me well ; yet I have much to do, 
 To keep them from uncivil outrages. 
 Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's this comes here ? 
 
 [Steps aside. 
 Enter Photeus, Silvia, and Julia. 
 Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you, 
 (Though you respect not aught your servant doth,) 
 To hazard life, and rescue you from him 
 That wou.d have forc'd your honor and your love. 
 Vouchsafe me for my meed but one fair look; 
 A smaller \x>n than this I cannot beg, 
 And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 
 
 Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear ! 
 fjove, lend me patience to forbear awhile. [Aside. 
 ' C*reles«. • Sing 
 
 Sil. miserable, unhappy that I am ' 
 Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came 
 But, by my coming, I have made you happy. 
 Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most 
 
 unhappy. 
 Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your 
 presence. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
 I would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
 Rather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
 O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine, 
 Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ; 
 And full as much (for more there cannot be) 
 I do detest false perjur'd Prceus; 
 Therefore begone, solicit me no more. 
 
 Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next 
 death, 
 Would I not undergo for one calm look? 
 0, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, 3 
 When women cannot love where they're bclov'd. 
 Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he's 
 belov'd. 
 Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love, 
 For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
 Into a thousand oaths; and all those oath? 
 Descended into perjury, to love me. 
 Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou hadst two, 
 And that's far worse than none ; better have none 
 Than plural faith, which is too much by one : 
 Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 
 
 Pro. In love, 
 
 Who respects friend? 
 
 Sil. All men but Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Can no way change you to a milder form. 
 I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ; 
 And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you 
 Sil. O heaven ! 
 
 Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire. 
 
 Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch ; 
 Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 
 
 Pro. Valentine ! 
 
 Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith 
 or love, 
 (For such is a friend now,) treacherous man ! 
 Thou hast beguil'd my hopes; nought but mine eye 
 Could have persuaded me: Now I dare not say 
 I have one friend alive ; thou wouldst disprove me. 
 Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand 
 Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus, 
 I am sorry, I must never trust thee more, 
 But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
 The private wound is deepest: O time, most curst ! 
 'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst ! 
 
 Pro. My shame and guilt confound me. — 
 Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow 
 Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 
 I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer, 
 As e'er I did commit. 
 
 Val. Then I am paid; 
 
 And once again I do receive thee honest: — 
 Who by repentance is not satisfied, 
 Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleas'd ; 
 By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd: — 
 And, that my love may appear plain and free, 
 All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee. 
 
 Jul. O me unhappy! [Faints 
 
 Pro. Look to the boy. 
 
 Val. Why, boy ! why, wag! how now? what ii 
 the matter? 
 Look up; speak. 
 
 8 Felt, experienced. 
 
ScENK IV. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VEkONA. 
 
 39 
 
 Jul. good sir, my master charg'd me 
 
 To deliver a ring to madam Silvia; 
 Which, out of my neglect, was never done. 
 
 Pro. Where is that ring, boy] 
 
 Jul. Here 'tis: this is it. [Gives a ring. 
 
 Pro. How! let me see: 
 Why this is the ring I gave to Julia. 
 
 Jul. 0, cry your mercy, sir, I have mistook ; 
 This is the ring you sent to Silvia. 
 
 [Shows another ring. 
 
 Pro. But, how cam'st thou by this ring 1 ? at my 
 depart, 
 I gave this unto Julia. 
 
 Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
 And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 
 
 Pro. How! Julia! 
 
 Jul. Behold her that gave aim ' to all thy oaths. 
 And entertain'd them deeply in her heart: 
 How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the root 1 a 
 Proteus, let this habit make thee blush ! 
 Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me 
 Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live 
 In a disguise of love : 
 It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, 
 Women to change their shapes, than men their 
 minds. 
 
 Pro. Than men their minds'! 'tis true : heaven! 
 were man 
 But constant, he were perfect: that one error 
 Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all 
 
 sins: 
 Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins: 
 What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy 
 More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye 1 
 
 Vat. Come, come, a hand from either : 
 Let me be blest to make this happy close ; 
 'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes. 
 
 Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for 
 ever. 
 
 Jul. And I have mine. 
 
 Enter Out-laws, with Duke and Thurio. 
 
 Out. A prize, a prize, a prize! 
 
 Vol. Forbear, I say ; it is my lord the duke. 
 Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
 Banished Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine ! 
 
 Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine. 
 
 Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy 
 death ; 
 Came not within the measure of my wrath:' 
 
 • Direction. 
 
 » An allusion to cleaving the pin in archery. 
 
 * Length of my sword. 
 
 Do not name Silvia thine ; if once again, 
 Milan shall not behold thee. Here she stands, 
 Take but possession of her with a touch ; — 
 I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. — 
 
 Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I ; 
 I hold him but a fool, that will endanger 
 His body for a girl that loves him not : 
 I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 
 
 Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, 
 To make such means' for her as thou hast done, 
 And leave her on such slight conditions. — 
 Now, by the honor of my ancestry, 
 I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 
 And think thee worthy of an empress' love. 
 Know then, I here forget all former griefs, 
 Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again. — 
 Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, 
 To which I thus subscribe, — sir Valentine, 
 Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd; 
 Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast de*;rv'd her. 
 
 Val. I thank your grace ; the gift hath made k«« 
 happy. 
 I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, 
 To grant one boon that I shall ask of you. 
 
 Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it ¥ * 
 
 Val. These banish'd men, that I have kept witk< . 
 Are men endued with worthy qualities; 
 Forgive them what they have committed here, 
 And let them be recall'd from their exile : 
 They are reformed, civil, full of good, 
 And fit for great employment, worthy lord. 
 
 Duke. Thou hast prevail'd : I pardon them, an*, 
 thee; 
 Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 
 Come, let us go; we will include 5 all jars 
 With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 
 
 Val. And, as we walk along, 1 dare be bold, 
 With our discourse to make your grace to smile : 
 What think you of this page, my lord ? 
 
 Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him : t t 
 blushes. 
 
 Val. I warrant you, my lord; more grace than 
 boy. 
 
 Duke. What mean you by that saying ? 
 
 Val. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along 
 That you will wonder what hath fortuned. — 
 Come, Proteus; 'tis your penance, but to hear 
 The story of your loves discovered: 
 That done, our day of marriage shall be yours, 
 One feast, one house, rjie mutual happiness. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Interest. 
 
 O ootids. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Sir Jonx Falstaff. 
 
 Fenton. 
 
 Shallow, a country Justice. 
 
 Slender, cousin to Shallow. ^ 
 
 Mr. Fohd, > G en tkmen dwelling at Windsor. 
 
 Mr. Page, $ ° 
 
 William Page, a Boy, son to Mr. Page. 
 
 Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh Parson. 
 
 Dr. Caius, a French Physician. 
 
 Host of the Garter Inn. 
 
 Barijolph, ^ 
 
 Pistol, > Followers 0/ Falstaff. 
 
 Nim, ) 
 
 Robin, Page to Falstaff. 
 Simple, Servant to Slender. 
 Rugby, Servant to Dr. Caius. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 
 Mrs. Page. 
 Mrs. Anne Page, her Daughter, in love tnth 
 
 Fenton. 
 Mrs. Quickly, Servant to Dr. Caius. 
 
 Servants to Page, Ford, S(c. 
 
 SCENE, Windsor; and the parts adjacent. 
 
 ACTL 
 
 SCENE I. — Windsor. Before Page's House. 
 
 Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sir 1 Hugh 
 Evans. 
 
 Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will 
 make a Star-chamber matter of it; if he were 
 twenty sir John FalstaSs, he shall not abuse Robert 
 Shallow, esquire. 
 
 S/en. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, 
 and coram. 
 
 Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and Cust-alorum? 
 
 Slen. Ay, and ratotorum too; and a gentleman 
 born, master parson; who writes himself armigero; 
 in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armi- 
 gero. 
 
 Shal. Ay, that we do: and have done anytime 
 these three hundred years. 
 
 Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have 
 done't; and all his ancestors, that come after him, 
 may: they may give the dozen white luces in their 
 coat. 
 
 Shal. It is an old coat. 
 
 Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old 
 coat well; it agrees well, passant: it is a familiar 
 Vast to man, and signifies — love. 
 
 Shal. The luce is the fresh fish; the salt fish is 
 an old coat. 
 
 Slen. I may quarter, coz 7 
 
 Shal. You may, by marrying. 
 
 Eva. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it. m 
 
 Shal. Not a whit. 
 
 Eva. Yes, py'r 3 lady; if he has a quarter of 
 your coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in 
 my simple conjectures : but this is all one : if Sir 
 John Falstaff have committed disparagements unto 
 
 • A title formerly appropriated to chaplains. 
 8 Custns Ilotulorum. * By our. 
 
 C-io] 
 
 you, I am of the church; and will be glad (o do 
 my benevolence, to make atonements and comprir- 
 niises between you. 
 
 Shal. The Council shall hear it; it is a riot. 
 
 Eva. It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; there 
 is no fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you, 
 shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear 
 a riot; take your vizaments* in that. 
 
 Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the 
 sword should end it. 
 
 Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and 
 end it : and there is also another device in my prain, 
 which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with 
 it: There is Anne Page, which is daughter to 
 master George Page, which is pretty virginity. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne Page ? She has brown hair, 
 and speaks small like a woman. 
 
 Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, at 
 just as you will desire : and seven hundred pounds 
 of monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, 
 upon his death's bed (Got deliver to a joyful resur- 
 rections !) give, when she is able to overtake seven- 
 teen years old : it were a goot motion, if we leave 
 our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage 
 between master Abraham and mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hun- 
 dred pounds 1 
 
 Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny 
 
 Shal. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has 
 good gifts. 
 
 Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities, 
 is good gifts. 
 
 Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is 
 Falstaff there 1 
 
 Eva. Shall I tell you a lie 1 I do despise a liar, 
 as I do despise one that is false ; or as I despise 
 
 * Advisement. 
 

 
 
Scene 1 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 41 
 
 one that is not true. The knight, sir John, is 
 there ; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well- 
 ffuii-rs. I will peat the door [knocks'] for master 
 I 'a ye. What, hoa! pless your house here! 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Page. Who's there? 
 
 Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, 
 and justice Shallow : and here young master Slen- 
 der; that peradventures shall tell you another tale, 
 f matters grow to your likings. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see your worships well : I 
 thank you for my venison, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you ; Much 
 good do it your good heart ! I wished your venison 
 better ; it was ill-killed : — How doth good mistress 
 Page ? — and I love you always with my heart, la ; 
 with my heart. 
 
 Page. Sir, I thank you. 
 
 Shal. Sir, I thank you; by yea and no, I do. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. 
 
 Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir ? I 
 heard say he was outrun at Cotsale. 4 
 
 Page. It could not be judged, sir. 
 
 Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. 
 
 Shah That he will not ; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your 
 fault : — 'Tis a good dog. 
 
 Page. A cur, sir. 
 
 Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog ; Can 
 there be more said? he is good, and fair. — Is sir 
 John Falstaff here ? 
 
 Page. Sir, he is within; and I would I could do 
 a good office between you. 
 
 Eva. It is spoke as a Christian ought to speak. 
 
 Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. 
 
 Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 
 
 Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not 
 that so, master Page ? He hath wrong'd me ; in- 
 deed, he hath ; — at a word, he hath ; — believe me ; 
 —Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd. 
 
 Page. Here comes sir John. 
 
 Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bahdolph, Nym, 
 and Pistol. 
 
 Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you'll complain of 
 me to the king 1 
 
 Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my 
 deer, and broke open my lodge. 
 
 Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter. 
 
 Shal. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answer'd. 
 
 Fal. I will answer it straight ; — I have done all 
 this: — That is now answer'd. 
 
 Shal. The council shall know this. 
 
 Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in 
 counsel : you'll be laugh' d at. 
 
 Eva. Pauca verba, sir John, good worts. 
 
 Fal. Good worts! 6 good cabbage. — Slender, I 
 broke your head ; What matter have you against me? 
 
 Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head 
 against you; and against your coney-catching' 
 rascals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. They carried 
 inc to the tavern, and made me drunk, and after- 
 wards picked my pocket. 
 
 Bar. You Banbury cheese ! 8 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Pist. How, now, Mephostophilus ?' 
 
 Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 Nym. Slice, I say, pauca, pauca,- slice ! that's 
 my humor. 
 
 » Cotswold, in Gloucestershire. 
 
 • Worts was the ancient name of all the cahbage kind. 
 ' ?harpcrs. * Nothing but paring ! 
 
 » The name of an ugly spirit. 
 
 Slen. Where's Simple, my man? — canyouteU, 
 cousin ? 
 
 Eva. Peace: I pray you ! Now let us understand; 
 There is three umpires in this matter as I under- 
 stand: that is — master Page, Jidelicet, master Page, 
 and there is myself, Jidelicet myself; and the three 
 party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between 
 them. 
 
 Eva. Fery goot : I will make a brief of it in my 
 note-book; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
 cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, 
 
 Pist. He hears with ears. 
 
 Eva. The tevil and his tam ! what phrase is this, 
 He hears with ear? Why, it is affectations. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse? 
 
 Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would 1 
 might never come in mine own great chamber again 
 else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Ed- 
 ward shovel-boards,' that cost me two shillings and 
 two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. 
 
 Fal. Is this true, Pistol? 
 
 Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 
 
 Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! — Sir John, 
 and master mine, 
 I combat challenge of this latten bilbo : a 
 Word of denial in thy labras 3 here ; 
 Word of denial; froth and scum, thou liest 
 
 Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. 
 
 Nym. Be advised, sir, and pass good humors: 
 I will say, marry trap, with you if you run the nut- 
 hook's 4 humor on me ; that is the very note of it 
 
 Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it : 
 for though I cannot remember what I did when you 
 made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass. 
 
 Fal. What say you, Scarlet and John ? 
 
 Bar. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman 
 had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 
 
 Eva. It is his five senses: fie, what the igno- 
 rance is! 
 
 Bar. And being fap, 5 sir, was, as they say, 
 cashier'd; and so conclusions pass'd the careires/ 
 
 Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too: but 'tis 
 no matter: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again 
 but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick 
 if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have 
 the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves. 
 
 Eva. So Got 'udge me, that is a virtuous mind. 
 
 Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle- 
 men; you hear it. 
 
 Enter Mistress Anne Page with wine,- Mistress 
 Form and Mistress Page following. 
 
 Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; we'll 
 drink within. [Exit Anne Page 
 
 Slen. O heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page 
 
 Page. How now, mistress Ford ? 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very 
 w r ell met: by your leave, good mistress. [Kissing I. er. 
 
 Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome: — 
 Come, wc have a hot venison pasty to dinner; 
 come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all 
 unkindness. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Shal., Slender, and Evans. 
 
 Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my 
 book of Songs and Sonnets here : — 
 
 Enter Simple. 
 How now, Simple ! where have you been ? I must 
 
 • King Edward's shilling used in the game of shuffl* 
 
 board. s Blade as thin as a lath. * Lips. 
 
 * If you say I am a thief. • Drunk 
 
 • The bounds of good Vhavioi. 
 
 D 
 
42 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 wait on myself, must 1 ? You have not The Book. 
 if Riddles about you, have you ? 
 
 Sim. Book of Riddles.' why, did you not lend it 
 to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fort- 
 night afore Michael nas V 
 
 Shal. Come, coz; come, coz; we stay for you. 
 A word with you, coz; marry, this, coz; There 
 is, as 'twere a tender, a kind of tender, made afar 
 off by sir Hugh here ; — Do you understand me ? 
 
 Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable ; if 
 it be so, I shall do that that is reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, but understand me. 
 
 Slen. So I do, sir. 
 
 Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender: I 
 mil description the matter to you, if you be capa- 
 city of it. 
 
 Slen. Nay I will do as my cousin Shallow says : 
 I pray you, pardon me; he's a justice of peace in 
 his country, simple though I stand here. 
 
 Eva. But this is not the question ; the question 
 is concerning your marriage. 
 
 Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir. 
 
 Eva. Marry, is it; the very point of it; to mis- 
 tress Anne Page. 
 
 Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon 
 any reasonable demands. 
 
 Eva. But can you affection the 'oman? Let us 
 command to know that of your mouth, or of your 
 lips; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is 
 parcel of the mouth; — Therefore, precisely, can 
 you cany your good will to the maid? 
 
 Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her? 
 
 Slen. I hope, sir, — I will do, as it shall become 
 one that would do reason. 
 
 Eva. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies ! you must 
 speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires 
 towards her. 
 
 Shal. That you must: Will you, upon good 
 dowry, marry her ? 
 
 Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon 
 your request, cousin, in any reason. 
 
 Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet 
 coz; what I do, is to pleasure you, coz: Can you 
 love the maid? 
 
 Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request; but 
 if there be no great love in the beginning, yet 
 heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, 
 when we are married, and have more occasion to 
 know one another: I hope, upon familiarity will 
 grow more contempt; but if you say, marry her, 
 I will marry her, that I am freely dissolved, and 
 dissolutely. 
 
 Eva. It is a feiy discretion answer; save, the 
 faul' is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, according 
 to our meaning, resolutely ; — his meaning is good. 
 
 Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. 
 
 Slen. Ay, or else 1 would I might be hanged, la. 
 
 Re-enter Vnne Page. 
 
 Shal. Here comes fai mistress Anne: — Would 
 f were young, for your bake, mistress Anne ! 
 
 Anne. The dinner is on the table; my father 
 desires your worships' company. 
 
 Shal. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. 
 
 Eva. Od's plessed will ! I will not be absence at 
 the grace. 
 
 [Exeunt Shallow and Sir H. Evans. 
 
 Anne. Will't please your worship to come in, sir ? 
 
 Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am 
 very well. 
 
 Anne, The dinner attends you, sir. 
 
 ' An intpuded blunder. 
 
 Slen. I am not a-hungry, 1 thank you, forsootn 
 Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon 
 my cousin Shallow: [Exit Simple.] A justice of 
 peace sometime may be beholden to his friend foi 
 a man : — I keep but three men and a boy yet, till 
 my mother be dead : But what though ? yet I live 
 like a poor gentleman born. 
 
 Anne. I may not go in without your worship: 
 they will not sit till you come. 
 
 Slen. V faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as 
 much as though I did. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 
 
 Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you: I 
 bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword 
 and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys* 
 for a dish of stewed prunes; and, by my troth, 1 
 cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do 
 your dogs bark so ? be there bears i' the town ? 
 
 Anne. I think there are, sir; I heard tbem talked 
 of. 
 
 Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon 
 quarrel at it as any man in England: — You ara 
 afraid, if you seethe bear loose, are you not? 
 
 Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 
 
 Slen. That's meat and drink to me now : I have 
 seen Sackerson 9 loose, twenty times : and have ta- 
 ken him by the chain: but, I warrant you, the 
 women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it 
 pass'd: 1 — but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em; 
 they are ill-favored, rough things. 
 
 Re-enter Page. 
 
 Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come; wo 
 stay for you. 
 
 Slen. I'll eat nothing; I thank you, sir. 
 
 Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, 
 sir ; come, come. 
 
 Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 
 
 Page. Come on, sir. 
 
 Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 
 
 Anne. Not I, sir, pray you, keep on. 
 
 Slen. Truly, I will not go first; truly, la; I will 
 not do you that wrong. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sir. 
 
 Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than trouble- 
 some; you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 
 
 Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Caius' 
 house, which is the way: and there dwells one 
 mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of his 
 nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, 
 his washer, and his wringer. 
 
 Sim. Well, sir. 
 
 Eva. Nay, it is petter yet : give her this 
 
 letter ; for it is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance 
 with mistress Anne Page ; and the letter is, to de- 
 sire and to require her to solicit your master's de- 
 sires to mistress Anne Page : I pray you begone ; 
 I will make an end of my dinner ; there's pippins 
 and cheese to come. [Exeu-H 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Host, Bahdolph, Ntm, Pistol, 
 and Robin. 
 
 Fal. Mine host of the Garter, — 
 Host. What says my bully-rook ? Speak schol- 
 arly, and wisely. 
 
 • Three set-tos, bouts, or hits. 
 
 • The name of a bear exhibited at Paris-Garden, South 
 
 wark * Surpassed all expression. 
 
 -_J 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 43 
 
 Fal. T-uly, mine hodt, I must turn away some 
 of my followers. 
 
 Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let them 
 wag: trot, trot. 
 
 Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week. 
 Host. Thou art an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and 
 Pheezar. I will entertain Bardolph ; he shall draw, 
 ne shall tap: said I well, bully Hector? 
 
 Fal. Do so, good mine host. 
 
 Host. I have spoke ; let him follow : Let me see 
 thee froth, and lime : I am at a word ; follow. 
 
 [Exit Host. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, follow him ; a tapster is a good 
 trade , an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a wither- 
 ed servingman, a fresh tapster; Go, adieu. 
 
 Bar. It is a life that I have desired ; I will thrive. 
 
 [Exit Baud. 
 
 Pist. base Gongarian 9 wight! wilt thou the 
 spigot wield? 
 
 Nym. He was gotten in drink: is not the hu- 
 mor conceited ? His mind is not heroic, and there's 
 the humor of it. 
 
 Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box ; 
 his thefts were too open : his niching was like an 
 unskilful singer, he kept not time. 
 
 Nym. The good humor is, to steal at a minute's 
 rest. 
 
 Pist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal ! foh, a fico ' 
 for the phrase ! 
 
 Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 
 
 Pist. Why then let kibes ensue. 
 
 Fal. There is no remedy ; I must coney-catch ; 
 I must shift. 
 
 Pist. Young ravens must have food. 
 
 Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town ? 
 
 Pist. I ken the wight ; he is of substance good. 
 
 Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am 
 about. 
 
 Pist. Two yards and more. 
 
 Fal. No quips now, Pistol; indeed I am in the 
 waist two yards about; but I am now about no 
 waste; I an. ibout thrift. Briefly, I do mean to 
 make love to Ford's wife ; I spy entertainment in 
 her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer 
 of invitation; I can construe the action of her 
 familiar style; and the hardest voice of her beha- 
 vior, to be English'd rightly, is, I am Sir John 
 Falstaff's. 
 
 Pist. He hath studied her well, and translated 
 her well; out of honesty into English. 
 
 Nym. The anchor is deep: will that humor pass? 
 
 Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule 
 of her husband's purse ; she hath legions of angels.' 
 
 Pist. As many devils entertain; and, To her, 
 boy, say I. 
 
 Nym. The humor rises ; it is good : humor me 
 the angels. 
 
 Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her: and 
 here another to Page's wife; who even now gave 
 me good eyes too; examin'd my parts with most 
 judicious eyliads:' sometimes the beam of her 
 view gilded my foot, sometimes my portly belly. 
 
 Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 
 
 Nym. I thank thee for that humor. 
 
 Fal. 0, she did so course o'er my exteriors with 
 Huch a greedy intention, that the appetite of her 
 eye did seem to scorch me up like a burning-glass ! 
 Here's another letter to her: she bears the purse 
 too ; she is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. 
 I will be cheater 8 to them both, and they shall be ex- 
 
 9 For Hungarian. »Fig. 
 
 4 Gold Coin. » Eyes. 
 
 • Escheatour, an officer in the Exchequer. 
 
 chequers to uu,, ihey shall be my East and West 
 Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear 
 thou this letter to mistress Page; and thou this to 
 mistress Ford : we will thrive, lads, we will thrive 
 
 Pist. Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become, 
 And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take all . 
 
 Nym. I will run no base humor; here, take the 
 humor letter ; I will keep the 'havior of reputation. 
 
 Fal. Hold, sirrah, [To Rob.] bear you these 
 letters tightly ; ' 
 Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. — 
 Rogues, hence avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go; 
 Trudge, plod away, o' the hoof; seek shelter, packJ 
 Falstaff wilt learn the humor of this age, 
 French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page. 
 [Exeunt Falstaff and Robin. 
 
 Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd and 
 fullam 8 hold, 
 And high and low beguile the rich and poor: 
 Tester I'll have in pouch, 9 when thou shalt lack, 
 Base Phrygian Turk! 
 
 Nym. I have operations in my head, which be 
 humors of revenge. 
 
 Pist. Wilt thou revenge ! 
 
 Nym. By welkin, and her star! 
 
 Pist. With wit, or steel? 
 
 Nym. With both the humors, I: 
 I will discuss the humor of this love to Page. 
 
 Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold, 
 How Falstaff, varlet vile, 
 His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
 And his soft couch defile. 
 
 Nym. My humor shall not cool: I will incense 1 
 Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with 
 yellowness, 2 for the revolt of mien is dangerous 1 
 that is my true humor. 
 
 Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I second 
 thee; troop on. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in Dr. Caius's House. 
 Enter Mrs. Quickly, Simple, and Rugby. 
 
 Quick. What; John Rugby! — I pray thee, g© 
 to the casement, and see if you can see my mas« 
 ter, master doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i' faith, 
 and find any body in the house, here will be an 
 old abusing of God's patience, and the king's 
 English. 
 
 Rug. I'll go watch. [Exit Rugby. 
 
 Quick. Go ; and we'll have a posset for't soon 
 at night, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. An 
 honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall 
 come in house withal ; and, I warrant you, no tell- 
 tale, nor no breed-bate: 3 his worst fault is, that he 
 is given to prayer : he is something peevish * that 
 way : but nobody but has his fault ; — but let that 
 pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is? 
 
 Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 
 
 Quick. And master Slender's your master? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Quick. Docs he not wear a great round beard, 
 like a glover's paring knife ? 
 
 Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, 
 with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-colored beard. 
 
 Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth: but he is as tall* a man ol 
 his hands, as any is between this and his head ; he 
 hath fought with a warrencr. 
 
 Quick. How say you? — O, I should remember 
 
 * Cleverly. 
 
 • False dice 
 
 » Sixpence I'll have in pocket. 
 
 > Instigate. 
 
 3 Jealousy. 
 
 » Strife. 
 
 « Foolish. 
 
 » Brave. 
 
44 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 ACT 
 
 hiu. , does he not hold up his head, as it were? and 
 strut in his gait? 
 
 Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 
 Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse 
 fortune. Tell master parson Evans, I will do what 
 can fo» your master; Anne is a good girl, and I 
 wish — 
 
 Re-enter Rugby. 
 
 Rug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 
 
 Quick. We shall all be shent : 6 Run in here, 
 good young man ; go into this closet. [Shuts Sim- 
 ple in the closet.} He will not stay long. — What, 
 John Rugby ! John, what, John, I say !r— Go, John, 
 go enquire for my master ; I doubt he be not well, 
 that he comes not home: — and down, down, 
 adown-a, &c. [Sings. 
 
 Enter Doctor Caius. 
 
 Caius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys ; 
 Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitier 
 verd; a box, a green-a box ; Do intend vit I speak? 
 a green-a box. 
 
 Quick. Ay forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad 
 he went not in himself; if he had found the young 
 man, he would have been horn-mad. [Aside. 
 
 Caius. Fe,fe,fe,fe. ma foi, it 'fait fort chaud. 
 Je m'en vais a. la cour, — la grande affaire. 
 
 Quick. Is it this, sir? 
 
 Caius. Ouy ; mette le au rnon pocket; Depcche, 
 quickly. — Vere is dat knave Rugby ? 
 
 Quick. What, John Rugby ! John ! 
 
 Rug. Here, sir. 
 
 Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
 tiugby : Come, take-a your rapier, and come after 
 my heel to de court. 
 
 Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 
 
 Cams. By my trot, I tarry too long : — Od's me ! 
 Qu'ay-j' oublie? dere is some simples in my closet, 
 dat 1 vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. 
 
 Quick. Ah me ! he'll find the young man there, 
 and be mad. 
 
 Caius. diable, diable ! vat is in my closet? — 
 Villany ! larron ! [Pulling Simple out.~\ Rugby, 
 my rapier. 
 
 Quick. Good master, be content 
 
 Cuius. Verefore shall I be content-a? 
 
 Quick. The young man is an honest man. 
 
 Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet? 
 dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 
 
 Quick. I beseech you, be not so flegmatick ; hear 
 the truth of it. He came of an errand to me from 
 parson Hugh. 
 
 Caius. Veil. 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to 
 
 Quick. Peace, I pray you. 
 
 Caius. Peace-a your tongue: — Speak-a your tale. 
 
 Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your 
 maid, to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page 
 fjr my master, in the way of marrige. 
 
 Quick. This is all, indeed, la; but I'll ne'er put 
 my finger in the fire, and need not. 
 
 Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you ? — Rugby, baillez 
 me some paper: — Tarry you a little-a while. 
 
 [ Writes. 
 
 Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been 
 thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so 
 loud, and so melancholy: — But notwithstanding, 
 man, I'll do your master what good I can : and the 
 very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my 
 master, — I may call him my master, look you, for 
 I keep his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, 
 
 » f colded, reprimanded. 
 
 scour, dress meat and drink, make the bed?, and 
 do all myself; — 
 
 Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come *inder one 
 body's hand. 
 
 Quick. Are you avis'd o' that ? you shall find it 
 a great charge : and to be up early and down li»te ■ 
 — but notwithstanding, (to tell you in your ear; 
 I would have no words of it,) my master himself 
 is in love with mistress Anne Page; but notwith- 
 standing that, — I know Anne's mind, — that's 
 neither here nor there. 
 
 Caius. You jack 'nape; give-a dis letter to sii 
 Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge ; I vill cut his troat 
 in de park ; and I will teach a scurvy jack-a-nape 
 priest to meddle or make : — you may be gone ; it 
 is not good you tarry here : — by gar, I will cut all 
 his two stones; by gar, he shall not have a stone 
 to trow at his dog. [Exit Simple, 
 
 Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 
 
 Caius. It is no matter-a for dat; — do not you 
 tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? — 
 by gar, I will kill de jack priest; and I have ap- 
 pointed mine host of de Jarterre to measure oui 
 weapon : — by gar, I vill myself have Anno Page. 
 
 Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
 well : we must give folks leave to prate : What, 
 the good-jer! 1 
 
 Caius. Rugby, come to the court vit me ; — By 
 gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your 
 head out of my door : — Follow my heels, Rugby. 
 Exeunt Caius and Rvghy. 
 
 Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your 
 own. No, I know Anne's mind for that; never a 
 woman in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind 
 than I do; nor can do more than I do with her, I 
 thank heaven. 
 
 Fent. [Within.'] Who's within there, ho? 
 
 Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the 
 house, I pray you. 
 
 Enter Fentojj. 
 
 Fent. How now, good woman : how dost thou ? 
 
 Quick. The better, that it pleases your good 
 worship to ask. 
 
 Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress 
 Anne? 
 
 Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, 
 and gentle : and one that is your friend, I can tell 
 you that by the way ; I praise heaven for it. 
 
 Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou? Shall 
 I not lose my suit? 
 
 Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above ; but 
 notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a 
 book she loves you : — Have not your worship a 
 wart above your eye? 
 
 Fent. Yes, marry, have I; what of that? 
 
 Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale ; — good faith, 
 it is such another Nan; but, I detest, 8 an honest 
 maid as ever broke bread: — We had an hour's 
 talk of that wart ; — I shall never laugh but in that 
 maid's company! — But, indeed, she is given too 
 much to allicholly 3 and musing: But for you— 
 Well, go to. 
 
 Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day : Hold, there's 
 money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my behalf 
 — if thou seest her before me, commend me — 
 
 Quick. Will I? i'faith, that we will: and I will 
 tell your worship more of the wart, the next time 
 we have confidence ; and of other wooers. 
 
 Fent. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste now. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 i The goujere, what the pox ! 
 • She means, I protest. • Meianchol 
 
Act II. Scene T 
 
 MERIT* WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Quick. Farewell to your worship.- -Truly, an 
 honest gentleman ; but Anne loves him not : for I 
 
 know Anne's mind as well as another does; — Out 
 upon't ! what have I forgot » f Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Page's House. 
 
 Enter Mistress Page, with a letter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What! have I 'scaped love-letters 
 in the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now 
 a subject for them? Let me see: [Reads. 
 
 Ask me no reason why I love you; for though 
 love use reason for his precisian, 1 he admits him 
 not for his counsellor. You are not young, no 
 more am I: go to then, there's sympathy,- you are 
 merry, so am 1: Ha.' ha! then there's more sym- 
 pathy,- you love sack, and so do I: Would you 
 desire better sympathy? Let it suffice thee, mistress 
 Page, (at the least, if the love of a soldier can 
 suffice?) that I love thee. I will not say, pity me, 
 'tis not a soldierlike phrase,- but I say, love me. 
 By me, 
 
 Thine own true knight, 
 
 By day or night, 
 
 Or any kind of light, 
 
 With all his might, 
 
 For thee to fight, 
 
 John Falstaff. 
 
 What a Herod of Jewry is this ! — O wicked, wick- 
 ed world! — one that is well nigh worn to pieces 
 with age, to show himself a young gallant ! What 
 unweighed behavior hath this Flemish drunkard 
 picked (with the devil's name) out of my conver- 
 sation, that he dares in this manner assay me? — 
 Why, he hath not been thrice in my company ! — 
 What should I say to him ? — I was then frugal of 
 my mirth: — heaven forgive me! — Why, I'll ex- 
 hibit a bill in the parliament for the putting down 
 of men. How shall I be revenged on him ? for 
 revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are made of 
 puddings. 
 
 Enter Mistress Ford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page! trust me, I was going 
 to your house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. And trust me, I was coming to you. 
 You look very ill. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that; I have 
 to show to the contrary. 
 
 Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet, I say, I could 
 show you to the contrary: O, mistress Page, give 
 me some counsel! 
 
 Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one 
 trifling respect, I could come to such honor ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman : — take the 
 honor: What is it? — dispense with trifles; — what 
 is it! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal 
 moment, or so, I could be knighted. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What?— thou liest! — Sir Alice 
 
 Ford ! These knights will hack ; and so thou 
 
 shouldst not alter 2ie article of thy gentry. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We burn daylight: — here, read, 
 read ; — perceive how I might be knighted, — I shall 
 think the worse of fat men, as long as I have an 
 vre to make difference of men's liking: And yet 
 
 • Most probably Sh ikspoare wrote physician. 
 
 he would not swear ; praised women's modesty - 
 and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof tfl 
 all uncomeliness, thafr I would have sworn hi» 
 disposition would have gone to the truth of his 
 words : but they do no more adhere and keep place 
 together, than the hundredth psalm to the tune of 
 Green sleeves. What tempest, I trow, threw this 
 whale, with so many tons of oil in his belly, 
 ashore at Windsor? How shall I be revenged on 
 him ? I think, the best way were to entertain him 
 with hope, till the wicked fire of lust have melted 
 him in his own grease. Did you ever hear the like ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name 
 of Page and Ford differs ! — To thy great comfort 
 in this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin- 
 brother of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, 
 I protest, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a 
 thousand of these letters writ with blank space 
 for different names, (sure more,) and these are of 
 the second edition: He will print them out of 
 doubt : for he cares not what he puts into the press, 
 when he would put us two. I had rather be a 
 giantess, and lie under mount Pclion. Well, I 
 will find you twenty lascivious turtles, ere one 
 chaste man. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why this is the very same; the very 
 hand, the very words: What doth he think of us? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not: it makes me 
 almost ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. 
 I'll entertain myself like one that I am not ac- 
 quainted withal ; for, sure, unless he know some 
 strain in me, that I know not myself, he would 
 never have boarded me in this fury. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it? I'll be sure 
 to keep him above deck. 
 
 Mrs. Page. So will I; if he come under my 
 hatches, I'll never to sea again. Let's be reveng- 
 ed on him ; let's appoint him a meeting ; give him 
 a show of comfort in his suit: and lead him on 
 with a fine-baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his 
 horses to mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany 
 against him, that may not sully the chariness 3 of 
 our honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter ! 
 it would give eternal food to his jealousy. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes; and my 
 good man too : he's as far from jealousy, as I am 
 from giving him cause; and that, I hope, is an 
 unmeasurable distance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against this 
 greasy knight: Come hither. [They retire. 
 
 Enter Fonii, Pistol, Page, and Ntm. 
 
 Ford. Well, I hope it be not so. 
 
 Pist. Hope is a curtail 3 dog in some affairs: 
 Sir John affects thy wife. 
 
 Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. 
 
 Pist. He woos both high and low, both rich 
 and poor, 
 Both young and old, one with another, F'rd; 
 He loves thy gally-mawfry;' Ford, perpend.' 
 
 Ford. Love my wife? 
 
 a Caution. 
 4 A medley. 
 
 * A dog that mis?-'* hie gams. 
 » Consider. 
 
46 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 .Act II. 
 
 Pist . With liver burning hot : Prevent, or g o thou 
 Like sir Actseon he, with Ring-wood at thy heels : 
 0, odious is the name ' 
 
 Ford. What name, sir? 
 
 Pist. The horn, 1 say : Farewell. 
 Take heed; have open eye; for thieves do foot by 
 
 night: 
 Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo-birds do 
 
 sing.— 
 Away, sir corporal Nym. — 
 Believe it, Page; he speaks sense. [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Ford. I will be patient; I will find out this. 
 
 Nym. And this is true. [To Page.] I like not 
 tfcs humor of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
 humors ; I should have borne the humored letter 
 to her : but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon 
 my necessity. He loves your wife; there's the 
 short and the long. My name is corporal Nym ; 
 I speak, and I avouch. 'Tis true: — my name is 
 Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. — Adieu ! I love 
 not the humor of bread and cheese ; and there's 
 the humor of it. Adieu. [Exit Ntm. 
 
 Page. The humor of it, quoth 'a! here's a 
 fellow frights humor out of his wits. 
 
 Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. 
 
 Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting 
 rogue. 
 
 Ford. If I do find it, well. 
 
 Page. I will not believe such a Cataian, 6 tho' the 
 priest o' the town commended him for a true man. 
 
 Ford. 'Twa* a good sensible fellow: Well. 
 
 Page. How now, Meg? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George? — Hark you. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank? why art 
 thou melancholy? 
 
 Ford. I melancholy ! I am not melancholy. — 
 Get you home, go. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 'Faith, thou hast some crotchets in 
 thy head now. — Will you go, mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Have with you. — You'll come to 
 dinner, George? — Look, who comes yonder: she 
 shall be our messenger to this paltry knight. 
 
 Aside to Mrs. FonD. 
 
 Enter Mistress Quickly. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she'll 
 fit it. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You are come to see my daughter 
 Anne? 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and, I pray, how does good 
 mistress Anne? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and see; we have 
 an hour's talk with you. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 
 Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Page. How now, master Ford? 
 
 Ford. You heard what this knave told me ; did 
 you not? 
 
 Page. Yes; and you heard what the other told me? 
 
 Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 
 
 Page. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the 
 knight would offer it : but these that accuse him in 
 his intent towards our wives, are a yoke of his dis- 
 carded men ; very vogues, now they be out of ser- 
 vice. 
 
 Ford. Were they his men? 
 
 Page. Marry, were they. 
 
 Ford. I like it never the better for that. — Does 
 be lie at the Garter? 
 
 Page. Ay. marry, does he. If he should intend 
 this voyage towards my wile, I would turn her 
 
 • A lying sharper. 
 
 loose to him ; and what he gets more of her than 
 sharp words, let it lie on my head. 
 
 Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I would 
 be loth to turn them together : A man may be too 
 confident : I would have nothing lie on my head : 
 I cannot be thus satisfied. 
 
 Page. Look where my ranting host of the Gartei 
 comes : there is either liquor in his pate, or money 
 in his purse, when he looks so merrily. — How now, 
 mine host? 
 
 Enter Host and Shallow. 
 
 Host. How now, bully-rook? thou'rt a gentle 
 man : cavalero-justice, I say. 
 
 Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even 
 and twenty, good master Page ! Master Page, will 
 you go with us ? we have sport in hand. 
 
 Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice; tell him, bully- 
 rook. 
 
 Shal. Sir, there is a fray to De fought, between 
 sir Hugh the Welsh priest, and Caius the French 
 doctor. 
 
 Ford. Good mine host of the Garter, a word 
 with you. 
 
 Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook? 
 
 [They go aside. 
 
 Shal. Will you [to Page] go with us to behold 
 it ? my merry host hath had the measuring of then 
 weapons; and, I think, he hath appointed them 
 contrary places : for, believe me, I hear, the parson 
 is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport 
 shall be. 
 
 Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my 
 guest-cavalier ? 
 
 Ford. None, I protest: but I'll give you a pottle 
 of burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell 
 him, my name is Brook; only for a jest. 
 
 Host. My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress 
 and regress; said I well? and thy name shall be 
 Brook: It is a merry knight. — Will you go on, 
 hearts ? 
 
 Shal. Have with you, mine host. 
 
 Page. I have heard the Frenchman hath good 
 skill in his rapier. 
 
 Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more ! In 
 these times you stand on distance, your passes, 
 stoccadoes, and I know not what: 'tis the heart, 
 master Page ; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the 
 time, with my long sword, I would have made you 
 four tall fellows skip like rats. 
 
 Host. Here, boys, here, here! shall we wag? 
 
 Page. Have with you : — I had rather hear them 
 scold than fight. 
 
 [Exeunt Host, Shallow, and Page. 
 
 Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands 
 so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off 
 my opinion so easily : she was in his company at 
 Page's house ; and what they made there, I know 
 not. Well, I will look further into't : and I have 
 a disguise to sound Falstaff: If I find her honest, I 
 lose not my labor ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labor 
 well bestowed. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Falstaf* and Pistol. 
 Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 
 Pist. Why then the world's mine oyster, 
 Which I with sword will open. — 
 I will retort the sum in equipage. 1 
 
 Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
 should lay my countenance to pawn ; I have grated 
 
 ' Pay you again in stolen gooils. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSf.R. 
 
 4? 
 
 upon my good friends for three reprieves for you 
 and your coach-fellow 8 Nym ; or else you had 
 looked through the grate like a geminy of baboons. 
 I am damned in hell, for swearing to gentlemen 
 my friends, you were good soldiers, and tall fellows : 
 and when mistress Bridget lost the handle of her 
 fan, I took't upon my honor, thou hadst it not. 
 
 Pist. Didst thou not share] hadst thou not 
 fifteen pence ] 
 
 Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : Think'st thou, 
 I'll endanger my soul gratis ? At a word, hang no 
 more about me, I am no gibbet for you : — go. — 
 A short knife and a throng: 9 — to your manor 
 of Pickt-hatch, 1 go. — You'll not bear a letter for 
 me, you rogue ! — you stand upon your honor ! — 
 Why, thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much 
 as I can do, to keep the terms of my honor pre- 
 cise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving the fear of 
 heaven on the left hand, and hiding mine honor in 
 my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to 
 lurch ; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce 5 your 
 rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice 3 
 phrases, and your bold-beating oaths, under the 
 shelter of your honor ! You will not do it, you 1 
 
 Pist I do relent: what wouldst thou more of man? 
 
 Enter Robin. 
 Hob. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. 
 Fal. Let her approach. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quickit. 
 
 Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. 
 
 Quick. Not so, an't please your worship. 
 
 Fal. Good maid, then. 
 
 Quick. I'll be sworn ; as my mother was, the 
 firat hour I was born. 
 
 Fal. I do believe the swearer ; What with me ] 
 
 Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or 
 two! 
 
 Fal. Two thousand, fair woman ; and I'll vouch- 
 safe thee the hearing. 
 
 Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir; — I pray, 
 come a little nearer this ways; — I myself dwell 
 with master doctor Caius. 
 
 Fal. Well, on: Mistress Ford, you say,— '■ — 
 
 Quick. Your worship says very true; I pray 
 your worship, come a little nearer this ways. 
 
 Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears ; — mine own 
 people, mine own people. 
 
 Quick. Are they so] Heaven bless them, and 
 make them his servants ! 
 
 Fal. Well: Mistress Ford : — what of her] 
 
 Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, 
 lord ! your worship's a wanton : Well, heaven for- 
 give you, and all of us, I pray ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, — 
 
 Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of 
 it; you have brought her into such a canaries,' as 
 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of them all, 
 when the court lay at Windsor, could never have 
 brought her to such a canary. Yet there has been 
 knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with their 
 coaches; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter 
 after letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly 
 (all musk) and so rushling, I warrant you, in silk 
 and gold; and in such alligant terms; and in such 
 wine and sugar of the best and the fairest, that would 
 have won any woman's heart ; and, I warrant you, 
 they could never get an eye-wink of her. — I had 
 
 * Draws along with you. » To cut purses in a crowd. 
 » Pickt-hatch was iu Clerkenwell. a Protect. 
 
 * Ale-house. 
 
 * A mistake of M^k. Quickly's for quandary. 
 
 myself twenty angels given me this morning; but 
 I defy all angels, (in any such sort, as they say,) 
 but in the way of honesty : — and, I warrant you, 
 they could never get her so much as sip on a cup 
 with the proudest of them all ; and yet there has 
 been earls, nay, which is more, pensioners ; but I 
 warrant you, all is one with her. 
 
 Fal. But what says she to me] be brief, my 
 good she-Mercury. 
 
 Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter; for 
 the which she thanks you a thousand times; and 
 she gives you to notify, that her husband will be 
 .absence from his house between ten and eleven. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven] 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come 
 and see the picture, she says that you wot 5 of; — 
 master Ford, her husband, will be from home. 
 Alas ! the sweet woman leads an ill life with him; 
 he's a very jealousy man ; she leaus a very fram- 
 pold 6 life with him, good heart. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven : Woman, commend me 
 to her ; I will not fail her. 
 
 Quick. Why, you say well : But I have another 
 messenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath her 
 hearty commendations to you too ; — and let me 
 tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest 
 wife, and one (I tell you) that will not miss youi 
 morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, 
 whoe'er be the other ; and she bade me tell your 
 worship, that her husband is seldom from home ; 
 but, she hopes, there will come a time. I never 
 knew a woman so dote upon a man ; surely, I think 
 you have charms, la; yes, in truth. 
 
 Fal. Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attraction 
 of my good parts aside, I have no other charms. 
 
 Quick. Blessing on your heart for't ! 
 
 Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this: has Ford's 
 wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each other how 
 they love me] 
 
 Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! — they have 
 not so little grace, I hope: — that were a trick, 
 indeed! But mistress Page would desire you to 
 send her your little page, of all loves; 1 her husband 
 has a marvellous infection to the little page : and, 
 truly, master Page is an honest man. Never a wife 
 in Windsor leads a better life than she does ; do 
 what she will, say what she will, take all, pay all, 
 go to bed when she list, rise when she list, all is 
 as she will ; and, truly, she deserves it ; for if there 
 be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You 
 must send her your page ; no remedy. 
 
 Fal. Why, I will. 
 
 Quick. Nay, but do so, then ; and, look you, he 
 may come and go between you both ; and, in any 
 case, have a nay-word, 8 that you may know one 
 another's mind, and the boy never need to under- 
 stand any thing ; for 'tis not good that children 
 should know any wickedness : old folks, you know, 
 have discretion, as they say, and know the world. 
 
 Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them both: 
 
 there's my purse; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go 
 
 along with this woman. — This news distracts me. 
 
 [Exeunt Quicklt anil Robin. 
 
 Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : — 
 Clap on more sails ; pursue, up with your fights ; 
 Give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all! 
 
 [Exit Pistol. 
 Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack ] go thy ways; FU 
 make more of thy old body than I have done. Will 
 they yet look after thee ] Wilt thou, after the ex- 
 pense of so much money be now a gainer ! Good 
 
 « Know. 
 
 * By all mean*. 
 
 • Fretful, peevish. 
 4. watch-wora. 
 
18 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act H. 
 
 body, I thank thee : Let them say, 'tis grossly done ; 
 <»n it be fairly done, no matter. 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 
 Bar. Sir John, there's one master Brook below 
 would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
 you; and hath sent your worship a morning's 
 draught of sack. 
 
 Fal. Brook, is his name 1 ? 
 
 Bar. Ay, sir. 
 
 Fal. Call him in. [^xit Bardolph.] Such 
 Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such 
 liquor. Ah! ha! mistress Ford and mistress Page, 
 have I encompassed you! go to; via! 9 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph with Ford disguised. 
 
 Ford. Bless you, sir. 
 
 Fal. And you, sir : Would you speak with me? 
 
 Ford. I make bold, to press with so little prepa- 
 ration upon you. 
 
 Fal. You're welcome; What's your will] Give 
 us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
 much ; my name is Brook. 
 
 Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaint- 
 ince of you. 
 
 Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours : not to 
 charge you ; for I must let you understand, I think 
 myself in better plight for a lender than you are : 
 the which hath something embolden'd me to this 
 unseason'd intrusion : for they say, if money go 
 before, all ways do lie open. 
 
 Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 
 
 Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here 
 troubles me : if you will help me to bear it, sir 
 John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be 
 your porter. 
 
 Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the 
 hearing. 
 
 Fal. Speak, good master Brook ; I shall be glad 
 to be your servant. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be 
 brief with you ; — and you have been a man long 
 known to me, though I had never so good means, 
 as desire, to make myself acquainted with you. I 
 shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must very 
 much lay open mine own imperfection : but, good 
 sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as 
 you hear them unfolded, turn another into the 
 register of your own; that I may pass with a re- 
 proof the easier, sith' yot yourself know, how easy 
 it is to be such an offender. 
 
 Fal. Very well, sir; proceed. 
 
 Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her 
 husband's name is Ford. 
 
 Fal. Well, sir. 
 
 Ford. I have long loved her, and, I protest to 
 you, bestowed much on her; followed her with a 
 doting observance ; engrossed opportunities to meet 
 her; fee'd every slight occasion, that could but 
 niggardly give me sight of her ; not only bought 
 many piesents to give her, but have given largely 
 to man} , to know what she would have given : 
 briefly, I have pursued her, as love hath pursued 
 me; which hath been on the wing of all occasions. 
 But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind, 
 or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received 
 none. ; unless experience be a jewel : that I have 
 purchased at an infinite rate: and that hath taught 
 rr.e ta say this: 
 
 • A. cant phrase of exultation 
 
 ' Since. 
 
 Love like a shadow flies, when substance love pur- 
 sues,- 
 Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues. 
 
 Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfac- 
 tion at her hands ? 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fal. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose! 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fal. Of what quality was your love then? 
 
 Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another 
 man's ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by 
 mistaking the place where I erected it. 
 . Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to 
 me? 
 
 Ford. When I have told you that, I have told 
 you all. Some say, that, though she appear honest 
 to me, yet, in other places, she enlargeth her mirth 
 so far, that there is shrewd construction made oi 
 her. Now, sir John, here is the heart of my pur- 
 pose: You are a gentleman of excellent breeding, 
 admirable discourse, of great admittance, 2 authentic 
 in your place and person, generally allowed 3 for your 
 many warlike, courtlike, and learned preparations. 
 
 Fal. sir! 
 
 Ford. Believe it, for you know it. — There is 
 money; spend it, spend it; spend more; spend all 
 I have ; only give me 60 much of your time in ex- 
 change of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the 
 honesty of this Ford's wife ; use your art of wooing, 
 win her to consent to you ; if arty man may, you 
 may as soon as any. 
 
 Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of 
 your affection, that I should win what you would 
 enjoy? Methinks you prescribe to yourself very 
 preposterously. 
 
 Ford. 0, understand my drift! she dwells so 
 securely on the excellency of her honor, that the 
 folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too 
 bright to be looked against. Now, could I come 
 to her with any detection in my hand, my desires 
 had instance and argument to commend themselves; 
 I could drive her then from the ward of her purity, 
 her reputation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand 
 other her defences, which now are too strongly 
 embattled against me: What say you to't, sir John? 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with 
 your money ; next, give me your hand ; and last, 
 as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy 
 Ford's wife. 
 
 Ford. O good sir! 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I say you shall. 
 
 Ford. Want no money, sir John, you shall want 
 none. 
 
 Fal. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook, you 
 shall want none. I shall be with her (I may tell 
 you) by her own appointment ; even as you came 
 in to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from 
 me: I say, I shall be with her between ten and 
 eleven; for at that time the jealous, rascally knave, 
 her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at 
 night; you shall know how I speed. 
 
 Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you 
 know Ford, sir? 
 
 Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I know 
 him not: — yet I wrong him to call him poor; they 
 say, the jealous wittolly knave hath masses of mon- 
 ey; for the which his wife seems to be well-favored. 
 I will use her as the key of the cuckoldly rogue's 
 coffer; and there's my harvest-home. 
 
 Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir; that yon 
 might avoid him, if you saw him. 
 
 Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I 
 * In the greatest companies. * Approved 
 
fccEME til. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 4»J 
 
 will std r e him out of his wits ; I will awe him with 
 my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er the cuck- 
 old's hori-s: master Brook, thou shalt know, I will 
 predominate o'er the peasant, and thou shalt lie 
 with his wife. — Come to me soon at night : — Ford's 
 a knave, and I will aggravate his stile ; 4 thou, mas- 
 ter Brook, sh^lt know him for a knave and cuckold : 
 — come to me soon at night. [Exf't. 
 
 Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this ! 
 — Mjr heart is ready to crack with impatience. — 
 Who says this is improvident jealousy ? My wife 
 hath sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is 
 made. Would any man have thought this ? — See 
 f he hell of having a false woman ! my bed shall be 
 abused, my coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn 
 at; and I shall not only receive this villanous 
 wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable 
 terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms ! 
 
 names! Amaimon sounds well; Lucifer, well ; 
 
 Barbason, well ; yet they are devil's additions, the 
 names of fiends : but cuckold ! wittol 5 cuckold ! the 
 devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an 
 ass, a secure ass; he will trust his wife, he will not 
 be jealous : I will rather trust a Fleming with my 
 butter, parson Hugh the Welshman with my cheese, 
 an Irishman with myaqua-vitffi bottle, or a thief to 
 walk my ambling gelding, than my wife with her- 
 self: then she plots, then she ruminates, then she 
 devises : and what they think in their hearts they 
 may effect, they will break their hearts but they 
 will effect. Heaven be praised for my jealousy ! 
 — Eleven o'clock the hour; — I will prevent this, 
 detect my wife, be revenged on FalstaiF, and laugh 
 at Page. I will about it; better three hours too 
 soon, than a minute too late. Fie, fie, fie ! cuckold ! 
 cuckold! cuckold! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Windsor Park. 
 Enter Caius and Rugby. 
 
 Caius. Jack Rugby ! 
 
 Rug. Sir. 
 
 Caius. Vat is de clock, Jack 1 ? 
 
 Rug. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro- 
 mised to meet. 
 
 Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is 
 no come; he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no 
 come: by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if 
 he be come. 
 
 Rug. He is wise, sir; he knew your worship 
 would kill him, if he came. 
 
 Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill 
 kill him. Take your rapier, Jack ; I vill tell you 
 how I vill kill him. 
 
 Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 
 
 Caius. Villany, take your rapier. 
 
 Rug. Forbear, here's company. 
 
 Enter Host, Shallow, Slendeji, and Page. 
 
 Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor! 
 
 Shah 'Save you, master doctor Caius. 
 
 Page. Now, good master doctor 
 
 Slen. Give you good morrow, sir. 
 
 Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come 
 for? 
 
 Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin," to see 
 thee traverse, to see thee here, to see thee there; to 
 »ee thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy 
 distance thy montunt ' Is he dead, my Ethiopian ? 
 is ne dead, my Francisco] ha, bully ! What says 
 
 ♦ Add to his hues. 
 
 • Fenco 
 
 Contented cuckold. 
 Terms in Fencing. 
 
 my ^Esculapius? my 3a.cn? r.iy heart of elder? 
 ha ! is he dead, bully f jtale ? is he dead ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, ho is de coward Jack priest of 
 the vorld; he is not show his face. 
 
 Host. Thou art a Castilian king, Urinal ! Hec 
 tor of Greece, my boy ! 
 
 Cuius. I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay 
 six or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no 
 come. 
 
 Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor : he ie 
 a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if you 
 should fight, you go against the hair of your pro- 
 fessions : is it not true, master Page ? 
 
 Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been 
 a great fighter, though now a man of peace. 
 
 Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be 
 old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my 
 finger itches to make one : though we are justices, 
 and doctors, and churchmen, master Page, we have 
 some salt of our youth in us ; we are the sons of 
 women, master Page. 
 
 Page. 'Tis true, master Shallow. 
 
 >S'A«/. It will be found so, master Page. Mas> r 
 doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. If jn 
 sworn of the peace ; you have showed yourself a 
 wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shown himself a 
 wise and patient churchman : you must go with 
 me, master doctor. 
 
 Host. Pardon, guest justice : — A word, monsieur 
 Muck-water ? " 
 
 Caius. Muck-vater ! vat is dat ? 
 
 Host. Muck-water, in our English tongue, is 
 valor, bully. 
 
 Caius. By gar, then I have as much muck-vater 
 as de Englishman : — Scurvy Jack-dog priest ! by 
 gar, me vill cut his ears. 
 
 Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully 
 
 Caius. Clapper-de-claw ! vat is dat? 
 
 Host. That is, he will make thee amends. 
 
 Caius. By gar, me do look, he shall clapper-de- 
 claw me ; for by gar, me vill hare it. 
 
 Host. And I will provoke him to 't, or let him wag. 
 
 Caius. Me tank you for dat. 
 
 Host. And moreover, bully, — But first, master 
 guest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender, 
 go you through the town to Frogmore. 
 
 [Aside to them. 
 
 Page. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? 
 
 Host. He is there : see what humor he is in • 
 and I will bring the doctor about by the fields : will 
 it do well? 
 
 Shal. We will do it. 
 
 Page, Shal., and Slcn. Adieu, good master doc- 
 tor. [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he 
 speak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 
 
 Host. Let him die: but, first, sheath thy impa- 
 tience; throw cold water on thy choler: go about 
 the fields with me through Frogmore : I will bring 
 thee where Mrs. Anne Page is, at a farm-house, a 
 feasting; and thou shalt woo her: Cry'd game, 
 said I well ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, me tank you for dat ; by gar, I 
 love you ; and I shall procure-a you de good guest, 
 de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, .ny 
 patients. 
 
 Host. For the which, I will be thy adversary to- 
 wards Anne Page ; said I well ? 
 
 Caius. By gar, 'tis good; veil said. 
 Host. Let us v.ag then. 
 
 Caius. Come itiuy heels, Jack Rugby. [Exeunt, 
 
 * 1 rain of a dunghill. 
 
{*• 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 A-or III 
 
 SCENE I. — A Field near Frogmore. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 
 
 Eva. I pray you now, good master Slender's 
 serving man, and friend Simple by your name, 
 which way have you looked for Master Caius,that 
 calls himself Doctor of Physic? 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, the city-ward, the park-ward, 
 every way ; old Windsor way, and every way but 
 the town way. 
 
 Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will 
 also look that way. 
 
 Sim. I will, sir. 
 
 Eva. 'Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am, 
 and trembling of mind! — I shall be glad, if he 
 have deceived me : — how melancholies I am ! — I 
 will knog his urinals about his knave's costard, 5 
 when I have good opportunities for the 'ork : — 'pless 
 my soul! [Sings. 
 
 To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals,- 
 There will we make our peds of roses, 
 And a thousand fragrant posies, 
 To shallow 
 
 Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry. 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals,- 
 
 When as I sat in Pabylon, 
 
 And a thousand vagram posies. 
 
 To shallow 
 
 Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh. 
 Eva. He's welcome: — 
 
 To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 
 Heaven prosper the right ! — What weapons is he ? 
 
 Sim. No weapons, sir : There comes my master, 
 master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frog- 
 more, over the stile, this way. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else keep 
 it in your arms. 
 
 Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 Skal. How now, master parson? Good morrow, 
 good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice and 
 a good student from his book, and it is wonderful. 
 
 S/en. Ah, sweet Anne Page! 
 
 Page. 'Save you, good sir Hugh ! 
 
 Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you ! 
 
 Shal. What ! the sword and the word ! do you 
 study them both, master parson ? 
 
 Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and 
 hose, this raw rheumatic day '.' 
 
 Eva. There is reasons and causes for it. 
 
 Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, 
 master parson. 
 
 Eva. Fery well: What is it? 
 
 Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman, 
 who belike, having received wrong by some person, 
 is at most odds with lus own gravity and patience, 
 that ever you saw. 
 
 Shal. I have lived fourscore years and upwards ; 
 I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and 
 learning, so wide of his own respect? 
 
 Eva. What is he ? 
 
 Page. I think you know him ; master doctor 
 Caius, the renowned French physician. 
 
 L_ 
 
 elTead. 
 
 Eva. Got's will, and his passion of my neart 
 I had as lief you would tell me of a mess of rsoi* 
 ridge. 
 
 Page. Why? 
 
 Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocratea 
 and Galen, — and he is a knave besides; a cowardly 
 knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal. 
 
 Page. I wai rant you he's the man should fight 
 with him. 
 
 Slen. 0, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 Shal. It appears so, by his weapons : — Keep 
 them asunder; — here comes doctor Caius. 
 
 Enter Host, Caius, and Rugbt. 
 
 Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your 
 weapon. 
 
 Shal. So do you, good master doctor. 
 
 Host. Disarm them, and let them question : let 
 them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. 
 
 Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit 
 your ear . verefore vill you not meet-a me ? 
 
 Eva. Pray you, use your patience: In good time. 
 
 Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog, 
 John ape. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to 
 other men's humors ; I desire you in friendship, 
 and I will one way or other make you amends: 
 and I will knog your urinals about your knave's 
 cogscomb, for missing your meetings and appoint- 
 ments. 
 
 Caius. Diable! — Jack Rugby, — mine Host de 
 Jarterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have 
 I not, at de place I did appoint? 
 
 Eva. As I am a christians soul, now, look you, 
 this is the place appointed ; I'll be judgment by 
 mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Host. Peace, I say, Guallia and Gaul, French 
 and Welsh; soul-curer and body-curer. 
 
 Caius. Ay, dat is very good ! excellent ! 
 
 Host. Peace, I say ; hear mine host of the Garter 
 Am I politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? 
 Shall I lose my doctor? no; he gives me the po- 
 tions, and the motions. Shall I lose my parson? 
 my priest ? my sir Hugh? no ; he gives me the pro- 
 verbs and the noverbs. — Give me thy hand, terres- 
 trial ; so : — Give me thy hand, celestial ; so. 
 
 Boys of art, I have deceived you both; I have 
 directed you to wrong places: your hearts are 
 mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt sack 
 be the issue. — Come, lay their swords to pawn : — 
 Follow me, lad of peace; follow, follow, follow. 
 
 Shal. Trust me, a mad host: — Follow, gentle- 
 men, follow. 
 
 Slen. 0, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 [Exeunt Shal., Slen., Page, and Host. 
 
 Caius. Ha ! do I perceive dat ? have you make-a 
 de sot of us ? ha, ha ! 
 
 Eva. This is well ; he has made us his vlouting- 
 stog. — I desire you, that we may be friends; and 
 let us knog our prains together, to be revenge on 
 this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the 
 host of the Garter. 
 
 Caius. By gar, vit all my heart : he promise to 
 bring me vere is Anne Page: by gai, ne deceive 
 me too. 
 
 Eva. We? will smite his r oddles : — Pray you, 
 follow. [ Exeunt 
 
3CENK II. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 51 
 
 SCENE 11.— The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant ; 
 you were wont to be a follower, but now you are 
 * leader: Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes, 
 or eye your master's heels'? 
 
 Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like 
 a man, than follow him like a dwarf. 
 
 Mrs. Page. you are a flattering boy ; now, I 
 see, you'll be a courtier. 
 
 Enter Fokd. 
 
 Ford. Well met, mistress Page: Whither go 
 you] 
 
 Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife : Is she 
 at home? 
 
 Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang togeth- 
 er, for want of company : I think if your husbands 
 were dead, you two would marry. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, — two other husbands. 
 
 Ford. Where had you this pretty weather-cock] 
 
 Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens his 
 name is my husband had him of: What do you 
 call your knight's name, sirrah] 
 
 Bob. Sir John Falstaff. . 
 
 Ford. Sir John Falstaff! 
 
 Mrs. Page. He, he; I can never hit on's name. 
 There is such a league between my good man and 
 he ! — Is your wife at home, indeed ] 
 
 Ford. Indeed, she is. 
 
 Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir; — I am sick, till 
 I see her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin. 
 
 Ford. Has Page any brains ] hath he any eyes ] 
 hath he any thinking] Sure they sleep; he hath no 
 use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter 
 twenty miles, as easy as a cannon will shoot point- 
 blank twelve score. He pieces-out his wife's in- 
 clination; he gives her folly motion, and advantage: 
 and now she's going to my wife, and Falstaff 's boy 
 with her. A man may hear this shower sing in 
 the wind! — and Falstaff's boy with her! — Good 
 plots ! — they a -e laid ; and our revolted wives share 
 damnation together. Well; I will take him, then 
 torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of mo- 
 desty from the so seeming mistress Page, divulge 
 Page himself for a secure and wilful Action ; and 
 t>> these violent proceedings all my neighbors shall 
 cry aim.' [Clock strikes.'] The clock gives me my 
 cue, and my assurance bids me search ; there I shall 
 find Falstaff: I shall be rather praised for this than 
 mosked ; for it is as positive as the earth is firm, 
 that Falstaff is there : I will go. 
 
 Enter Page, Shallow, Slenpeh, Host, Sir Hugh 
 Evans, Caius, and Rugby. 
 
 Shah, Page, &c. Well met, master Ford. 
 
 Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I have good cheer 
 at home; and I pray you, all go with me. 
 
 Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford. 
 
 Slen. And so must I, sir; we have appointed to 
 dine with mistress Anne, and I would not break 
 with her for more money than I'll speak of. 
 
 Shal. We have lingered about a match between 
 Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day 
 we shall have our answer. 
 
 Slen. I hope I have your good-will, father Page. 
 
 Page. You have, master Slender; I stand whol- 
 ly for you : — but my wife, master doctor, is for you 
 altogether. 
 
 Caius. Ay, by gar; and de maid i? love-a me; 
 &y nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush 
 
 • Shall encov.rage. 
 
 Host. What say you to young mister Fentor ' 
 he capers, he dances, he has eves of youth, he 
 writes verses, he speaks holyday ; * he smells April 
 and May : he will carry't, he will carry't ; 'tis in hi* 
 buttons; he will carry't. 
 
 Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The 
 gentleman is of no having : he Kept company with 
 the wild Prince and Poins; he is of too high :i 
 region, he knows too much. No, he shall not 
 knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of my 
 substance: if he take her, let him take her simply 
 the wealth I have, waits on my consent, and my 
 consent goes not that way. 
 
 Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you g( 
 home with me to dinner: besides your cheer, you 
 
 shall have sport; I will show you a monster. 
 
 Master doctor, you shall go; — so shall you, mas- 
 ter Page; — and you, sir Hugh. 
 
 Shal. Well, fare you well: — we shall have the 
 freer wooing at master Page's. 
 
 [Exeunt. Shallow and Slender. 
 
 Caius. Go home, John Rugby ; I come anon. 
 [Exit Rugbt. 
 
 Host. Farewell, my hearts : I will to my honest 
 knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him. 
 
 [Exit Host. 
 
 Ford. [Aside.] I think, I shall drink in pipe-wine 
 first with him; I'll make him dance. Will you 
 go, gentles] 
 
 All. Have with you, to see this monster. [ Lxeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in Ford's Home. 
 Enter Mrs. Fohd and Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John! what, Robert! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly: Is the buck-l.a> 
 ket — 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I warrant: — What, Robin, I say. 
 Enter Servants with a basket. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Give your men the ciiarge ; we must 
 be brief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John 
 and Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew- 
 house; and when I suddenly call you, come forth, 
 and (without any pause, or staggering) take this 
 basket on your shoulders : that done, trudge with 
 it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters in 
 Datchet-mead, and there empty it in the muddy 
 ditch, close by the Thames' side. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You will do it] 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over; they 
 lack no direction: Begone, and come when you 
 are called. [Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 
 Enter Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-muske*/'* what 
 news with you] 
 
 Rob. My master, sir J ohn, is come in at your hack- 
 door, mistress Ford ; and requests your company. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent, 4 have you 
 been true to us? 
 
 Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn: My master knows not 
 of your being here ; and hath threatened to put me. 
 into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it ; for. ho 
 swears, he'll turn me away. 
 
 Mrs. Page. 1 '*»«'"* a good boy; this secrecy ol 
 thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee 
 a new doublet and hose. — I'll go hide me. 
 
 a Out of the common style. 
 
 » A young small hawk. 
 
 * A puppet thrown at in Lent like shrove-cocks. 
 
62 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Ar T III. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do so: — Go tell thy master, I am 
 aione. Mistress Page, remember you your cue. 
 
 [Exit Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act it, 
 hiss me. [Exit Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go to then ; we'll use this unwhole- 
 some humidity, this gross watery pumpion; we'll 
 teach him to know turtles from jays. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Hare I caught thee, my heavenly jewel! 
 Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough : 
 this is the period of my ambition: O this blessed 
 hour ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. sweet sir John ! 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, 
 mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish: I 
 would thy husband were dead ; I'll speak it before 
 the best lord, I would make thee my lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ! alas, I should 
 be a pitiful lady. 
 
 Fal. Let the court of France show me such an- 
 other: I see how thine eye would emulate the dia- 
 mond : Thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, 
 that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any 
 tire of Venetian admittance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows 
 become nothing else ; nor that well neither. 
 
 Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so : thou wouldst 
 make an absolute courtier: and the firm fixture of 
 thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait, 
 in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, 
 if fortune thy foe were not; nature is thy friend: 
 Gome, thou canst not hide it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Believe me, mere's no such thing in 
 me. 
 
 Fal. What made me love thee? let that persuade 
 thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. — 
 Gome, I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and 
 that, like a many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, 
 that come like women in men's apparel, and smell 
 like Bucklers-bury 8 in simple-time; I cannot: but 
 l love thee; none but thee; and thou deservest it. 
 
 Mrs. Fofrd. Do not betray me, sir; I fear, you 
 ove mistress Page. 
 
 Fal. Thou mightst as well say, I love to walk 
 by the Counter-gate ; which is as hateful to me as 
 the reek of a lime-kiln. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Well heaven knows, how I love you; 
 and you shall one day find it. 
 
 Fal. Keep in that mind; I'll deserve it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do ; or 
 else I could not be in that mind. 
 
 Rob. [within.] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford! 
 here's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and 
 blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak 
 with you presently. 
 
 Fal. She shall not see me; I will ensconce 6 me 
 behind the arras. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so ; she's a very tattling 
 woman. — [Falstaff hides himself. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Page and Robin. 
 
 What's the matter] how now? 
 
 Mrs. Page. O mistress Ford, what have you 
 done ? You're shamed, you are overthrown, you 
 are undone for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good mistress 
 Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. well-a-day, mistress Ford ! having 
 an honest man to your husband, to give him such 
 cause of suspicion ! 
 
 « iformerly chiefly inhabited by druggists. • Hide. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion? — Out 
 upon you! how am I mistook in you! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, alas! what's the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, wo- 
 man, with all the officers in Windsor, to search foT 
 a gentleman, that, he says, is here, now in the 
 house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage oi 
 his absence: you are undone. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Speak louder. [Aside.] — 'Tis not 
 so, I hope. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you 
 have such a man here; but 'tis most certain your 
 husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, 
 to search for such a one. I come before to tell 
 you: If you know yourself clear, why I am glad of 
 it: but if you have a friend here, convey, convey 
 him out. Be not amazed : call all your senses to 
 you: defend your reputation, or bid farewell to 
 your good life for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What shall I do?— There is a gen- 
 tleman, my dear friend: and I fear not mine own 
 shame, so much as his peril : I had rather than a 
 thousand pound, he were out of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had 
 rather, and you had rather; your husband's here 
 at hand, bethink you of some conveyance: in the 
 house you cannot hide him. — 0, how have you 
 deceived me ! — Look, here is a basket : if he be of 
 any reasonable stature, he may creep in here; and 
 throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to 
 bucking : Or, it is whiting-time, 1 send him by your 
 two men to Datchet-mead. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there: What 
 shall I do? 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Let me see't ! let me see't ! let me see't ! 
 I'll in, I'll in; — follow your friend's counsel; — 
 I'll in. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What ! so. John Falstaff! Are these 
 your letters, knight? 
 
 Fal. I love thee, and none but thee; help me 
 away : let me creep in here ; I'll never — ■ 
 
 [He goes into the basket; they cover him 
 with foul linen. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy": 
 Call your men, mistress Ford: — You dissembling 
 knight. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What, John, Robert, John ! [Exit 
 Robin; Re-enter Servants.] Go, take up these 
 clothes here, quickly; Where's the cowl-staff?* 
 look, how you drumble; 8 carry them to the laun- 
 dress in Datchet-mead; quickly, come. 
 
 Enter Foiid, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. Pray you, come near: if I suspect without 
 cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be 
 your jest ; I deserve it. — How now ? whither bear 
 you this? 
 
 Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whithei 
 they bear it? You were best meddle with buck- 
 washing. 
 
 Ford. Buck? I would I could wash myself of 
 the buck ! Buck, buck, buck ? Ay, buck ; I warrant 
 you, buck; and of the season too, it shah appear 
 [Exeunt Servants with the basket.'] Gentlemen 
 I have dreamed to-night: I'll tell you my dream 
 Here, here, here be my keys : ascend my chambers, 
 search, seek, find out: I'll warrant we'll unkenn6 
 
 * Bleaching time. 
 
 s A staff for carrying a large tub or basket » Dron* 
 
SCKNJS Iv* 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 53 
 
 the fox: — Lit me stop this >vay first: — So now 
 uncape.' 
 
 Page. Good master Ford be contented: you 
 WTong vourself too much 
 
 Fora. True, master Pag^. — Up, gentlemen; you 
 shall see sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. [Exit. 
 
 Eva. This is fery fantastical humors, and jea- 
 lousies. 
 
 Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France: it 
 is not jealous in France. 
 
 Page. Nay, fellow him, gentlemen ; see the issue 
 of his search. [Exeunt Evans, Page, and Caius. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in 
 this] 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, 
 that my husband is deceived, or sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your 
 husband asked who was in the basket? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need of 
 washing; so throwing him into the water will do 
 him a benefit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would, 
 all of the same strain were in the same distress. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I think my husband hath some 
 special suspicion of FalstafFs being here: for I 
 never saw him so gross in his jealousy till now. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that : And we 
 will yet have more tricks with Falstaff : his dissolute 
 disease will scarce obey this medicine. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, 
 mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing 
 into the water; and give him another hope, to 
 betray him into another punishment? 
 
 Mrs. Page. We'll do it; let him be sent for to- 
 morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. 
 
 Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh 
 Evans. 
 
 Ford. I cannot find him : may be the knave 
 bragged of that he could not compass. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heard you that? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Ay, ay, peace: — you use me well, 
 master Ford, do you? 
 
 Ford. Ay, I do so. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Ford. Amen. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, 
 master Ford. 
 
 Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it 
 
 Eva. If there be anypody in the house, and in 
 the chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, 
 heaven forgive mj sins at the day of judgment! 
 
 Caius. By gar, noi I too ; dcre is no bodies. 
 
 Page. Fie, fie, master Ford! are you not ashamed? 
 What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination ? 
 I would not have your distemper in this kind, for 
 the wealth of Windsor Castle. 
 
 Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page : I suffer for it. 
 
 Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience ; your wife 
 is as honest a 'omans, as I will desires among five 
 thousand, and five hundred too. 
 
 Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 
 
 Ford. Well; — I promised you a dinner: — 
 Come, come, walk in the park : I pray you, pardon 
 me; I will hereafter make known to you, why I 
 have done this. Come, wife; — come mistress 
 Page : I pray you pardon me ; pray heartily, pardon 
 me. 
 
 Page. Let's go in. gentlemen: but trust me, 
 we'll mock turn. I do invite you to-morrow 
 morning to my house to breakfast; after, we'll a 
 » Unbag the fox. 
 
 birding together; I have a fine hawk for the bush 
 Shall it be so ? 
 
 Ford. Any thing. 
 
 Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the 
 company. 
 
 Caius. If there be one or tw.>, I shall make-a 
 de tird. 
 
 Eva. In your teeth : for shame. 
 
 Ford. Pray you go, master Page. 
 
 Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to morrow 
 on the lousy knave, mine host. 
 
 Caius. Dat is good ; by gar, vit all my heart. 
 
 Eva. A lousy knave; to have his gibes and his 
 mockeries. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in Page's House. 
 
 Enter Fenton and Mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love : 
 Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 
 
 Anne. Alas ! how then ? 
 
 Fent. Why, thou must be thyselfc 
 
 He doth object, I am too great of birth ; 
 And that, my state being gall'd with my expense, 
 I seek to heal it only by his wealth: 
 
 Besides these, other bars he lays before me, 
 
 My riots past, my wild societies ; 
 And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible 
 I should love thee, but as a property. 
 
 Anne. May be, he tells you true. 
 
 Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to 
 come! 
 Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
 Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne: 
 Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
 Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags; 
 And 'tis the very riches of thyself 
 That now I aim at. 
 
 Anne. Gentle master Fenton, 
 
 Yet seek my father's love : still seek it, sir : 
 If opportunity and humblest suit 
 Cannot attain it, why then — Hark you hither. 
 
 [They converse apa>t. 
 
 Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quicklt. 
 
 Shal. Break their talk, Mrs. Quickly ; my kins- 
 man shall speak for himself. 
 
 Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't: a slid, 'tis 
 but venturing. 
 
 Shal. Be not dismay'd. 
 
 Slen. No, she shall not dismay me: I care not 
 for that, — but that I am afeard. 
 
 Quick. Hark ye ; master Slender would speak a 
 word with you. 
 
 Anne. I come to him. — This is my father's 
 choice. 
 O, what a world of vile ill-favor'd faults 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Quick. And how docs good master Fenton? 
 Pray you, a word with you. 
 
 Shal. She's coining; to her, coz. boy, thou 
 hadst a father. 
 
 Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne; — my uncle 
 can tell you good jests of him: — Pray you, uncle, 
 tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole 
 two geese out of a pen, good uncle. 
 
 Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 
 
 Slen. Ay, that 1 do; as well as I love any woman 
 in Gloucestershire. 
 
 »A proverb — a shaft was t Ions' arrow, and a boU » thick 
 short one. 
 
54 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Shal. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, 
 under the degree of a 'squire. 
 
 Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty 
 pounds jointure. 
 
 Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for 
 himself. 
 
 Shal. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you for 
 that good comfort. She calls you, coz: I'll leave 
 you. 
 
 Anne. Now, master Slender. 
 
 Slen. Now, good mistress Anne. 
 
 Anne. What is your will 1 
 
 Slen. My will] od's heartlings, that's a pretty 
 jest indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank 
 heaven; I am not such a sickly creature, I give 
 heaven praise. 
 
 Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you 
 with me! 
 
 Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little 
 or nothing with you : Your father, and my uncle, 
 have made motions : if it be my luck, so : if not, 
 happy man be his dole ! 3 They can tell you how 
 things go, better than I can: You may ask your 
 father; here he comes. 
 
 Enter Page, and Mistress Page 
 
 Page. Now, master Slender : — Love him, daugh- 
 ter Anne. — 
 Why, how now! what does master Fenton here! 
 You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house: 
 I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. 
 Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 
 Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to 
 
 my child. 
 Page. She is no match for you. 
 Fent. Sir, will you hear me 1 
 Page. No, good master Fenton. 
 
 Come, master Shallow; come, son Slender; in: — 
 Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. 
 [Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 Quick. Speak to Mistress Page. 
 Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your 
 daughter 
 In such a righteous fashion as I do, 
 Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, 
 I must advance the colors of my love, 
 And not retire : Let me have your good will. 
 Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' 
 
 fool. 
 Mrs. Page. I mean it not; I seek you a better 
 
 husband. 
 Quick. That's my master, master doctor. 
 Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth, 
 And bowl'd to death with turnips. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself: Good 
 master Fenton, 
 I will not be your friend, nor enemy: 
 My daughter will I question how she loves you, 
 \nd as I find her, so am I affected; 
 'Till then, farewell, sir : — She must needs go in ; 
 Her father will be angry. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne. 
 
 Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress; farewell, Nan. 
 
 Quick. This is my doing now; — Nay, said I, 
 
 will you cast away your child on a fool, and a 
 
 physician 1 Look on master Fenton : — this is my 
 
 doing. 
 
 Fent. I thank thee; and I pray thee, once to- 
 night 
 Give my sweet Nan this ring: There's for thy pains. 
 
 lExit. 
 •Lot 
 
 Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! 
 kind heart he hath: a woman would run throug 
 fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet, 
 would my master had mistress Anne ; or I would 
 master Slender had her; or, in sooth, I would 
 master Fenton had her: I will do what I can for 
 them all three; for so I have promised, and I'll be 
 as good as my word; but speciously 4 for mastei 
 Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to sir 
 John Falstaff from my two mistresses: What a 
 beast am I to slack s it. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, I say, — 
 
 Bar. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack; put a toast 
 in't. [Exit Baku.] Have I lived to be carried in. 
 a basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal ! and to 
 be thrown into the Thames 1 Well ; if I be served 
 such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out, 
 and buttered, and give them to a dog for a new 
 year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river 
 with as little remorse as they would have drowned 
 a bitch's blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter: and 
 you may know by my size, that I have a kind of 
 alacrity in sinking ; if the bottom were as deep as 
 hell, I should down. I had been drowned, but 
 that the shore was shelvy and shallow: a death 
 that I abhor ; for the water swells a man ; and what 
 a thing should I have been, when I had been swell- 
 ed ! I should have been a mountain of mummy. 
 
 Re-enter Bahdolph, with the wine. 
 
 Bar. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with 
 you. 
 
 Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the 
 Thames water ; for my belly's as cold, as if I had 
 swallowed snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. — 
 Call her in. 
 
 Bar. Come in, woman. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Quick. By your leave; I cry you mercy : Give 
 your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fal. Take away these chalices. Go brew me a 
 pottle of sack finely. 
 
 Bar. With eggs, sir! 
 
 Fal. Simple of itself; I'll no pullet-sperm in my 
 brewage. — [Exit Bardolph.] — How now? 
 
 Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from 
 mistress Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I 
 was thrown into the ford : I have my belly full of 
 ford. 
 
 Quick. Alas the day ; good heart, that was not 
 her fault; she does so take on with her men; thej 
 mistook their erection. 
 
 Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish wo 
 man's promise. 
 
 Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
 yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this 
 morning a birding; she desires you once more to 
 come to her between eight and nine : I must carry 
 her word quickly; she'll make you amends, I war 
 rant you. 
 
 Fal. Well, I will visit her : Tell her so; and bid 
 her think, what a man is: let her consider hi» 
 frailty, and then judge of my merit. 
 
 Quick. I will tell her. 
 
 Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou' 
 | * Specially. • Neglnot. 
 
f — 
 
 A<vr IV. Scene 1 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 55 
 
 Quick. Eight and nine, sir. 
 
 Pal. Well, begone : I will not miss her. 
 
 Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. I marvel I hear not of master Brook; he 
 •ent me word to stay within: I like his money 
 weh O, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Fokd. 
 
 Ford. Bless you, sir ! 
 
 Fal. Now, master Brook ! you come to know 
 what hath passed between me and Ford's wife ] 
 
 Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you; I was 
 at her house the hour she appointed me. 
 
 Ford. And how sped you, sir] 
 
 Fal. Very ill-favoredly, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. How so, sir] Did she change her deter- 
 mination'? 
 
 Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cor- 
 nuto, her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a 
 continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the in- 
 stant of our encounter, after we had embraced, 
 kissed, protested, and, as it were, spoke the pro- 
 logue of our comedy; and at his heels a rabble of 
 his companions, thither provoked and instigated by 
 his distemper, and, forsooth, to search his house 
 for his wife's love. 
 
 Ford. What, while you were there ] 
 
 Fal. While I was there. 
 
 Ford. And did he search for you, and could not 
 find you ] 
 
 Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have 
 it, comes in one mistress Page; gives intelligence 
 of Ford's approach; and, by her invention, and 
 Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a 
 buck-basket ] 
 
 Ford. A buck-basket? 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket: rammed me 
 in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stock- 
 ings, and greasy napkins; that, master Brook, there 
 was the rankest compound of villanous smell, 
 that ever offended nostril. 
 
 Ford. And how long lay you there ] 
 
 Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I 
 have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your 
 good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple 
 of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by 
 their mistress to carry me in the name of foul 
 clothes to Datchet-lane : they took me on their 
 shoulders; met the jealous knave their master in 
 the door; who asked them once or twice what they 
 
 had in their basket: I quaked for fear, lest the 
 lunatic knave would have searched it ; but Fate, 
 ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his hand. 
 Well ; on went he for a search, and away went I 
 for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master 
 Brook : I suffered the pangs of three severs' deaths: 
 first, an intolerable fright, to be detected with a 
 jealous rotten-bell-wether: next, to be compassed 
 like a good bilbo, 1 in the circumference of a peck, 
 hilt to point, heel to head : and then, to be stopped 
 in, like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes 
 that fretted in their own grease : think of that, — 
 a man of my kidney, think of that ; that am as sub- 
 ject to heat as butter; a man of continual disso- 
 lution and thaw; it was a miracle to 'scape suffoca- 
 tion. And in the height of this bath, when I was 
 more than half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, 
 to be thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glow- 
 ing hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; think of 
 that ; — hissing hot, — think of that, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am soi-ry that for 
 my sake you have suffered all this. My suit then 
 is desperate; you'll undertake her no more. 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into JEtna, 
 as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her 
 thus. Her husband is this morning gone a bird- 
 ing: I have received from her another embassy of 
 meeting; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, mastei 
 Brook. 
 
 Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. 
 
 Fal. Is it] I will then address me to my appoint- 
 ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, 
 and you shall know how I speed; and the conclu- 
 sion shall be crowned with your enjoying her 
 Adieu. You shall have her, master Brook; mas- 
 ter Brook, you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 
 
 Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision] is this a dream] 
 do I sleep ] Master Ford, awake ; awake, master 
 Ford; there's a hole made in your best coat, master 
 Ford. This 'tis to be married! this 'tis to have 
 linen and buck-baskets! — Well, I will proclaim 
 myself what I am: I will now take the lecher ; he 
 is at my house : he cannot 'scape me ; 'tis impos- 
 sible he should; he cannot creep into a halfpenny 
 purse, nor into a pepper-box : but, lest the devil 
 that guides him should aid him, I will search im- 
 possible places. Though what I am I cannot 
 avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall not make 
 me tame: if I have horns to make one mad, let 
 the proverb go with me, I'll be horn mad. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Street. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Quickly, and William. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is he at master Ford's already, 
 think'st thou ] 
 
 Quick. Sure he is by this; or will be presently: 
 but truly, he is very courageous 6 mad, about his 
 throwing into the water Mistress Ford desires 
 you to come suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by; I'll but 
 bring my young man here to school . look, where 
 his master comes ; 'tis a playing-day, I see. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
 How now, sir Hugh] no school to-day] 
 • Outrageous. 
 
 Eva. No ; master Slender is let the boys leave 
 to play. 
 
 Quick. Blessing of his heart! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, my 
 son profits nothing in the world at his book ; I pray 
 you, ask him some questions in his accidence. 
 
 Eva. Come hither, William ; hold up your head; 
 come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah ; hold up your head; 
 answer your master, be not afraid. 
 
 Eva. William, how many numbers is in nouns] 
 
 Will. Two. 
 
 Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one 
 number more; because tkev say, od's nouns. 
 
 Eva. Peace your tattlings. What is fair W U ■ 
 liam. 
 
 * Bilboa, where the beat blades are made. 
 
5fi 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Will. Pulr.her. 
 
 Quick. Poulcats! there are fairer things than 
 poulcats, sure, 
 
 Eva. You are a very simplicity 'oraan ; I pray 
 you, peace. What is lapis, William] 
 
 Witt. A stone. 
 
 Eva. And what is a stone, William? 
 
 Will. A pebble. 
 
 Eva. No, it is lapis; I pray you remember in 
 voui prain. 
 
 Will. Lapis. 
 
 Eva. That is good William. What is he, Wil- 
 liam, that does lend articles'? 
 
 Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun; 
 and be thus declined, Singiilariter, nominativo, 
 hie. hasc, hoc. 
 
 Eva. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog; pray you, 
 mark: genitivo, hujus : Well, what is your accu- 
 sative case? 
 
 Will. Accusativo, hinc. 
 
 Eva. I pray you, have your remembrance, child ; 
 Accusativo, hing, hang, hog. 
 
 Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I wan-ant 
 you. 
 
 Eva. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the 
 focative case, William ? 
 
 Will. O — Vocativo, O. 
 
 Eva. Remember, William ; focative is caret. 
 
 Quick. And that's a good root. 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, forbear. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Peace. 
 
 Eva. What is your genitive case, plural, Wil- 
 liam ? 
 
 Will Genitive case? 
 
 Eva. Ay. 
 
 Will. Genitivo — horum, harum, horum. 
 
 Quick. 'Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on her ! 
 — never name her, child, if she be a whore. 
 
 Eva. For shame, 'oman. 
 
 Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words : 
 he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they'll 
 do fast enough of themselves; and to call horum : — 
 fie upon you ! 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no 
 understandings for thy cases, and the numbers of 
 the genders? Thou art as foolish Christian crea- 
 tures as I would desires. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace. 
 
 Eva. Show me now, William, some declensions 
 of your pronouns. 
 
 Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 
 
 Eva. It is ki, kx, cod; if you forget your hies, 
 your kses, and your cods, you must be preeches. 8 
 Go your ways, and play, go. 
 
 Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought 
 he was. 
 
 Eva. He is a good sprag 9 memory. Farewell, 
 mistress Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Exit Sir 
 Hugh.] Get you home, boy. — Come, we stay 
 too long. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in Ford's House. 
 
 Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Foiid. 
 Fat. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up 
 my sufferance: I see you are obsequious in your 
 love, and I profess requital to a hair's breadth: not 
 only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but 
 ■n all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony 
 nf it. But are you sure of your husband now? 
 Vrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet Sir John. 
 ' Breeched, i. e. flogged. » Apt to lean). 
 
 Mrs. Page. [ Within.'] What hoa ! gossip Ford ! 
 what hoa! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. 
 
 [Exit Falstafj 
 Enter Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart? who's al 
 home besides yourself? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Indeed? N 
 
 Mrs. Ford. No, certainly ; — speak louder. [Aside. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have no- 
 body here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in 
 his old lunes' again : he so takes on yonder with 
 my husband ; so rails against all married mankind ; 
 so curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion 
 soever; and so buffets himself on the forehead, cry- 
 ing Peer out, peer out.' that any madness I ever 
 yet beheld seemed but tameness, civility, and pa- 
 tience, to this his distemper he is in now: I am 
 glad the fat knight is not here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears, he 
 was carried out, the last time he searched for him, 
 in a basket: protests to my husband he is now 
 here : and hath drawn him and the rest of their 
 company from their sport, to make another experi- 
 ment of his suspicion : but I am glad the knight 
 is not here ; now he shall see his own foolery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will be 
 here anon. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! — the knight is here. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed, 
 and he's but a dead man. What a woman are you? 
 — Away with him, away with him ; better shame 
 than murder. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how 
 should I bestow him ? Shall I put him into the 
 basket again ? 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket: May 
 I not go out ere he come ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's bro- 
 thers watch the door with pistols, that none shall 
 issue out ; otherwise you might slip away ere he 
 came. But what make you here? 
 
 Fal. What shall I do ? — I'll creep up into the 
 chimney. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. There they always use to dischsrge 
 their birding pieces: creep into the kiln-hole. 
 
 Fal. Where is it ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He will seek there on my word. 
 Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but 
 he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such 
 places, and goes to them by his note : There is no 
 hiding you in the house. 
 
 Fal. I'll go out then. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own sem 
 blance, you die, sir John. Unless you go out dis 
 guised, — 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There 
 is no woman's gown big enough for him ; other- 
 wise, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a ker- 
 chief, and so escape. 
 
 Fal. Good hearts, devise something : any extra 
 mity rather than a mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of 
 Brentford, has a gown above. 
 < Mad fits. 
 
Hcrara II. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 57 
 
 Mrs. Page. On my word, it will serve him ; 
 she's as big as he is : and there's her thrum'd hat, 
 and her muffler too: Run up, sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John : mistress 
 Page and I will look some linen for your head. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quick, quick ; we'll come dress you 
 straight: put on the gown the while. [Exit Fal. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet him 
 in this shape ; he cannot abide the old woman of 
 Brentford; he swears she's a witch: forbade her 
 my house, and hath threatened to beat her. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
 cudgel ; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming 1 
 
 Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks 
 of the basket too, howsoever he hath had intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We'll try that ; foi I'll appoint my 
 men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the 
 door with it, as they did last time. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently ; 
 let's go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my men, what they 
 shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen 
 for him straight. [Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we can- 
 not misuse him enough. 
 
 We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do, 
 
 Wives may be merry, and yet honest too. 
 
 We do not act, that often jest and laugh, 
 
 'Tis old but true, Still murine eat all the draff. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two servants. . 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on 
 your shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; if he 
 bid you set it down, obey him : quickly, dispatch. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 1 Serv. Come, come, take it up. 
 
 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight 
 again. 
 
 1 Serv. I hope not; I had as lief bear so much 
 lead. 
 
 Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caivs, and Sir 
 Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have 
 you any way then to unfool me again] — Set down 
 
 the basket, villain : — Somebody call my wife : 
 
 You, youth in a basket, come out here ! — 0, you 
 panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a gang, a pack, a 
 conspiracy against me : Now shall the devil be 
 shamed. What! wife, I say! come, come forth ; be- 
 hold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching. 
 
 Page. Why, this passes ! Master Ford, you are 
 not to go loose any longer; you must be pinioned. 
 
 Eva. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a 
 mad dog! 
 
 Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; in- 
 deed. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford. 
 
 Ford. So say I too, sir. — Come hither, mistress 
 Ford ; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest 
 wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous 
 fool to her husband! — I suspect without cause, 
 mistress, do 1 1 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if 
 you suspect me in any dishonesty. 
 
 Ford. Well said, brazen-face ; hold it out. 
 
 Come forth, sirrah. 
 
 [Pulls the clothes out of the basket. 
 
 I'afit* This passes! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed? let the clothes 
 alone. 
 
 Ford. I shall find you anon. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take up your 
 wife's clothes] Come away. 
 
 Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why,- - 
 
 Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one 
 conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket: 
 Why may not he be there again] In my house I 
 am sure he is: my intelligence is true ; my jealousy 
 is reasonable: Pluck me out all the linen. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die 
 a riea's death. 
 
 Page. Here's no man. 
 
 Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford, 
 this wrongs you. 
 
 Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not fol- 
 low the imaginations of your own heart: this u 
 jealousies. 
 
 Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. 
 
 Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain. 
 
 Ford. Help to search my house this one time: 
 if I find not what I seek, show no color for my 
 extremity, let me forever be your table-sport; let 
 them say of me, As jealous as Ford, that searched a 
 hollow walnut for his wife's leman/ 1 Satisfy me 
 once more; once more search with me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What hoa, mistress Page! come you, 
 and the old woman down : my husband will come 
 into the chamber. 
 
 Ford. Old woman ! What old woman's that ] 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Whv, it is my maid's aunt of Brent- 
 ford. 
 
 Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean! 
 Have I not forbid her my house] She comes oi 
 errands, does she ] We are simple men ; we do not 
 know what's brought to pass under the profession 
 of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, 
 by the figure, and such daubery as this is, beyond 
 
 our element : we know nothing. Come down, 
 
 ycu witch, you hag, you ; come down, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ; — good 
 gentlemen, let. him not strike the old woman. 
 Enter Falstaff in woman's clothes, led by Mrs 
 Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, mother Pratt, come, give me 
 your hand. 
 
 Ford. I'll prat her: out of my door, you 
 
 witch! [beats him.'] you rag, you baggage, you 
 pole-cat, you ronyon! 3 out! out! I'll conjure you, 
 I'll fortune-tell you. [Exit Fal. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed ] I think you 
 have kill'd the poor woman. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it : — 'Tis a goodly 
 credit for you. 
 
 Ford. Hang her, witch! 
 
 Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a 
 witch indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a great 
 peard; I spy a great peard under her muffler. 
 
 Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen] I beseech 
 you, follow; see but the issue of my jealousy: if I 
 cry out thus upon no trail, 4 never trust me when 
 I open again. 
 
 Page. Let's obey his humor a little furthei : 
 Come, gentlemen. 
 
 [Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he aid not; 
 he beat him most unpitifully, methought. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel halloweit, and 
 * Lover. » Scab. * Scent 
 
 E 
 
59 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 hung o'er the altar ; it hath done meritorious service. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What think you? May we, with the 
 warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good 
 conscience, pursue him with any further revenge ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, 
 scared out of him ; if the devil have him not in fee- 
 simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, I 
 think, in the way of waste, attempt us again. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we 
 have served him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to 
 scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. If 
 they can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous 
 fat knight shall be any further afflicted, we two will 
 still be the ministers. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant, they'll have him pub- 
 licly shamed: and, methinks, there would be no 
 period to the jest, should he not be publicly 
 shamed. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape 
 it : I would not have things cool. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Host and Bardolph. 
 Bar. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of 
 your horses : the duke himself will be to-morrow 
 at court, and they are going to meet him. 
 
 Host. What duke should that be, comes so se- 
 cretly? I hear not of him in the court : Let me 
 speak with the gentlemen; they speak English? 
 Bar. Ay, sir ; I'll call them to you. 
 Host. They shall have my horses; but I'll make 
 them pay, I'll sauce them : they have had my houses 
 a week at command ; I have turned away my other 
 guests: they must come off; I'll sauce them : Come. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in Ford's House. 
 
 Enter Page, Form, Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 
 
 Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman 
 us ever I did look upon. 
 
 Page. And did he send you both these letters at 
 an instant? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Ford. Pardon me, wife: Henceforth do what 
 thou wilt; 
 I rather will suspect the sun with cold, 
 Than thee with wantonness : now doth thy honor 
 
 stand, 
 In him that was of late an heretic, 
 As firm as faith. 
 
 Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well ; no more. 
 
 Be not as extreme in submission, 
 As in offence; 
 
 But let our plot go forward: let our wives 
 Yet once again, to make us public sport, 
 Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, 
 Where we may take him and disgrace him for it. 
 
 Ford. There is no better way than that they 
 spoke of. 
 
 Page. How! to send him word they'll meet him 
 in the park at midnight ! fie, fie ! he'll never come. 
 
 Eva. You say, he has been thrown in the rivers; 
 and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman : 
 methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he 
 should not come, methinks his flesh is punished, 
 lie shall have no desires. 
 
 Page. So think I too. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when 
 he comes, 
 A.n<l Jet na two devise to bring him thither. 
 
 Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that H emu 
 the hunter, 
 Sometime a keeper here in Windsoi forest, 
 Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, 
 Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns 
 And there he blasts the tree, and takes ' the cattle 
 And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes u 
 
 chain 
 In a most hideous and dreadful manner : 
 You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know, 
 The superstitious idle-headed eld* 
 Received, and did deliver to our age, 
 This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 
 
 Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fca/ 
 In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak : 
 But what of this? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ; 
 That Falstaff at that oak shall meet with us, 
 Disguis'd like Heme, with huge horns on his head. 
 
 Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come, 
 And in this shape : When you have brought him 
 
 thither, 
 What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ' 
 
 Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon, 
 and thus : 
 Nan Page my daughter, and my little son, 
 And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress 
 Like urcliins, ouphes, 1 and fairies, green and white, 
 With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads, 
 And rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden, 
 As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met, 
 Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once 
 With some diffused song; upon their sight, 
 We two in great amazedness will fly 
 Then let them all encircle him about, 
 And, fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight, 
 And ask him, why, that hour of fairy-revel, 
 In their so sacred paths he dares to tread, 
 In shape profane. 
 
 . Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 
 
 Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound, 
 And burn him with their tapers. 
 
 Mrs. Page. The truth being known, 
 
 We'll all present ourselves ; dis-horn the spirit, 
 And mock him home to Windsor. 
 
 Ford. The children mast 
 
 Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't. 
 
 Eva. I will teach the children their behaviors ; 
 and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to bum the 
 knight with my taber. 
 
 Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them 
 vizards. 
 
 Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all 
 the fairies, 
 Finely attired in a robe of white. 
 
 Page. That silk will I go buy ; — and in that time 
 Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, [Aside. 
 
 And marry her at Eton. Go, send to Falstafl 
 
 straight. 
 
 Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook: 
 He'll tell me all his purpose : Sure, he'll come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fear not you that : Go, get us pro- 
 perties, 
 And tricking for our fairies. 
 
 Eva. Let us about it : it is admirable pleasures, 
 and fery honest knaveries. 
 
 [Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans 
 
 Mrs. Page. Go, mistress P'ord, 
 Send quickly to sir John, to know his mind. 
 
 [Exit M~s. Ford 
 I'll to the doctor ; he hath my good will, 
 And none but he, to marry with Nan Page. 
 
 • Strike*. « Old a«e. ' Kit hobgoblin. 
 
r 
 
 Scene V 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
 And he my husband best of all affects: 
 The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
 Potent at court ; he, none but he, shall have her, 
 Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave 
 her. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Host and Simple. 
 
 Host. What wouldst thou have, boor? what, 
 thick-skin] speak, breathe, discuss; orief, short, 
 quick, snap. 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John 
 Falstaff from master Slender. 
 
 Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, 
 his standing-bed, and truckle-bed; 'tis painted about 
 with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new ; Go, 
 knock and call; he'll speak like an Anthropopha- 
 ginian* unto thee : Knock, I say. 
 
 Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone 
 up into his chamber; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, 
 till she come down : I come to speak with her, in- 
 deed. 
 
 Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be 
 robbed : I'll call. — Bully knight ! Bully sir John ! 
 speak from thy lungs military : Art thou there? it 
 is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. 
 
 Fal. [above.] How now, mine host? 
 
 Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the com- 
 ing do w.n of thy fat woman : Let her descend, bully, 
 let her descend; my chambers are honorable: Eye! 
 privacy ? fye ! 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman 
 even now with me; but she's gone. 
 
 Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman 
 of Brentford ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell; What 
 would you with her? 
 
 Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to 
 her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, 
 sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a 
 chain, had the chain, or no. 
 
 Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 
 
 Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir? 
 
 Fal. Marry, she says, that the very same man, 
 that beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened 
 him of it. 
 
 Sim. I would, I could have spoken with the 
 wiiman herself; I had other things to have spoken 
 with her too, from him. 
 
 Fal. What are they? let us know. 
 
 Host. Ay, come; quick. 
 
 Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. 
 
 Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest. 
 
 Sim. Why, sir, they were nothing but about 
 mistress Anne Page ; to know, if it were my 
 master's fortune t>> have her, or no. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. 
 
 Sim. What, sir? 
 
 Fal. To have her, — or no : Go ; say, the woman 
 told me so. 
 
 Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir? 
 
 Fal. Ay, sir Tike; who more bold? 
 
 Si?n. I thank your worship: I shall make my 
 master glad with these tidings. [Exit Simple. 
 
 Host. Thou art clerkly. 8 chou art clerkly, s'r 
 fohn. Was there a wise woman with thee? 
 
 Fal. Ay, that there was, mine bout; one, that 
 ."•.nth taught me more wit than ever I learned before 
 • A cannibal. » Scholar-like. 
 
 in 
 was 
 
 my life: and I paid nothing for it neither, 
 s paid for my learning. 
 
 Enter Bahdolph. 
 
 59 
 
 but 
 
 Bar. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage ! mere cozenage . 
 
 Host. Where be my horses ? speak well of them, 
 varletto. 
 
 Bar. Run away with the cozeners; for so soon 
 as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from 
 behind one of them, in a slough of mire ; and set 
 spurs, and away, like three German devils, three 
 Doctor Faustuses. 
 
 Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, 
 villain : do not say, they be fled ; Germans are 
 honest men. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Eva. Where is mine host? 
 
 Host. What is the matter, sir ? 
 
 Eva. Have a care of your entertainments: t'nere 
 is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there is 
 three cousin germans, that has cozened all the 
 hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, 
 of horses and money. I tell you for good will, look 
 you: you are wise, and full of gibes and vlouting 
 stogs; and 'tis not convenient you should be co 
 zened: Fare you well. [Exit 
 
 Enter Doctor Caius. 
 
 Cuius. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre? 
 
 Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and 
 doubtful dilemma. 
 
 Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tell-a me 
 dat you make grand preparation for a duke de Jar 
 many: by my trot, dere is no duke, dat the court 
 is know to come; I tell you for good vill: Adieu, 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Host. Hue and cry, villain, go: — assist mc, 
 knight ; I am undone : — fly, run, hue and cry, vil < 
 lain ! I am undone ! 
 
 [Exeunt Host and Bardolpk 
 
 Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened; 
 for I have been cozened and beaten too. If it 
 should come to the ear of the court, how I have 
 been transformed, and how my transformation hath 
 been washed and cudgelled, they would melt me 
 out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's 
 boots with me; I wan-ant, they would whip me 
 with their fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a 
 dried pear. I never prospered since I forswore 
 myself at Primero. 1 Well, if my wind were but 
 long enough to say my prayers, I would repent. — 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Now ! whence come you ? 
 
 Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 
 
 Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the 
 other, and so they shall be both bestowed ! I have 
 suffered more for their sakes, more, than the vil- 
 lanous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to 
 bear. 
 
 Quick. And have not they suffered? Yes, I 
 warrant ; speciously one of them : mistress Ford, 
 good heart, is beaten black and blue, that you can- 
 not see a white spot about her. 
 
 Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue ? I 
 was beaten myself into all the colors of the rain- 
 bow, and I was like to be apprehended for the 
 witch of Brentford; but that my admirable dex- 
 terity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an 
 old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable had 
 set me i' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for a 
 witch. 
 
 » A game at cards. 
 
60 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Acr V 
 
 Quick. Sk, let me speak with you in your cham- 
 ber: you shall hear how things go; and, I warrant, 
 to your content. Here is a letter will say some- 
 what. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you 
 together! Sure one of you does not serve heaven 
 well, that you are so crossed. 
 
 Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Another Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Fenton and Host. 
 
 Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind 
 is heavy, I will give over all. 
 
 Fent. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my pur- 
 pose, 
 And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee 
 A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. 
 
 Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I will, 
 at the least, keep your counsel. 
 
 Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
 With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
 Who, mutually, hath answered my affection 
 (So far forth as herself might be her chooser) 
 Even to my wish: I have a letter from her 
 Of such contents as you will wonder at; 
 The mirth whereof so larded with my matter, 
 That neither, singly, can be manifested, 
 Without the show of both ; — wherein fat Falstaff 
 Hath a great scene : the image of the jest 
 
 [Shoiving the letter. 
 I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host : 
 To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, 
 Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen; 
 The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise, 
 While other jests are something rank on foot, 
 
 Her father hath commanded her to slip 
 Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 
 Immediately to marry: she hath consented: 
 Now, sir, 
 
 Her mother, ever strong against that match, 
 And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed 
 That he shall likewise shuffle her away, 
 While other sports are tasking of their minds, 
 And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
 Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot 
 She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
 Made promise to the doctor: — Now, thus it rests, 
 Her father means she shall be all in white. - 
 And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
 To take her by the hand, and bid her go, 
 She shall go with him: her mother hath intended, 
 The better to denote her to the doctor, 
 (For they must all be mask'd and vizarded,) 
 That, quaint in green, she shall be loose cnrob'd, 
 With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head ; 
 And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
 To pinch her by the hand, and on that token, 
 The maid hath given consent to go with him. 
 
 Host. Which means she to deceive 1 father or 
 mother ] 
 
 Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me . 
 And here it rests, — that you'll procure the vicar 
 To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, 
 And, in the lawful name of marrying, 
 To give our hearts united ceremony. 
 
 Host. Well, husband your device; I'll to the 
 vicar : 
 Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 
 
 Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee ; 
 Besides, I'll make a present recompense. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling; — go. -I'll 
 
 hold: 3 This is the third time; I hope, good luck 
 lies in odd numbers. Away, go ; they say, there is 
 divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, 
 or death. — Away. 
 
 Quick. I'll provide you a chain ; and I'll do what 
 I can to get you a pair of horns. 
 
 I'al. Away, I say; time wears: hold up your 
 head, and mince. [Exit Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Enter Font). 
 How now, master Brook? master Brook, the 
 matter will be known to-night, or never. Be you 
 in the Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and 
 you shall see wonders. 
 
 Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as 
 you told me you had appointed 1 
 
 Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see, 
 like a poor old man : but I came from her, master 
 Brook, like' a poor old woman. That same knave, 
 Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil of 
 jealousy in him, master Brook, that ever governed 
 frenzy. I will tell you. — He beat me grievously, 
 in the shape of a woman ; for in the shape of man, 
 master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's 
 beam ; because I know also, life is a shuttle. I am 
 in haste ; go along with me ; I'll tell you all, master 
 Br jok. Since I plucked geese, played truant, and 
 » Keep to the time. 
 
 whipped top, I knew not what it was to be beaten, 
 till lately. Follow me: I'll tell you strange things 
 of this knave Ford: on whom to-night I will be 
 revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your hand. 
 — Follow: Strange things in hand, master Brook! 
 follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Windsor Park. 
 Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 Page. Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle 
 ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. — Remem- 
 ber, son Slender, my daughter. 
 
 Sle?i. Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and 
 we have a nay-word, 3 how to know one another. I 
 come to her in white, and cry mum ; she cries 
 budget; and by that we know one another. 
 
 >S'/W. That's good too: But what needs cither 
 your mum or her budget? the white will decipher 
 her well enough. — It hath struck ten o'clock. 
 
 Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will 
 become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No 
 man means evil but the devil, and we shall know 
 him by his horns. Let's away; follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Fohd, and Dr. Caius. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in 
 green: when you see your time, take her by th« 
 * Watch-word. 
 
Scexk TV. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 61 
 
 hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch 
 it quickly : Go before into the park ; we two must 
 go together. 
 
 Cuius. I know vat I have to do ; Adieu. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius. 
 My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse 
 of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying 
 lay daughter: but 'tis no matter; better a little 
 chiding than a great deal of heart-break. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop 
 of fairies? and the Welsh devil, Hugh? 
 
 Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard 
 by Heme's oak, with obscured lights : which at the 
 very instant of Falstaff 's and our meeting, they will 
 at once display to the night. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be 
 mocked; if he be amazed, he will every way be 
 mocked. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their 
 lechery, 
 Those that betray them do no treachery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on ; to the oak, to 
 the oak ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Windsor Park. 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. 
 
 Era. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember 
 your parts: be pold, I pray you; follow me into 
 the pit; and when I give the watch-' ords, do as I 
 pid you; Come, come; trib, trib. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Another Part of the Park. 
 Enter Falstaff disguised, with a buck's head on. 
 
 Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; the 
 minute draws on : Now, the hot-biooded gods assist 
 me ! — Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy 
 Europa; love set on thy horns. — O powerful love! 
 that, in some respects, makes a beast a man ; in 
 some other, a man a beast. — You were also, Jupi- 
 ter, a swan, for the love of Leda; O, omnipotent 
 love ! how near the god drew to the complexion of 
 a goose ! — A fault done first in the form of a beast ; 
 — O Jove, a beastly fault! and then another fault 
 in the semblance of a fowl ; think on't, Jove, a foul 
 fault. — When gods have hot backs, what shall poor 
 men do? For me, I am here a Windsor stag; 
 and the fattest, I think, i' the forest: send me a 
 cool rut-time, Jove, or who can blame me to piss 
 my tallow ! Who comes here ? my doe ? 
 
 Enter Mrs. Fona and Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John? art thou there, my deer? 
 my male deer? 
 
 Fal. My doe, with the black scut? — Let the 
 sky rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of Green 
 Sleeves; hail kissing comfits, and snow eringoes; 
 let there come a tempest of provocation, I will 
 shelter me here. [Embracing her. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, 
 sweet-heart. 
 
 Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch : 
 [ will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the 
 fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your 
 'msbands. Am I a woodman ? ha ! Speak I like 
 Heme the hunter? — Why, now is Cupid a child of 
 conscience; he makes restitution. As I am a true 
 spirit, welcome. [Noise within. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas! what noise? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins ! 
 
 Fal. What should this be? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. ) A rrr , t ~ 
 
 Mrs. Page. \ Awa ^ awa y* ^ The ^ run °ff- 
 
 Fal. I think the devil will not have me damned, 
 
 lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire ; he 
 
 would never else cross me thus. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans like asatyr,- Mrs. Quick- 
 ly cnrfPisTOL; Anxe Page as the Fairy Queen t 
 attended, by her brother and others, dressed lik 
 fairies, with waxen tapers on their heads. 
 Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 
 You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night, 
 You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, 
 
 Attend your office, and your quality. 
 
 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. 
 
 Pist. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. 
 Cricket, to Windsor chimnies shalt thou leap : 
 Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths un- 
 
 swept, 
 There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry: 
 Our radiant Queen hates slute and sluttery. 
 Fal. They are fairies; he, that speaks to them, 
 shall die: 
 I'll wink and couch : No man their works must eye 
 [Lies down upon his face. 
 Eva. Where's Pede ? — Go you, and where you 
 find a maid, 
 That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayers said, 
 Raise up the organs of her fantasy, 
 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy : 
 But those as sleep, and think not on their sins, 
 Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and 
 shins. 
 Quick. About, about; 
 Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out. 
 Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room. 
 That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
 In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit; 
 Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
 The several chairs of order look you scour 
 With juice of balm, and every precious flower, 
 Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest, 
 With royal blazon, evermore be blest! 
 And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing, 
 Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring: 
 The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
 More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
 And, Hony soit qui mal y pense, write, 
 In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and whiter 
 Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery, 
 Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee: 
 Fairies use flowers for their characlery. 
 Away; disperse: But, till 'tis one o'clock, 
 Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
 Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 
 
 Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand; yourselves 
 in order set: 
 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be, 
 To guide our measure round about the tree. 
 But, stay; I smell a man of middle earth. 
 
 Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fairv ! 
 lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! 
 
 Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'crloqked even in 
 
 thy birth. 
 Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end • 
 If he be chaste, the flame will back descend. 
 And turn him to no pain: but if he start. 
 It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
 Pist. A trial, come. 
 Eva. Come, will this wood take fire ? 
 
 [They burn him with thetr tapert 
 
62 
 
 MERRY vVIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Act V f 
 
 Fal. Oh, oh, oh! 
 
 Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
 About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme : 
 iVnd, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 
 
 Eva. It is right; indeed he is full of lecheries 
 and iniquity. 
 
 SONG. 
 Fye on sinful fantasy ! 
 Fye on lust and luxury ! 
 Lust is but a bloody fire, 
 Kindled with unchaste desire, 
 Fed in heart; whose flames aspire, 
 As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. 
 Pinch him, fairies, mutually; 
 Pinch him for his villany,- 
 Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 
 Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out. 
 
 [During this song,the fairies pinch Falstaff. Doc- 
 tor Caius comes one way, and steals away a 
 fairy in green; Slender another way, and takes 
 off a fairy in white,- and Fenton comes, and 
 steals away Mrs. Anne Page. A noise of hunt- 
 ing is made within. All the fairies run away. 
 Falstaff pulls off his buck's head, and rises.'] 
 Enter Page, Foiid, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. 
 They lay hold on him. 
 Page. Nay, do not fly ; I think we have watch'd 
 you now ; 
 Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ? 
 Mrs. Page. I pray you, come ; hold up the jest 
 no higher: — 
 Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives ? 
 See you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes 4 
 Become the forest better than the town ? 
 
 Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? — Master 
 Brook, Falstaff 's a knave, a cuckoldly knave ; here 
 are his horns, master Brook: And, master Brook, 
 he hath enjoyed nothing of Ford's but his buck- 
 basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money ; 
 which must be paid to master Brook; his horses 
 are arrested for it, master Brook. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck : we 
 
 could never meet. I will never take you for my 
 
 love again, but I will always count you my deer. 
 
 Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. 
 
 Ford. Ay, and an ox too; both the proofs are 
 
 extant. 
 
 Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three or 
 four times in the thought, they were not fairies : and 
 yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise 
 of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery 
 into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all 
 rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See 
 now, how wit may be made a jack-a-lent, when 'tis 
 upon ill employment! 
 
 Eva. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and leave your 
 desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 
 Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 
 Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray 
 you. 
 
 Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till 
 thou art able to woo her in good English. 
 
 Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried 
 it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er- 
 •eaching as this? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat 
 too ? Shall I have a coxcomb of frize ? s 'tis time I 
 were choked with a piece of toasted cheese. 
 
 Eva. Seese is not good to give putter; your 
 pelly is all putter. 
 
 « Horns which Falstaff had. 
 
 * A fool's cap of Welsh materials. 1 
 
 Fal. Seese and putter ! Have I lived to stand at 
 the taunt of one that makes fritters of English? 
 This is enough to be the decay of late-walking 
 through the realm 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though 
 we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by 
 the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves 
 without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could 
 have made you our delight ? 
 
 Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of Hax ' 
 
 Mrs. Page. A puffed man? 
 
 Page. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable 
 entrails. 
 
 Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan ? 
 
 Page. And as poor as Job? 
 
 Ford. And as wicked as his wife? 
 
 Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, 
 and sack, and wine, and metheglins, and to drink 
 ings, and swearings, and starings, pribbles and 
 prabbles ? 
 
 Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start 
 of me: I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the 
 Welsh flannel ; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er 
 me : use me as you will. 
 
 Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to 
 one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, 
 to whom you should have been a pander : over and 
 above that you have suffered, I think to repay that 
 money will be a biting affliction. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to mako 
 amends ; 
 Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. 
 
 Ford. WeH, here's my hand ; all's forgiven at last. 
 
 Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt eat a 
 posset to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee 
 to laugh at my wife that now laughs at thee : Tell 
 her, master Slender hath married her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : — If Anne Page 
 be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius's wife. 
 
 {Aside. 
 
 Enter Slender. 
 
 Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! father Page ! 
 
 Page. Son ! how now ? how now, son ? have you 
 despatched ? 
 
 Slen. Despatched — I'll make the best in Glou 
 cestershire know on't ; would I were hanged, la, 
 else. 
 
 Page. Of what, son ? 
 
 Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress 
 Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy : If it 
 had not been i' the church, I would have swinged 
 him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not 
 think it had been Anne Page, would I might never 
 stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy. 
 
 Page. Upon my life, then, you took the wrong. 
 
 Sle?i. What need you tell me that ? I think so, 
 when I took a boy for a girl : If I had been married 
 to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would 
 not have had him. 
 
 Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I 
 tell you, how you should know my daughter by hei 
 garments ? 
 
 Slen. I went to her in white, and cried mum, and 
 she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed; 
 and yet. it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. 
 
 Eva. Jeshu! Master Slender, cannot you see 
 but marry boys? 
 
 Page. O, I am vexed at heart : What shall I do ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry : I knew 
 of your purpose; turned my daughter into green; 
 and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the 
 deanery, and there married. 
 
Scene V 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 63 
 
 Enter Caius. 
 
 Caius. Vere is mistress Page! By gar, I am 
 cozened ; I ha' married un garcon, a boy ; unpaisan, 
 by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, I am 
 cozened. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ? 
 
 Caius. Aye, by gar, and 'tis a boy : by gar, I'll 
 raise all Windsor. [Exit Caius. 
 
 Ford. This is strange : Who hath got the right 
 Anne? 
 
 Page. My heart misgives me : Here comes mas- 
 ter Fenton. 
 
 Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 
 
 How now, master Fenton ? 
 
 Anne. Pardon, good father! good my mother, 
 pardon ! 
 
 Page. Now, mistress ! how chance you went not 
 with master Slender? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master doc- 
 tor, maid? 
 
 Pent. You do amaze her : Hear the truth of it. 
 You would have married her most shamefully, 
 Where there was no proportion held in love. 
 The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, 
 Are now so sure, tha. nothing can dissolve U3. 
 Vht offence is holy, that she hath committed 
 
 And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
 Of disobedience, or unduteous title ; 
 Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
 A thousand irreligious cursed hours, 
 Which forced marriage would have brought upon 
 her. 
 
 Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy : — 
 In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state ; 
 Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 
 
 Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
 stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. 
 
 Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven 
 give thee joy ! 
 What cannot be eschew'd must be embrac'd. 
 
 Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are 
 chas'd. 
 
 Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your wedding. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further: — 
 Master Fenton, 
 Heaven give you many, many merry days! 
 Good husband, let us every one go home, 
 And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire, 
 Sir John and all. 
 
 Ford. Let it be so : — Sir John, 
 
 To master Brook you yet shall hold your word , 
 For he, to-night, shall he with Mrs. Ford. \ExetuU 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 OR, 
 
 WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Fabian, ( Servants to 0]ivia# 
 
 M 
 
 Orsino, Duke q/Tdyria. 
 
 Se b asti an, a young Gentleman, Brother to Viola, 
 Antonio, a Sea-Captain, Friend to Sebastian. 
 A. Sea-Captain, Friend to Viola. 
 
 Valentine, ) Q ent i emm attending; on the Duke 
 Curio, ) ° 
 
 Sir Toby Belch, Uncle of Olivia. 
 Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 
 M^lvolio, steward to Olivia. 
 
 SCENE, a city in Illyria; and the Sea- Coast near it 
 
 Clown 
 
 Olivia, a rich Countess. 
 Viola, in love with the Duke. 
 Maria, Olivia's woman. 
 
 Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, ana 
 other Attendants. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duke's palace. 
 Enter Duke, Curio, Lords ; Musicians attending. 
 
 Duke. If music be the food of love, play on, 
 Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting, 
 
 The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
 
 That strain again ; — it had a dying fall : 
 O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 Stealing, and giving odor. — Enough; no more; 
 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. 
 O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 
 That notwithstanding thy capacity 
 Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, 
 Of what validity and pitch soever, 
 But falls into abatement and low price, • 
 Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancv 
 That it alone is high-fantastical. 
 
 Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord 1 
 
 Duke. What, Curio ? 
 
 Cur. The hart. 
 
 Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: 
 0, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
 Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence ; 
 That instant was I turned into a hart; 
 And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, 
 E'er since pursue me. — How now? what news 
 from her? 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 
 Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, 
 But from her handmaid do return this answer: 
 The element itself, till seven years' heat, 
 8hall not behold her face at ample view : 
 
 m _ 
 
 But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk, 
 And water once a day her chamber round 
 With eye offending brine : all this, to season 
 A brother's dead love, which she would keep fie?n, 
 And lasting, in her sad remembrance. 
 
 Duke. 0, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame, 
 To pay this debt of love but to a brother, 
 How will she love, when the rich golden shaft, 
 Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart, 
 These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd 
 (Her sweet perfections) with one self king ! — 
 Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 
 Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— The Sea Coast. 
 
 Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors. 
 
 Vio. What country, friends, is this? 
 Cap. TUyria, lady. 
 
 Vio. And what should I do in Illyria? 
 My brother he is in Elysium. 
 Perchance, he is not drown'd : — What think you, 
 sailors ? 
 Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself were 
 
 saved. 
 Vio. O my poor brother ! and so, perchance, 
 
 may he be. • 
 
 Cap. True, madam : and to comfort you with 
 chance, 
 Assure yourself, after our ship did split, 
 When you, and that poor number saved with you. 
 Hung on our driving boat, I?'w your brothel 
 
Scene III. TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 15b 
 
 Most provident in peril, bind himself 
 (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) 
 To a strong mast that lived upon the sea; 
 Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
 I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves, 
 So long as I could see. 
 
 Vio. For saying so, there's gold : 
 
 Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
 Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 
 The like of him. Know'st thou this country ] 
 
 Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and born, 
 Not three hours' travel from this very place. 
 Vio. Who governs here I 
 Cap. A noble duke, in nature, 
 
 As in his name. 
 
 Vio. What is his name? 
 
 Cap. Orsino. 
 
 Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him ! 
 He was a bachelor»then. 
 
 Cap. And so is now, 
 
 Or was so very late: for but a month 
 Ago I went from hence ; and then 'twas fresh 
 In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do, 
 The less will prattle of,) that he did seek 
 The love of fair Olivia. 
 
 Vio. What's she! 
 
 Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
 That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her 
 In the protection of his son, her brother, 
 Who shortly also died : for whose dear love, 
 They say, she hath abjur'd the company 
 And sight of men. 
 
 Vio. 0, that I served that lady : 
 
 And might not be delivered to the world, 
 Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, 
 What my estate is. 
 
 Cap. That were hard to compass ; 
 
 Because she will admit no kind of suit, 
 No, not the duke's. 
 
 Vio. There is a fair behavior in thee, captain ; 
 And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
 Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
 I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits 
 With this thy fair and outward character. 
 I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, 
 Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid 
 For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
 The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke ; 
 Thou shalt present me as a eunuch to him: 
 It may be worth thy pains; for I can sing, 
 And speak to him in many sorts of music, 
 That will allow hae very worth his service. 
 What else may hap, to time I will commit ; 
 Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 
 
 Cap. Be you his eunuch, and I your mute will be: 
 When my tongue blabs, let mine eyes not see ! 
 Vio. I thank thee, lead me on. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^4 Room in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Tonr Belch, and Mahia. 
 
 Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take 
 the death of her brother thus] I am sure, care's an 
 enemy to life. 
 
 Mar. By troth, Sir Toby, you must come in 
 earlier o" nights ; your cousin, my lady, takes great 
 exceptions to your ill hours. 
 
 Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. 
 
 Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 
 the modest limits of order. 
 
 »<i* To. Confine 1 I'll confine myself no finer 
 
 than I am : these clothes are good enough to drink 
 in, and so be these boots too ; an they be not, let 
 them hang themselves in their own strap*. 
 
 Mar. That quailing and drinking will undo you: 
 I heard my lady talk of it yesterday; and cf a 
 foolish knight, that you brought in one night here, 
 to be her wooer. 
 
 Sir To. Who ] Sir Andrew Ague-cheek ! 
 
 Mar. Ay, he. 
 
 Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyrin. 
 
 Mar. What's that to the purpose] 
 
 Sir To. Why,hehasthreethousandducatsayear. 
 
 Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these 
 ducats ; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. 
 
 Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the 
 viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages 
 word for word without book, and hath all the good 
 gifts of nature. 
 
 Mar. He hath, indeed, — almost natural : for, 
 besides that he's a fool, he's ft great quarrcller; 
 and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay 
 the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among 
 the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave. 
 
 <S'tV To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and 
 substractors, that say so of him. Who are they ] 
 
 Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly 
 in your company. 
 
 Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; I'll 
 drink to her, as long as there's a passage in my 
 throat, and drink in Illyria: He's a coward, and a 
 coystril, 1 that will not drink to my niece, till his 
 brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, 
 wench] Castiliano vulgo; for here comes sir An 
 drew Ague-face. 
 
 Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, sir Toby 
 Belch] 
 
 Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew : 
 
 Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 
 
 Mar. And you too, sir. 
 
 Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost. 
 
 Sir And. What's that] 
 
 Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid. 
 
 Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire bettet 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Mar. My name is Mary, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Good mistress" Mary Accost, 
 
 Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost is, front 
 her, board her, woo her, assail her. 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake 
 her in this company. Is that the meaning of ac- 
 cost] 
 
 Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen. ' 
 
 Sir To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew 'would 
 thou mightst never draw sword again. 
 
 Sir And. And you part so, mistress, I wouid 1 
 might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you 
 think you have fools in hand ] 
 
 Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's 
 my hand. 
 
 Mar. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you, 
 bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. 
 
 Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart ! what's your 
 metaphor ! 
 
 Mar. It's dry, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Why, I think so; I am not such hu 
 ass, but I can keeo >pv hand dry. But whal't 
 your jest] 
 
 Mar. A dry jest, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Are you full of them ! 
 • Kejotril, a J.astard hawk 
 
War. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends: 
 o.arry. now I let go vour hand, I am barren. 
 
 [Exit Maria. 
 Sir 1o. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary : 
 When did I see thee so put down ? 
 
 Sir And. Never in your life, I think; unless you 
 see canary put me down : Methinks, sometimes I 
 have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary 
 man has: but I am a greater eater of beef, and, I 
 believe, that does harm to my wit. 
 
 Sir. To. No question. 
 
 Sir. And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. 
 I'll ride home to-morrow, sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. Pourquoy, my dear knight 1 
 
 Sir And. What is pourquoy? do or not dol I 
 would I had bestowed that time in the tongues, 
 that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting : 
 0, had I but followed the arts ! 
 
 Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head 
 of hair. 
 
 Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair ? 
 
 Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest, it will not 
 curl by nature. 
 
 Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't 
 not? 
 
 Sir To. Excellent. ; it hangs like flax on a distaff; 
 and I hope to see a housewife take thee between 
 her legs, and spin it off. 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith, I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby : 
 your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, it's four 
 to one she'll none of me : the count, himself, here 
 hard by, woos her. 
 
 Sir To. She'll none of the count; she'll not 
 match above her degree, neither in estate, years, 
 nor wit ; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's 
 life in't, man. 
 
 Sir And. I'll stay a month longer. I am a fellow 
 o' the strangest mind in the world ; I delight in 
 masques and revels sometimes altogether. 
 
 Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight? 
 
 Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he 
 be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I will 
 not compare with an old man. 
 
 Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, 
 knight ? 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith, I can cut a caper. 
 
 Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. 
 
 Sir And And, I think, I have the back-trick, 
 simply as strong as any man in Illyria. 
 
 Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where- 
 fore have these gifts a curtain before them? are 
 they like to take dust, like mistress Mall's picture ? 
 Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and 
 come home in a coranto ? My very walk should 
 be a jig ; I would not so much as make water, but 
 in a sink-a-pace. 2 What dost thou mean? is it a 
 world to hide virtues in? I did think, by the ex- 
 cellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed under 
 the star of a galliard. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, 'tis stong, and it does indifferent 
 well in a flame-colored stock. 3 Shall we set about 
 some revels ? 
 
 Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not 
 born under Taurus? 
 
 Sir And. Taurus ? that's sides and heart. 
 
 Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me 
 bee thee caper : ha ! higher : ha, ha ! — excellent ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV,— A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter. Valentine and Viola in man's attire. 
 Vol. If the duke continue these favors towards 
 
 • Cinqta-pacr, thf name of a dance. 
 
 1 Stocking. 
 
 you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced 
 he hath known you but three days, and already 
 you are no stranger. 
 
 Vio. You either fear his humor, or my negli- 
 gence, that you call in question the continuance oi 
 his love: Is he inconstant, sir, in his favors * 
 
 Vol. No, believe me. 
 
 Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants. 
 
 Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count. 
 
 Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? 
 
 Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 
 
 Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. — Cesario, 
 Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd 
 To thee the book even of my secret soul : 
 Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto he 
 Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors, 
 And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow, 
 Till thou have audience. 
 
 Vio. Sure, my noble lord, 
 
 If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow 
 As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 
 
 Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds. 
 Rather than make unprofited return. 
 
 Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord : What 
 then? 
 
 Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love, 
 Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith : 
 It shall become thee well to act mv woes ; 
 She will attend it better in thy youth, 
 Than in a nuncio of grave aspect. 
 
 Vio. I think not so, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Dear lad, believe it, 
 
 For they shall yet belie thy happy years 
 That say, thou art a man : Diana's lip 
 Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe 
 Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound, 
 And all its semblative a woman's part. 
 I know, thy constellation is right apt 
 For this affair: — Some four, or five, attend him ; 
 All, if you will ; for I myself am best, 
 When least in company : — Prosper well in this, 
 And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord. 
 To call his' fortunes thine. 
 
 Vio. I'll do my best 
 
 To woo your lady : yet, [Aside.'] a barful 4 strife ! 
 Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Room in Olivia's House. 
 Enter Maria and Clown. 
 
 Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, 
 or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle may 
 enter, in way of thy excuse : my lady will hang 
 thee for thy absence. 
 
 Clo. Let her hang me : he, that is well-hanged 
 in this world, needs to fear no colors. 
 
 Mar. Make that good. 
 
 Clo. He shall see none to fear. 
 
 Mar. A good lenten' answer: I can tell thee 
 where that saying was born, of, I fear no colors. 
 
 Clo. Where, good mistress Mary ? 
 
 Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold to 
 say in your foolery. 
 
 Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have 
 it; and those that are fools, let them use their 
 talents. 
 
 Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long 
 absent : or, to be turned away; is not that as good 
 as a hanging to you ? 
 
 Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar- 
 riage ; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out 
 
 * .Full of impediments. 
 
 » Short and span*. 
 
S(!E1VE V. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 67 
 
 Mar. You are resolute men? 
 
 Clo. Not so neither, but I am resolved on two 
 points. 
 
 Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold ; 
 or, if both break, your gaskins fall. 
 
 Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt ! Well, go thy 
 way ; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert 
 as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in Illyria. 
 
 Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that; here 
 comes my lady : make your excuse wisely, you were 
 best. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Olivia, and Malvolio. 
 
 Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good 
 fooling! Those wits, that think they have thee, do 
 very oft prove fools; and I, that am sure I lack 
 thee, may pass for a wise man : For what says 
 Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish 
 wit. God bless thee, lady ! 
 
 OIL Take the fool away. 
 
 Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away the 
 lady. 
 
 OK. Go to, you're a dry fool: I'll no more of 
 you : besides, you grow dishonest. 
 
 Clo. Two faults, madonna, 6 that drink and good 
 counsel will amend : for give the dry fool drink, then 
 is the fool not dry ; bid the dishonest man mend 
 himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if 
 he cannot, let the botcher mend him : any thing, 
 that's mended, is but patched: virtue, that trans- 
 gresses, is but patched with sin ; and sin, that 
 amends, is put patched with virtue: if that this 
 simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what 
 remedy] As there is no true cuckold but calamity, 
 so beauty's a flower: — the lady bade take away the 
 fool; therefore, I say again, take her away. 
 
 OIL Sir, I bade them take away you. 
 
 Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! — Lady, 
 Cucullus non facit monachum,- that's as much as 
 to say, I wear not motley in my brain. Good ma- 
 donna, give me leave to prove you a fool. 
 
 OIL Can you do it"! 
 
 Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. 
 
 OIL Make your proof. 
 
 Clo. I must catechise you for it, madonna ; good 
 my mouse of virtue, answer me. 
 
 OIL Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 
 'bide your proof. 
 
 Clo. Good madonna, why mourn'st thou 1 ? 
 
 OIL Good fool, for my brother's death. 
 
 Clo. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 
 
 OIL I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 
 
 Clo. The more fool you, madonna, to mourn 
 for your brother's soul being in heaven. — Take 
 away the fool, gentlemen. 
 
 OIL What think you of this fool, Malvolio ? doth 
 he not mend? 
 
 Mai. Yes : and shall do, till the pangs of death 
 shake him. Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth 
 ever make the better fool. 
 
 Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, for 
 the better increasing your folly ! Sir Toby will be 
 sworn, that I am no fox ; but he will not pass his 
 word for two-pence that you are no fool. 
 
 OIL How say you to that, Malvolio? 
 
 Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such 
 a barren rascal; I saw him put down the other day 
 with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than 
 a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard 
 already; unless you laugh and minister occasion to 
 him, he is gagged. I protest, I take, these wise 
 
 • Italian mistress, dame. 
 
 men, that crow so at these set kind of fools, no 
 better than the fools' zanies- 1 
 
 OIL O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
 taste with a distempered appetite. To be generons, 
 guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those 
 things for bird-bolts, 8 that you deem cannon-bul- 
 lets : There is no slander in an allowed fool, thougr. 
 he do nothing but rail; nor no railing in a known 
 discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. 
 
 Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing, 5 for 
 thou speakest well of fools. 
 
 Re-enter Maria. 
 
 Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen- 
 tleman, much desires to speak with you. 
 
 OIL From the count Orsino, is it? 
 
 Mar. I know not, madam ; 'tis a fair young man 
 and well attended. 
 
 OIL Who of my people hold him in delay ? 
 
 Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 
 
 OIL Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks nothing 
 but madman: Fye on him! [Exit Maria.] Go 
 you, Malvolio; if it be a suit from the count, I am 
 sick, or not at home; what you will, to dismiss it. 
 [Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your 
 fooling grows old, and people dislike it. 
 
 Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy 
 eldest son should be a fool : whose skuU, Jove cram 
 with brains, for here comes one of thy kin, has a 
 most weak pia mater. 1 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch. 
 
 OIL By mine honor, half di unk. — What is he 
 at the gate, cousin? 
 
 <SVr To. A gentleman. 
 
 OIL A gentleman ! What gentleman ? 
 
 Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here — A. plague o' theso 
 pickle-herrings! — How now, sot? 
 
 Clo. Good sir Toby, 
 
 OIL Cousin, cousin, how have you come so 
 early by this lethargy? 
 
 Sir To. Lechery! I defy lechery: there's one at 
 the gate. 
 
 OIL Ay, marry ; what is he ? 
 
 Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care 
 not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. [Exit. 
 
 OH. What's a drunken man like, fool? 
 
 Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman : 
 one draught above heat makes him a fool ; the se- 
 cond mads him ; and a third drowns him. 
 
 OH. Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him 
 sit o' my coz ; for he's in the third degree of drink, 
 he's drown'd: go, look after him. 
 
 Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and tne fool 
 shall look to the madman. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Re-enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will 
 speak with you. I told him you were sick, he 
 takes on him to understand so much, and therefore 
 comes to speak with you: I told him you were 
 asleep; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that 
 too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What 
 is to be said to him, lady? he's fortified against any 
 denial. 
 
 OIL Tell him, he shall not speak with me 
 
 Mal. He has been told so; and he says, he'll 
 stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be lh« 
 supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you. 
 
 OIL What kind of man is he ? 
 
 Mal. Why, of man kind. 
 
 ' Fools' baubles. 
 8 LyiDg. 
 
 » Short arrows. 
 
 1 The -over of th». brain 
 
68 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act 1 
 
 OH. What manner of man ! 
 
 Mai. Of very ill manner; he'll speak with you, 
 will you, or no. 
 
 OH. Of what personage, and years, is he] 
 
 Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 
 enough for a boy ; as a squash is before 'tis a peas- 
 cod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple; 'tis 
 with him e'en standing water, between boy and 
 man. He is very well favored, and he speaks very 
 shrcwishly; one would think, his mother's milk 
 were scarce out of him. 
 
 OH. Let him approach: Call in my gentlewoman. 
 
 Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit. 
 
 Re-ente, Maria. 
 
 OH. Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er my 
 face; 
 We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. 
 Enter Viola. 
 
 Vio. The honorable lady of the house, which is 
 she] 
 
 OIL Speak to me, I shall answer for her. Your 
 willl 
 
 Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable 
 beauty, — I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady 
 of the house, for I never saw her : I would be loth 
 to cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is ex- 
 cellently we!l penn'd, I have taken great pains to 
 con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn : I 
 am very comptible, 2 even to the least sinister 
 usage. 
 
 OH. Whence came you, sir] 
 
 Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, 
 and that question's out of my part. Good gentle 
 one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady 
 of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. 
 
 OH. Are you a comedian? 
 
 Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the 
 very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play. 
 Are you the lady of the house ? 
 
 OIL If I do not usurp myself, I am. 
 
 Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
 yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours 
 to reserve. But this is from my commission: I 
 will on with my speech in your praise, and then 
 show you the heart of my message. 
 
 OIL Come to what is important in't: I forgive 
 you the praise. 
 
 Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis 
 poetical. 
 
 OIL It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray 
 you, keep *t in. I heard, you were saucy at my 
 gates; and allowed your approach, rather to won- 
 der at you than to hear you. If you be not mad, 
 be gone ; if you have reason, be brief; 'tis not that 
 time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping 
 a dialogue. 
 
 Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir ] here lies your way. 
 
 Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a 
 little longer. — Some mollification for your giant, 3 
 sweet lady. 
 
 OH. Tell me your mind. 
 
 Vio. I am a messenger. 
 
 OH. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- 
 .iver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak 
 your office. 
 
 Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no 
 overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the 
 olive in my hand : my words are as full of peace as 
 matter. 
 
 » Accountable. 
 
 1 It appears from several parts of tbis play that the ori- 
 Kiaal actress of Mar a was very short. 
 
 OH. Yet you began rudely What are you] 
 what would you ] 
 
 Vio. The rudeness, that hath appear'd in me, 
 have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I 
 am, and what I would, are as secret as maiden- 
 head: to your ears, divinity; to any other's, pro- 
 fanation. 
 
 OIL Give us the place alone : we will hear thie 
 divinity. [Exit Maria.] Now, sir, what is your 
 text] 
 
 Vio. Most sweet lady, 
 
 OH. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
 said of it. Where lies your text] 
 
 Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 
 
 OH. In his bosom ] In what chapter of his bosom] 
 
 Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of 
 his heart. 
 
 OIL O, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have you 
 no more to say] 
 
 Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 
 
 OIL Have you any commission from your lord to 
 negotiate with my face ] you are now out of your 
 text: but we will draw the curtain, and show y >u 
 the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was 
 this present: 4 Is't not well done! [Unveiling. 
 
 Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 
 
 OIL 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and 
 weather. 
 
 Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
 Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on: 
 Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, 
 If you will lead these graces to the grave, 
 And leave the world no copy 
 
 OIL O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted; I will 
 give out divers schedules of my beauty : It shall be 
 inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, la- 
 belled to my will : as, item, two lips indifferent 
 red ; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them ; item, 
 one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent 
 hither to 'praise me ] 
 
 Vio. I see you what you are ; you are too proud ; 
 But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
 My lord and master loves you ; O, such love 
 Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd 
 The nonpareil of beauty ! 
 
 OH. How does he love me] 
 
 Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, 
 With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 
 
 OH. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot 
 love him : 
 Yet I suppose him virtuous, 'know him noble, 
 Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; 
 In voices well divulg'd, 5 free, learn'd, and valiant 
 And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, 
 A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him; 
 He might have took his answer long ago. 
 
 Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame, 
 With such a suffering, such a deadly life, 
 In your denial I would find no sense, 
 I would not understand it. 
 
 OH. Why, what would you 3 
 
 Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate. 
 And call upon my soul within the house 
 Write loyal cantons 6 of contemned love, 
 And sing them loud even in the dead of night; 
 Holla your name to the reverberate hills, 
 And make the babbling gossip of the air 
 Cry out, Olivia! O, you should not rest 
 Between the elements of air and earth. 
 But you should pity me. 
 
 OIL You might do much: What is your parentage' 
 
 « Presents. • Well spoken of by the worM 
 
 • Cantoes, verses. 
 
A.CT II. Scene I. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 m 
 
 Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 
 I am a gentleman. 
 
 Oli. Get you to your lord ; 
 
 [ cannot love him: let him send no more; 
 Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 
 To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
 I thank you for your pains ; spend this for mc. 
 
 Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse ; 
 My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
 Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love ; 
 And let your fervor, like my master's, be 
 Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Exit. 
 
 Oli. What is your parentage 1 
 Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 
 
 1 am a gentleman. —I'll be sworn thou art; 
 
 Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit, 
 Do give thee five-fold blazon : — Not too fast : — 
 
 soft! soft! 
 Unless the master were the man. — How now ] 
 Even so quickly may one catch the plague 1 
 Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections, • 
 
 With an invisible and subtle stealth, 
 
 To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. — 
 
 What, ho, Malvolio ! — 
 
 lie-enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. Here, madam, at your servic 
 
 Oli. Run after that same peevish messenger, 
 The county's man: he left this ring behind him, 
 Would I, or not; tell him, I'll none of it. 
 Desire him not to flatter with his lord, 
 Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him. 
 If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, 
 I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. Madam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 Oli. I do I know not what: and fear to find 
 Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
 Fate, show thy force : Ourselves we do not 
 
 owe j 1 
 What is decreed, must be ; and be this so ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Sea-coast. 
 
 Enter Antoxio and Sedastiaw. 
 Ant. Will you stay no longerl nor will you not, 
 that I go with you 1 
 
 Seb. By your patience, no : my stars shine darkly 
 over me; the malignancy of my fate might, per- 
 haps, distemper yours; therefore I shall crave of 
 you your leave, that I may bear my evils alone: 
 It were abad recompense for your love, to lay any 
 of them on you. 
 
 Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you are 
 bound. 
 
 Seb. No, 'sooth, sir ; my determinate voyage is 
 mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex- 
 cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort 
 from me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it 
 charges me in manners the rather to express myself. 
 You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is 
 Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo: My father was 
 that Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you 
 have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a 
 sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had 
 been pleas'd, would we had so ended ! but you, sir, 
 alter'd that : for, some hour before you took me 
 from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. 
 
 Ant. Alas, the day ! 
 
 Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- 
 sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful : 
 but, though I could not, with such estimable won- 
 der, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly 
 publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not 
 but call fair: she is drowned already, sir, with salt 
 water, though I seem to drown her remembrance 
 again with more. 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 
 
 Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 
 
 Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let 
 me be your servant. 
 
 Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, 
 that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire 
 it not. Fare ye well at once : my bosom is full of 
 kindness; and I am yet so near the manners of 
 my mother, that upon the least occasion more, 
 mine eyes will tell tales of me. I am bound to the 
 count Orsino's court: farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. The ecntlecess of all the sods go with thee : 
 
 I have many enemies in Orsino's court, 
 Else would I very shortly see thee there : 
 But come what may, I do adore thee so, 
 That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit 
 
 SCENE 11.— A Street. 
 
 Enter Viola ; Malvolio following. 
 
 Mai. Were not you even now with the countess 
 Olivia'? 
 
 Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I have 
 since arrived but hither. 
 
 Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir; you 
 might have saved me my pains, to have taken it 
 away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should 
 put your lord into a desperate assurance she will 
 none of him : And one thing more ; that you be 
 never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless if 
 be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so. 
 
 Vio. She took the ring of me ; I'll none of it. 
 
 Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; 
 and her will is, it should be so returned : if it be 
 worth stooping for, there it lies in your eye ; if not, 
 be it his that finds it. [Exit. 
 
 Vio. I left no ring with her: What means this 
 lady? 
 Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm'd her ! 
 She made good view of me; indeed, so much, 
 That sure, mcthought, her eyes had lost her tongue, 
 For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
 She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion 
 Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
 None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 
 I am the man; — If it be so, (as 'tis,) 
 Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
 Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, 
 Wherein the pregnant 3 enemy does much 
 How easy is it, for the proper-false 
 In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
 Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ; 
 For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
 How will this fadge?" My master loves her dearly 
 And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
 And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me : 
 What will become of this 1 As 1 am man, 
 My state is desperate for my master's love ; 
 ' Owe, possess Dexterous, ready. • Suit 
 
70 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act Ii 
 
 As 1 am woman, now alas the day! 
 
 What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe ! 
 
 O t./ne, thou must untangle this, not I ; 
 
 It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— 4 Room in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Sir Andrew Ague- 
 cheek. 
 
 Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew: not to be a-bed 
 after midnight, is t"> be up betimes; and diluculo 
 turgcre, thou know'st, 
 
 Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not : but I 
 know, to be up late, is to be up late. 
 
 Sir To. A false conclusion : I hate it as an un- 
 filled can : To be up after midnight, and to go to 
 bed then, is early; so that, to go to bed after mid- 
 night, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives 
 consist of the four elements ? 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith, so they say ; but, I think, it 
 rather consists of eating and drinking. 
 
 Sir To. Thou art a scholar ; let us therefore eat 
 and drink. — Maria, I say ! — a stoop of wine ! 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Sir And. Here comes the fool. 
 
 Clo. How now, my hearts 1 Did you never see 
 the picture of we three'? 1 
 
 Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have a catch. 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
 breast. 2 I had rather than forty shillings I had 
 such a leg ; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the 
 fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious 
 fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogro- 
 rnitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of 
 Queubus; 'twas very good, i' faith. I sent thee six- 
 pence for thy Ieman: 3 hadst it] 
 
 Clo. I did 'impeticos thy gratillity;' for Mal- 
 volio's nose is no whipstock : my lady has a white 
 hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle-ale houses. 
 
 Sir And. Excellent ! Why, this is the best fool- 
 ing, when all is done. Now, a song. 
 
 Sir To. Come on ; there is a sixpence for you : 
 let's have a song. 
 
 Sir And. There's a testril of me too; if one 
 knight give a 
 
 Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of 
 good life ? 
 
 Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, ay ; I care not for good life. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo. mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
 stay and hear,- your true love's coming, 
 
 That can sing both high and low: 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting,- 
 Journeys end in lovers' meeting, 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 Sir And. Excellent good, i' faith! 
 Sir To. Good, good. 
 
 Clo. What is love? 'tis not hereafter,- 
 
 Present mirth hath present laughter; 
 
 What's to come, is itill unsure.- 
 In delay there ties no plenty,- 
 Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 
 Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
 Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight. 
 Sir To. A contagious breath. 
 Sir And Very sweet and contagious, i' faith. 
 Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in con- 
 tagion. But shall we make the welkin dance 
 
 1 Loggerhcadu be. » Voice. 
 
 » Mistress « I did impetticoat thy gratuity. 
 
 indeed"! Shall we rouse the night-owl in a eaten, 
 that will draw three souls out of one weaver 1 
 Shall we do that 1 
 
 Sir And. An you love me, let's do't: I am dog 
 at a catch. 
 
 Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. 
 
 Sir And. Most certain: let our catch be, Thou 
 knave. 
 
 Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight ! I shall 
 be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. 
 
 Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have c./n 
 strain'd one to call me knave. Begin, fool, it 
 begins, Hold thy peace. 
 
 Clo. I shall never begin, if I hoid my peace 
 
 Sir And. Good, i' faith ! Come, begin. 
 
 [They sing a catch. 
 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Mar. What a cattervvauling do you keep here' If 
 my lady have not called up her steward, Malvolio, 
 and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. 
 
 Sir To. My lady's a Catalan," we are politicians: 
 Malvolio's a Pcg-a-Ramsey, 6 and Three merry men 
 we be. Am not I consanguineous? am I not of her 
 blood? Tilly-valley," lady ! There dwett a man in 
 Babylon, lady, lady! [Singing. 
 
 Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's ip admirable fool- 
 ing. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dis- 
 posed, and so do I too; he does it with a better 
 grace, but I do it more natural 
 
 Sir To. the twelfth day of December, — [Sing- 
 ing. 
 
 Mar. For the love of God, peace. 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mai. My masters, are you mad ? or what are 
 you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but 
 to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? Do ye 
 make an ale-house of my lady's house, that ye 
 squeak out your coziers' s catches without any mi- 
 tigation or remorse of voice ? Is there no respect 
 of place, persons, nor time, in you ? 
 
 Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
 Sneck up V 
 
 Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 
 lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbors 
 you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your 
 disorders. If you can separate yourself and your 
 misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house ; if 
 not, an it would please you to take leave of her 
 she is very willing to bid you farewell. 
 
 Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must 
 needs be gone. 
 
 Mar. Nay, good sir Toby 
 
 Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done. 
 
 Mai. Is't even so? 
 
 Sir To. But I will never die. 
 
 Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 
 
 Mai. This is much credit to you. 
 
 Sir To. Shall I bid him go? [Si?iging. 
 
 Clo. What an if you do? 
 
 Sir To. Shall 1 bid him go, and spare not? 
 
 Clo. no, no, no, no, you dare not. 
 
 Sir To. Out o' time? sir, ye lie. — Art any more 
 than a steward? Dost thou think, because thou 
 art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? 
 
 Clo. Yes, by saint Anne ; and ginger shall \xa 
 hot i' the mouth too. 
 
 Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. — Go, sir, rub you* 
 chain with crums: — A stoop of wire, Maria ! 
 
 » Romancer. « Name of an old song. 
 
 ' Equivalent to JiUy-fallti, shilly-shally. 
 » Cobblers. * Hang yourself. 
 
Scene III 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 ti 
 
 Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's 
 favor at any thing more than contempt, you would 
 not give means for this uncivil rule ; she shall know 
 of it, by this hand. 
 
 Mar. Go shake your ears. 
 Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when 
 a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field ; and 
 then to break promise with him, and make a fool 
 of him. 
 
 Sir To. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a chal- 
 lenge; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by 
 word of mouth. 
 
 Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night: 
 since the youth of the count's was to-day with my 
 lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur 
 Malvolio, let me alone with him: if I do not gull 
 him into a nay-word, 1 and make him a common 
 recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie 
 straight in my bed : I know, I can do it. 
 
 Sir To. Possess us, 2 possess us; tell us some- 
 thing of him. 
 
 Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. 
 Sir And. 0, if I thought that, I'd beat him like 
 a dog. 
 
 Sir To. What, for being a Puritan ? thy exqui- 
 site reason, dear knight? 
 
 Sir And. I have no exquisite reasoa for't, but I 
 have reason good enough. 
 
 Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing 
 constantly but a time-pleaser ; an affectioned ass, 
 that cons state without book, and utters it by great 
 swarthr: 3 the best persuaded of himself, so cram- 
 med, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his; 
 ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love 
 him ; and on that vice in him will my revenge find 
 notable cause to work. 
 
 Sir To. What wilt thou do? 
 Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles 
 of love; wherein by the color of his beard, the 
 shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres- 
 sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall 
 find himself most feelingly personated : I can write 
 very like my lady, your niece ; on a forgotten matter 
 we can hardly make distinction of our hands. 
 Sir To. Excellent! I smell a device. 
 Sir And. I have't in my nose too. 
 Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou 
 wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that 
 she is in love with him. 
 
 Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color. 
 Sir And. And your horse now would make him 
 an ass. 
 
 Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 
 Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. 
 Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know, my 
 physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and 
 let the fool make a third, where he shall find the let- 
 ter ; observe his construction of it. For this night, 
 to bed, and dream on the event. Farewell. [Exit. 
 Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 4 
 Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. 
 Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that 
 sdores me: What o'that? 
 
 Sir And. I was adored once too. 
 Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. — Thou hadst need 
 Rend for more money. 
 
 Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a 
 foul way out. 
 
 Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast 
 her not i' the end, call me Cut. 5 
 
 » Jlye-word. * Inform us. 
 
 • The row of grass left by a mower. 
 
 4 Amazon. » Fool. 
 
 Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it 
 how you will. 
 
 Sir To. Come, come; I'll go burn some sack, 
 'tis too late to go to bed now : come, knight ; come, 
 knight. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Duke, Vioii, Curio, and others. ' 
 
 Duke. Give me some music : — Now, good 
 morrow, friends: — 
 Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 
 That old and antique song we heard last night, 
 Methought, it did relieve my passion much; 
 More than light airs and recollected terms 
 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : 
 
 Come, but one verse. 
 
 Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, 
 that should sing it. 
 
 Duke. Who was it? 
 
 Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the 
 lady Olivia's father took much delight xi: he is 
 about the house. 
 
 Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 
 [Exit Cunio. — Music. 
 Come hither, boy : If ever thou shalt love, 
 In the sweet pangs of it, remember me : 
 For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
 Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 
 Save, in that constant image of the creature 
 That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune ? 
 
 Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
 Where Love is thron'd. 
 
 Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 
 My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye 
 Hath stay'd upon some favor that it loves ; 
 Hath it not, boy? 
 
 Vio. A little, by your favor. 
 
 Duke. What kind of woman is't ? 
 
 Vio. Of your complexion. 
 
 Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years, 
 i'faith? 
 
 Vio. About your years, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Too old, by heaven; Let still the woman 
 take 
 An elder than herself; so wears she to him, 
 So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
 For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
 Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
 Than women's are. 
 
 Vio. I think it well, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself, 
 Or thy affection cannot hold the bent : 
 For women are as roses; whose fair flower, 
 Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. 
 
 Vio. And so they are : alas, that they arc so ; 
 To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 
 
 Re-enter Cuaio and Clown. 
 
 Duke. 0, fellow, ccme, the song we had last 
 night : — • 
 Mark it, Cesario; it is old, and plain: 
 The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, 
 And the free maids that weave their thiead with 
 
 bones, 
 Do use to chaunt it; it is silly sooth, 6 
 And dallies with the innocence of lore, 
 Like the old age. 
 
 Clo. Are you ready, sir? 
 
 Duke. Ay; pr'ythee, sing. [Mum*. 
 
 ■ Simple truth. 
 
72 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act II. 
 
 SONG 
 
 Clo. Come away, come away, death, 
 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid; 
 Fly away, fly away, breath; 
 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 0,prtpare it; 
 'My part of death, no one so true 
 Did share it. 
 JVot a flower, not a flower sweet, 
 
 On my black cojjin let there be strown; 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: 
 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save, 
 Lay me, 0, where 
 
 Sad true lover ne'er find my grave, 
 To weep there. 
 
 Duke. There's for thy pains. 
 
 Clo. No pains, sir ; I take pleasure in singing, sir. 
 
 Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure, then. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
 time or another. 
 
 Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. 
 
 Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; and 
 the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, 
 for thy mind is a very opal. — I would have men of 
 6uch constancy put to sea, that their business might 
 be every thing, and their intent every where ; for 
 that's it, that always makes a good voyage of no- 
 thing. — Farewell. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Duke. Let all the rest give place. 
 
 [Exeunt Curio and Attendants. 
 Once more, Cesario, 
 Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty: 
 Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, 
 Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; 
 The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her, 
 Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; 
 But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, 
 That nature pranks 1 her in, attracts my soul. 
 
 Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir 1 ? 
 
 Duke. I cannot be so answer'd. 
 
 Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. 
 
 Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is, 
 Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
 As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; 
 You tell her so ; Must she not then be answer'd 1 
 
 Duke. There is no woman's sides 
 Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
 As love doth give my heart: no woman's heart 
 So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
 Alas,, their love may be call'd appetite, — 
 No motion of the liver, but the palate, — 
 That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; 
 But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
 And can digest as much: make no compare 
 Between that love a woman can bear me, 
 And that I owe Olivia. 
 
 Vio. Ay, but I know, — 
 
 Duke. What dost thou know 1 
 
 Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe: 
 In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
 My father had a daughter lov'd a man, 
 As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
 I should your lordship. 
 
 Duke. And what's her history ? 
 
 Vio, A blank, my lord : She never told her love, 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought: 
 \nd, with a green and yellow melancUty, 
 She sat like patience on a monument, 
 i Decks. 
 
 Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? 
 We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed, 
 Our shows are more than will; for still we prove 
 Much in our vows, but little in our love. 
 
 Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy'.' 
 Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house. 
 And all the brothers too ; — and yet I know not :— 
 Sir, shall I to this lady? 
 
 Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 
 
 To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say, 
 My love can give no place, bide no denay. 8 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Olivia's Garden. 
 
 Enter Sir Tonr Belch, Sir Andrew Ague- 
 cheek, and Fabian. 
 
 Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian. 
 
 Fab. Nay, I'll come ; if I lose a scruple of this 
 sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 
 
 Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the 
 niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable, 
 shame ] 
 
 Fab. I would exult, man : you know, he brought 
 me out of favor with my lady, about a bear-baiting 
 here. 
 
 Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again ; 
 and we will fool him black and blue: — Shall we 
 not, sir Andrew] 
 
 Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Sir To. Here comes the little villain: — How 
 now, my nettle of India 1 
 
 Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree : Mal- 
 volio's coming down this walk; he has been yonder 
 i' the sun, practising behavior to his own shadow, 
 this half hour : observe him, for the love of mockery; 
 for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative 
 idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting! [The 
 men hide themselves.] Lie thou there ; [Throws 
 down a letter,] for here comes the trout that m ust 
 be caught with tickling. [Exii Maria. 
 
 Enter Malyolio. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis but fortune; all is fortune. Maria 
 once told me, she did affect me: and I have heard 
 herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it 
 should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses 
 me with a more exalted respect than any one else 
 that follows her. What should I think on'tl 
 
 Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare 
 turkey-cock of him ; how he jets 9 under his ad- 
 vanced plumes! 
 
 Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue: — 
 
 Sir To. Peace, I say. 
 
 Mai. To be count Malvolio ; — 
 
 Sir To. Ah, rogue! 
 
 Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 
 
 Sir To. Peace, peace! 
 
 Mai. There is example for't; the lady of ttio 
 strachy married the j^eoman of the wardrobe. 
 
 Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! 
 
 Fab. 0, peace ! now he's deeply in, look, how 
 imagination blows him. 
 
 Mai. Having been three months married to her, 
 sitting in my state, — 
 
 Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye! 
 
 Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branch 
 ed velvet gown ; having come from a day-bed, where 
 I left Olivia sleeping. 
 
 Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! 
 
 » Denial. ' Strut*. 
 
Scene V 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 73 
 
 Fab. O, pease, peace ! 
 
 Mil'. And then to have the humor of state : and 
 after a demure travel of regard, — telling them, I 
 know my place, as I would they should do theirs, — 
 to ask for my kinsman Toby : 
 StV To. Bolts and shackles ! 
 Fab. 0, peace, peace, peace ! now, now. 
 Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, 
 make out for him : I frown the while ; and, per- 
 chance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich 
 '•cwel. Toby approaches ; court'sies there to me : 
 Sir To. Shall this fellow live? 
 Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with 
 cais, yet peace. 
 
 Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching 
 my familiar smile with an austere regard of control: 
 Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o' 
 th( lips then ? 
 
 Mai. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having 
 cast me on your niece, give me this prerogative of 
 speech : — 
 
 Sir To. What, what ? 
 Mai. You must amend your drunkenness. 
 Sir To. Out, scab ! 
 
 Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of 
 our plot. 
 
 Mai. Besides, you waste the treasure of your 
 time with a foolish knight: 
 
 Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. 
 
 Mai. One Sir Andrew : 
 
 Sir And. I knew, 'twas I; for many do call me fool. 
 
 Mai. What employment have we here ? 
 
 [Taking up the letter. 
 Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 
 Sir To. 0, peace ! and the spirit of humors in- 
 timate reading aloud to him ! 
 
 Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand : these be 
 her very C's, her U's, and her T's,and thus makes 
 she her great P 's. It is, in contempt of question 
 her hand. 
 
 Sir And. Her C's, her U's, and her T's: Why 
 that? 
 
 Mai. [Reads.'] To the unknown beloved, this and 
 my good wishes : her very phrases ! — By your leave, 
 wax. — Soft! — and the impressure her Lucrece, 
 with which she uses to seal : 'tis my lady : To whom 
 should this be? 
 
 Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 
 Mai. [Reads.] Jove knows, I love • 
 But who ? 
 Lips do not move, 
 No man must know. 
 No man must know. — What follows ? the numbers 
 altered ! — No man must know : — If this should be 
 thee, Malvolio? 
 
 Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock !' 
 Mai. / may command, where I adore : 
 But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 
 With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore,- 
 M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. 
 Fab. A fustian riddle! 
 Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 
 Mai. M, O, A, I, doth sway my life. — Nay, but 
 Brst let me see, — let me see, — let me see. 
 
 Fab. What a dish of poison hath she dressed him! 
 Sir To. And with what wing the stannycl 2 
 checks at it ! 3 
 
 Mai. I may command where I adore. Why, she 
 may command me ; I serve her, she is my lady. 
 Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There 
 is no obstruction in this ; — And the end, — What 
 should that alphabetical position portend ? If I 
 1 Badger. a Hawk. 3 Flies at it. 
 
 could make that resemble something in me, — 
 Softly!— M, 0,A,L— 
 
 Sir To. O, ay ! make up that ; — he is now at a 
 cold scent. 
 
 Fab. Sowter 4 will cry upon't for all this, though 
 it be as rank as a. fox. 
 
 Mai. M, — Malvolio ; — M, — why, that begins my 
 name. 
 
 Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out ? the 
 cur is excellent at faults. 
 
 Mai. M, — But then there is no consonancy in 
 the sequel : that suffers under probation : A should 
 follow, but O does. 
 
 Fab. And shall end, I hope. 
 Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him 
 cry, 0. 
 
 Mai. And then / comes behind ; — 
 Fab. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you 
 might see more detraction at your heels, than for- 
 tunes before you. 
 
 Mai. M, 0, A, I; — This simulation is not as the 
 former: — and yet, to crush this a little, it would 
 bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my 
 name. Soft, here follows prose : — If this fall into 
 thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee, 
 but be not afraid of greatness: Some are born great, 
 some achieve greatness, and some have greatness 
 thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands,- lei 
 thy blood and spirit, embrace them. And, to inure 
 thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy humble 
 slough, 1 and appear fresh. Be opposite with a 
 kinsman, surly with servants : let thy tongue tang 
 arguments of state ,■ put thyself into the trick of 
 singularity: she thus advises thee, that sighs for 
 thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stock- 
 ings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered : I 
 say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou de- 
 sirest to be so,- if not, let me see thee a steward still, 
 the fellow of servants, and not worthy to touch 
 fortune's fingers. Farewell. She that would alter 
 services with thee, The fortunate-unhappy. 
 Day-light and champian 6 discovers not more : this 
 is open. I will be proud, I will read politic 
 authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash oft" gross 
 acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice 1 , the very 
 man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination 
 jade me ; for every reason excites to this, that my 
 lady loves me. She did commend my yellow 
 stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross- 
 gartered ; and in this she manifests herself to my 
 love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to 
 these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am 
 happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stock- 
 ings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of 
 putting on. Jove, and my stars, be praised ! — 
 Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but 
 know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let 
 it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee 
 well: therefore in my presence still smile, dear 
 my sweet, I pr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee. — I will 
 smile ; I will do every thing that thou wilt have 
 me. \hjXit 
 
 Fab.' I will not give my part of this sport for a 
 pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy. 
 Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device. 
 Sir And. So could I too. 
 Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but 
 such another jest. 
 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Sir And. Nor I neither. 
 
 * Name of a hound. 
 
 • Open country. 
 
 F 
 
 * Skin of a snake. 
 1 Utmost exactness. 
 
74 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 
 
 Sir To Wilt thou set thy foot o'my neckl 
 
 Sir And. Or o'mine either ? 
 
 Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, 8 
 and become thy bond slave? 
 
 Sir And. I'faith, or I either. 
 
 Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream 
 that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run 
 mad. 
 
 Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon him ? 
 
 Sir To. Like aqua-vita with a midwife. 
 
 Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 
 
 mark his first approach before my lady: he will 
 come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a coloi 
 she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she de» 
 tests ; and he will smile upon her, which will now 
 be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted 
 to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn 
 him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, 
 follow me. 
 
 Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most ex- 
 cellent devil of wit! 
 
 Sir And. I'll make one too. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Olivia's Garden. 
 
 Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor. 
 
 Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music : Dost thou 
 .ive by thy tabor ? 
 
 Clo. No, sir, I live by the church. 
 Vio. Art thou a churchman ? 
 Clo. No such matter, sir ; I do live by the church : 
 for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand 
 by the church. 
 
 Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies" by a 
 beggar, if a beggar dwell near him : or, the church 
 stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. 
 Clo. You have said, sir. — To see this age ! — A 
 sentence is but a cheveril 1 glove to a good wit; 
 How quickly the wrong side may be turned out- 
 ward ! 
 
 Vio. Nay, that's certain; they, that dally nicely 
 with words, may quickly make them wanton. 
 
 Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had no 
 name, sir. 
 
 Vio. Why, man? 
 
 Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word ; and to dally 
 with that word, might make my sister wanton: 
 But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds 
 disgraced them. 
 
 Vio. Thy reason, man? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
 words; and words arc grown so false, I am loath 
 to prove reason with them. 
 
 Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest 
 for nothing. 
 
 Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something : but in 
 my conscience, sir, I do not care for you; if that be 
 to care for nothing, sir, I ^ould it would make you 
 invisible. 
 
 Vio. Art not thcu the lady Olivia's fooi? 
 Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the lady Olivia has no foiiy : 
 she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married ; and 
 fools arc as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings, 
 the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not her 
 fool, but her corrupter of words. 
 
 Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's. 
 Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like 
 the sun ; it shines every where. I would be sorry, 
 sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as 
 with my mispress : I think I saw your wisdom there. 
 Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more 
 with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee. 
 
 Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, 
 Rend thee a beard ! 
 
 Vio By my troth, I'll ted thee; I am almost 
 nick for one ; though I would not have it grow on 
 my vhin. Is thy lady within? 
 
 • A boy's diTorsion, three and trip. 
 
 » Dwells * Kid. 
 
 Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir ? 
 
 Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to. use. 
 
 Clo. I would play lord Pandarus a of Phrygia, 
 sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 
 
 Vio. I understand you, sir; 'tis well begg'd. 
 
 Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, beg 
 ging but a beggar; Cressida was a beggar. My 
 lady is within, sir. 1 will construe to her whence 
 you come : who you are, and what you would, are 
 out of my welkin : I might say, element ; but the 
 word is over-worn. [Exit. 
 
 Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; 
 And to do that well, craves a kind of wit. 
 He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
 The quality of persons, and the time; 
 And, like the haggard, 3 check at every feather 
 That comes before his eye. This is a practice, 
 As full of labor as a wise man's art : 
 For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit; 
 But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Ague 
 
 CHEEK. 
 
 Sir To. Save you, gentleman. 
 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. 
 
 Vio. Et vous aussi; votre serviteur. 
 
 Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours 
 
 Sir To. Will you encounter the house? my niece 
 is d?,>irous you should enter, if your trade be to her 
 
 Vio. I an bound to your niece, sir; I mean, she 
 is the list 4 (i f my voyage. 
 
 Sir To. '"aste your legs, sir, put them to motion. 
 
 Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than 
 I understand what you mean by bidding me taste 
 my legs. 
 
 Sir To. 1 it nan, to go, ?ir, to enter. 
 
 1 : ,o. I will • nswer you with ghit and entrance : 
 but w« are. nre^pntcd. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Maria. 
 Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain 
 odors on you ! 
 
 Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier ! Rain 
 odors! well. 
 
 Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to yom 
 own most pregnant 5 and vouchsafed car. 
 
 Sir And. Odors, pregnant, and vouchsafed 
 I'l! get 'em all three ready. 
 
 OIL Let the garden door be shut, and leave me 
 to my hearing. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, a?jfi? Maria. 
 Give me your hand, sir. 
 
 Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 
 OIL What is your name ? 
 
 » See the play of VroUus and Cressida. 
 
 » A hawk not well trained. * Bound, limit. 
 
 * Keady. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 75 
 
 Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. 
 
 Oli. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world 
 Since lowly feigning was call'tl compliment : 
 You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. 
 
 Vio. A tid he is yours, and his must needs be yours: 
 Vour servant's servant is your servant, madam. 
 
 On. For him, I think not on him: for his thoughts, 
 'Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me! 
 
 Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts 
 On his behalf: 
 
 Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you ; 
 
 I bade you never speak again of him : 
 But would you undertake another suit, 
 I had rather hear you to solicit that, 
 Than music from the spheres. 
 
 Vio. Dear lady, — — 
 
 Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send, 
 After the last enchantment you did here, 
 A ring in chase of you : so did I abuse 
 Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you : 
 finder your hard construction must I sit, 
 To force that on you, in a shameful cunning, 
 Which you knew none of yours : What might you 
 
 think ? 
 Save you not set mine honor at the stake, 
 And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
 That tyrannous heart can think] To one of your 
 
 receiving 6 
 Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, 
 Hides my poor heart : So let me hear you speak. 
 
 Vio. I pity you. 
 
 Oli. That's a degree to love. 
 
 Vio. No, not a grise ; 7 for 'tis a vulgar proof, 
 That very oft we pity enemies. 
 
 Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again; 
 
 world, how apt the poor are to be proud ! 
 If one should be a prey, how much the better 
 
 To fall before the lion than the wolf ! [Clock strikes. 
 The clock upraids me with the waste of time, — 
 Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : 
 And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 
 Your wife is like to reap a proper man: 
 There lies your way, due west. 
 
 Vio. Then westward-hoe : 
 
 Grace and good disposition 'tend your ladyship ! 
 You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me 1 
 
 Oli. Stay : 
 
 1 pr'ythec, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 
 
 Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. 
 
 Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 
 
 Vio. Then think you right ; I am not what I am. 
 
 Oli. I would you were as I would have you be ! 
 
 Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am, 
 I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. 
 
 Oli. what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
 In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
 A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon 
 Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. 
 Cesario, by the roses of the'spring. 
 By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 
 I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, 
 Nor wit. nor reason, can my passion hide. 
 
 00 not extort thy reasons from this clause, 
 For that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
 But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter: 
 
 Love sought is good, but given unsought is better. 
 Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
 
 1 have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, 
 Anil that no woman has ; nor never none 
 Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
 
 And so adieu, good madam ; never more 
 Will I my master's tears to you deplore. 
 • Keady apprehension. ' Step. 
 
 Oli. Yet come again: for thou, perhaps, maystmove 
 That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Asdrew Agtji-'. 
 cheek, and Fabian. 
 
 Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. 
 
 Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. 
 
 Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir 
 Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favora 
 to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed 
 upon me : I saw't i' the orchard. 
 
 Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy 1 tell 
 me that. 
 
 Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 
 
 Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
 towards you. 
 
 Sir And. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o' me T 
 
 Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the 
 oaths of judgment and reason. 
 
 Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, 
 since before Noah was a sailor. 
 
 Fab. She did show favor to the youth in your 
 sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
 mouse valor, to put fire in your heart, and brim- 
 stone in your liver : You should then have accosted 
 her ; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from 
 the mint, you should have banged the youth into 
 dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and 
 this was baulked : the double gilt of this oppor- 
 tunity you let time wash off, and you are now 
 sailed into the north of my lady's opinion ; where 
 you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, 
 unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt 
 either of valor, or policy. 
 
 Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with 
 valor ; for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brown- 
 ist, 8 as a politician. 
 
 Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon 
 the basis of valor. Challenge me the count's youth 
 to fight with him ; hurt him in eleven places ; my 
 niece shall take note of it : and assure thyself, there 
 is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in 
 man's commendation with woman, than report of 
 valor. 
 
 Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge 
 to him 1 
 
 Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand ; be curst? 
 and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be elo- 
 quent, and full of invention : taunt him with the 
 licence of ink : if thou thoiCst him some thrice, it 
 shall not be amiss; and as many lies as will lie in 
 thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big 
 enough for the bed of Ware' in England, set 'em 
 down : go, about it. Let there be gall enough in 
 thy ink: though thou write with a goose-pen, no 
 matter : About it. 
 
 Sir And. Where shall I find you? 
 
 SirTo. We'll call thee at the cubiculo.-* Go. 
 
 [Exit Sir Andrew. 
 
 Fab. This is a dear manikin to you, sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad; some two 
 thousand strong, or so 
 
 Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him : bu! 
 you'll not deliver it 1 
 
 Sir To. Never trust me then ; and by all means 
 stir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and 
 
 « Separatists in Queen Elizabeth's reign. » Crabbed. 
 
 « In Hertfordshire, which held forty persons. > Chamber. 
 
70 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act 1U 
 
 wain ropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew, 
 if he were opened, and you find so much blood in 
 bis liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the 
 rest of the anatomy. 
 
 Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his 
 visage no great presage of crueltv. 
 Enter Maiiia. 
 
 Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine 
 comes. 
 
 Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
 yourselves into stitches, follow me ; yon' gull Mal- 
 volio is turned heathen, a very renegado ; for there 
 is no Chiistain, that means to be saved by believ- 
 ing lightly, can ever believe such impossible pas- 
 sages of grossness. He's in yellow stockings. 
 
 Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 
 
 Mar. Most villanously ; like a pedant that keeps 
 a school i' the church. — I have dogged him, like 
 his murderer : He docs obey every point of the 
 letter that I dropped to betray him. He does smile 
 his face into more lines, than are in the new map, 
 with the augmentation of the Indies : you have 
 not seen such a thing as 'tis : I can hardly forbear 
 hurling things at him. I know, my lady will 
 strike him ; if she do, he'll smile, and take 't for a 
 great favor. 
 
 Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Street. 
 Enter Antojuo and Sebastian. 
 
 Seb. I would not, by my will, have troubled you ; 
 But since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
 I will no further chide you. 
 
 Ant. I could not stay behind you ; my desire, 
 More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth : 
 A.nd not all love to see you, (though so much, 
 AlS might have drawn one to a longer voyage,) 
 But jealousy what might befall your travel, 
 Being skilless in these parts ; which to a stranger, 
 Unguided, and unfriended, often prove 
 Rough and unhospitable : My willing love, 
 The rather by these arguments of fear, 
 Set forth in your pursuit. 
 
 Seb. My kind Antonio, 
 
 I can no other answer make, but thanks, 
 And thanks, and ever thanks : Often good turns 
 Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay : 
 But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm, 
 You should find better dealing. What's to do ? 
 Shall we go see thereliques of this town? 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, sir; best, first, go sec your 
 lodging. 
 
 Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night ; 
 I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 
 With the memorials, and the things of fame, 
 That do renown this city. 
 
 Ant. 'Would you'd pardon me ; 
 
 I do not without danger walk these streets : 
 Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the Count his gallies, 
 I did some service ; of such note, indeed, 
 That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd. 
 
 Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people? 
 
 Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody nature ; 
 Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel, 
 Might well have given us bloody argument. 
 It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
 What we took from them ; which for traffic's sake 
 Most of our city did : only myself stood out : 
 For which, if I be lapsed 3 in this place, 
 I snail pay dear. 
 
 » Caught. 
 
 Seb. Do not then walk to i open. 
 
 Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's mj 
 purse ; 
 In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
 Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, 
 Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know 
 
 ledge, 
 With viewing of the town ; there shall you have me 
 
 Seb. Why I your purse ? 
 
 Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy 
 You have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
 I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 
 
 Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you fo 
 An hour. 
 
 Ant. To the Elephant. — 
 
 Seb. I do remember. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— Olivia's Garden. 
 Enter Olivia and Maria. 
 
 OH. I have sent after him : He says, he'll come , 
 How shall I feast him ? what bestow on him 1 
 For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd, or bor- 
 row'd. 
 
 I speak too loud. 
 
 Where is Malvolio ? — he is sad, and civil, 
 
 And suits well for a servant with my fortunes ; — 
 
 Where is Malvolio 7 
 
 Mar. He's coming, madam ; 
 
 But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd. 
 
 OIL Why, what's the matter ? does he rave ? 
 
 Mar. No, madam, 
 
 He does nothing but smile ; your ladyship 
 Were best have guard about you if he come ; 
 For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. 
 
 Oli. Go call him hither. I'm as mad as he, 
 If sad and merry madness equal be. — 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 How now, Malvolio? 
 
 Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. [Smiles fantastically. 
 
 Oli. Smi.l'st thou ? 
 I sent for thee upon a sad 4 occasion. 
 
 Mai. SaJ, lady? I could be sad: This does 
 make som>; obstruction in the blood, this cross-gar- 
 tering : Fut what of that, if it please the eye oi 
 one, it is vrith me as the very true sonnet is : Please 
 one, and -please all. 
 
 Oii. Why, hew dost thou, man? what is the 
 matter with then ? 
 
 Mai. Not blick in my mind, though yellow in 
 my legs : It dA come to his hands, and commands 
 shall be esec.ited. I think, we do know the sweet 
 "Jrmati haul. 
 
 Oii. WSt thou go to bed, Malvoln. ' 
 
 Mai. To bed ? ay, sweet-heart ; and I'll come to 
 thee. 
 
 Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile so, 
 and kiss thy hand so oft? 
 
 Mar. How do you, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. At your request ? Yes ; Nightingales an- 
 swer daws. 
 
 Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold- 
 ness before my lady? 
 
 Mai. Be not afraid of greatness: 'Twas well writ. 
 
 Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio ' 
 
 Mai. Some are born great. — 
 
 Oli. Ha? 
 
 Mai. Some achieve greatness, — 
 
 Oli. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Mai. And some have greatness thrust upon them 
 
 Oli. Heaven restore thee! 
 * Grav». 
 
Scene I"V 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 71 
 
 Mai. Remember ivho commended thy yellow 
 stockings: — 
 
 OIL Thy yellow stockings ? 
 
 Mai. And wished to see thee cross-gartered. 
 
 Oli. Cross-gartered ? 
 
 Mai. Go to: thou art made, if thou desirest to 
 he SO; — 
 
 Oli. Am I made ? 
 
 Mai. If not, let me see thee a servant still. 
 
 Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, the young gentleman of the count 
 Orsino's is returned ; I could hardly entreat him 
 back: he attends your ladyship's pleasure. 
 
 Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good 
 Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my 
 cousin Toby ? Let some of my people have a special 
 care of him ; I would not have him miscarry for the 
 half of my dowry. [Exeunt Olivia and Maiua. 
 
 Mai. Oh ho ! do you come near me now ? no 
 worse man than sir Toby to look to me ? This con- 
 curs directly with the letter: she sends him on 
 purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him ; for 
 she incites me to that in the letter. Cast thy hum- 
 ble slough, says she: be opposite with a kinsman, 
 surly with servants, — let thy tongue tang with ar- 
 guments of state, — put thyself into the trick of 
 
 singularity; and, consequently, sets down the 
 
 manner how; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a 
 slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and 
 so- forth. I have limed her ; but it is Jove's doing, 
 and Jove make me thankful ! And, when she went 
 away now, Let this fellow be looked to: Fellow! 5 
 not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow. 
 Why, every thing adheres together ; that no dram 
 of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle, 
 no incredulous or unsafe circumstance, — What can 
 be said I Nothing, that can be, can come between 
 me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, 
 not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. 
 
 He-enter Maria, with Sir Toar Belch, and 
 Fabian. 
 
 Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? 
 If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Le- 
 gion himself possessed him, yet I'll speak to him. 
 
 Fab. Here he is, here he is : — How is't with you, 
 sir 1 how is't with you, man] 
 
 Mai. Go off; I discard you, let me enjoy my 
 private ; go off. 
 
 Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within 
 him ! did not I tell you ? — Sir Toby, my lady prays 
 you to have a care of him. 
 
 Mai. Ah, ha ! does she so ? 
 
 Sir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace, we must 
 deal gently with him ; let me alone. How do you, 
 Malvolio ? how is't with you ? What, man ! defy 
 the devil : consider he's an enemy to mankind. 
 
 Mai. Do you know what you say ? 
 
 Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how 
 he takes it at heart! Pray God, he be not be- 
 witched! 
 
 Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. 
 
 Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow 
 Morning, if I live. My lady would not lose him 
 for more than I'll say. 
 
 Mai. How now, mistress? 
 
 Mar. O lord! 
 
 Sir To. Prythee, hold thy peace : this is not the 
 waj . Do vou not see, you move him ? let me alone 
 with him 
 
 • Companion. 
 
 Fab. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently : th« 
 fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 
 
 Sir To. Why how now, my bawcock? 6 how 
 dost thou, chuck? 
 
 Mai. Sir? 
 
 Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man ! 
 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit 1 with Satan ; 
 Hang him, foul collier ! 
 
 Mar. Get him to say his prayers ; good sir To- 
 by, get him to pray. 
 
 Mai. My prayers, minx? 
 
 Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of 
 godliness. 
 
 Mai. Go hang yourselves all ! you are idle shal- 
 low things : I am not of your element ; you shall 
 know more hereafter. [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. Is't possible ? 
 
 Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I 
 could condemn it as an improbable fictioi- 
 
 Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection 
 of the device, man. 
 
 Mar. Nay, pursue him now ; lest the device take 
 air, and taint. 
 
 Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed. 
 
 Mar. The house will be the quieter. 
 
 Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, 
 and bound. My niece is already in the belief that 
 he is mad; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, 
 and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of 
 breath, prompt us to Jiave mercy on him ; at which 
 time, we will bring the device to the bar, and crown 
 thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see. 
 
 Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Fab. More matter for a May morning. 
 
 Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it ; I warrant, 
 there's vinegar and pepper in't. 
 
 Fab. Is't so saucy? 
 
 Sir And. Ay, is it, I warrant him ; do but read. 
 
 Sir To. Give me. [Reads.] Youth, whatsoever 
 thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow. 
 
 Fab. Good and valiant. 
 
 Sir To. Wonder not nor admire not in thy 
 mind, why I do call thee so, for I will show thee 
 no reason for't. 
 
 Fab. A good note : that keeps you from the blow 
 of the law. 
 
 Sir To. Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in 
 my sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in 
 thy throat, that is not the matter 1 challenge thee for. 
 
 Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less. 
 
 Sir To. I will way-lay thee going home,- where 
 if it be thy chance to kill me, 
 
 Fab. Good. 
 
 Sir To. Thou killest me like a rogue and a villain. 
 
 Fab. Still you keep o'the windy side of the law : 
 Good. 
 
 Sir To. Fare thee well,- And God have mercy 
 upon one of our souls.' He may have mercy upon 
 mine,- but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. 
 Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn ene- 
 my. Andhew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs can- 
 not: I'll give't him. 
 
 Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't; he 
 is now in some commerce with my lady, and will 
 by and by depart. 
 
 Sir To. Go, sir Andrew ; scout me for him at 
 the corner of the orchard, like a bum-bailiff; so 
 soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and, as thou 
 drawest. swear horrible ; for it comes to puss oft 
 that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharp 
 
 1 * Jolly <socK, beau and coq. 
 
 1 4 play amonf( !kj*. 
 
" 
 
 78 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 A»rrIII. Scene IV. 
 
 ly twanged off, gives manhood more approbation 
 than ever proof itself would have earned him. — 
 Away. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. Now will not I delivei his letter : for the 
 behavior of the young gentleman gives him out to 
 oe of good capacity and breeding ; his employment 
 between his lord and my niece confirms no less ; 
 therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, 
 will breed no terror in the youth ; he will find it 
 comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his 
 challenge by word of mouth; set upon Ague-cheek 
 a notable report of valor; and drive the gentle- 
 man, (as, I know, his youth will aptly receive it,) 
 into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, 
 and impetuosity. This will so frighten them both, 
 that they will kill one another by the look, like 
 cockatrices. 
 
 Enter Oliyia and Viola. 
 
 Fab. Here he comes with your niece : give them 
 way, till he take leave, and presently after him. 
 
 Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some 
 horrid message for a challenge. 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Tort, Fabian, and Maria. 
 
 OIL I have said too much unto a heart of stone, 
 And laid mine honor too unchary out : 
 There's something in me, that reproves my fault ; 
 But such a headstrong potent fault it is, 
 That it bat mocks reproof. 
 
 Vio. With the same 'havior that your passion bears, 
 Go on my master's griefs. 
 
 OH. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture; 
 Refuse it not, it hath no Jongue to vex you : 
 And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. 
 What shall you ask of me, that I'll deny, 
 That honor, sav'd, may upon asking give? 
 
 Vio. Nothing but this, your true love for my mas- 
 ter. 
 
 OIL How with mine honor may I give him that 
 Which I have given to you ? 
 
 Vio. I will acquit you. 
 
 OH. Well, come again to-morrow : Fare thee well; 
 K fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. 
 
 Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 
 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't : 
 of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, 
 I know not ; but thy interceptor, full of despight, 
 bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard 
 end: dismount thy tuck," be yare 9 in thy prepar- 
 ation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 
 
 Vio. You mistake, sir ; I am sure, no man hath 
 any quarrel to me ; my remembrance is very free 
 and clear from any image of offence done to any 
 man. 
 
 Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you : 
 therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake 
 you to your guard ; for your opposite hath in him 
 what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish 
 man withal. 
 
 Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he ? 
 
 Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unhacked 
 rapier, and on carpet consideration ; but he is a 
 levil in private brawl : souls and bodies hath he 
 divorced three ; and his incensement at this moment 
 is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none but 
 by pangs of death and sepulchre : hob, nob, is his 
 word ; give't or take't. 
 
 Vio. I will return again into the house, and dc- 
 • Rapier. B Keao; . 
 
 sire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. 1 
 have heard of some kind of men. that put quarrels 
 purposely on others, tc taste their valor: belike, 
 this is a man of that quirk. 
 
 Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives itself out 
 of a very competent injury; therefore get you on, 
 and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the 
 house, unless you undertake that with me, which 
 with as much safety you might answer him : there- 
 fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked : for meddle 
 you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron 
 about you. 
 
 Vio. This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech 
 you, do me this courteous office, as to know of the 
 knight what my ffence to him is : it is something 
 of my negligence, nothing of my purpose. 
 
 Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you 
 by this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir ToflT. 
 
 Vio. Pray you. sir, do you know of this matter? 
 
 Fab. I know the knight is incensed against you, 
 even to a mortal abitrement; but nothing of the 
 circumstance more. 
 
 Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? 
 
 Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read 
 him by his form, as you are like to find him in the 
 proof of his valor. He is, indeed, sir, the most 
 skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could 
 possibly have found in any part of Illy ria : Will 
 you walk towards him ? I will make your peace 
 with him, if I can. 
 
 Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't: I am 
 one, that would rather go with sir priest, than sir 
 knight: I care not who knows so much of my 
 mettle. [Exeunt 
 
 Re-enter Sir Tobt with Sir Andrew. 
 
 Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I have not 
 seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier, 
 scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in,' 
 with such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable ; 
 and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your 
 feet hit the ground they step on : They say he has 
 been fencer to the Sophy. 
 
 •Sir And. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with him. 
 
 Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified: 
 Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. 
 
 Sir And. Plague on't ; an I thought he had been 
 valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him 
 dammed ere I'd have challenged him. Let him let 
 the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey 
 Capilet. 
 
 Sir To. I'll make the motion: Stand here, make 
 a good show on't; this shall end without the per- 
 dition of souls. Marry, I'll ride your horse as well 
 as I ride you. [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Fabian and Viola. 
 
 I have his horse [7b Fab.] to take up the quarrel • 
 I have persuaded him, the youth's a devil. 
 
 Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; and 
 pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels 
 
 Sir To. There's no remedy, sir ; he will fight with 
 you for his oath's sake : marry, he hath better be- 
 thought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now 
 scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for 
 the supportance of his vow; he protests, he will 
 not hurt you. 
 
 Vio. Pray God defend me ! A little thing would 
 make me tell them how much I lack of a man. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 
 
 Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy 
 
 1 Stoccato, an Italian term in fencing. 
 
Act IV. Scene I. 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 79 
 
 the gentleman will, for his honor's sake, have one 
 bout with you : he cannot by the duello 3 avoid it : 
 but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and 
 a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on ; to't. 
 Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath ! [Draws. 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Vio. I do assure you, 'tis against my will. [Draws. 
 
 Ant. Put up your sword ; — if this young gentle- 
 man 
 Have done offence, I take the fault on me; 
 If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. 
 
 Sir To. You, sir ] why, what are you 1 
 
 Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more 
 Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 
 
 Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for 
 you. [Draws. 
 
 Enter two Officers. 
 
 Fab. good sir Toby, hold; here come the officers. 
 
 Sir To. I'll be with you anon. [To Antonio. 
 
 Vio. Pray, sir, put up your sword, if you please. 
 [To Sir Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, will I, sir; — and, for that I 
 promised you, I'll be as good as my word: He will 
 bear you easily, and reins well. 
 
 1 Off. This is the man, do thy office. 
 
 2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
 Of Count Orsino. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 
 
 1 Off. No, sir, no jot; I know your favor well, 
 Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. — 
 Take him away; he knows, I know him well. 
 
 Ant. I must obey .—This comes with seeking you; 
 But there's no remedy; I shall answer it. 
 What will you do] Now my necessity 
 Makes me to ask you for my purse: It grieves me 
 Much more for what I cannot do for you, 
 Than what befals myself. You stand amaz'd; 
 But be of comfort. 
 
 2 Off. Come, sir, away. 
 
 Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money. 
 
 Vio. What money, sir] 
 For the fair kindness you have show'd me here, 
 And, part, being prompted by your present trouble, 
 Out of my lean and low ability 
 I'll lend you something: my having is not much; 
 I'll make division of my present with you: 
 Hold, there is half my coffer. 
 
 Ant. Will you deny me now 1 
 
 Is't possible that my deserts to you 
 Can lack persuasion] Do not tempt my misery, 
 Lest that it make me so unsound a man, 
 
 As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
 That I have done for you. 
 
 Vio. I know of none ; 
 
 Nor know I you by voice, or any feature : 
 I hate ingratitude more in a man, 
 Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness^ 
 Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption 
 Inhabits our frail blood. 
 
 Ant. O heavens themselves ! 
 
 2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go. 
 
 Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that 
 you see here, 
 I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death; 
 
 Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love, 
 
 And to his image, which, methought, did promise 
 Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 
 
 1 Off. What's that to us] The time goes by; away. 
 
 Ant. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god ! — 
 Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. — 
 In nature there's no blemish, but the mind; 
 None can be called deform'd, but the unkind : 
 Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil 
 Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. 
 
 1 Off. The man grows mad ; away with him. 
 Come, come, sir. 
 
 Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers, with Ant. 
 
 Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passions fly, 
 That he believes himself; so do not I. 
 Prove true, imagination, 0, prove true, 
 That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 
 
 Sir To. Come hither, knight ; come hither, Fa- 
 bian; we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most 
 sage saws. 
 
 Vio. He named Sebastian ; I my brother know 
 Yet living in my glass ; even such, and so, 
 In favor was my brother: and he went 
 Still in this fashion, color, ornament, 
 For him I imitate : O, if it prove, 
 Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more 
 a coward than a hare : his dishonesty appears in 
 leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying 
 him ; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian. 
 
 Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious 
 in it. 
 
 Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him . 
 
 Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never drav 
 thy sword. 
 
 Sir And. An I do not, — [Exit- 
 
 Fab. Come, let's see the event. 
 
 Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing 
 yet. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Street before Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Sebastian and Clown. 
 
 Clo. Will you make me believe that I am not 
 sent for you] 
 
 Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow ; 
 Let me be clear of thee. 
 
 Clo. Well held out, i'faith ! No, I do not know 
 you; nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you 
 "•ome speak with her ; nor your name is not master 
 Cesario ; nor this is not my nose neither. — Nothing 
 lat is so, is so. 
 
 » Laws of duel. 
 
 Seb. I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else , 
 Thou know'st not me. 
 
 Clo. Vent my folly ! He has heard that word of 
 some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent 
 my folly! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, 
 will prove a cockney. — I pr'ythee now, ungird thy 
 strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my 
 lady: Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming? 
 
 Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me ; 
 There's money for Hiee; if thou tarry longer, 
 I shall give worse payment. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand : — 
 These wise men that give fools monev, get them 
 selves a good report after lourteen yeais'purchae* 
 
Enter Sir Andhew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 
 
 Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again? there's 
 for you. [Striking Sebastian. 
 
 Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there: 
 Are all the people mad? [Beating Sir Andrew. 
 
 Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er 
 the house. 
 
 Clo. This will I tell my lady straight : I would 
 not be in some of your coats for two-pence. 
 
 [Exit Clown. 
 
 Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. [Holding Seb. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way 
 to work with him; I'll have an action of battery 
 against him, if there be any law in Illyria : though 
 I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that. 
 
 Seb. Let go thy hand. 
 
 Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, 
 my young soldier, put up your iron : you are well 
 fleshed ; come on. 
 
 Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst 
 thou know? 
 M thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. 
 
 [Draws. 
 
 Sir To. What, what ? Nay, then I must have an 
 • -ince or two of this malapert blood from you. 
 
 [Draws. 
 Enter Olivia. 
 
 OIL Hold, Toby ; on thy life, I charge thee, hold. 
 
 Sir To. Madam? 
 
 OIL Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, 
 Tit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, 
 Where manners ne'er were preach'd! out of my sight. 
 
 Be not offended, dear Cesario: 
 
 Rudesby, 3 begone ! — I pr'ythee, gentle friend, 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian. 
 Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
 In this uncivil and unjust extent 4 
 Against thy peace. Go with me to my house ; 
 And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks 
 This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby 
 Mayst smile at this : thou shalt not choose but go : 
 Do not deny: Beshrew his soul for me, 
 He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 
 
 Seb. What relish is in this ? how runs the stream? 
 Or I am mad, or else this is a dream : — 
 Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep; 
 If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep ! 
 
 OIL Nay, come, I pr'ythee: 'Would thou'dst be 
 rul'd by me ! 
 
 Seb. Madam, I will. 
 
 OIL O, say so, and so be ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Maria and Clown. 
 
 Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and 
 this beard; make him believe thou art sir Topas, 
 the curate; do it quickly: I'll call sir Toby the 
 whilst. [Exit Maria. 
 
 Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble 
 myself in't; and I would I were the first that ever 
 dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat enough 
 to become the function well, nor lean enough to 
 be thought a good student: but to be said, an hon- 
 est man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, 
 as to say, a careful man and a great scholar. The 
 competitors ' enter. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch and Maria, 
 3»> To. Jove bless thee, Master Parson. 
 • rtude fellow. * Violence. • Confederal es. 
 
 Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby : for as the old hermit 
 of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily 
 said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that is, is,- 
 so I, being master parson, am master parson ; For 
 what is that, but that? and is, but is? 
 Sir To. To him, sir Topas. 
 Clo. What, hoa, I say, — Peace in this prison ! 
 Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good knave. 
 Mai. [7« a?i inner chamber.'] Who calls there ? 
 Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit 
 Malvolio, the lanatic. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go 
 to my lady. 
 
 Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest thou 
 this man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies ? 
 Sir To. Well said, master parson. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, never was a man thus wronged: 
 good sir Topas, do not think I am mad ; they have 
 laid me here in hideous darkness. 
 
 Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan ! I call thee by 
 the most modest terms ; for I am one of those 
 gentle ones, that will use the devil himself with 
 courtesy; Say'st thou, that house is dark? 
 
 Mai. As hell, sir Topas. 
 
 Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows transparent as 
 barricadoes, and the clear stones towards the south- 
 north are as lustrous as ebony; and yet complainesl 
 thou of obstruction ? 
 
 Mai. I am not mad, sir Topas ; I say to you, 
 this house is dark. 
 
 Clo. Madman, thou errest: I say, there is no 
 darkness, but ignorance ; in which thou art more 
 puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. 
 
 Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 
 though ignorance were as dark as hell ; and I say, 
 there was never man thus abused: I am no more 
 mad than you are; make the trial of it in any con- 
 stant question. 6 
 
 Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, con- 
 cerning wild-fowl? 
 
 Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply 
 inhabit a bird. 
 
 Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion ? 
 
 Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way 
 approve his opinion. 
 
 Clo. Fare thee well: Remain thou still in dark 
 ness: thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, 
 ere I will allow of thy wits ; and fear to kill a wood- 
 cock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy gran 
 dam. Fare thee well. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, — 
 
 Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas ! 
 
 Clo. Nay, I'm for all waters.' 
 
 Mar. Thou mightst have done this without thy 
 beard and gown ; he sees thee not. 
 
 Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring me 
 word how thou findest him : I would, we were well 
 rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently 
 delivered, I would he were ; for I am now so far in 
 offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with 
 any safety this sport to the upshot. Come by and 
 by to my chamber. [Exeunt Sir To b y and Mahi a. 
 
 Clo. Hey Robin, jolly Robin, 
 
 Tell me how thy lady does. [Singing 
 
 Mai. Fool, — 
 
 Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy 
 
 Mai. Fool,— 
 
 Clo. Alas, ivhy is she so ■ 
 
 Mai. Fool, I say ; — 
 
 Clo. She loves another — Who calls, ha ? 
 
 Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well a' 
 
 • Regular conversation. 
 Any other Gem as well as a Topaz. 
 
Scene 111 
 
 Oil WHAT YOU WILL 
 
 81 
 
 my hand, help me to a candle, and per., ink, and 
 paper ; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thank- 
 ful to thee for 't. 
 
 Clo. Master Maivoho 
 
 Mai. Ay, good fool. 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you beside your five wits 1 
 
 Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
 abused ; I am as well in my wits, 100I, as thou art. 
 
 Clo. But as well] then you are mad, indeed, if 
 you be no better in your wits than a fool. 
 
 Mai. They have here propertied me ; keep me 
 in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all 
 they can to face me out of my wits. 
 
 Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minister is 
 heie. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens 
 restore ! endeavor thyself to sleep, and leave thy 
 vain bibble babble. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas 
 
 Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. — 
 Who, I, sir ] not I, sir. God b' wi' you, good sir 
 Topas. — Marry, amen. — I will, sir, I will. 
 
 Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say, — 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? 
 I am shent 8 for speaking to you. 
 
 Mai. Good fool, help me to some light, and some 
 paper ; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any 
 man in Illyria. 
 
 Clo. Well-a-day, — that you were, sir ! 
 
 Mai. By this hand, I am : Good fool, some ink, 
 paper, and light, and convey what I will set down 
 to my lady ; it shall advantage thee more than ever 
 the bearing of letter did. 
 
 Clo. I will help you to 't. But tell me true, are 
 you not mad indeed 1 or do you but counterfeit ] 
 Mai. Believe me, I am not ; I tell thee true. 
 
 Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see 
 his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. 
 Mai. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree : 
 I pr'ythee be gone. 
 
 Clo. I am gone, sir, 
 
 And anon, sir, 
 I'll be with you again, 
 In a trice,- 
 Like to the old vice 9 
 Your need to sustain. 
 
 Who with dagger of lath, 
 In his rage and his wrath, 
 Cries, ah, ha.' to the devil: 
 
 Like a mad lad, 
 Pare thy nails, dad. 
 Adieu, good man drivel. 
 
 SCENE HI.— Olivia's Garden. 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 S/:b. This is the air ; that is the glorious sun ; 
 This pearl she gave me, I do feel 't and see 't : 
 And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, 
 Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then 1 
 I could not find him at the Elephant : 
 Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit,* 
 That he did range the town to seek me out. 
 His counsel now might do me golden service : 
 For though my soul disputes well with my sense, 
 That this may be some error, but no madness, 
 Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
 So far exceed all instance, all discourse, 
 That I am ready to distrust mine eyes, 
 And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me 
 To any other trust, but that I am mad, 
 Or else the lady's mad ; yet, if 'twere so, 
 She could not sway her house, command her fol- 
 lowers, 
 Take, and give back, affairs and their despatch, 
 With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing, 
 As, I perceive, she does: there's something in't, 
 That is deceivable. But here comes the lady. 
 
 Enter Olivia and a Priest. 
 
 OIL Blame not this haste of mine: If you mean 
 well, 
 Now go with me, and with this holy man, 
 Into the chantry by : there, before him, 
 And underneath that consecrated roof, 
 Plight me the full assurance of your faith; 
 That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
 May live at peace: He shall conceal it, 
 Whiles 2 you are willing it shall come to note ; 
 What time we will our celebration keep 
 According to my birth. — What do you say 1 
 
 Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you ; 
 And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
 
 Oli. Then lead the way, good father ; And 
 
 heaven so shine, 
 That they may fairly note this act of mine ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— The street before Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Clown and Fabian. 
 
 Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter. 
 
 Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another re- 
 quest. 
 
 Fab. Any thing. 
 
 Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. 
 
 Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense, 
 desire my dog again. 
 
 Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants. 
 
 Duhz. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends 1 
 
 CL. aj, sir ; we are some of her trappings. 
 
 Duke. I know thee well; How dost thou, my 
 good fellow 1 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the 
 worse for my friends. 
 
 • Scolded, reprimanded. 
 
 » A buffoon character in the old plays, and father of the 
 
 modern llarlf fju/o 
 
 Duke. Just the contrary; tne better for thy friends. 
 
 Clo. No, sir, the worse. 
 
 Duke. How can that be 1 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass 
 of me ; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass : so 
 that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of 
 myself; and by my friends I am abused: so that, 
 conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives 
 make your two affirmatives, why then the worse for 
 my friends, and the better for my foes. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is excellent. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please you 
 to be one of my friends. 
 
 Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me; 
 there's gold. 
 
 Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I 
 would you could make it another. 
 
 Duke. 0, you give me ill counsel. 
 
 Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for thw 
 once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 
 
 » Account. « UntiL 
 
82 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT : 
 
 Act V 
 
 Duk Well I will be so much a sinner to be a 
 double-dealer ; there's another. 
 
 Clo. I'rimo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; and 
 the old saying is, the third pays for all: the triplex, 
 sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of 
 St. Bennet, sir, may put you in mind : One, two, 
 three. 
 
 Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at 
 this throw : if you will let your lady know, I am 
 here to speak with her, and bring her along with 
 you, it may awake my bounty further. 
 
 Clo Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come 
 again. I go, sir; but I would not have you to 
 think, that my desire of having is the sin of covetous- 
 ness : but as you say, sir, let your bounty take a 
 nap, I will awake it anon. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Enter Axtojtio and Officers. 
 
 Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 
 
 Duke. That face of his I do remember Well; 
 Yet, when I saw it last, it was bcsmear'd 
 As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war : 
 A bawbling vessel was he captain of, 
 For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable ; 
 With which such scathful grapple did he make 
 With the most noble bottom of our fleet, 
 That very envy, and the tongue of loss, 
 Cry'd fame and honor on him. What's the matter ? 
 
 1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio, 
 That took the Phcenix, and her fraught 3 from 
 
 Candy ; 
 And this is he, that did the Tiger board, 
 When jour young nephew Titus lost his leg : 
 Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state, 
 In private brabble did we apprehend him. 
 
 Vio. He did me kindness, sir; drew on my side; 
 But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me, 
 I know not what 'twas, but distraction. 
 
 Duke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief! 
 What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies, 
 Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear, 
 Hast made thine enemies? 
 
 Ant. Orsino, noble sir, 
 
 Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me ; 
 Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate ; 
 Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, 
 Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither : 
 That most ingrateful boy there, by your side, 
 From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth 
 Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : 
 His life I gave him, and did thereto add 
 My love, without retention, or restraint, 
 All his in dedication : for his sake, 
 Did I expose myself, pure for his love, 
 Into the danger of this adverse town; 
 Drew to defend him, when he was beset ; 
 Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
 (Not meaning to partake with me in danger,) 
 Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, 
 And grew a twenty-years-removed thing, 
 While one would wink ; denied me mine own purse, 
 Which I had recommended to his use 
 Not half an hour before. 
 
 Vio. How can this be ? 
 
 Duke. When came he to this town ? 
 
 Ant. To-day, my lord ; and for three months 
 before, 
 (No interim, not a minute's vacancy,) 
 Both day and night did we keep company. 
 Enter Olivia and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Here comes the countess ; now heaven 
 
 walks on earth. 
 
 • Freight. 
 
 But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy w> rd* are madness 
 Three months this youth hath tended upon me ; 
 But more of that anon. Take him asiat 
 
 Oli. What would my lord, but that he may not 
 have, 
 Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? 
 Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
 
 Vio. Madam? 
 
 Duke. Gracious Olivia, 
 
 Oli. What do you say, Cesario ? Good my 
 
 lord, 
 
 Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 
 
 Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 
 It is as fat' and fulsome to mine ear, 
 A s howling after music. 
 
 Duke. Still so cruel ? 
 
 Oli. Still so constant, lord. 
 
 Duke. What ! to perverseness? you uncivil lady, 
 To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
 My soul the faithfull'st offerings hathbrcath'd out, 
 That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 
 
 Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- 
 come him. 
 
 Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, 
 Line to the Egyptian thief, at point of death, 
 Kill what I love; a savage jealousy, 
 That sometime savors nobly? — But hear me this: 
 Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, 
 And that I partly know the instrument 
 That screws me from my true place in your favor. 
 Live y°u, the marble-breasted tyrant, still; 
 But this, your minion, whom, I know, you love, 
 And whom, by heaven, I swear, I tender dearly, 
 Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 
 Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. — 
 Come boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe in mis 
 
 chief; 
 I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 
 To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going 
 
 Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly, 
 To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 
 
 [Following. 
 
 OH. Where goes Cesario? 
 
 Vio. After him I love, 
 
 More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 
 More, by all mores, than e'er I sha'l love wife: 
 If I do feign, you witnesses above, 
 Punish my life, for tainting of my love ! 
 
 Oil. Ah me, detested ! how am I beguil'd ! 
 
 Vio. Who does beguile you " who does do you 
 wrong ? 
 
 Oli. Hast thou forgot thyself? Is it so long? — 
 Call forth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant 
 
 Duke. Come away. [To Viola. 
 
 Oli. Whither, my lord? — Cesario, husband, stay. 
 
 Duke. Husband? 
 
 Oli. Ay, husband ; Can he that deny ' 
 
 Duke. Her husband, sirrah ? 
 
 Vio. No, my lord, not L 
 
 Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of th) fear, 
 That makes thee strangle thy propriety: 
 Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up ; 
 Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
 As great as that thou fear'st. — O, welcome, father 
 
 Re-enter Attendant and Priest. 
 
 Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
 Here to unfold (though lately we intended 
 To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
 Reveals before 'tis ripe) what thou dost know 
 Hath newly past between this youth and me. 
 Priest. A cc _ 'cact of eternal bond of love, 
 * Dull, gross. 
 
Scene 1 
 
 OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 33 
 
 Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, 
 
 Attested by the holy close of lips, 
 
 Strengthened by interchangement of your rings ; 
 
 And all the ceremony of this compact 
 
 Seal'd in my function, by my testimony : 
 
 Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my 
 
 grave, 
 I have travelled but two hours. 
 
 Duke. O thou dissembling cub ! what wilt thou be, 
 When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ? 
 Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 
 That f hine own trip shall be thine overthrow ? 
 Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet, 
 Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 
 
 Vio. My lord, I do protest, — 
 
 Oli. O, do not swear; 
 
 Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 
 Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, with his head 
 broken. 
 
 Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon ; send 
 one presently to sir Toby. 
 
 OIL What's the matter ? 
 
 Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has 
 given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too : for the love 
 of God, your help : I had rather than forty pound, 
 I were at home. 
 
 Oli. Whp has done this, sir Andrew ? 
 
 Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario: 
 we took him for a coward, but he's the very devil 
 incardinate. 
 
 Duke. My gentleman, Cesario! 
 
 Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is : — You broke 
 my head for nothing ; and that that I did, I was set 
 on to do't by sir Toby. 
 
 Vio. Why do you speak to me ? I never hurt you: 
 You drew your sword upon me, without cause; 
 But I bcspake you fair, and hurt you not. 
 
 Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be; a hurt, you 
 have hurt me; I think, you set nothing by a bloody 
 coxcomb. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch, drunk, led by the Clown. 
 Here comes Sir Toby halting, you shall hear more : 
 but if he had not been in drink, he would have 
 tickled you othergates 5 than he did. 
 
 Duke. How now, gentleman ? How is't with you? 
 
 Sir To. That's all one; he has hurt me, and there's 
 the end en't. — Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon, sot ? 
 
 Clo. O he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone ; 
 his eyes were set at eight i' the morning. 
 
 Sir To. Then he's a rogue. After a passy-mea- 
 sure, or a pavin ; 8 I hate a drunken rogue. 
 
 OIL Away with him: Who hath made this havoc 
 with them? 
 
 Sir And. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll 
 be dressed together. 
 
 Sir To. Will you help ail ass-head, and a cox- 
 comb, and a knave? a thin-faced knave, a gull? 
 
 OIL Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to. 
 [Exeunt Clown. &VTobt, and Sir Andrew. 
 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kins- 
 man; 
 But had it been the brother of my blood, 
 I must have done no less, with wit, and safety. 
 You throw a strange regard upon me, and 
 By that I do perceive it hath offended you; 
 Pardon me, sweet one, oven for the vows 
 We made each other but so late ago. 
 
 Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two 
 persons ; 
 • Otherways. • Serious dances. 
 
 A natural perspective, that is, and is not. 
 
 Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
 How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me, 
 Since I have lost thee ! 
 
 Ant. Sebastian are you ? 
 
 Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio* 
 
 Ant. How have you made division of yourself ?— 
 An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
 Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian r - 
 
 Oli. Most wonderful ! 
 
 Seb. Do I stand there ? I never had a brother ■ 
 Nor can there be that deity in my nature, 
 Of here and every where. I had a sister, 
 Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd: — 
 Of charity, what kin are you to me? [To Viola, 
 What countryman ? what name ? what parentage 1 
 
 Vio. Of Meissaline : Sebastian was my father- 
 Such a Sebastian was my brother too, 
 So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
 If spirits can assume both form and suit, 
 You come to fright us. 
 
 Seb. A spirit I am, indeed ; 
 
 But am in that dimension grossly clad, 
 Which from the womb I did participate. 
 Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
 I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, 
 And say — Thrice welcome, drowned Viola! 
 
 Vio. My father had a mole upon his brow. 
 
 Seb. And so had mine. 
 
 Vio. And died that day when Viola from herbirtt 
 Had number'd thirteen years. 
 
 Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
 He finished, indeed, his mortal act 
 That day that made my sister thirteen years. 
 
 Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both, 
 But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
 Do not embrace me, till each circumstance 
 Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, 
 That I am Viola : which to confirm, 
 I'll bring you to a captain in this town, 
 Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle help 
 I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count' 
 All the occurrence of my fortune since 
 Hath been between this lady and this lord. 
 
 Seb. So comes it, lady, you have been nilst'.Hjk" 
 
 [To Olivia 
 But nature to her bias drew in that. 
 You would have been contracted to a maid ; 
 Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived, 
 You are betroth'd both to a maid and man. 
 
 Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood.— 
 If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 
 I shall have share in this most happy wreck : 
 Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times, 
 
 [To Viol*.. 
 Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 
 
 Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear ; 
 And all those swearings keep as true in soul, 
 As doth that orbed continent, the fire, 
 That severs day from night. 
 
 Duke. Give me thy hand; 
 
 And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 
 
 Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore, 
 Hath my maid's garments: he, upon some action, 
 Is now in durance ; at Malvolio's suit, 
 A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 
 
 OIL He shall enlarge him ; — Fetch Malvolw 
 hither : — 
 And yet, alas, now I remember me, 
 They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. 
 
 Re-enter Clown, with a Letter. 
 
 A ip/ret extracting frenzy of mine own 
 
84 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: 
 
 Act F 
 
 From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. — 
 How does he, sirrah? 
 
 Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the 
 stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do : he 
 has here writ a letter to you ; I should have given it 
 to you to-day morning ; but as a madman's epis- 
 tles arc no gospels, so it skills not much, when they 
 are delivered. 
 
 OIL Open it, and read it. 
 
 Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool 
 delivers the madman:— .By the Lord, madam, — 
 
 OIL How now, art thou mad? 
 
 Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness : an your 
 ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must 
 allow vox.'' 
 
 OH. Pr'ythee, read i' thy right wits. 
 
 Clo. So I do, madonna; but to read his right 
 wits, is to read thus: therefore perpend, 8 my prin- 
 cess, and give eai. 
 
 OIL Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian. 
 
 Fab. [Reads.] By the Lord, madam, you wrong 
 me, and the world shallknow it: though you have 
 put me into darkness, and given your drunken cou- 
 rin rule over me, yet have I the benefit of my senses 
 as well as your ladysh ip. I have your own letter that 
 induced me to the semblance I put on; with the 
 which 1 doubt not but to do myself much right, or 
 you, much shame. Think of me as you please. I 
 leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out 
 of my injury. The madly used Malvolio. 
 
 OIL Did he write this? 
 
 Clo. Ay, madam. 
 
 Duke. This savors not much of distraction. 
 
 OIL See him deliver'd, Fabian ; bring him hither. 
 
 [Exit Fabian. 
 
 My lord, so please you, these things further thought 
 
 on, 
 To think me as well a sister as a wife, 
 One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you, 
 Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 
 
 Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your 
 offer. — 
 Your master quits you; [To Viola] and, for your 
 
 service done him, 
 So much against the mettle" of your sex, 
 So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 
 And since you call'd me master for so long, 
 Here is my hand; you shall from this time be 
 Your master's mistress. 
 
 OIL A sister? — you are she. 
 
 Re-enter Fabian with Malvolio. 
 
 Duke. Is this the madman ? 
 
 OIL Ay, my lord, the same : 
 
 How now, Malvolio? 
 
 Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong, 
 
 Notorious wrong. 
 
 OIL Have I, Malvolio? no. 
 
 Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter. 
 You must not now deny it is your hand, 
 Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase; 
 Or say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention ; 
 You can say none of this : Well, grant it then, 
 .^nd tell me, in the modesty of honor, 
 Why you have given me such clear lights of favor; 
 Bade me come smiling, and cross-gartered to you, 
 To put on yellow stockings, and to frown 
 Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people: 
 And, acting this in an obedient hope, 
 Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, 
 Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, 
 And made the most notorious geek,' and gull, 
 
 ■ V ;ico. » Attend. 9 Frame and constitution. « Fool. 
 
 That e'er invention play'd on ? tell me why. 
 
 OIL Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, 
 Though I confess much like the character 
 Butout of question, 'tis Maria's hand. 
 And now I do bethink me, it was she 
 First told me, thou wast mad; then cam'st in smiling 
 And in such forms which here were prcsuppos'd 
 Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content: 
 This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee - 
 But when we know the grounds and authors of it, 
 Thou shalt be both the plaintiff' and the judge 
 Of thine own cause. 
 
 Fab. Good madam, hear me speak* 
 
 And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come, 
 Taint the condition of this present hour, 
 Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not, 
 Most freely I confess, myself and Toby 
 Set this device against Malvolio here, 
 Upon some stubborn and uncpurteous parts 
 We had conceived against him : Maria writ 
 The letter, at sir Toby's great importance; 4 
 In recompense whereof, he hath married her. 
 How with a sportful malice it was follow'd, 
 May rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; 
 If that the injuries be justly weigh'd, 
 That have on both sides past. 
 
 OIL Alas, poor fool ! how have they baffled thee! 
 
 Clo. Why, some are born great, some achieve 
 greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon 
 them. I was one, sir, in this interlude ; one sir 
 Topas, sir; but that's all one: — By the Lord, 
 fool, I am not mad; — But do you remember ? 
 Madam, why laugh you at such a barren rascal? 
 an you smile not, he'sgagg'd: And thus the whirli- 
 gig of time brings in his revenges. 
 
 Mai. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 OIL He hath been most notoriously abused. 
 
 Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace: — 
 He hath not told us of the captain yet ; 
 When that is known and golden time convents, 
 A solemn combination shall be made 
 Of our dear souls : — Mean time, sweet sister, 
 We will not part from hence. — Cesario, come, 
 For so you shall be while you are a man : 
 But, when in other habits you are seen, 
 Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. [Exeunt 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo. When that I was and a little tiny boy, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 A foolish thing was but a toy; 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came to man's estate, 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 ' Gainst knave and thief men shut their gatt. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came, alas! to wive, 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and. the rain, 
 
 By swaggering could I never thrive, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came unto my bed. 
 
 When hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 
 With toss-pots still had drunken head, 
 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 A grea 1 while ago the world begun. 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain. 
 
 But thafs all one, our play is done, 
 And we'll strive to please you every day 
 
 [ExU 
 
 * Importunity. 
 
 » Shalt sorre 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Vixcentio, Duke of Vienna. 
 
 Axoelo, Lord Deputy in the Duke's absence. 
 
 EscALus,<m ancient Lord, joined with Angelo in 
 
 the deputation. 
 Claudio, a young Gentleman. 
 Lucio, a Fantastic. 
 Two other like Gentlemen. 
 Variuus, a Gentleman, Servant to the Duke. 
 Provost. 
 Thomas, 
 Peter, | 
 A Justice. 
 Eibow, a simple Constable. 
 
 Two Friars. 
 
 Frotu, a foolish gentlemen. 
 Clown, Servant to Mrs. Overdone. 
 Abhorson, an Executioner. 
 Barnardine, a dissolute Prisoner. 
 
 Isabella, Sister to Claudio. 
 Mahiana, betrothed to Angelo. 
 Juliet, beloved by Claudio. 
 Francisca, a Nun. 
 Mistress Overdone, a bau)d. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other 
 Attendants 
 
 SCENE.— Vienna. 
 
 A.CTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Duke, Escalus, and Lords. 
 
 Duke. Escalus, — 
 
 Esc. My lord. 
 
 Duke. Of government the properties to unfold, 
 Would seem in me t' affect speech and discourse, 
 Since I am put to know, that your own science 
 Exceeds in that the lists of all advice 
 My strength can give you : Then no more remains 
 But that to your sufficiency, as your worth is able, 
 And let them work. The nature of our people, 
 Our city's institutions, and the terms 
 For common justice, y'are as pregnant in 
 As art and practice hath enriched any 
 That we remember : There is our commission, 
 From which we would not have you warp. Call 
 
 hither, 
 I say, bid come before us, Angelo. — 
 What figure of us think you he will bear? 
 For you must know, we have with special soul 
 Elected him our absence to supply; 
 Lent him our terror, direst him with our love, 
 And given his deputations all the organs 
 Of our own power: What think you of it? 
 
 Esc. If any in Vienna be of worth 
 To undergo such ample grace and honor, 
 It is lord Angelo. 
 
 Enter Anrelo. 
 
 Duke. Look, where he comes. 
 
 Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
 I come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Duke. Angelo, 
 
 There is a kind of character in thy life, 
 That, to th' observer, doth thy history 
 Fully unfold : — Thyself, and thy belongings, 
 Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
 
 Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
 
 Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do, 
 
 Net light them for themselves : for if our virtues 
 
 Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
 
 As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touchV 
 
 But to fcfl issues : nor nature never lends 
 
 The smallest scruple of her excellence, 
 
 But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
 
 Herself the glory of a creditor, 
 
 Both thanks and use; but I do bend my speech 
 
 To one that can my part in him advertise ; 
 
 Hold, therefore, Angelo: 
 
 In our remove, be thou at full ourself; 
 
 Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
 
 Live in thy tongue and heart : Old Escalus, 
 
 Though first in question, is thy secondary. 
 
 Take thy commission. 
 
 Ang. Now, good my lord, 
 
 Let there be some more test made of my meial. 
 Before so noble and so great a figure 
 Be stamp'd upon it. 
 
 Duke. No more evasion : 
 
 We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
 Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honors. 
 Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, 
 That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd 
 Matters of needful value. We shall write to you 
 As time and our concernings shall importune, 
 How it goes with us, and do look to know 
 What doth befall you here. So, fare you well .' 
 To th' hopeful execution do I leave you 
 Of your commissions. 
 
 Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord, 
 
 That we may bring you something on the way 
 
 Duke. My haste may not admit it ; 
 Nor need you, on mine honor, have to dc 
 With any scruple : your scope is as mine own 
 
So to enforce or qualify the laws 
 
 As to your soul seems good : — Give me your hand : 
 
 I'll privily away; I love the people, 
 
 But do not like to stage me to their eyes : 
 
 Though it do well, I do not relish well 
 
 Their loud applause, and aves vehement: 
 
 Nor do *I think the man of safe discretion 
 
 That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 
 
 Ang. The heavens give safety to your purposes ! 
 
 Esc. Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness! 
 
 Duke. I thank you. — Fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Esc. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
 To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me 
 To look into the bottom of my place : 
 A power I have, but of what strength and nature, 
 I am not yet instructed. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis so with me : — Let us withdraw together, 
 And we may soon our satisfaction have 
 Touching that point. 
 
 Esc. I'll wait upon your honor. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Street. 
 Enter Lucio, and two Gentlemen. 
 Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come 
 not to composition with the king of Hungary, why 
 then all the dukes fall upon the king. 
 
 1 Gent. Heaven grant us its peace ; but not the 
 king of Hungary's ! 
 
 2 Gent. Amen. 
 
 Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious 
 pirate, that went to sea with the ten command- 
 ments, but scraped one out of the table. 
 
 2 Gent. Thou shalt not steal? 
 
 Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 
 
 1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to com- 
 mand the captain and all the rest from their func- 
 tions ; they put forth to steal : there's not a soldier 
 of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, 
 doth relish the petition well that prays for peace. 
 
 2 Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 
 Lucio. I believe thee ; for, I think, thou never 
 
 wast where grace was said. 
 
 2 Gent. No? a dozen times at least. 
 
 1 Gent. What? in metre? 
 
 Lucio. In any proportion, 1 or in any language. 
 
 1 Gent. I think, or in any religion. 
 
 Lucio. Ay! why not? Grace is grace, despite of 
 all controversy : as, for example, thou thyself art a 
 wicked villain, despite of all grace. 
 
 1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers 
 between us. 2 
 
 Lucio. I grant; as there may between the lists 
 and the velvet: thou art the list. 
 
 1 Gent. And thou the velvet: thou art good vel- 
 vet; thou art a three-pil'd piece, I warrant thee: I 
 had as lie-f be a list of an English kersey, as be 
 pil'd, as thou art pil'd, for a French velvet.' Do 
 I speak feelingly now? 
 
 Lucio. I think thou dost ; and, indeed, with most 
 painful feeling of thy speech : I will, out of thine 
 own confession, learn to begin thy health; but, 
 whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. 
 
 1 Gent. I think I have done myself wrong ; have 
 I not? 
 
 2 Gent. Yes, that thou hast; whether thou art 
 tainted, or free. 
 
 Lucio. Behold, behold, where Madam Mitigation 
 conies ! I have purchased as many disease? under 
 her roof, as come to — 
 
 2 Gent. To what, I pray? 
 
 jJeasure. a A cut of the same cloth. 
 
 * A jest on the loss of hair by the Trench disease. 
 
 1 Gent. Judge. 
 
 2 Gent. To three thousand dollars a year. 
 1 Gent. Ay, and more. 
 
 Lucio. A French crown 4 more. 
 
 1 Gent. Thou art always figuring diseases iu 
 me: but thou art full of error; I am sound. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy, bui 
 so sound, as things that are hollow : thy bones ate 
 hollow ; impiety has made a feast of thee. 
 Enter Bawd. 
 
 1 Gent. How now ? Which of your hips has the 
 most profound sciatica? 
 
 Bawd. Well, well ; there's one yonder, arrested, 
 and carried to prison, was worth five thousand of 
 you all. 
 
 1 Gent. Who's that, I pray thee 1 
 
 Bawd. Marry sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio. 
 
 1 Gent. Claudio to prison !• 'tis not so. 
 
 Bawd. Nay, but I know 'tis so : I saw him ar- 
 rested ; saw him carried away ; and, which is more, 
 within these three days his head's to be chopped off. 
 
 Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not 
 have it so : art thou sure of" this ? 
 
 Bawd. I am too sure of it ; and it is for getting 
 Madam Julietta with child. 
 
 Lucio. Believe me, this may be : he promised 
 to meet me two hours since ; and he was ever pre- 
 cise in promise-keeping. 
 
 2 Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something 
 near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 
 
 1 Gent. But most of all, agreeing with the pro- 
 clamation. 
 
 Lucio. Away ; let's go learn the truth of it. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen. 
 
 Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the 
 sweat; 5 what with the gallows, and what with 
 poverty, I am custom-shrunk. How now ! what's 
 the news with you ? 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clown. Yonder man is carried to prison. 
 
 Bawd. Well ; what has he done ? 
 
 Clown. A woman. 
 
 Bawd. But what's his offence? 
 
 Clown. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. 
 
 Bawd. What, is there a maid with child by him ? 
 
 Clown. No; but there's a woman with maid by 
 him : you have not heard of the proclamation, have 
 you ?. 
 
 Bawd. What proclamation, man ? 
 
 Clown. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna 
 must be pluck'd down. 
 
 Bawd. A ad what skall become of those in the city? 
 
 Clown. They shall stand for seed: they had 
 gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in for 
 them. 
 
 Bawd. But, shall all our houses of resort in the 
 suburbs be pulled down? 
 
 Clown. To the ground, mistress. 
 
 Bawd. Why, here's a change indeed in the com- 
 monwealth : what shall become of me ? 
 
 Clown. Come, fear not you ; good counsellors 
 lack no clients. Though you change your place, 
 you need not change your trade; I'll be your 
 tapster still. Courage; there will be pity taken on 
 you : you that have worn your eyes almost out in 
 the service, you will be considered. 
 
 Bawd. What's to do here ? Thomas Tapstei, 
 let's withdraw. 
 
 Clown. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the 
 provost to prison: and there's Madam Juliet. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 * Cctna Veneris. » The sweating sickness 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 87 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. 
 
 Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers. 
 
 Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to 
 the world. Bear me to prison, where I am com- 
 mitted. 
 
 Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, 
 But from lord Angelo by special charge. 
 
 Claud. Thus can the dcmi-god, Authority, 
 Make us pay down for our offence by weight. — 
 The words of heaven ; on whom it will, it will ; 
 On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just. 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ] whence comes 
 this restraint 1 
 
 Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, 
 liberty : 
 As surfeit is the father of much fast, 
 So every scope by the immoderate use 
 Turns to restraint : Our natures do pursue 
 (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane) 
 A thirsty evil ; and when we drink, we die. 
 
 Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, 
 I would send for certain of my creditors: And yet, 
 to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of 
 freedom, as the morality of imprisonment. — What's 
 thy offence, Claudio 1 
 
 Claud. What, but to speak of would offend again. 
 
 Lucio. W T hat is it] murder] 
 
 Claud. No. 
 
 Lucio. Lechery] 
 
 Claud. Call it so. 
 
 Prov. Away, sir ; you must go. 
 
 Claud. One word, good friend : — Lucio, a word 
 with you. [Takes him aside. 
 
 Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. 
 Ts lechery so look'd after] 
 
 Claud. Thus stands it with me : — Upon a true 
 contract, 
 I got possession of Julietta's bed ; 
 You know the lady ; she is fast my wife, 
 Save that we do the denunciation lack 
 Of outward order : this we came not to, 
 Only for propagation of a dower 
 Remaining in the coffer of her friends ; 
 From whom we thought it meet to hide our love, 
 Till time had made them for us. But it chances, 
 The stealth of our most mutual intercourse, 
 With character too gross, is writ on Juliet. 
 
 Lucio. With child, perhaps ] 
 
 Claud. Unhappily, even so. 
 And the new deputy now for the duke, — 
 Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness ; 
 Or whether that the body public be 
 A horse whereon the governor doth ride, 
 Who newly in the seat, that it may know 
 He can command, let's it straight feel the spur: 
 Whether the tyranny be in his place, 
 Or in his eminence that fills it up, 
 I stagger in: — But this new governor 
 Awakes me all the enrolled penalties, 
 Which have, like unscour'd armor, hung by the 
 
 wall 
 So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, 
 And none of them been worn ; and for a name, 
 Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
 Freshly on me: — 'tis, surely, for a name. 
 
 Lucio. I warrant, it is : and thy head stands so 
 tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be 
 in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and 
 ppeal to him. 
 
 Claud. I have done so, but he 's not to be found. 
 
 I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service: 
 This day my sister should the cloister enter, 
 And there receive her approbation : 
 Acquaint her with the danger of my state ; 
 Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends 
 To the strict deputy : hid herself assay him ; 
 I have great hope in that : for in her youth 
 There is a prone and speechless dialect, 
 Such as moves, men : beside, she hath prosperous ar* 
 When she will play with reason and discourse, 
 And well she can persuade. 
 
 Lucio. I pray, she may : as well for the encou- 
 ragement of the like, which else would stand under 
 grievous imposition ; as for the enjoying of thy life, 
 who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost 
 at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her. 
 
 Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Within two hours, — 
 
 Claud. Come, officer, away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Monastery. 
 Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 
 
 Duke. No ; holy father ; throw away that thought; 
 Believe not that the dribbling dart of love 
 Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire thee 
 To give me secret harbor, hath a purpose 
 More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
 Of burning youth. 
 
 Fri. May your grace speak of it ] 
 
 Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
 How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd; 
 And held in idle price to haunt assemblies, 
 Where youth and cost, and witless bravery keeps. 
 I have delivcr'd to lord Angelo 
 (A man of stricture and firm abstinence) 
 My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
 And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ; 
 For so I have strew'd it in the common ear. 
 And so it is receiv'd: Now, pious sir, 
 You will demand of me, why I do this] 
 
 Fri. Gladly, my lord. 
 
 Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting 
 laws, 
 (The needful bits and curbs for head-strong steeds,) 
 Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep; 
 Even like an o'er-grown lion in a cave, 
 That goes not out to prey: Now, as fond fathers 
 Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch, 
 Only to stick it in their children's sight, 
 For terror, not to use ; in time the rod 
 Becomes more mock'd than fear'd : so our decrees, 
 Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
 And liberty plucks justice by the nose; 
 The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
 Goes all decorum. 
 
 Fri. It rested in your grace 
 
 To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleas'd . 
 And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd, 
 Than in lord Angelo. 
 
 Duke. I do fear, too dreadful: 
 
 Sith 'twas my fault, to give the people scope^ 
 'Twould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them 
 For what I bid them do : For we bid this be done, 
 When evil deeds have their permissive pass, 
 And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my 
 
 father, 
 I have on Angelo imposed the office ; 
 Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home 
 And yet my nature never in the sight, 
 To do it slander : And to behold his sway, 
 I will, as 'twere a Vother ?f your order, 
 Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythc» 
 
88 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Supply rne with the habit, and instruct me 
 
 How I may formally in person bear me 
 
 Like a true friar. More reasons for this action, 
 
 At our more leisure shall I render you ; 
 
 Only, this one: — Lord Angelo is precise; 
 
 Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
 
 That his blood flows, c- that his appetite 
 
 Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, 
 
 If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Nunnery. 
 Enter Isabella and Fiiancisca. 
 
 Isab. And have you nuns no further privileges ? 
 
 Fran. Are not these large enough? 
 
 Isab. Yes, truly : I speak not as desiring more ; 
 But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
 Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of saint Clare. 
 
 Lucio. Ho! Peace be in this place! [Within. 
 
 Isab. Who's that which calls? 
 
 Fran. It is a man's voice: Gentle Isabella, 
 Turn you the key, and know his business of him ; 
 You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn: 
 When you have vowed, you must not speak with 
 
 men, 
 But in the presence of the prioress : 
 Then, if you speak, you must not show your face; 
 Or if you show your face, you must not speak. 
 He calls again ; I pray you answer him. 
 
 [Exit FnAxiiscA. 
 
 Isab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is't that calls ? 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be; as those cheek-roses 
 Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead me, 
 As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
 A novice of this place, and the fair sister 
 To her unhappy brother Claudio? 
 
 Isab. Why her unhappy brother ? let me ask ; 
 The rather, for I now must make you know 
 I am that Isabella, and his sister. 
 
 Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets 
 you: 
 Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. 
 
 Isab. Woe me! For what ? 
 
 Lucio. For that which if myself might be his 
 judge, 
 He should receive his punishment in thanks : 
 He hath got his friend with child. 
 
 Isab. Sir, make me not your story. 6 
 
 Lucio. It is true. 
 
 I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin 
 With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest, 
 Tongue far from heart, — play with all virgins so: 
 I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted ; 
 By your renouncement an immortal spirit; 
 And to be talked with in sincerity, 
 As with a saint. 
 
 Isab. You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. 
 
 Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth,' 
 'tis thus: 
 
 Your brother and his lover have embraced : 
 As those that feed grow full; as blossoming time, 
 That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 
 To teeming foison;* even so her plenteous womb 
 Expresseth his full tilth 9 and husbandry. 
 
 Isab. Some one with child by him! — My cou- 
 sin Juliet? 
 
 Lucio. Is she your cousin ? 
 
 Isab. Adoptedly: as school-maids change their 
 names, 
 By vain though apt affection. 
 
 Lucio. She it is. 
 
 Isab. 0, let him marry her ! 
 
 Lucio. This is the point 
 
 The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 
 Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 
 In hand, and hope of action: but we do learn 
 By those that know the very nerves of state, 
 His givings-out were of an' infinite distance 
 From his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
 And with full line of his authority, 
 Governs lord Angelo ; a man, whose blood 
 Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels 
 The wanton stings and motions of the sense - 
 But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
 With profits of the mind, study and fast. 
 He (to give fear to use and liberty, 
 Which have, for long, run by the hideous law, 
 As mice by lions) hath pick'd out an act, 
 Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
 Falls into forfeit! he arrests him on it; 
 And follows close the rigor of the statute, 
 To make him an example : all hope is gone, 
 Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
 To soften Angelo : And that's my pith 
 Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother. 
 
 Isab. Doth he so seek his life ? 
 
 Lucio. Has censur'd 1 him 
 
 Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
 A warrant for his execution. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me 
 To do him good? 
 
 Lucio. Assay the power you have. 
 
 Isab. My power ! Alas ! I doubt, — 
 
 Lucio. Our doubts are traitora 
 
 And make us lose the good we oft might win, 
 By fearing to attempt : Go to lord Angelo, 
 And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, 
 Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, 
 All their petitions are as freely theirs 
 As they themselves would owe 2 them. 
 
 Isab. I'll see what I can do. 
 
 Lucio. But speedily. 
 
 Isab. I will about it straight; 
 No longer staying but to give the mother 
 Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you : 
 Commend me to my brother: soon at night 
 I'll send him certain word of my success. 
 
 Lucio. I take my leave of you. 
 
 Isab. Good sir, adieu. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Hall in Angelo's House, 
 
 Enter Angelo, Escalus, Provost, Officers, and 
 •'Alter Attendants. 
 
 Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the 
 law, 
 letting it up to fear the birds of prey, 
 
 • Do not make a jest of me. 
 
 * In few and. true words. 
 
 And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
 Their perch and not their terror. 
 
 Escal. Ay, but yet 
 
 Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, 
 Than fall, and bruise to death: Alas! this gentleman 
 Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
 Let but your honor know, 
 
 « Breeding plenty. » Tilling 
 
 « Sentenced. 9 Havp 
 
Scene I 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 89 
 
 (Whom I be'ieve to be most straight in virtue,) 
 That, in the working of your own affections, 
 Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing, 
 Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
 Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose, 
 Whether you had not some time in your life 
 Err'd in this point which now you censure him, 
 And pull'd the law upon you. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
 Another thing to fall. I not deny, 
 The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, 
 May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
 Guiltier than him they try : What's open made to 
 
 justice, 
 That justice seizes. What know the laws, 
 That thieves do pass on thieves'! 'Tis very pregnant, 
 The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, 
 Because we see it ; but what we do not see, 
 We tread upon and never think of it. 
 You may not so extenuate his offence, 
 For 3 I have had such faults ; but rather tell me, 
 When I that censure him, do so offend, 
 Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, 
 And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 
 
 Escal- Be it as your wisdom will. 
 
 Ang. Where is the provost ? 
 
 Prov. Here, if it like your honor. 
 
 Ang. See that Claudio 
 
 Be executed by nine to-morrow morning : 
 Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared: 
 For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 
 
 [Exeunt Ajtgelo^ and Provost. 
 
 Escal. Well, heaven forgive him ; and forgive us 
 all! 
 Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : 
 Some run from brakes' of vice, and answer none ; 
 And some condemned for a fault alone. 
 
 Enter Elbow, Froth, Clown, Officers, &c. 
 
 Elb. Come, bring them away : if these be good 
 people in a common weal,* that do nothing but use 
 their abuses in common houses, I know no law ; 
 bring them away. 
 
 Ang. How now, sir ! what's your name ? and 
 what's the matter ? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honor, I am the poor 
 duke's constable, and my name is Elbow; I do 
 lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before 
 your good honor two notorious benefactors. 
 
 Ang. Benefactors ? Well ; what benefactors are 
 they ? are they not malefactors ? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honor, I know not well 
 what they are : but precise villains they are, that I 
 am sure of; and void of all profanation in the 
 world, that good Christians ought to have. 
 
 Escal. This comes off well ; 6 here's a wise officer. 
 
 Ang. Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow 
 is your name ? Why dost thou not speak, Elbow ? 
 
 C/o. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. 
 
 Ang. What are you, sir ? 
 
 Elb. He, sir ? a tapster, sir ; parcel' bawd ; one 
 that serves a bad woman ; whose house, sir, was, 
 as they say, pluck'd down in the suburbs ; and now 
 she professes* a hot-house, which, I think, is a very 
 11 house too. 
 
 Escal. How know you that ? 
 
 Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest' before heaven 
 mid your honor, — 
 
 Escal. How ! thy wife ? 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an 
 honest woman, — 
 
 * Because. * Thickets, thorny paths of vice. 
 » Wealth. « Well told. ' Partly. 
 
 • Keeps a hagnio. » For protest 
 
 Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore 1 
 
 Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well 
 as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, 
 it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. 
 
 Escal. How dost thou know that, constable ? 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she had 
 been a woman cardinally given, might have been 
 accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanli- 
 ness there. 
 
 Escal. By the woman's means ? 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Over-done's means : but 
 as she spit in his face, so she defied him. 
 
 Clo. Sir, if it please your honor, this is not so. 
 
 Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou 
 honorable man, prove it. 
 
 Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces? 
 
 [To Anselo. 
 
 Clo. Sir, she came in great with child ; and long- 
 ing (saving your honor's reverence) for stew'd 
 prunes : sir, we had but two in the house, which at 
 that very distant time stood as it were, in a fruit- 
 dish, a dish of some three-pence : your honors have 
 seen such dishes; they are not China dishes, but 
 very good dishes. 
 
 Escal. Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir. 
 
 Clo. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are there- 
 fore in the right ; but, to the point : as I say, this 
 mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and be- 
 ing great belly d, and longing, as I said, for prunes ; 
 and having but two in tlve dish, as I said, master 
 Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as 
 I said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly ; 
 — for, as you know, master Froth, I could not give 
 you three-pence again. 
 
 Froth. No, indeed. 
 
 Clo. Very well : you being then, if you be re- 
 member'd, cracking the stones of the 'foresaid 
 prunes. 
 
 Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well : I telling you then, if you 
 be remember'd, that such a one, and such a one, 
 were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they 
 kept very good diet, as I told you. 
 
 Froth. All this is true. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well then. 
 
 Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool: to the pur- 
 pose. — What was done to Elbow's wife, that he 
 hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was 
 done to her. 
 
 Clo. Sir, your honor cannot come to that yet. 
 
 Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 
 
 Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it, by your ho- 
 nor's leave : and I beseech you, look into master 
 Froth here, sir; a man of fourscore pound a year ; 
 whose fathei died at Hallowmas : — Was't not at 
 Hallowmas, master Froth ? 
 
 Froth. Al!-hollond l eve. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well: I hope here be truths: 
 he, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower" chair, sir; — 
 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you 
 have a delight to sit : have you not ? 
 
 Froth. I have so ; because it is an open room, 
 and good for winter. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well then; — I hope here be 
 truths. 
 
 Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, 
 When nights are longest there : 111 take my leave. 
 And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; 
 Hoping, you'll find good cause to whip them all. 
 
 Escal. I think no less : good morrow to your 
 lordship. [Exit Axgelo 
 
 « Eve of All Saints day. 
 
 G 
 
 •Easy. 
 
r 
 
 uo 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act i I 
 
 Now, sir, come 0.1: what was done to Elbow's 
 wife, once moie7 
 
 Clo. Once, sir 7 tnere was nothing done to her 
 once. 
 
 Elb- I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man 
 did to my wife 7 
 
 Clo. I beseech your honor, ask me. 
 
 Escal. We'l, sir : what did this gentleman to her] 
 
 Clo. I beseech vou,sir, look in this gentleman's 
 face : — Good master Froth, look upon his honor; 'tis 
 for a good purpose : doth your honor mark his face 7 
 
 Escal. Ay, sir, very well. 
 
 Clo. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. 
 
 Escal. Well, I do so. 
 
 Clo. Doth your honor see any harm in his face 7 
 
 Escal. Why, no. 
 
 Clo. I'll be suppos'd * upon a book, his face is 
 the worst thing about him : good then ; if his face 
 be the worst thing about him, how could master 
 Froth do the constable's wife any harm 7 I would 
 know that of your honor. 
 
 Escal. He's in the right: constable, what say 
 you to it 7 
 
 Elb. First, an it like you, the house is a respected 
 house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his 
 mistress is a respected woman. 
 
 Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more re- 
 spected person than any of us all. 
 
 Elb. Varlet, thou liest; thnu liest, wicked var- 
 let: the lime is yet to come, that she was ever re- 
 spected with man, woman, or child. 
 
 Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before he 
 married with her. 
 
 Escal. Which is the wiser here 1 ? justice or ini- 
 quity 7 * Is this true 7 
 
 Elb. thou caitiff! O thou varlet ! O thou wick- 
 ed Hannibal ! 6 I respected with her, before I was 
 married to her 7 If ever I was respected with her, 
 or she with me, let not your worship think me the 
 poor duke's officer : — Prove this, thou wicked Han- 
 nibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee. 
 
 Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear, you 
 might have your action of slander too. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your good worship for it: 
 what is't your worship's pleasure I should do with 
 this wicked caitiff] 
 
 Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some of- 
 fences in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou 
 couldst, let. him continue in his courses, till thou 
 know'st what they are. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it: — thou 
 seest, thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon 
 thee ; thou art to continue now, thou varlet ; thou 
 art to continue. 
 
 Escal. Where were you born, friend] [To Froth. 
 
 Froth. Here, in Vienna, sir. 
 
 Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a year ] 
 
 Froth. Yes, and 't please you, sir. 
 
 Escal. So. — What trade are you of, sir ] 
 
 [To the Clown. 
 
 Clo A tapster : a poor widow's tapster. 
 
 Escal. Your mistress's name 7 
 
 Clo. Mistress Over-done. 
 
 Escal. Hath she had any more than one hus- 
 band ] 
 
 Clo. Nine, sir; Over-done by the last. 
 
 Escal Nine ! — Come hither to me, master Froth. 
 Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted 
 with tapsters ; they will draw you, master Froth, 
 and you will hang them : get you gone, and let me 
 aear n > more of you. 
 
 • Dupojed, sworn. * Constable or Clown. 
 
 • For cannibal. 
 
 Froth. I thank your worship: for mine own part, 
 I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I 
 am drawn in. 
 
 Escal. Well ; no more of it, master Froth : fare- 
 well. [Exit Froth.] — Come you hither to mfc 
 master tapster ; what's your name, master tapster ] 
 
 Clo. Pompey. 
 
 Escal. What else 7 
 
 Clo. Bum, sir. 
 
 Escal. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing 
 about you; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are 
 Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a 
 bawd, Pompey, howsoever you color it in being a 
 tapster. Are you not 7 come, tell me true ; it shall 
 be the better for you. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow, that would 
 live. 
 
 Escal. How would you live, Pompey 7 by being 
 a bawd 7 What do you think of the trade, Pom- 
 pey 7 is it a lawful trade 7 
 
 Clo. If the. law would allow it, sir. 
 
 Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; 
 nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 
 
 Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay 
 all the youth in the city 7 
 
 Escal. No, Pompey. 
 
 Clo., Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will 
 to 't then : if your worship will take order 6 for the 
 drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the 
 bawds. 
 
 Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can 
 tell you : it is but heading and hanging. 
 
 Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that 
 way but for ten year together, you'll be glad t« 
 give out a commission for more heads. If this law 
 hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house 
 in it, after three pence a day : if you live to see 
 this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. 
 
 Escal. Thank you, good Pompey : and, in re- 
 quital of your prophecy, hark you, — I advise you, 
 let me not find you before me again upon any com- 
 plaint whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you 
 do: if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, 
 and prove a shrewd CsEsar to you ; in plain deal- 
 ing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt : so for this 
 time, Pompey, fare you well. 
 
 Clo. I thank your worship for your good coun- 
 sel ; but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune 
 shall better determine. 
 
 Whip me ! No, no ; let carman whip his jade ; 
 The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Escal. Come hither to me, master Elbow ; come 
 hither, master Constable. How long have you 
 been in this place of constable 7 
 
 Elb. Seven years and a half, sir. 
 
 Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the office, 
 you had continued in it some time: You say, seven 
 years together 7 
 
 Elb. And a half, sir. 
 
 Escal. Alas ! it hath been great pains to you ! 
 They do you wrong to put you so oft upon 't : Ar» 
 there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it ? 
 
 Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; 
 as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for 
 them ; I do it for some piece of money, und go 
 through with all. 
 
 Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of some 
 six or seven of the most sufficient of your parish. 
 
 Elb. To your worship's house, sir] 
 
 Escal. To my house: Fare you well. [Exit 
 Elbow.] What's o'clock, think you 7 
 • Measures. 
 
ScEN'K It. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 91 
 
 Just. Eleven, sir. 
 
 Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. 
 
 Just. I humbly thank you. 
 
 Escal. It grieves me for the death of Claudio ; 
 But there 's no remedy. 
 
 Just. Lord Angelo is severe. 
 
 Escal. It is but needful : 
 
 Mercy is not itself that oft looks so, 
 Pardon is still the nurse of second woe. 
 But yet, poor Claudio ! — There's no remedy. 
 Come, sir. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Provost and a Servant. 
 
 Serv. He's hearing of a cause; he will come 
 straight. 
 I'll tell him of you. 
 
 Prov. Pray you, do. [Exit Servant.] I'll know 
 His pleasure ; may be, he will relent: Alas, 
 He hath but as offended in a dream ! 
 All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he 
 To die for it ! 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 Ang. Now, what's the matter, Provost] 
 
 Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-mor- 
 row 1 
 
 Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea 7 hadst thou not 
 order ] 
 Why dost thou ask again] 
 
 Prov. Lest I might be too rash : 
 
 Under your good correction, I have seen, 
 When, after execution, judgment hath 
 Repented o'er his doom. 
 
 Ang. Go to ; let that be mine. 
 
 Do you your office, or give up your place, 
 And you shall well be spar'd. 
 
 Prov. I crave your honor's pardon. — 
 What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet 1 
 She's very near her hour. 
 
 Ang. Dispose of her 
 
 To some more fitter place ; and that with speed. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Sew. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Ang. Hath he a sister ] 
 
 Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid, 
 And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
 If not already. 
 
 Ang. Well, let her be admitted. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 See you, the fornicatress be remov'd ; 
 Let her have needful, but not lavish, means ; 
 There shall be order for it. 
 
 Enter Lucio and Isabella. 
 
 Prov. Save your honor ! [ Offering to retire. 
 
 Ang. Stay a little while. — [To Isab.] You are 
 welcome: What's your will] 
 
 Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honor : 
 Please but your honor hear me. 
 
 Ang. Well ; what's your suit 1 
 
 Isab. There is a vice that most I do abhor, 
 And most desire should meet the blow of justice ; 
 For which I would not plead, but that I must; 
 For which I must not plead, but that I am 
 \t war, 'twixt will, and will not. 
 
 Ang. Well ; the matter ] 
 
 Isab. I have a brother is condemned to die : 
 [ do beseech you, let it be his fault, 
 And not my brother. 
 
 Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces ! 
 
 Ang. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it' 
 Why, every fault's condemned, ere it be done: 
 Mine were the very cipher of a function, 
 To fine the faults, whose fine stands in record, 
 And let go by the actor. 
 
 Isab. O just, but severe .aw ! 
 
 I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honor ! 
 
 [Retiring 
 
 Lucio. [To Isab.] Give't not o'er so: to him 
 again, intrcat him; 
 Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown ; 
 You are too cold : if you should need a pin, 
 You could not with more tame a tongue desire it 
 To him, I say. 
 
 Isab. Must he needs die ] 
 
 Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 
 
 Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might pardon him, 
 And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 
 
 Ang. I will not do't. 
 
 Isab. But can you, if you would i 
 
 Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 
 
 Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no 
 wrong] 
 If so, your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
 As mine is to him. 
 
 Ang. He's sentenced : 'tis too late. 
 
 Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella. 
 
 Isab. Too late ] why, no ; I, that do speak a word, 
 May call it back again : Well believe this, 
 No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, 
 Not the king's crown, nor the deputed swoid, 
 The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, 
 Become them with one half so good a grace, 
 As mercy does. If he had been as you, 
 And you as he, you would have slipt like him; 
 But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 
 
 Ang. Pray you, begone. 
 
 Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency, 
 And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus] 
 No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, 
 And what a prisoner. 
 
 Lucio. Ay, touch him : there's the vein. [Aside.. 
 
 Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, 
 And you but waste your words. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! alas '. 
 
 Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; 
 And He that might the vantage best have took, 
 Found out the remedy : How would you be, 
 If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
 But judge you as you are] O, think on that; 
 And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
 Like man new made. 
 
 Ang. Be you content, fair maid; 
 
 It is the law, not I, condemns your brother : 
 Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 
 It should be thus with him: — he must die to-morrow. 
 
 Isab. To-morrow] 0, that's sudden ! Spare him, 
 spare him: 
 He's not prepar'd for death! Even for our kitchens 
 We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaver. 
 With less respect than we do minister 
 To our gross selves ] Good, good my lord, bethink 
 
 you: 
 Who is it that hath died for this offence] 
 There's many have committed it. 
 
 Lucio. Ay, well said. 
 
 Ang. The law hath not been dead, 'hough ft 
 hath slept: 
 Those many had not dar'd to do that evd. 
 If the first man that did the edict infringe. 
 Had answer'd for his deed : now, ''is awake ; 
 Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet 
 Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils 
 
92 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 AcxiJ 
 
 (Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd, 
 And so in progress to be hatch'd and born) 
 Are now to have no successive degrees, 
 But, where they live, to end. 
 
 Isab. Yet show some pity. 
 
 Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice; 
 r'or then I pity those I do not know, 
 Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall; 
 And do him right, that answering one foul wrong, 
 Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; 
 Your brother dies to-morrow: be content. 
 
 Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sen- 
 tence ; 
 And he, that suffers: O, it is excellent 
 To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous 
 To use it like a giant. 
 
 Lucio. That's well said. 
 
 Isab. Could great men thunder 
 As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, 
 For every pelting, 7 petty officer, 
 Would use his heaven for thunder ; nothing but 
 
 thunder. — 
 Merciful heaven ! 
 
 Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
 Split'st the unwcdgeable and gnarled 8 oak, 
 Than the soft myrtle; — 0, but man, proud man ! 
 Drest in a little brief authority, 
 Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, 
 His glassy essence, — like an angry ape, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
 As make the angels weep : who, with our spleens, 
 Would all themselves laugh mortal. 
 
 Luc. O, to him, to him, wench: he will relent; 
 He's coming, I perceive't. 
 
 Prov. Pray heaven, she win him ! 
 
 Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: 
 Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them ; 
 But, in the less, foul profanation. 
 
 Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl ; more o' that. 
 
 Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric word, 
 Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 
 
 Lucio. Art advis'd o' that ] more on't. 
 
 Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon rne] 
 
 Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, 
 Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, 
 That skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ; 
 Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth know 
 That's like my brother's fault : if it confess 
 A natural guiltiness, such as is his, 
 Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
 Against my brother's life. 
 
 Ang. She speaks, and 'tis 
 
 Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. — Fare 
 you well. 
 
 Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. 
 
 Ang. I will bethink me: — Come again to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Good my lord, 
 turn back. 
 
 Ang. How, bribe me] 
 
 Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share 
 with you. 
 
 Lucio. You had marr'd all else. 
 
 Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested' gold 
 Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor, 
 As fancy values them : but with true prayers, 
 That shall be up at heaven, and enter there, 
 Ere sun-rise; prayers from preserved 1 souls, 
 From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
 To nothing temporal. 
 
 * Paltry. • Knotted. » Stamped. 
 
 < Vrflserred from the corruption of the world 
 
 Ang. Well: come to me 
 
 To-morrow. 
 
 Lucio. Go to ; it is well; away. [Aside io Ism 
 
 Isab. Heaven keep your honor safe ! 
 
 Ang. Amen : fo* - 1 
 
 Am that way going to temptation, [Aside. 
 
 Where prayers cross. 
 
 Isab. At what hour to-morrow 
 
 Shall I attend your lordship 1 
 
 Ang. At any time 'fore-noon 
 
 Isab. Save your honor ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provort 
 
 Ang. From thee ; even from thy virtue ! — 
 
 What's this 1 what's this ] Is this her fault or mine'. 
 The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most"! ha! 
 Not she; nor doth she tempt: but it is I, 
 That lying by the violet, in the sun, 
 Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower, 
 Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be, 
 That modesty may more betray our sense 
 Than woman's lightness] Having waste ground 
 
 enough, 
 Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary, 
 And pitch our evils there ] O, fye, fye, fye ! 
 What dost thou] or what art thou, Angelo] 
 Dost thou desire her foully, for those things 
 That make her good] 0, let her brother live: 
 Thieves for their robbery have authority, 
 When judges steal themselves. What ] do I love her, 
 That I desire to hear Jger speak again, 
 And feast upon her eyes ] What is't I dream on ] 
 
 cunning enemy, that to catch a saint, 
 
 With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous 
 Is that temptation, that doth goad us on 
 To sin in loving virtue ; never could the strumpet 
 With all her double vigor, art, and nature, 
 Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
 Subdues me quite ; — Ever, till now, 
 When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in a Prison. 
 Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. 
 
 Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so I think you are. 
 Prov. I am the provost : What's your will, good 
 
 friar ] 
 Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, 
 
 1 come to visit the afflicted spirits 
 
 Here in the prison : do me the common right 
 To let me see them ; and to make me know 
 The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
 To them accordingly. 
 
 Prov. I would do more than that, if more were 
 needful. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine, 
 Who, falling in the flames of her own youth, 
 Hath blister'dher report: She is with child; 
 And he that got. it, sentenced: a young man 
 More fit to do another such offence, 
 Than die for this. 
 
 Duke. When must he die ? 
 
 Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. — ■ 
 I have provided for yc u ; stay awhile, [To Juliet. 
 And you shall be conducted. 
 
 Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry] 
 
 Juliet. I do; and bear the shame most patiently. 
 
 Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign vo *> 
 conscience, 
 And try your penitence, if it be sound. 
 Or hollowly put on. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 93 
 
 Juliet. I'll gladly learn. 
 
 Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd you? 
 
 Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. 
 
 Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act 
 Was mutually committed'? 
 
 Juliet. Mutually. 
 
 Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. 
 
 Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter: But lest you do 
 repent, 
 As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, — 
 Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not 
 
 heaven ; 
 Showing, we'd not spare heaven, as we love it, 
 But as we stand in fear. 
 
 Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil; 
 And take the shame with joy. 
 
 Duke. There rest. 
 
 Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, 
 And I am going with instruction to him. — 
 Grace go with you ! Benedicite.' [Exit. 
 
 Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! 0, injurious love, 
 That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
 Is still a dying horror ! 
 
 Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in Angelo's House. 
 Enter Angel*. 
 
 Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and 
 pray 
 To several subjects : heaven hath my empty words ; 
 Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, 
 Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth, 
 As if I did but only chew his name; 
 And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil 
 Of my conception : The state, whereon I studied, 
 Is like a good thing, being often read, 
 Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity, 
 Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride, 
 Could I, with boot, 2 change for an idle plume, 
 Which the air beats for vain. O place ! O form ! 
 How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, 
 Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls 
 To thy false seeming? Blood, thou still art blood: 
 Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
 'Tis not the devii's crest. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 How now, who's there ? 
 
 Serv. One Isabel, a sister, 
 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 An g. Teach her the way. [Exit Serv. 
 
 heavens! 
 
 Why does my blood thus muster to my heart; 
 Making both it unable for itself, 
 And dispossessing all the other parts 
 Of necessary fitness? 
 
 So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons ; 
 Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
 By which he should revive : and even so 
 The general, 3 subject to a well-wish'd king, 
 Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
 Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love 
 Must needs appear offence. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 How now, fair maid? 
 
 Isab. I am come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Ang. That you might know it, would much 
 better please me, 
 Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. 
 
 Lab. Even so ? — Heaven keep your honor ! 
 
 [Retiring. 
 
 * t'reflt » The people. 
 
 Ang. Yet may he live a while ; and, it may be 
 As long as you or I : Yet he must die. 
 
 Isab. Under your sentence ? 
 
 Ang. Yea. 
 
 Isab. When, I beseech you ? that in his reprieve, 
 Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted, 
 That his soul sicken not. 
 
 Ang. Ha ! fye, these filthy vices ! It were as good 
 To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen 
 A man already made, as to remit 
 Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, 
 In stamps that are forbid : 'tis all as easy 
 Falsely to take away a life true made, 
 As to put mettle in restrained means, 
 To make a false one. 
 
 Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 
 
 A?ig. Say you so ? then I shall pose you quickly. 
 Which had you rather, that the most just law 
 Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him, 
 Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness, 
 As she that he hath stained? 
 
 Isab. Sir, believe this, 
 
 I had rather give my body than my soul. 
 
 Ang. I talk not of your soul ; our compell'd sins 
 Stand more for number than accompt. 
 
 Isab. How say you ? 
 
 Aug. Nay I'll not warrant that; for I can speak 
 Against the thing I say. Answer to this ; — 
 I, now the voice of the recorded law, 
 Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: 
 Might there not be a charity in sin, 
 To save this brother's life ? 
 
 Isab. Please you to do 't, 
 
 I'll take it as a peril to my soul, 
 It is no sin at all, but charity. 
 
 Ang. Pleas'd you to do 't, at peril of your soul, 
 Were equal poise of sin and charity. 
 
 Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, 
 Heaven, let me bear it! you granting of my suit, 
 If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer 
 To have it added to the faults of mine, 
 And nothing of your answer. 
 
 Ang. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Your sense pursues not mine : either you are igno- 
 rant, 
 Or seem so, craftily ; and that's not good. 
 
 Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, 
 But graciously to know I am no better. 
 
 Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright, 
 When it doth tax itself: as these black masks 
 Proclaim an enshield' beauty ten times louder 
 Than beauty could displayed. — But mark me , 
 To be received plain, I'll speak more gross : 
 Your brother is to die. 
 
 Isab. So. 
 
 Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears 
 Accountant to the law upon that pain. 
 
 Isab. True. 
 
 Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, 
 (As I subscribe not that, nor any other, 
 But in the loss of question,) that you, his sister, 
 Finding yourself desir'd of such a person, 
 Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, 
 Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
 Of the all-binding law ; and that there were 
 No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
 You must lay down the treasures of your body 
 To this supposed, or else let him suffer; 
 What would you do ? 
 
 Isab. As much for my poor brother as mynell , 
 That is, were I under the terms oi cieatn, 
 The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubiea 
 * Covered. 
 
94 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
 
 That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield 
 
 My body up to shame. 
 
 Ang. Then must your brother die. 
 
 Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way : 
 Better it were, a brother died at once, 
 Than that a sister, by redeeming him, 
 Should die for ever. 
 
 A ng. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence 
 That you have slander'd so 1 
 
 Isab. Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon, 
 Are of two houses: lawful mercy is 
 Nothing akin to foul redemption. 
 
 Aug. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; 
 And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother 
 A merriment than a vice. 
 
 Isab. O, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls out, 
 To have what we'd have, we speak not what we 
 
 mean : 
 I something do excuse the thing I hate, 
 For his advantage that I dearly love. 
 
 Ang. We are all frail. 
 
 Isab. Else let my brother die, 
 
 If not a feodary, 5 but only he, 
 Owe, 6 and succeed by weakness. 
 
 Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 
 
 T sab. Ay, as the glasses where they view them- 
 selves ; 
 Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 
 Women ! — Help heaven ! men their creation mar 
 In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; 
 For we are soft as our complexions are, 
 And credulous to false prints. 1 
 
 Ang. I think it well : 
 
 And from this testimony of your own sex, 
 (Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger 
 Than faults may shake our frames,) let mebe bold; 
 I do arrest your words ; be that you are, 
 That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're none ; 
 If you be one, (as you are well express'd 
 3y all external warrants,) show it now, 
 By putting on the destin'd livery. 
 
 Isab. I have no tongue but one: gentle rny lord, 
 Let me entreat you, speak the former language. 
 
 Ans;. Plainly conceive, I love you. 
 
 Tsab. My brother did love Juliet ; and you tell me 
 That he shall die for it. 
 
 Ang. He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. 
 
 Isab. I know your virtue hath a licence in 't, 
 Which seems a little fouler than it is, 
 To pluck on others. 
 
 Ang. Believe me, on mine honor, 
 
 My words express my purpose. 
 
 Isab. Ha! little honor to be much believ'd, 
 And most pernicious purpose ! — Seeming, seeming! 
 I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for 't : 
 Sign me a present pardon for my brother, 
 Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world 
 Aloud, what man thou art. 
 
 Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel ? 
 
 My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, 
 My vouch against you, and my place i' the state, 
 Will so your accusation overweigh, 
 That you shall stifle in your own report, 
 And smell of calumny. I have begun ; 
 And now I give my sensual race the rein : 
 Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
 Lay by all nicety, and prolixious 8 blushes, 
 That banish what they sue for ; redeem thy brothei 
 By yielding up thy body to my will ; 
 Or else he must not only die the death. 
 But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
 To lingering sufferance: answer me to-morrow, 
 Or, by the affection that now guides me most, 
 I'll prove a tyrant to him : As for you, 
 Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Isab. To whom shall I complain 1 Did I tell this, 
 Who would believe me 1 perilous mouths, 
 That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, 
 Either of condemnation or approof ! 
 Bidding the law make court' sy to their will; 
 Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, 
 To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother: 
 Though he hath fallen by prompture of tl,e blood, 
 Yet hath he in him such a mind of honor, 
 That had he twenty heads to tender down 
 On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up, 
 Before his sister should her body stoop 
 To such abhorr'd pollution. 
 Then Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die . 
 More than our brother is our chastity. 
 I'll tell him yet of Angelo'e request, 
 And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Prison. 
 Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost. 
 Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord 
 
 Angelo 1 
 Claud. The miserable have no other medicine, 
 But only hope: 
 I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 
 
 Duke. Be absolute for death : either death, or life, 
 Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life, — 
 If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
 That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, 
 (Servile to all the skiey influences,) 
 That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, 
 Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool ; 
 For him thou labor'st by thy flight to shun, 
 And yetrun'st toward him still : Thou art notnoble ; 
 ?ur all the accommodations that thou bear'st, 
 Are nurs'd by baseness: Thou art by no means 
 valiant ; 
 * Associate. • Own. ' Impressions. 
 
 For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
 Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep, 
 And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
 Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; 
 For thou exist' st on many thousand grains 
 That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not ; 
 For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get; 
 And what thou hast, forget'st : Thou art not certain; 
 For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 9 
 After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ; 
 For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, 
 Thou bear'st thy heavy riches bul a journey, 
 And death unloads thee : Friend hast thou none . 
 For thine own bowels, which do iall thee sire, 
 The mere effusion of thy proper loins, 
 Do curse the gout, serpigo, 1 and the rheum, 
 For ending thee no sooner: Thou hast nor youth. 
 
 nor age ; 
 But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, 
 
 » Reluctant. • Affocts, affections. 
 
 « Leprous eruptions. 
 
Scene I 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 95 
 
 Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth 
 Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
 Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich, 
 Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, 
 To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, 
 That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life 
 Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, 
 i'hat makes these odds all even. 
 
 Claud. I humbly thank you. 
 
 To sue to live, I find, I seek to die ; 
 And seeking death, find life : Let it come on. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 Isab. What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and good 
 company ! 
 
 Prov. Who's there? come in: the wish deserves 
 a welcome. 
 
 Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. 
 
 Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you. 
 
 Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 
 
 Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's 
 your sister. 
 
 Duke. Provost, a word with you. 
 
 Prov. As many as you please. 
 
 Duke. Bring them to speak, where I may be 
 conceal'd, 
 Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost. 
 
 Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort ? 
 
 Isab. Why, as all comforts are ; most good indeed: 
 Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven. 
 Intends you for his swift ambassador. 
 Where you shall be an everlasting lieger : a 
 Therefore your best appointment make with speed ; 
 To-morrow you set on. 
 
 Claud. Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Isab. None, but such a remedy, as to save a head, 
 To cleave a heart in twain. 
 
 Claud. But is there any ? 
 
 Isab. Yes, brother, you may live ; 
 There is a devilish mercy in the judge, 
 If you'll implore it, that will free your life, 
 But fetter you till death. 
 
 Claud. Perpetual durance ? 
 
 Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance ; a restraint, 
 Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
 To a determined scope. 
 
 Claud. But in what nature ? 
 
 Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to 't) 
 Would hark your honor from that trunk you bear, 
 And leave you naked. 
 
 Claud. Let me know the point. 
 
 Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake, 
 Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, 
 And six or seven winters more respect 
 Than a perpetual honor. Dar'st thou die ? 
 The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
 And the poor beetle that we tread upon, 
 In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies. 
 
 Claud. Why give you me this shame ? 
 
 Think you I can a resolution fetch 
 From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
 I will encounter darkness as a bride, 
 And hug it in mine arms. 
 
 Isab. There spake my brother; there my father's 
 gr&ve 
 Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die : 
 Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
 In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, — 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Nips youth 'i the head, and follies doth enmew, 
 4s falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil ; 
 * Resident. 
 
 His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell. 
 
 Claud. The princely Angeic '. 
 
 Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, 
 The vilest body to invest and cover 
 In princely guards! Dost thou think, Clai iio, 
 If I would yield him my virginity, 
 Thou might' st be freed ? 
 
 Claud. O, heavens! It cannot be. 
 
 Isab. Yes, he would give it thee, from this rank 
 offence, 
 So to offend him still : This night's the time, 
 That I should do what I abhor to name, 
 Or else thou diest to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Thou shalt not do'l. 
 
 Isab. O, were it but my life, 
 I'd throw it down for your deliverance 
 As frankly as a pin. 
 
 Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 
 
 Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him, 
 That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, 
 When he would force it? Sure it is no sin; 
 Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 
 
 Isab. Which is the least? 
 
 Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise, 
 Why, would he for the momentary trick 
 Be perdurably fin'd ? — O Isabel! 
 
 Isab. What says my brother? 
 
 Claud. Death is a fearful thing. 
 
 Isab. And shamed life a hateful. 
 
 Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; 
 To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot: 
 This sensible warm motion to become 
 A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
 To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
 In thrilling regions of thick ribbed ice ; 
 To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, 
 And blown with restless violence round about 
 The pendent world ; or to be worse than wok 
 Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
 Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible ! 
 The weariest and most loathed worldly lite, 
 That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment 
 Can lay on nature, is a paradise 
 To what we fear of death. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! alas! 
 
 Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 
 
 What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
 Nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
 That it becomes a virtue. 
 
 Isab. O, you beast! 
 
 O, faithless coward ! 0, dishonest wretch ! 
 Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ? 
 Is't not a kind of incest, to take life 
 From thine own sister's shame? What should 
 
 think? 
 Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fail 
 For such a warped slip of wilderness 
 Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance . 
 Die; perish! might but my bending down 
 Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 
 I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
 No word to save thee. 
 
 Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 
 
 Isab. O, fye, rye, fye 
 
 Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade: 
 Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd ; 
 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Going 
 
 Claud. O hear me, Isabel!* 
 
 Re-en'ter Duke. 
 
 Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister but on* 
 word. 
 
96 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Isab. What is your will 1 
 
 Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I 
 would by and by have some speech with you : the 
 satisfaction I would require, is likewise your own 
 oenefit. 
 
 Isab. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay 
 must be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will attend 
 you awhile. 
 
 Duke. [To Claudio, aside.'] Son, I have over- 
 heard what hath passed between you and your sister. 
 Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her ; only 
 he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise 
 his judgment with the disposition of natures ; she, 
 having the truth of honor in her, hath made him 
 that gracious denial which he is most glad to receive: 
 I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be 
 true; therefore prepare yourself to death: Do not 
 satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible : 
 to-morrow you must die; go to your knees, and 
 make ready. 
 
 Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so 
 out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it. 
 
 Duke. Hold you there: Farewell. [Exit Claudio. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 
 Provost, a word with you. 
 
 Prov. What's your will, father 1 
 
 Duke. That now you are come you will be gone. 
 Leave me awhile with the maid; my mind pro- 
 mises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my 
 company. 
 
 Prov. In good time. [Exit Provost. 
 
 Duke. The hand that hath made you fair, hath 
 made you good: the goodness that is cheap in 
 beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness : but grace, 
 being the soul of your complexion, should keep 
 the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo 
 hath made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my 
 understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples 
 for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How 
 would you do to content this substitute, and to 
 save your brother] 
 
 Isah. I am now going to resolve him: I had 
 rather my brother die by the law, than my son 
 should be unlawfully born. But O, how much is 
 the good duke deceived in Angelo! If ever he 
 return, and I can speak to him, I will open my 
 lips in vain, or discover his government. 
 
 Duke. That shall not be much amiss : Yet, as 
 the matter now stands, he will avoid your accu- 
 sation ; he made trial of you only. — Therefore, 
 fasten your ear on my advisings: to the love I 
 have in doing good, a remedy presents itself. I 
 do make myself believe, that you may most up- 
 righteously do a poor wronged lady a merited 
 benefit ; redeem your brother from the angry law ; 
 do no stain to your own gracious person; and 
 much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he 
 shall ever return to have hearing of this business. 
 
 Isab. Let me hear you speak further ; I have 
 spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the 
 truth of my spirit. 
 
 Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fear- 
 iuL Have you not heard speak of Mariana the 
 Mstcr of Frederick, the great soldier, who miscar- 
 ried at sea 1 
 
 Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words 
 went with her name. 
 
 Duke. Her should this Angelo have married; was 
 affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: 
 between which time of the contract, and limit of 
 the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked 
 »t sea, Uav.ng in that perished vessel the dowry of 
 
 his sister. But mark, how heavily thisbefel *<) thu 
 poor gentlewoman : there she lost a noble and re- 
 nowned brother, in his love toward her ever most 
 kind and natural ; with him, the portion and sinew 
 of her fortune, her marriage-dowry ; with both, he? 
 combinate 3 husband, tins well-seeming Angelo. 
 
 Isab. Can this be so 1 Did Angelo so leave her ! 
 
 Duke. Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of 
 them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole 
 pretending in her discoveries of dishonor : in few, 
 bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she 
 yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her 
 tears, is washed with them, but relents not. 
 
 Isab. What a merit were it in death, to take 
 this poor maiden from the world ! What corrup- 
 tion in this life, that it will let this man live! — but 
 how out of this can she avail 1 
 
 Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal 
 and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but 
 keeps you from dishonor in doing it. 
 
 Isab. Show me how, good father. 
 
 Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the 
 continuance of her first affection; his unjust un- 
 kindness, that in all reason should have quenched 
 her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, 
 made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; 
 answer his requiring with a plausible obedience ; 
 agree with his demands to the point : only refer 
 yourself to this advantage, — first, that your slay 
 with him may not be long; that the time may have 
 all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer 
 to convenience : this being granted in course, now 
 follows all. We shall advise this wronged maid to 
 stead up your appointment, go in your place ; if the 
 encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may 
 compel him to her recompense: and here, by tins, 
 is your brother saved, your honor untainted, the 
 poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy 
 scaled.' The maid will I frame, and make fit for 
 his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you 
 may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the de- 
 ceit from reproof. What think you of it 1 
 
 Isab. The image of it gives me content already; and 
 I trust it will grow to ajnost prosperous perfection. 
 
 Duke. It lies much in your holding up : Haste 
 you speedily to Angelo; if" for this night he entreat 
 you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I 
 will presently to St. Luke's; there, at the moated 
 grange, resides this dejected Mariana : At that 
 place call upon me ; and dispatch with Angelo, that 
 it may be quickly. 
 
 Isab. I thank you for this comfort: Fare you well, 
 good father. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. — The Street before the Prison- 
 Enter Duke, as a friar,- to him Elbow, Clown, 
 and Officers. 
 
 Elb. Nay, if there be no remedy of it, but that 
 you will needs buy and sell men and women like 
 beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and 
 white bastard.' 
 
 Dtike. 0, heavens ! what stuff is here ? 
 
 Clo. 'Twas never merry world, since, of two 
 usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser 
 allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him 
 warm ; and furr'd with fox and lamb skins too, to 
 signify, that craft, being richer than innocency, 
 stands for the facing. 
 
 Elb. Come your way, s'u ; — Bless you, good fa- 
 ther friar. 
 
 Duke. And you, good brother f ather: Wha\ 
 offence hath this man made you, sir? 
 
 » Betrothed. * Over-reaohed. » A sweet win*. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 97 
 
 Elb. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law ; and, 
 •ir, we take him to be a thief too, sir : for we have 
 found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we 
 have sent to the deputy. 
 
 Duke. Fye, sirrah ; a bawd, a wicked bawd ! 
 The evil that thou causest to be done, 
 That is thy means to live: do thou but think 
 What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back, 
 From such a filthy vice : say to thyself, — 
 From their abominable and beastly touches 
 I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. 
 Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 
 So stinkingly depending] Go, mend, go, mend. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, it docs stink in some sort, sir; but 
 yet, sir, I would prove 
 
 Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs 
 for sin, 
 Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer; 
 Correction and instruction must both work, 
 Ere this rude beast will profit. 
 
 Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has 
 given him warning: the deputy cannot abide a 
 whoremaster: if he be a whoremonger, and comes 
 before him, he were as good go a mile on his er- 
 rand. 
 
 Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be, 
 Free from our faults, as faults from seeming free ! 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir. 
 
 Clo. I spy comfort; I cry bail: Here's a gentle- 
 man, and a friend of mine. 
 
 Lucio. How now, noble Pompey ] What, at the 
 heels of Csesar ? Art thou led in triumph ] What, 
 is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made 
 woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the 
 pocket, and extracting it clutch'd] What reply? 
 Ha] What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and 
 method] Is't not drown'd i' the last rain] Ha? 
 What say'st thou, trot] Is the world as it was, 
 man ] Which is the way ] Is it sad, and few words ] 
 Or how ] The trick of it ] 
 
 Duke. Still thus, and thus ! still worse ! 
 
 Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress ] 
 Procures she still] Ha] 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, 
 and she is herself in the tub. 6 
 
 Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it ; it 
 must be so : ever your fresh whore, and your pow- 
 der'd bawd: an unshunn'd consequence; it must 
 be so: art going to prison, Pornpey? 
 
 Clo. Yes, faith, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Why, 'lis not amiss, Pompey : Farewell : 
 Go ; say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey ? 
 Or how ? 
 
 Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 
 
 Lucio. Well, then imprison him : if imprison- 
 ment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: 
 bawd is he, doubtless, and of antiquity too ; bawd- 
 born. Farewell, good Pompey: commend me to 
 the prison, Pompey : you will turn good husband 
 now, Pompey; you will keep the house. 1 
 
 Clo. I hope, sir, vour good worship will be my 
 bail. 
 
 Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not 
 the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your 
 bondage : if you take it not patiently, why your 
 mettle is the more: Adieu, trusty Pompey. — Bless 
 you, friar. 
 
 Duke. And you. 
 
 hucio. Docs Br.'dget paint still, Pompey? Ha? 
 
 fib. Come your ways, sir ; come. 
 * Powd wring tub. » Stay at boms 
 
 Clo. You will not bail me then, sir ? 
 
 Lucio. Then, Pompey ? nor now — What newt 
 abroad, friar? What news] 
 
 Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. 
 
 Lucio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go : 
 
 [Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers 
 What news, friar, of the duke ] 
 
 Duke. I know none : Can you tell me of any ] 
 
 Lucio. Some say, he is with the emperor of 
 Russia; other some, he is in Rome: But where is 
 he, think you ? 
 
 Duke. I know not where : But wheresoever, 1 
 wish him well. 
 
 Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to 
 steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was 
 never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his 
 absence ; he puts transgression to 't. 
 
 Duke. Ho does well in 't. 
 
 Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do 
 no harm in him : something too crabbed that way, 
 friar. 
 
 Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 
 cure it. 
 
 Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great 
 kindred ; it is well allied : but it is impossible to 
 extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put 
 down. They say, this Angelo was not made by 
 man and woman, after the downright way of crea- 
 tion : is it true, think you ? 
 
 Duke. How should he be made then] 
 
 Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him: — 
 Some, that he was begot between two-stock-fishes: 
 but it is certain, that when he makes water, his 
 urine is congeal'd ice ; that I know to be true: and 
 he is a motion* ungencrative, that's infallible. 
 
 Duke. You are pleasant, sir ; and speak apace. 
 
 Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this in 
 him, for the rebellion of a cod-piece, to take away 
 the life of a man ? Would the duke, that is absent, 
 have done this] Ere he would have hang'd a man 
 for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have 
 paid for the nursing a thousand : he had some feel- 
 ing of the sport ; he knew the service, and that in- 
 structed him to mercy. 
 
 Duke. I never heard the absent duke much 
 detected for women ; he was not inclined that way. 
 
 Lucio. 0, sir, you are deceived. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis not possible. 
 
 Lucio. Who] not the duke] yes, your beggar of 
 fifty ; — and his use was, to put a ducat in her 
 clack-dish:" the duke had crochets in him: He 
 would be drunk too; that let me inform you. 
 
 Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 
 
 Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his : a shy fellow 
 was the duke : and I believe I know the cause of 
 his withdrawing. 
 
 Duke.' What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause 1 
 
 Lucio. No, — pardon ; — 'tis a secret must be 
 lock'd within the teeth and the lips : but this I can 
 let you understand, — The greater file of the sub- 
 ject held the duke to be wise. 
 
 Duke. Wise ] why, no question but he was 
 
 Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighintj 
 fellow. 
 
 Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis 
 taking ; the very stream of his life, and the business- 
 he hath helmed,' must, upon a warranted need, give 
 him a better proclamation. Let him be but test*- 
 
 s Puppet. 
 
 9 Clack-dish: The beggars, two or three centuries age* 
 used to proclaim their want by a wooden dish with a 
 moveable cover, which they clacked, to show that tfcpii 
 vessel was empty. 
 
 * Guided 
 
38 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 U'i 111 
 
 monied in his Jwn bringings forth, and he shall 
 appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a 
 soldier : Therefore, you speak unskilfully ; or, if 
 your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd in 
 your malice. 
 
 Lucia. Sir, I know him, and I love him. 
 
 Duke.. Love talks with better knowledge, and 
 knowledge with dearer love. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 
 
 Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know 
 not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, 
 (as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to 
 make your answer before him : If it be honest you 
 have spoke, you have courage to maintain it: lam 
 bound to call upon you : and, I pray you, your name ? 
 
 Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to 
 the duke. 
 
 Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may 
 live to report you. 
 
 Lucio. I fear you not. 
 
 Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more ; 
 or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, 
 indeed, I can do you little harm : you'll forswear 
 this again. 
 
 Lucio. I'll be hanged first : thou art deceived in 
 me, friar. But no more of this : can'st thou tell, if 
 Claudio die to-morrow, or no? 
 
 Duke. Why should he die, sir] 
 
 Lucio. Why ? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. 
 I would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again : 
 this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province 
 with continency; sparrows must not build in his 
 house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke 
 yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd; he 
 would never bring them to light: would he were 
 return'd! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for 
 untrussing. Farewell, good friar : I pr'ythce pray 
 for me. The duke, I say to thee again, would eat 
 mutton on Fridays. He's now past it; yet, and I 
 say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though 
 she smelt brown bread and garlic: say, that I said 
 so. Farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
 Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny 
 The whitest virtue strikes : What king so strong, 
 Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Esc alus, Provost, Bawd, and Officers. 
 
 Escal. Go, away with her to prison. 
 
 Bawd. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honor 
 is accounted a merciful man : good my lord. 
 
 Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still 
 forfeit 3 in the same kind ! This would make mercy 
 swear, and play the tyrant. 
 
 Prov. A bawd of eleven years continuance, may 
 it please your honor. 
 
 Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information 
 against me: mistress Kate Keep-down was with 
 child by him in the duke's time, he promised her 
 marriage; his child is a year and a quarter old, 
 come Philip and Jacob: I have kept it myself; and 
 see how he goes about to abuse me. 
 
 Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much license: 
 — let him be called before us. — Away with her to 
 prison: Goto; no more words. [Exeunt Bawd and 
 Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be 
 altered; Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be 
 furnished with divines, and have all charitable pre- 
 paration : if my brother wrought by my pity, it 
 should not be so with him. 
 
 » Transgress. 
 
 Proi\ So please you, this friar hath been with hin\ 
 and advised him for the entertainment of death. 
 
 Escal. Good even, good father. 
 
 Duke. Bliss and goodness on you ! 
 
 Escal. Of whence are you? 
 
 Duke. Not of this country, though my chance u 
 now 
 To use it for my time : I am a brother 
 Of gracious order, late come from the see, 
 In special business from his holiness. 
 
 Escal. What news abroad i' the world ? 
 
 Duke. None, but that there ib so great a fever on 
 goodness that the dissolution of it must cure it : 
 novelty is only in request ; and it is as dangerous 
 to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to 
 be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce 
 truth enough alive, to make societies secure ; but 
 security enough, to make fellowship accurs'd: much 
 upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. 
 This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. 
 I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke! 
 
 Escal. One that, above all other strifes, con- 
 tended especially to know himself. 
 
 Duke. What pleasure was he given to? 
 
 Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry, 
 than merry at any thing which profess'd to make 
 him rejoice: a gentleman of all temperance. Bui 
 leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may 
 prove prosperous: and let me desire to know how 
 you find Claudio prepared. I am made to under- 
 stand, that you have lent him visitation. 
 
 Duke. He professes to have received no sinister 
 measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles 
 himself to the determination of justice: yet had he 
 framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, 
 many deceiving promises of life; which I, by my 
 good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he 
 resolved to die. 
 
 Escal. You have paid the heavens your function, 
 and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I 
 have labor'd for the poor gentleman, to the ex- 
 tremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother 
 justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced 
 me to tell him, he is indeed — justice. 
 
 Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his 
 proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, il 
 he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. 
 
 Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner : Fare 
 you well. 
 
 Duke. Peace be with you ! 
 
 Exeunt Escalus and Prove*t. 
 He, who the sword of heaven would bear, 
 Should be as holy as severe ; 
 Pattern in himself to know, 
 Grace to stand, and virtue go; 
 More nor less to others paying, 
 Than by self-offences weighing. 
 Shame to him, whose cruel striking 
 Kills for faults of his own liking! 
 Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
 To weed my vice and let his grow ! 
 O, what may man within him hide, 
 Though angel on the outward side ! 
 How may likeness, made in crimes, 
 Making practice on the times, 
 Draw with idle spiders' strings 
 Most pond'rous and substantial things » 
 Craft against vice I must apply : 
 With Angelo to-night shall lie 
 His old betrothed, but despis'd ; 
 So disguise shall, by the disguis'd, 
 Pay with falsehood false exacting, 
 And perform an r'«d contracting. [Exit 
 
SCF.NF. II. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASJRE. 
 
 99 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I — A Room in Mariana's House. 
 Mariana discovered sifting,- a Boy si?iging. 
 SONG. 
 Take, oh take those lips away, 
 
 That so sweetly were forsworn; 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 
 Lights that do mis/cad the morn,- 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 bring again, 
 Seals of love, but seaVd in vain, 
 
 sea I'd in vain. 
 
 Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick 
 away ; 
 Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice 
 Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. — 
 
 [Exit Boy. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish 
 
 You had not found me here so musical : 
 
 Let me excuse me, and believe me so, — 
 
 My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis good : though music oft hath such a 
 charm, 
 To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. 
 I pray you, tell me, hath any body enquired for me 
 here to-day 1 much upon tlus time have I promis'd 
 here to meet. 
 
 Mari. You have not been inquired after: I have 
 sat here all day. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 Duke. I do constantly believe you : — The time 
 is come even now. I shall crave your forbearance 
 a little : may be, I will call upon you anon, for 
 some advantage to yourself. 
 
 Mari. I am always bound to you. [Exit. 
 
 Duke. Very well met, and welcome. 
 What is the news from this good deputy 7 
 
 Isab. He hath a garden circummur'd 3 with brick, 
 Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd ; 
 And to that vineyard is a planched ' gate, 
 That makes his opening with this bigger key : 
 This other doth command a little door. 
 Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
 There have I made my pnmise to call on him, 
 Upon the heavy middle of the night. 
 
 Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find 
 this way ? 
 
 Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon 't ; 
 With whispering and most guilty diligence, 
 In action all of precept, he did show me 
 The way twice o'er. 
 
 Duke. Are there no other tokens 
 
 Between you 'greed, concerning her observance 7 
 
 Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ; 
 And that I have possess'd him, my most stay 
 Can be but brief: for I have made him know, 
 I have a servant comes with me along, 
 That stays upon mc ; whose persuasion is, 
 [ come about my brother. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis well borne up. 
 
 I have not yet made known to Mariana 
 A word of this : — What ho ! within ! come forth ! 
 
 « Wft'.led round. 
 
 * Planked, urooden. 
 
 Re-enter Mariana. 
 
 I P ra y y°u» be acquainted with this maid ; 
 She comes to do you good. 
 
 Isab. I do desire the like. 
 
 Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect 
 
 you 1 
 Mari. Good friar, I know you do; and have 
 
 found it. 
 Duke. Take then this your companion by the 
 hand, 
 Who hath a story ready for your ear : 
 I shall attend your leisure ; but make haste ; 
 The vaporous night approaches. 
 
 Mari. Will 't please you walk aside ? 
 
 [Exeunt Mariana and Isabella. 
 Duke. O place and greatness, millions of false eyes 
 Are stuck upon thee ! volumes of report 
 Run with these false and most contrarious quests 
 Upon thy doings! thousand 'scapes 6 of wit 
 Make thee the father of their idle dream, 
 And rack thee in their fancies \ — Welcome ! How 
 agreed 1 
 
 Re-enter Mariana, and Isabella. 
 
 Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, fa their, 
 If you advise it. 
 
 Duke. It is not my consent, 
 
 But my intreaty too. 
 
 Isab. Little have you to say, 
 
 When you depart from him, but soft and low, 
 Remember now my brother. 
 
 Mari. Fear me not. 
 
 Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all • 
 He is your husband on a pro-contract: 
 To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin ; 
 Sith that the justice of your title to him 
 Doth flourish 1 the deceit. Come, let us go ; 
 Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's 3 to sow. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 SCENE II. — ^4 Room in the Prison. 
 Enter Provost and Clown. 
 
 Prov. Come hither, sirrah: Can you cut off a 
 man's head? 
 
 Clo. If the man be a batchelor, sir, I can : but ii 
 he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I can 
 never cut off a woman's head ? 
 
 Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and 
 yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are 
 to die Claudio and Barnardine : here is in our pri- 
 son a common executioner, who in his office lacks 
 a helper : if you will take it on you to assist him, 
 it shall redeem you from your gyves ; 9 if not, you 
 shall have your full time of imprisonment, and y-our 
 deliverance with an unpitied whipping; for vou 
 have been a notorious bawd. 
 
 Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time 
 out of mind ; but yet I will be content to be a lawful 
 hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruc- 
 tion from my fellow-partner. 
 
 Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where's A bhorson. 
 there 1 
 
 Enter Abhorson. 
 Abhor. Do you call, sir? 
 
 » Inquisitions, inquiries. • SalUe*. 
 
 ' Gild, or varnish over. 
 
 s Tilth, land prepared for sowing. 
 
 s Fetters. 
 
io: 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to- 
 morrow in your execution : If you think it meet, 
 compound with him by the year, and let him abide 
 here with you 1 if not, use him for the present, and 
 dismiss him : he cannot plead his estimation with 
 you ; he hath been a bawd. 
 
 Abhor. A bawd, sir 1 Fye upon him, he will dis- 
 credit our mystery. 1 
 
 Prov. Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather 
 will turn the scale. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favor, (for, surely, 
 sir, a good favor you have, but that you have a 
 hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a 
 mystery 1 
 
 Abhor. Ay, sir; a mystery. 
 
 Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mys- 
 tery ; and your whores, sir, being members of my 
 occupation, using painting, do prove my occupa- 
 tion a mystery: but what mystery there should be 
 in hanging, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine. 
 
 Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 
 
 Clo. Proof. 
 
 Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief: 
 if it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks 
 it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your 
 thief thinks it little enough : so every true man's 
 apparel fits your thief. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 
 Prov. Are you agreed? 
 
 Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find, your 
 hangman is a more peniterjt trade than your bawd ; 
 he doth oftener ask forgiveness. 
 
 Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your 
 axe, to-morrow, four o'clock. 
 
 Abhor. Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in 
 my trade , follow. 
 
 Clo. I do desire to learn, sir ; and, I hope, if you 
 have occasion to use me for your own turn, you 
 shall find me yare : a for truly, sir, lor your kindness, 
 I owe you a good turn. 
 
 Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : 
 [Exeunt Clown and Abhohson. 
 One has my pity ; not a jot the other, 
 Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 
 
 Enter Claudio. 
 
 Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death : 
 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow 
 rhou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine? 
 Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless 
 labor 
 When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : 
 He will not wake. 
 
 Prov. Who can do good on him 1 
 
 Well, go, prepare yourself. B ut hark, what noise ? 
 
 [Knocking within. 
 Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [Exit Claudio. 
 
 By and by: — 
 I hope it is some pardon or reprieve, 
 For the most gentle Claudio. — Welcome, father. 
 Enter Duke. 
 Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the 
 night 
 Envelope you, good provost! Who call'd here of late] 
 Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 
 Duke. Not Isabel] 
 
 Prov. No. 
 
 Duke. They will then, ere't be long. 
 
 Prov. What comfort is for Claudio] 
 •~)uke. There's some in hope. 
 
 Prtm. It is a bitter deputy. 
 ' Trade. 2 Readv 
 
 Duke. Not so, not so , his life is parallel'd 
 Even with the stroke and line of his great justice; 
 He doth with holy abstinence subdue 
 That in himself, which he spurs on his power 
 To qualify in others: were he meal'd 3 
 With that which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; 
 But this being so, he's just. — Now are they come. 
 
 [Knocking within. — Provost goes out. 
 This is a gentle provost: Seldom, when 
 The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. — 
 How now ] what noise '? That spirit's possess'd with 
 
 haste, 
 That wounds the unsisting postern with these 
 strokes. 
 
 Provost returns, speaking to one at the door. 
 
 Prov. There he must stay until the officer 
 Arise to Let him in; he is call'd up. 
 
 Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, 
 But he must die to-morrow ] 
 
 Prov. None sir, none. 
 
 Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is, 
 You shall hear more ere morning. 
 
 Prov. Happily, 4 
 
 You something know ; yet, I believe, there comes 
 No countermand; no such example have we: 
 Besides, upon the veiy siege* of justice, 
 Lord Angclo hath to the public ear 
 Profess'd the contrary. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Duke. This is his lordship's man. 
 
 Prov. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 
 
 Mess. My lord hath sent you this note ; and bj 
 me this further charge, that you swerve not from 
 the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, 
 or other circumstance. Good morrow; for, as I 
 take it, it is almost day. 
 
 Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such sin, 
 
 [Aside. 
 For which the pardoner himself is in : 
 Hence hath offence his quick celerity, 
 When it is borne in high authority : 
 When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended, 
 That for the fault's love, is the offender friended. — 
 Now, sir, what news ? 
 
 Prov. I told you : Lord Angelo, belike, thinking 
 me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un- 
 wonted putting on: methinks, strangely; for he 
 hath not used it before. 
 
 Duke. Pray you, let's hear. 
 
 Prov. [Reads.] Whatsoever you may hear to the 
 contrary, let Claudio be executed by four of the 
 clock: and, in the afternoon, Barnardine: for my 
 better satisfaction, let me have Claudio's heud sent 
 me by five. Let, this be duly performed: with a 
 thought, that more depends on it than we must 
 yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your office, as 
 you will answer it ut your peril. 
 What say you to this, sir ] 
 
 Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be 
 executed in the afternoon ] 
 
 Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed up 
 and bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old. 6 
 
 Duke. How came it. that the absent duke had 
 not either delivered him to his liberty, or executed 
 him ] I have heard, it was ever his manner to do so. 
 
 Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him : 
 And, indeed, his fact, till now in the government 
 of lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful prjof. 
 
 Duke. Is it now apparent] 
 
 * Defiled. « Perhaps. * Seat 
 
 « Nine years in prison. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 10 
 
 Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. 
 
 Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison] 
 How seems he to be touch'd ? 
 
 Prov. A man that apprehends death no more, 
 dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep; careless, reek- 
 less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come ; 
 insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. 
 
 Duke. He wants advice. 
 
 Prov. He will hear none : he hath evermore had 
 the liberty of the prison ; give him leave to escape 
 hence, he would not; drunk many times a day, if 
 not many days entirely drunk. We have very 
 often awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, 
 and showed him a seeming warrant for it ; it hath 
 not moved him at all. 
 
 Duke. More of him anon. There is written in 
 your brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if I 
 read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; but 
 in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in 
 hazard. Claudio, whom here you have a warrant 
 to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than 
 Angelo who hath sentenced him : To make you 
 understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but 
 four days' respite ; for the which you are to do me 
 both a present and a dangerous courtesy. 
 
 Prov. Pray, sir, in what 1 
 
 Duke. In the delaying death. 
 
 Prov. Alack ! how may I do it — having the hour 
 limited ; and an express command, under penalty, 
 to deliver his head in the view of Angelo 1 I may 
 make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the 
 smallest. 
 
 Duke. By the vow of mine Order, I warrant you, 
 if my instructions may be your guide. Let this 
 Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head 
 borne to Angelo. 
 
 Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis- 
 cover the favor. 1 
 
 Duke. 0, death's a great disguiser: and you 
 may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard ; 
 and say, it was the desire of the penitent to be so 
 bared before his death: you know, the course is 
 common. If any thing fall to you upon this, more 
 than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I 
 profess, I will plead against it with my life. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, good father ; it is against my 
 oath. 
 
 Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the 
 deputy 1 
 
 Prov. To him, and to his substitutes. 
 
 Duke. You will think you have made no offence, 
 if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing"? 
 
 Prov. But what likelihood is in that? 
 
 Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet 
 since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, in- 
 tegrity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt 
 you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all 
 fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand 
 and seal of the duke. You know the character, I 
 doubt not ; and the signet is not strange to you. 
 
 Prov. I know them both. 
 
 Duke. The contents of this is the return of the 
 duke ; you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure ; 
 where you shall find, within these two days he will 
 be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not; 
 for he this very day receives letters of strange tenor : 
 perchance, of the duke's death; perchance, entering 
 into some monastery ; but, by chance, nothing of 
 what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the 
 shepherd : put not yourself into amazement, how 
 these things should be ; all difficulties are but easy 
 when they are known. Call your executioner, and 
 ' CountenaP"" 
 
 off with Barnardine's head: I will (■,/ e him a pre- 
 sent shrift, and advise him for 3 jelter place. Yel 
 you are amazed ; but this shah absolutely resolve 
 you. Come away, it is almost clear dawn. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in 
 our house of profession : one would think it wero 
 mistress Overdone's own house, for here be many 
 of her old customers. First, here's young master 
 Rash ; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and 
 old ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds ; of 
 which he made five marks, ready money: marry, 
 then, ginger was not much in request, for the old 
 women were all dead. Then is there here one 
 master Caper, at the suit of master Three-pile the 
 mercer, for some four suits of peach-color'd satin, 
 which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we 
 here young Dizy, and young master Deep-vow, and 
 master Copper-spur, and master Starve-lackey the 
 rapier and dagger-man, and young Drop-heir that 
 kill'd lusty Pudding, and master Forthright the 
 filter, and brave master Shoe-tie the great traveller, 
 and wild Half-cann that stabb'd Pots, and, I think, 
 forty more ; all great doers in our trade, and are 
 now for the Lord's sake. 
 
 Enter Abhorsost. 
 
 Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 
 
 Clo. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be 
 hang'd, master Barnardine! 
 
 Ahhor. What, ho, Barnardine! 
 
 Barnar. [Within.'] A pox o' your throats! 
 Who makes that noise there 1 What are you 1 
 
 Clo. Your friends, sir, the hangmen : You must 
 be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 
 
 Barnar. [Within.] Away, you rogue, away; I 
 am sleepy. 
 
 Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly 
 too. 
 
 Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are 
 executed, and sleep afterwards. 
 
 Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. 
 
 Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming ; I hear his 
 straw rustle. 
 
 Enter Barwardine. 
 
 Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? 
 
 Clo. Very ready, sir. 
 
 Barnar. How now, Abhorson 1 what's the news 
 with you 1 
 
 Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap 
 into your prayers : for, look you, the warrant's 
 come. 
 
 Barnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all 
 night ; I am not fitted for 't. 
 
 Clo. 0, the better, sir; for he that drinks alJ 
 night, and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may 
 sleep the sounder all the next. day. 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Abhor. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly 
 father : Do we jest now, think you 7 
 
 Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing 
 how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise 
 you, comfort you, and pray with you. 
 
 Barnar. Friar, not I : I have been drinking r.aru 
 all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, 
 or they shall beat out my brains with billets: I will 
 not consent to die this day, that's certain. 
 
 Duke. O, sir, you must : and therefore I besecd, 
 you, 
 Look forward on the journey you shall go. 
 
102 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Barnar. I swear, I will not die to-day for any 
 man's persuasion. 
 
 Duke. But hear you 
 
 Barnar. Not a word ; if you have any thing to 
 say to me, come to my ward ; for thence will not 
 I to-day. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Provost. 
 
 Duke. Unfit to live, or die: O, gravel heart! — 
 After him, fellows ; bring him to the block. 
 
 [Exeunt Abhorson and Clown. 
 
 Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner 1 
 
 Duke. A creature unprepared, unmeet for death ; 
 And, to transport him in the mind he is, 
 Were damnable. 
 
 Prov. Here, in the prison, father, 
 
 There died this morning of a cruel fever 
 One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, 
 A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head, 
 Just of his color : What if we do omit 
 This reprobate, till he were well inclined ; 
 And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
 Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio "\ 
 
 Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides ! 
 Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on 
 Prefix'd by Angelo : See this be done, 
 And sent according to command ; whiles I 
 Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. 
 
 Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. 
 Rut Barnardine must die this afternoon : 
 And how shall we continue Claudio, 
 To save me from the danger that might come, 
 If he were known alive 1 
 
 Duke. Let this be done : put them in secret holds, 
 Both Barnardine and Claudio : Ere twice 
 The sun hath made his journal greeting to 
 The under generation, 3 you shall find 
 Your safety manifested. 
 
 Prov. I am your free dependant. 
 
 Duke. Quick, despatch, 
 
 And send the head to Angelo. [Exit Provost. 
 
 Now will I write letters to Angelo, — 
 The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents 
 Shall witness to him, I am near at home; 
 \nd that by great injunctions I am bound 
 To enter publicly • him I'll desire 
 To meet me at the consecrated fount, 
 A league below the city , and from thence, 
 By cold gradation and weal-balanced form, 
 We shall proceed with Angelo. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 Prov. Here is the head; I'll carry it myself. 
 Duke. Convenient is it: Make a swift return; 
 For I would commune with you of such things, 
 That want no ear but yours. 
 
 Prov. I'll make all speed. [Exit. 
 
 Tsah. [Within.'] Peace, ho, be here ! 
 Duke. The tongue of Isabel : — She's come to 
 know, 
 If yet her brother's pardon be come hither: 
 But I will keep her ignorant of her good, 
 To make her heavenly comforts of despair, 
 When it is least expected. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 Jsab. Ho, by your leave. 
 Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 
 
 daughter. 
 Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
 Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon 1 
 Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the 
 world: 
 His head is off, and sent to Angelo. 
 The antipodes. 
 
 Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 
 
 Duke. It is no other : 
 
 Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience, 
 
 Isab. O, I will to him, and pluck out his eyes. 
 
 Duke. You shall not be admitted to his sight. 
 
 Isab. Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel ! 
 Injurious world ! Most damned Angelo ! 
 
 Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot 
 Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. 
 Mark what I say ; which you shall find 
 By every syllable, a faithful verity: 
 The duke comes home to-m rrow ; — nay, dry your 
 
 eyes ; 
 One of our convent, and his confessor, 
 Gives me this instance: Already he hath carried 
 Notice to Escalus and Angelo ; 
 Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, 
 There to give up their power. If you can, pace 
 
 your wisdom 
 In that good path that I would wish it go ; 
 And you shall have your bosom 9 on this wretch, 
 Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, 
 And general honor. 
 
 Isab. I am directed by you. 
 
 Duke. This letter then to friar Peter give ; 
 'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return : 
 Say, by this token, I desire his company 
 At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours, 
 I'll perfect him withal ; and he shall bring you 
 Before the duke ; and to the head of Angelo 
 Accuse him home, and home. For my poor sell, 
 I am combined by a sacred vow, 
 And shall be absent. Wend 1 you with this letter : 
 Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
 With a light heart; trust not my holy order, 
 If I pervert your course. — Who's here 1 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Good even ! 
 
 Lucio. 
 Friar, where is the provost 1 
 
 Duke. Not within, sir. 
 
 Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, 
 to see thine eyes so red : thou must be patient : I am 
 fain to dine and sup with water and bran ; I dare 
 not for my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal 
 would set me to't : But they say the duke will be 
 here to-morrow By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy 
 brother : if the old fantastical duke of dark corners 
 had been at home, he had lived. [Exit Isabella. 
 
 Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden 
 to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them. 
 
 Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well 
 as I do : he's a better woodman than thou takest 
 him for. 
 
 Duke. Well, you'll answer this ^ne day. Fare 
 ye well. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee; I 
 can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. 
 
 Duke. You have told me too many of nim 
 already, sir, if they be true ; if not true, none were 
 enough. 
 
 Lucio. I was once before him for getting a wenth 
 with child. 
 
 Duke. Did you such a thing] 
 
 Luciu. Yes, marry, did I: but was fain to for- 
 swear it; they would else have married me to tha 
 rotten medlar. 
 
 Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest: 
 Rest you well. 
 
 Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the 
 lane's end : If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have 
 
 3 Your heart's desire. 
 
 ' Qo. 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 103 
 
 very little of it: Nay, friar, I am a kind of bun - , I 
 shall stick. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV— A Room in Angelo's House. 
 Enter Axgelj and Escalus. 
 
 Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd 
 ether. 
 
 Aug. In most uneven and distracted manner. 
 His actions show much like to madness: pray 
 heaven, his wisdom be not tainted ! And why meet 
 him at the gates, and re-deliver our authorities 
 there ? 
 
 Escal. I guess not. 
 
 Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour 
 before his entering, that, if any crave redress of 
 injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the 
 street ? 
 
 Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have a 
 despatch of complaints; and to deliver us from 
 devices hereafter, which shall then have no power 
 to itand against us. 
 
 Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd : 
 Betimes i' the morn, I'll call you at your house : 
 Give notice to such men of sort and suit 2 
 As are to meet him. 
 
 Escal. I shall, sir : fare you well, 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ang. Good night. 
 Thif deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpreg- 
 
 nant, 
 And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid ! 
 And by an eminent body, that enforced 
 The law against it ! — but that her tender shame 
 Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, 
 How might she tongue me 1 Yet reason dares 
 
 her 1 — no : 
 For my authority bears a credent bulk, 
 That no particular scandal once can touch, 
 But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, 
 Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, 
 Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge, 
 By so receiving a dishonor'd life, 
 With ransom of such shame. 'Would yet he had 
 
 lived ! 
 Alack, when once our grace we have forgot, 
 Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V.— Fields without the town. 
 Enter Duke in his own habit and Friar Pktkh. 
 Duke, These letters at fit. time deliver me. 
 
 [Giving left ens. 
 The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. 
 The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, 
 And hold you ever to our special drift ; 
 Though sometimes you do blench* from this to that, 
 As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavius' house. 
 And tell him where I stay : give the like notice 
 To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
 And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ; 
 But send me Flavius first. 
 
 F. Peter. It shall be speeded welL 
 
 Exit Friar 
 Enter Varrius. 
 Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made 
 good haste : 
 Come, we will walk : There's other of our friends 
 Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Street near the city gate. 
 Enter Isabella and Mariana. 
 Isab. To speak so indirectly, I am loath ; 
 I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so, 
 That is your part: yet I'm advis'd to do it; 
 He says, to veil full 4 purpose. 
 
 Mari. Be rul'd by him 
 
 Isab. Besides, he tells me, that if peradventure 
 He speak against me on the adverse side, 
 I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic 
 That's bitter to sweet end. 
 Mari. I would, friar Peter — 
 Isab. 0, peace ; the friar is come. 
 
 Enter Friar Peter. 
 F. Peter. Come, I hayc found you out a stand 
 most fit, 
 Where you may have such 'vantage on the duke, 
 He shall not pass you; Twice have the trumpets 
 
 sounded ; 
 The generous s and gravest citizens 
 Have hent s the gates, and very near upon 
 The duke is ent'ring ; therefore hence, away. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — A public place near the City Gate. 
 
 Mariana (veil'd), Isabella and Peter at a 
 distance. Enter at opposite doors, Duke, Var- 
 rius, Lords,- Angelo, Escalus, Lucio, Pro- 
 vost, Officers, and Citizens. 
 Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met: — 
 Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. 
 Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal 
 
 grace ! 
 Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
 We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear 
 6uch goodness of your justice, that oui soul 
 Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, 
 Forerunning more requital. 
 
 Ang. You make my bonds still greater. 
 
 Duke. O, your desert speaks loud ; and I should 
 wrong it, 
 To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, 
 When it deserves with characters of brass 
 \ firted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time, 
 » Figure and rank. 
 
 And razure of oblivion : Give me your hand, 
 And let the subject see, to make them know 
 That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
 Favors that keep within. — Come, Escalus : 
 You must walk by us on our other hand ; 
 And good supporters are you. 
 
 Peter and Isabella come forward. 
 F. Peter. Now is your time; speak loud, ana 
 
 kneel before him. 
 Isab. Justice, royal Duke ! Vail 7 your regard 
 Upon a wrong'd, I'd fain have said, a maid ! 
 O worthy prince, dishonor not your eye 
 By throwing it on any other object, 
 Till you have heard me in my true complaint, 
 And given me justice, justice, justice, justice! 
 Duke. Relate your wrongs: In what] By whom' 
 Be brief: 
 Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice , 
 Reveal yourself to him. 
 
 a Start off. 
 « Seized. 
 
 « Availful. 
 1 Lowor. 
 
 » Most noble 
 
104 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 hull. 0, worthy duke, 
 
 Yon bid mc seek redemption of the devil: 
 Hoar mc yourself; for that which I must speak 
 Musi, either punish me, no( being believ'd, 
 Or wring redress from you: hear me, O, hear me, here. 
 
 Atig. My lord, herwits, I fear me, are not firm: 
 8he hath been a suitoi to mc for her brother 
 Out off by course of justice. 
 
 Uab. By course of justice ! 
 
 Ang. And she will speali most bitterly and strange. 
 
 Zsao. Most strange, bu1 yet mosttrulywilll speak: 
 That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange! 
 That Angelo's a murderer, is't not strange? 
 Thai Angelo is an adulterous thief, 
 An hypocrite, a virgin-violator; 
 Is ii riot strange, and strange ! 
 
 Duke, IN ay, ten times strange. 
 
 huh. It is not truer be is Angelo, 
 Than this is all as true as it is strange: 
 Nay, it is ten times true: for truth is truth 
 To Ihe end of reckoning. 
 
 Duke. Away with her: Poor soul, 
 
 She speaks this in the infirmity of set 
 
 huh. O prince, 1 conjure thee, as thou belicv'st 
 There is another comfort than this world, 
 That thou neglect me not with that opinion 
 That I am touch' d with madness: make not impos- 
 sible 
 That which but seems unlike ; 'tis not impossible, 
 But one, the wicked's!, caitiff on the ground, 
 May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute, 
 As Angelo: even so may Angelo, 
 In all his dressings," charaets, titles, forms, 
 Me an areh-villain : believe it, royal prince, 
 [f be he less, he's nothing; but he's more, 
 Had I more name for badness. 
 
 Duke. By mine honesty, 
 
 if she be mad, (as I believe no other,) 
 Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, 
 Such a dependency of thing on thing, 
 As e'er I heard in madness. 
 
 huh. O, gracious duke, 
 
 Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason 
 For inequality . but let your reason serve 
 To make the truth appear, where it seems hid; 
 And bide the false, seems true. 
 
 Duke. Many that arc not mad, 
 
 H avc sure more lack of reason. What would you say? 
 
 Iaab. I am the sister of one Claudio, 
 
 Condemn'd, upon the law of fornication, 
 To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo! 
 1, in probation of a sisterhood, 
 Was sent to by my brother: one Lucio 
 Was then the messenger; — 
 
 Lack). That's I, an't like your grace: 
 
 I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her 
 To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, 
 For her poor brother's pardon. 
 
 hob. That's he, indeed. 
 
 Duke. You were not bid to speak. 
 
 Lucio. No, my good lord ; 
 
 Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 
 
 Duke. I wish you now then ; 
 
 Pray you, take note of it; and when you have 
 A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then 
 Be perfect. 
 
 hucio. I warrant your honor. 
 
 Duke. The warrant's for yourself; take heed to it. 
 
 huh. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. 
 
 Lin in.' Right. 
 
 iMikc. It. may he right; but you arc in the wrong 
 To speak before your time. — Proceed. 
 
 , i I UbiLs iuul charm-tors of office. 
 
 hub. I went 
 
 To this pernicious caitiff deputy — 
 
 Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. 
 
 hub. Pardon it; 
 
 The phrase is to the matter. 
 
 Duke. Mended again: the matter? — Proceed. 
 
 hub. In brief, — to set the needless process by> 
 How I persuaded, how I pray'd and kneel'd, 
 How he refell'cfme, and how I reply'd; 
 (For this was of much length;) the vile conclusion 
 I now begin with grief and shame to utter ; 
 He would not but by gilt of my chaste body 
 To his concupiscible intemperate lust, 
 
 lii [ease my brother; and after much dehatement 
 My sisterly remorse' confutes mine honor. 
 And I did yield to him : Put the next morn betimes 
 His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
 For my poor brother's head. 
 
 Duke. This is most likely. 
 
 Jsab. 0, that it were as like, as it is tine! 
 
 Duke. By heaven', fond' wretch, thou know'st 
 not what thou speak'st; 
 Or else thou ait. suiiorn'd against his honor, 
 In hateful practice: First, his integrity 
 Stands withoul blemish: Next, it imports noveaspnu 
 That with such Vehemency be should pursue 
 Faults proper to himself: if lie had so offended, 
 lie would have wi igh'd thy brother by himself, 
 And not have cut. him off: Some one hath set you on- 
 Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
 Thou cam'st here to complain. 
 
 huh. And is this all ' 
 
 Then, oh, you blessed ministers above. 
 Keep me in patience; and, with ripen'd time, 
 Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
 In countenance ! — Heaven shield your grace from 
 
 woe, 
 As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelicvcd go. 
 
 Duke. I know you'd fain be gone: — An officer! 
 To prison with her: — Shall we thus permit 
 A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
 On him so near us ? This needs must he a practice. 
 Who knew of your intent, and coming hither? 
 
 huh. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. 
 
 Duke. A ghostly father, belike. — Who knows 
 that Lodowick! 
 
 Luciu. My lord,Iknow him;'tisu meddling friar; 
 I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord, 
 For certain words he spake against your grace 
 In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly. 
 
 Duke. Words against me? This'a good friar, belike. 
 And to set on this wretched woman here 
 Against our substitute! — Let this friar be found. 
 
 Lucio. Hut yesternight, my lord, she and that friar 
 I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, 
 A very scurvy fellow. 
 
 F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace 1 
 
 I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
 Your royal ear abus'd : First, bath this woman 
 Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute: 
 Who is as free from touch or soil with he* 
 As she from one ungot. 
 
 Duke. We did believe no lesa. 
 
 Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of? 
 
 F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy 
 Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, 
 As he's reported by this gentleman; 
 And, on my trust, a man that never yet, 
 Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. 
 
 Lucio. My lord, most villanously ! believe it. 
 
 F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clew 
 himself; 
 • Refuted. » Pity. * i'oolUh- 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 105 
 
 But et this instant he is sick, my lord, 
 Of a strange fever : Upon his mere request, 
 (Being come to knowledge that there was complaint 
 Intended 'gainst lord Angclo,) came I hither, 
 To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know 
 Is true, and false ; and what he with his oath, 
 And all prohation, will make up full clear, 
 Whensoever he's conventcd. 3 First, for this woman, 
 (To justify this worthy nohleman, 
 So vulgarly* and personally accus'd,) 
 Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
 Till she herself confess it. 
 
 Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. 
 
 [Isabella is carried off, guarded; and 
 Mariana conies forward. 
 Do you not smile at this, lord Angclo? — 
 
 heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools ! 
 Give us some scats. — Come, cousin Angelo, 
 In this I'll he impartial; he you judge 
 
 Of your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar? 
 First, let her show her face; and, after, speak. 
 
 Mari. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face, 
 Until my hushand hid me. 
 
 Duke. What, arc you married ? 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Are you a maid ? 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Duke. A widow then ? 
 
 Mari. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Why, you 
 
 Arc nothing then: — Neither maid, widow, nor wife ? 
 
 Lucio. My lord, she may he a punk; for many 
 of them arc neither maid, widow, nor wife. 
 
 Duke. Silence that fellow: I would, he had 
 some cause 
 To prattle for himself. 
 
 Lucio. Well, my lord. 
 
 Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ; 
 And, I confess, hesides, I am no maid: 
 
 1 have known my hushand ; yet my hushand knows 
 
 not 
 That ever he knew me. 
 
 Lucio. He was drunk, then, my lord ; it can be 
 no better. 
 
 DuJce. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou 
 wert so too ! 
 
 Lucio. Well, my lord. 
 
 Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. 
 
 Mari. Now I come to't, my lord : 
 She that accuses him of fornication, 
 In self-same manner doth accuse my husband : 
 And charges him, my lord, with such a time, 
 When I'll depose I had him in mine arms. 
 With all the effect of love. 
 
 Ang. Charges she more than me? 
 
 Mari. Not that I know. 
 
 Duke. No ? you say your husband ? 
 
 Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 
 Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body, 
 But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. 
 
 Ang. This is a strange abuse: 8 — Let's see thy face. 
 
 Mari. My husband bids me; now I will unmask. 
 
 [ Unveiling. 
 This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, 
 Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on: 
 This is the hand, which, in a vow'd contract, 
 Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body 
 That took away the match from Isabel, 
 And did supply thee at thy garden-house, 
 In her imagin'd person. 
 
 Duke. Know you this woman? 
 
 Lucio. Carnally, she says. 
 "Convened. * Publicly. 'Deception. 
 
 Duke. Sirrah, no more. 
 
 Lucio. Enough, my lord. 
 
 Ang. My lord, I mustconfessl know this woman: 
 And, five years since, there was some speech of 
 
 marriage 
 Betwixt myself and her; which was brokt off, 
 Partly, for that her promised proportions 
 Came short of composition; hut in chief, 
 For that her reputation was disvalued 
 In levity: since which time, of five years, 
 I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from he», 
 Upon my faith and honor. 
 
 Mari. Noble prince.. 
 
 As there comes light from heaven, and words from 
 
 breath, 
 As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, 
 I am affianced this man's wife, as strongly 
 As words could make up vows; and, my go<xl lord, 
 But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house, 
 He knew me as a wife : As this is true 
 Let me in safety raise me from my knees, 
 Or else for ever be confixed here, 
 A marble monument ! 
 
 Ang. I did but smile till now : 
 
 Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; 
 My patience here is touch'd: I do perceive, 
 These poor informal 8 women are no more 
 But instruments of some more mightier member, 
 That sets them on : Let me have way, my lord. 
 To find this practice 1 out. 
 
 Duke. Ay, with my heart; 
 
 And punish them unto your height of pleasure. — 
 Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, 
 Compact with her that's gone! think'st thou thy 
 
 oaths, 
 Though they would swear down each particular 
 
 saint, 
 Were testimonies against his worth and credit, 
 That's scal'd in approbation? — You, lord Escalus 
 Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
 To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. — 
 There is another friar that set them on ; 
 Let him be sent for. 
 
 F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord; for he, 
 indeed, 
 Hath set the women on to this complaint : 
 Your provost knows the place where he abides, 
 And he may fetch him. 
 
 Duke. Go do it instantly. — [Exit Provost 
 And you, my noble, and well-warranted cousin, 
 Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, 
 Do with your injuries as seems you best, 
 In any chastisement: I, for a while, 
 Will leave you; but stir not you, till you have well 
 Determined upon these slanderers. 
 
 Escal. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly. — [Exit 
 Duke.] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew 
 that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person ? 
 
 Lucio. Cucullus non fucit monachum: honest 
 in nothing but in his clothes ; and one that hath 
 spoke most villanous speeches of the duke. 
 
 Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he 
 come, and enforce them against him: we shall find 
 this friar a notable fellow. 
 
 Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 
 
 Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again* 
 [To an Attendant.'] I would speak with her: Pray 
 you, my lord, give me leave to question ; you shall 
 see how I'll handle hei. 
 
 Lucio. Not better thar. he, by her own report. 
 
 Escal. Say you? 
 
 Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled hex 
 • Crazy. ' Conspiracy. 
 
 H 
 
10G 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 privately, she would sooner confess; perchance 
 publicly she'll be ashamed. 
 
 Re-enter Officers, with Isabella; Me Duke, in the 
 Friar's habit, and Provost. 
 
 Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 
 
 Lueio. That's the way ; for women are light at 
 midnight. 
 
 Escal. Come on, mistress: [To Isabella.] here's 
 a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 
 
 Litcio. My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke 
 of; here with the provost. 
 
 Escal. In very good time : — speak not you to 
 him, till we call upon you. 
 
 Lucio. Mum. 
 
 Escal. Come, sir: Did you set these women on 
 to slander lord Angelo? they have confess'd you 
 did. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis false. 
 
 Escal. How ! know you where you are ? 
 
 Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let the 
 devil 
 Be some time honor'd for his burning throne: — 
 Where is the duke ? 'tis he should hear me speak. 
 
 Escai The duke's in us ; and we will hear you 
 speak: 
 Look, you speak justly. 
 
 Duke. Boldly, at least: — But, O, poor souls, 
 Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox 1 ■ 
 Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone ? 
 Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, 
 Thus to retort your manifest appeal, 
 And put your trial in the villain's mouth, 
 Which here you come to accuse. 
 
 Lucio. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of. 
 
 Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd 
 friar! 
 Is't not enough,that thou hast suborn'd these women, 
 To accuse this worthy man ; but in foul mouth, 
 And in the witness of his proper ear, 
 To call him villain ? 
 
 And then to glance from him to the duke himself; 
 To tax him with injustice? — Take him hence; 
 To the rack with him: — We'll touze you joint by 
 
 joint, 
 But we will know this purpose : — What ! unjust] 
 
 Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke 
 Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he 
 Dare rack his own : his subject am I not, 
 Nor here provincial : My business in this state 
 Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
 Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, 
 Till it o'er-run the stew : laws for all faults ; 
 But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes 
 Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
 As much in mock as mark. 
 
 Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to 
 prison. 
 
 Ang. What can you vouch against him, signior 
 Lucio ? 
 Is this the man that you did tell us of? 
 
 Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good- 
 man bald-pate : Do you know me ? 
 
 Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your 
 voice. I met you at the prison in the absence of 
 the duke. 
 
 Lucio. O, did you so? And do you remember 
 what you said of the duke ? 
 
 Duke. Most notedly, sir. 
 
 Lucio Do you so, sir? And was the duke a 
 flesh -monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then re- 
 ported him to be? 
 
 Duke. Ynu must, sir, change persons with me, 
 
 ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke 
 so of him ; and much more, much worse. 
 
 Lucio. thou damnable fellow '. Did not I 
 pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches ? 
 
 Dulce. I protest I love the duke as I love myselC 
 
 Ang. Hark! how the villain would close now, 
 after his treasonable abuses. 
 
 Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked withal:— 
 Away with him to prison. Where is the provost ?— 
 Away with him to prison; lay bolts enough upon 
 him : let him speak no more. Away with those gig- 
 lots 8 too, and with the other confederate companion. 
 [The Pro\ost lays hands on the Duke. 
 
 Duke. Stay, sir ■ stay awhile. 
 
 Ang. What ! resists he ? Help him, Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir;foh, sir: 
 Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be 
 hooded, must you ? Show your knave's visage ! 
 with a pox to you! show your sheep-biting face, 
 and be hang'd an hour! Will't not oft" 1 
 
 [Pulls off the Friar's hood, and 
 discovers the Duke. 
 
 Duke. Thou art the first knave that e'er made a 
 
 duke. 
 
 First, provost, let me bail these gentle three : 
 
 Sneak not away, sir; [To Lucio.] for the friar and 
 
 you 
 Must have a word anon: — Lay hold on him. 
 
 Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 
 
 Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you 
 
 down. [To Escalub. 
 
 We'll borrow place of him: — Sir, by your leave: 
 
 [To Angelo. 
 Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence, 
 That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast, 
 Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 
 And hold no longer out. 
 
 Ang. my dread lord, 
 
 I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
 To think I can be undiscernible, 
 When I perceive your grace, like power divine, 
 Hath look'd upon my passes : 9 Then, good prince, 
 No longer session hold upon my shame, 
 But let my trial be mine own confession; 
 Immediate sentence then, and sequent 1 death, 
 Is all the grace I beg. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Mariana: — 
 
 Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ? 
 
 Ang. I was, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Go, take her hence, and marry her in- 
 stantly. — 
 Do you the office, friar ; which consummate, 
 Return him here again : — Go with him, provost. 
 [Exeunt Angelo, Mariana, Peteh. 
 and Provost. 
 
 Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his dis- 
 honor, 
 Than at the strangeness of it. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Isabel: 
 
 Your friar is now your prince : As I was then 
 Advertising, 3 and holy to your business, 
 Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
 Attorney'd at your service. 
 
 Isab. O give me pardon, 
 
 That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 
 Your unknown sovereignty. 
 
 Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel: 
 
 And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
 Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; 
 And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself, 
 Laboring to save his life ; and would not rather 
 
 « Wantons. 
 « Following. 
 
 Devices. 
 * Attentive. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 107 
 
 Make rash remonstrance c f my hidden power, 
 Than let him be so lost: (), most kind maid, 
 It was the swift celerity of his death, 
 Which I did think with slower foot came on, 
 That brain'd my purpose : But peace be with him ! 
 That life is better life, past fearing death, 
 Than that which lives to fear : make it your comfort, 
 So happy is your brother. 
 
 Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peteh, and Provost. 
 
 Isab. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke, For this new-married man, approaching 
 here, 
 Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd 
 Your well-defended honor, you must pardon 
 For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother, 
 (Being criminal, in double violation 
 Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach, 
 Thereon dependent for your brother's life,) 
 The very mercy of the law cries out 
 Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 
 "An Angelo for Claudio, death for death." 
 Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; 
 Like doth quit like, and " Measure still for Mea- 
 sure !" 
 Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested; 
 Which though thou wouldst deny, denies thee 
 
 vantage : 
 We do condemn thee to the very block 
 Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like 
 
 haste : — 
 Away with him. 
 
 Mart. O my most gracious lord, 
 
 I hope you will not mock me with a husband ! 
 
 Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a 
 husband ; 
 Consenting to the safeguard of your honor, 
 I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, 
 For that he knew you, might reproach your life, 
 And choke your good to come: for his possessions, 
 Although by confiscation they are ours, 
 We do instate and widow you withal, 
 To buy you a better husband. 
 
 Mart. O, my dear lord, 
 
 [ crave no other nor no better man. 
 
 Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. 
 
 Mart. Gentle my liege, — [Kneeling. 
 
 Duke. . You do but lose your labor ; 
 
 Away with him to death. — Now, sir, [To Lucio.] 
 to you. 
 
 Mari. 0, my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take my 
 part ; 
 Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 
 I'll lend you all my life to do you service. 
 
 Duke. Against all sense you do importune her: 
 Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, 
 Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, 
 And take her hence in horror. 
 
 Mari. Isabel, 
 
 Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; 
 Hold up your hands ; say nothing ; I'll speak all. 
 They say, best men are moulded out of faults; 
 And, for the most, become much more the better 
 For being a little bad: so may my husband. 
 O, Isabel ! will you not lend a knee ? 
 
 Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 
 
 Isab. Most bounteous sir, 
 
 [Kneeling. 
 Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, 
 As if my brother liv'd : I partly think, 
 A due Sincerity govern'd his deeds, 
 Till he did look on me ; since it is so, 
 Let him not die : My brother had but justice. 
 
 In that he did the thing for which he died : 
 
 For Angelo, 
 
 His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, 
 
 And must be buried but as an intent 
 
 That perished by the way : thoughts are no subjects; 
 
 Intents but merely thoughts. 
 
 Mari. Merely, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Your suit 's unprofitable; stand up, I 
 say. — 
 I have bethought me of another fault : — 
 Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded 
 At an unusual hour? 
 
 Prov. It was commanded so. 
 
 Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ? 
 
 Prov. No, my good lord ; it was by private mes- 
 sage. 
 
 Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office- 
 Give up your keys. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, noble lord : 
 
 I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; 
 Yet did repent me after more advice : 3 
 For testimony whereof, one in the prison, 
 That should by private order else have died, 
 I have reserv'd alive. 
 
 Duke. What's he? 
 
 Prov. His name is Barnardine 
 
 Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. — 
 Go, fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 
 
 [Exit Provost 
 
 Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
 As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd, 
 Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, 
 And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 
 
 Ang. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure : 
 And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart, 
 That I crave death more willingly than mercy ; 
 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. 
 
 Re-enter Provost, Barnardine, Claudio, ana 
 
 J'JLIET. 
 
 Duke. Which is that Barnardine? 
 
 Prov. This, my lord. 
 
 Duke. There was a friar told me of this man. 
 Sirrah, thou art said to have a ■stubborn soul, 
 That apprehends no further than this world, 
 And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd; 
 But, for those earthly faults I quit them all ; 
 And pray thee, take this mercy to provide 
 For better times to come : — Friar, advise him ; 
 I leave him to your hand. — What muffled fellow's 
 that? 
 
 Prov. This is another prisoner, that I sav'd, 
 That should have died when Claudio lost his head , 
 As like almost to Claudio as himself. 
 
 [Unmuffles Claudio. 
 
 Duke. If he be like your brother, [To Isabella.] 
 for his sake 
 Is he pardon'd ; and for your lovely sake, 
 Give me your hand, and say you will be mine, 
 He is my brother too : But fitter time for that 
 By this lord Angelo perceives he's safe ; 
 Methinks I see a quick'ning in his eye: 
 Well, Angelo, your evil quits 4 you well : 
 Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth 
 
 yours. — 
 I find an apt remission in myself: 
 And yet here's one in place I cannot paidon : 
 You, sirrah, [To Lucio.] that knew me for a fool, 
 
 a coward, 
 One all of luxury, an ass, a madman: 
 Wherein have I so deserved of you, 
 That you extol mc thus ? 
 
 3 Consideration. * Requite* 
 
MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according 
 to tne trick : * If you will hang- me for it, you may, 
 but I had rather it would please you, I might be 
 whipp'd. 
 
 Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. — 
 Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ; 
 If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, 
 (As I have heard him swear himself, there's one 
 Whom he begot with child,) let her appear, 
 And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd, 
 Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. 
 
 Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not marry me 
 to a whore. Your highness said even now, 1 made 
 you a duke ; good my lord, do not recompense 
 me. in making me a cuckold. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honor, thou shalt marry her. 
 Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal 
 Remit thy other forfeits: — Take him to prison: 
 AnJ sei' our pleasure herein executed. 
 5 Thoughtless practice. 
 
 Lurio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing 
 to death, whipping, and hanging. 
 
 Duke. Sland'ring a prince deserves it. — 
 She, Claudia, that you wrong'd look you restore. 
 Joy to you, Mariana! — love her, Angelo; 
 I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. — 
 Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much good- 
 ness : 
 There's more behind, that is more gratulate. 
 Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy; 
 We shall employ thee in a worthier place : — 
 Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
 The head ofRagozine for Claudio's; 
 The offence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel, 
 I have a motion much imports your good; 
 Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, 
 What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine ; 
 So bring us to our palace; where we'll show 
 What's yet behind, that's meet you all should 
 know. [Exeunt 
 
 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon. 
 Don John, his Bastard Brother. 
 Claud 10, a young Lord of Florence, Favorite 
 
 to Don Pedro. 
 Benedick, a young Lord of Padua, Favorite 
 
 likewise of Don Pedro. 
 Leonato, Governor of Messina. 
 Antonio, his Brother. 
 Balthazar, Servant to Don Pedro. 
 
 Borj 
 
 CoNRADE 
 
 ' > Followers of Don John. 
 ade. \ J 
 
 > two foolish officers. 
 
 Dogberry, 
 
 Verges, 
 A Sexton.. 
 A Friar. 
 A Boy. 
 
 Hero, Daughter to Leonato. 
 Beatrice, Niece to Leonato. 
 Margaret, 
 
 > Gentlewomen attending on Hero 
 Ursula, ) ° 
 
 Messengers, Watch, and Attendants. 
 SCENE, Messina. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, a?id others, 
 with a Messenger. 
 
 Leonato. I learn in this letter, that don Pedro of 
 Arragon comes this night to Messina. 
 
 Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not three 
 leagues off, when I left him. 
 
 Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in 
 this action 7 
 
 Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 
 
 Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever 
 brings home full numbers. I find here that don 
 Pedro hath bestowed much honor on a young 
 Florentine, called Claudio. 
 
 Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally 
 remembered by don Pedro : He hath borne him- 
 self beyond the promise of his age; doing, in the 
 figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, 
 better bettered expectation, than you must expect of 
 me to tell you how. 
 
 Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be 
 very much glad of it. 
 
 Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and 
 there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that 
 joy could not show itself modest enough, without 
 a badge of bitterness. 
 
 Leon. Did he break out into tears 7 
 
 Mess. In great measure. 1 
 
 Leon. A kind overflow of kindness: There are 
 no faces truer than those that are so washed. How 
 much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at 
 weeping ! 
 
 Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned 
 from the wars, or no 7 
 
 Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there 
 was none such in the army of any sort. 
 
 Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece 1 
 
 £109] 
 
 » Abundance. 
 
 Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of 
 Padua. 
 
 Mess. O, he is returned ; and as pleasant as ever 
 he was. 
 
 Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and 
 challenged Cupid at the flight: and my uncle's fool, 
 reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and 
 challenged him at the bird-bolt. — I pray you, how 
 many hath he killed and eaten in these wars 7 But 
 how many hath he killed 7 for, indeed, I promised 
 to eat all of his killing. 
 
 Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too 
 much ; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not. 
 
 Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these 
 wars. 
 
 Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp 
 to eat it: he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath 
 an excellent stomach. 
 
 Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 
 
 Beat. And a good soldier to a lady: — But what 
 is he to a lord 7 
 
 Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed 
 with all honorable virtues. 
 
 Beat . It is so, indeed ; he is no less than a stuffed 
 man : a but for the stuffing, — Well, we are all mor- 
 tal. 
 
 Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : there 
 is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick 
 and her : they never meet, but there is a skirmish 
 of wit between them. 
 
 Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last 
 conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and 
 now is the whole man governed with one: so that 
 if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him 
 bear it for a difference between himself and his 
 horse : for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to 
 be known a reasonable creature. — Who is his coir 
 panion now 7 He hath every month anew swo r a 
 brother. 
 
 • A cuckold 
 
 ,v swo r a 
 
 1 
 
110 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act 1. Scenf 1. 
 
 Mess. Is it possible 1 
 
 Beat. V«ry easily possible : he wears his faith 
 but as t>p /ashion of his hat, it ever changes with 
 the ney' >lock. 
 
 Mess L see, lady me gentleman is not in your 
 books 
 
 Bf ,t. No: an he were, I would burn my study. 
 But I pray you, who is his companion? Is there no 
 young squarer* now, that will make a voyage with 
 him to the devil] 
 
 Mess. He is most in the company of the right 
 noble Claudio. 
 
 Beat. O lora! he will hang upon him like a 
 disease : he is> sooner caught than the pestilence, 
 and the takei runs presently mad. God help the 
 noble Claudio! if he have caught the Benedick, it 
 will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. 
 
 Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 
 
 Beat. Do, good friend. 
 
 Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 
 
 Beat. No, not till a hot January. 
 
 Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro attended by Balthazar and 
 others, Don Johit, Claudio, and Benedick. 
 
 D. Petlro. Good signior Leonato, you are come 
 to meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to 
 avoid cost, and you encounter it. 
 
 Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the 
 likenejs of your grace: for trouble being gone, 
 comfort should remain : but, when you depart from 
 me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. 
 
 D Pedro. You embrace your charge too wil- 
 lingly. — I think, this is your daughter. 
 
 Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 
 
 Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her ! 
 
 Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you 
 a child. 
 
 D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may 
 guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly, 
 the lady fathers herself: Be happy, lady! for you 
 are like an honorable father. 
 
 Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would 
 not have his head on her shoulders, for all Messi- 
 na, as like him as she is. 
 
 Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, 
 signior Benedick; no body marks you. 
 
 Bene. What my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet 
 living ] 
 
 Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while 
 she hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Bene- 
 dick] Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if 
 you come in her presence. 
 
 Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat: — But it is 
 certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : 
 and I would I could find in my heart that I had not 
 a hard heart ; for, truly, I love none. 
 
 Beat. A dear happiness to women ; they would 
 else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. 
 I thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your 
 humor for that ; I had rather hear my dog bark at a 
 crow, than a man swear he loves me. 
 
 Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind ! 
 so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a predes- 
 tinate scratched face. 
 
 Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 
 'twere such a face as yours were. 
 
 Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 
 Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast 
 of yours 
 
 Bene. I would my horse had the speed of your 
 
 » Quarrelsome fellow. 
 
 tongue; and so good a continuer: But keep youi 
 way o' God's name ; I have done. 
 
 Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; 1 
 know you of old. 
 
 D. Pedro. This is the sum of all: Don John, 
 signior Claudio, and signior Benedick, — my dear 
 friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell hiir., 
 we shall stay here at the least a month ; and he 
 heartily prays, some occasion may detain us longer: 
 I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his 
 heart. 
 
 Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be 
 forsworn: — Let me bid you welcome, my lord: 
 being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe 
 you all duty. 
 
 D. John. I thank you: I am not of many words, 
 but I thank you. 
 
 Leon. Please it your grace lead on] 
 D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go to- 
 gether. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio. 
 Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter 
 of signior Leonato] 
 
 Bene. I noted her not ; but I looked on her. 
 Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ] 
 Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man 
 should do, for my simple true judgment; or would 
 you have me speak after my custom, as being a 
 professed tyrant to their sex ] 
 
 Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. 
 Bene. Why, i'faith, methinks she is too low for 
 a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too 
 little for a great praise : only this commendation I 
 can afford her; that were she other than she is, 
 she were unhandsome ; and being no other but as 
 she is, I do not like her. 
 
 Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport; I pray 
 thee, tell me truly how thou likest her. 
 
 Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire 
 after her ] 
 
 Claud. Can the world buy such a Jewell 
 Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak 
 you this with a sad brow ] or do you play the flout- 
 ing Jack; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, 
 and Vulcan a rare carpenter] Come, in what key 
 shall a man take you, to go in the song] 
 
 Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady thai 
 ever I look'd on. 
 
 Bene. I can see yet without spectacles, and I see 
 no such matter: there's her cousin, an she were 
 not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in 
 beauty, as the first of May doth the last of Decem- 
 ber. But I hope you have no intent to turn hus- 
 band ; have you 1 
 
 Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though 1 
 had sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 
 Bene. Is it come to this, i'faith ] Hath not the 
 world one man, but he will wear his cap with sus- 
 picion! Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score 
 again! Go to, i'faith; an thou wilt needs thrust 
 thy neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh 
 away Sundays. Look, don Pedro is returned to 
 seek you. 
 
 Re-enter Don Pedro. 
 
 D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that 
 you followed not to Leonato's 1 
 
 Bene. I would your grace would constrain ina 
 to tell. 
 
 D. Pedro. I charge thee, on thy allegiance. 
 
 Bene. You hear, count Claudio : I can be secret 
 as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but on 
 my allegiance, — mark \ou this, on my allegiance: 
 — He is in love. With who]— now '!.;<: ^s yout 
 
ScENt- I* 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 lif 
 
 grace'? par*. -Mark, how short his answer is: — 
 With Hero, Leonato's short daughter. 
 
 Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 
 
 Bene. Like the old tale, ray lord : it is not so, 
 nor 'twas not so ; but, indeed, God forbid it should 
 be so. 
 
 Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God 
 forbid it should be otherwise. 
 
 D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady 
 's very well worthy. 
 
 Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought. 
 
 Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 
 
 Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my 
 lord, I spoke mine. 
 
 Claud. That I love her, I feel. 
 
 D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know. 
 
 Bene. That I neither feel how she should be 
 loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the 
 opinion that fire cannot melt out of me; I will die 
 in it at the stake. 
 
 D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic 
 in the despite of beauty. 
 
 Claud. And never could maintain his part, but 
 in the force of his will. 
 
 Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; 
 that she brought me up, I likewise give her most 
 humble thanks : but that I will have a recheat 4 
 winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an 
 invisible baldric, all women shall pardon me. Be- 
 cause I will not do them the wrong to mistrust 
 any, I will do myself the right to trust none ; and 
 the fine is, (for the which I may go the finer,) I 
 will live a bachelor. 
 
 D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale 
 with love. 
 
 Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, 
 my lord ! not with love : prove, that ever I lose more 
 blood with love, than I will get again with drink- 
 ing, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen 
 and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house, for 
 the sign of blind Cupid. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this 
 faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 
 
 Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, 
 and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be 
 clapped on the shoulder, and called Adam. 5 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try : 
 In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke. 
 
 Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sen- 
 sible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and 
 set them in my forehead: and let me be vilely paint- 
 ed ; and in such great letters as they write, Here is 
 good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign, 
 — Here you may see Benedick, the married man. 
 
 Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst 
 be horn-mad. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
 quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. 
 
 Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the 
 hours. In the meantime, good signior Benedick, 
 repair to Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tell 
 him, I will not fail him at supper ; for, indeed, he 
 hath made great preparation. 
 
 Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for 
 such an embassage ; and so I commit you — 
 
 Claud. To the tuition of God : From my house, 
 (if I had it,)— 
 
 D. Pedro. The sixth of July: Your loving friend, 
 Benedick. 
 
 4 The tune sounded to call off the dogs. 
 » The name of a famous archer. 
 
 Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not: The body of 
 your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, 
 and the guards are but slightly basted on neither ; 
 ere you flout old ends any further, examine your 
 conscience; and so I leave you. [Exit Benedick. 
 
 Claud. My liege, your highness now may da 
 me good. 
 
 D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach ; teach it 
 but how, 
 And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
 Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 
 
 Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ! 
 
 D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir-. 
 Dost thou affect her, Claudio ! 
 
 Claud. O my lord, 
 
 When you went onward on this ended action, 
 I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 
 That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
 Than to drive liking to the name of love : 
 But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts 
 Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
 Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
 All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
 Saying, I lik'd her eic I went to wars. 
 
 D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently, 
 And tire the hearer with a book of words : 
 If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it; 
 And I will break with her, and with her father, 
 And thou shalt have her: Was't not to this end 
 That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ! 
 
 Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, 
 That know love's grief by his complexion ! 
 But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
 I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 
 
 D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader 
 than the flood ? 
 The fairest grant is the necessity : 
 Look, what will serve, is fit: 'tis once, 5 thou lov'st; 
 And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
 I know, we shall have revelling to-night ; 
 I will assume thy part in some disguise, 
 And tell fair Hero I am Claudio; 
 And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart, 
 And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
 And strong encounter of my amorous tale : 
 Then, after, to her father will I break; 
 And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine : 
 In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Leonato and Antonio. 
 
 Leon. How now, brother! Where is my cousin, 
 your son 1 ? Hath he provided this music ! 
 
 Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, 
 I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamed 
 not of. 
 
 Leon. Are they good ! 
 
 Ant. As the event stamps them ; but they have 
 a good cover, they show well outward. The prince 
 and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached' 
 alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by 
 a man of mine : The prince discovered to Claudio, 
 that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant 
 to acknowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if he 
 found her accordant, he meant to take the present 
 time by the top, and instantly break with you of it. 
 
 Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this! 
 
 Ant. A good sharp fellow : I will send for him. 
 and question him yourself. 
 
 Leon. No "o; we will hold it as a dream, till it 
 appear itself: — uut I will acquaint my daughter 
 withal, that she may be the better prepared for av 
 6 Once for all. ' Thickly-interwoveE- 
 
answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and 
 tell her of it. [Several persons cross the stage.] 
 Cousins, you know what you have to do. — O, I 
 cry you mercy, friend ; you go with me, and I will 
 use your skill : — Good cousins, have a care this 
 busy time. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Don John and Conraiie. 
 
 Con. What the goujere, 8 my lord ! why are you 
 thus out of measure sad 1 
 
 D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that 
 breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. 
 
 Con You should hear reason. 
 
 D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing 
 bringeth it] 
 
 Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient suf- 
 ferance. 
 
 D. John. I wonder that thou being (as thou 
 say'st thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to 
 apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. 
 I cannot hide what I am : I must be sad when I 
 have cause, and smile at no man's jests ; eat when I 
 have stomach, and wait for no man's leisure ; sleep 
 when I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business : 
 laugh when I am merry, and claw 9 no man in his 
 humor. 
 
 Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show 
 of this, till you may do it without controlment. You 
 have of late stood out against your brother, and he 
 hath ta'en you newly into his grace ; where it is 
 impossible you should take true root, but by the fair 
 weather that you make yourself: it is needful that 
 j ou frame the season for your own harvest. 
 
 D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge, 
 than a rose in his grace ; and it better fits my blood 
 to be disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage to 
 rob love from any : in this, though I cannot be said 
 to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied 
 that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with 
 a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog ; therefore I 
 
 have decreed not to sing in my cage : If I had mj 
 mouth, I would bite; if I had my liberty, I would 
 do my liking ; in the mean time, let me be that I 
 am, and seek not to alter me. 
 
 Con. Can you make no use of your discontent' 1 
 D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only 
 Who comes here ? What news, Borachio ] 
 
 Enter Borachio. 
 
 Bora. I came yonder from a great supper; the 
 prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo- 
 nato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intend- 
 ed marriage. 
 
 D.John. Will it serve for any model to build 
 mischief on] What is he for a fool, that betroths 
 himself to unquietness ] 
 
 Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 
 
 D. John. Who ] the most exquisite Claudio ] 
 
 Bora. Even he. 
 
 D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and who T 
 which way looks he ] 
 
 Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of 
 Leonato. 
 
 D. John. A very forward March-chick! How 
 came you to this ] 
 
 Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was 
 smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and 
 Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference: I whipt 
 me behind the arras ; and there heard it agreed upon, 
 that the prince should woo Hero for himself, and 
 having obtained her, give her to count Claudio. 
 
 D. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this may 
 prove food to my displeasure ; that young start-up 
 hath all the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross 
 him any w r ay, I bless myself every way : You are 
 both sure, and will assist me ] 
 
 Con. To the death, my lord. 
 
 D. John. Let us to the great supper; their cheer 
 is the greater, that I am subdued : 'Would the cook 
 were of my mind ! — Shall we go prove what's to bo 
 done] 
 
 Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Hall in Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and 
 others. 
 
 Leon. Was not count John here at supper] 
 
 Ant. I saw him not. 
 
 Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never 
 ran see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. 
 
 Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 
 
 Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made 
 just in the mid-way between him and Benedick: 
 the one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and 
 the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore 
 attling. 
 
 Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in 
 count John's mouth, and half count John's melan- 
 choly in signior Benedick's face, — 
 
 Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, 
 \nd money enough in his purse, such a man would 
 win any woman in the world, — if he could get her 
 good will. 
 
 Lion. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get 
 thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 
 
 Ant. In faith, she is loo curst. 
 
 The Teneral disease. » Flatter. 
 
 Beat. Too curst is more than curst: I shall les- 
 sen God's sending that way ; for it is said, God 
 sends a curst cow short horns,- but to a cow too 
 curst he sends none. 
 
 Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you 
 no horns. 
 
 Beat. Just, if he send me no husband ; for the 
 which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every 
 morning and evening; Lord! I could not endure 
 a husband with a beard on his face ; I had rather 
 lie in the woollen. 
 
 Leon. You may light upon a husband that hath 
 no beard. 
 
 Beat. What should I do with him ] dress him 
 in my apparel, and make him my waiting gentle- 
 woman ] He that hath a beard, is more than a 
 youth; and he that hath no beard, is less than a 
 man : and he that is more than a youth is not for 
 me; and he that is less than a man, I am not for 
 him. Therefore, I will even take sixpence in earn- 
 est of the bear-herd, and lead his apes into hell. 
 
 Leon. Well then, go you into hell ] 
 
 Beat. No; but to the gate; and there will the 
 devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on 
 his head, and say, Get you to heaven- Beatrice, get 
 
Scene 1 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 113 
 
 you w heaven,- here's no place for you maids: so 
 delhcr I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for 
 thfc heavens ; he shows me where the bachelors sit, 
 and there live we as merry as the day is long. 
 
 Ant. Well, niece, [To Hero.] I trust you will 
 be ruled by your father. 
 
 Beat. Yes, it is my cousin's duty to make courtesy, 
 and say, Father, as it please you: — but yet for all 
 that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else 
 make another courtesy, and say, Father, as it please 
 me. 
 
 Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day 
 fitted with a husband. 
 
 Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal 
 than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be 
 overrhaster'd with a piece of valiant dust"! to make 
 an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl! 
 No, uncle, FI1 none : Adam's sons are my brethren ; 
 and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 
 
 Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if 
 the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know 
 your answer. 
 
 Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if 
 you be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be 
 too important 1 tell him, there is measure in every 
 thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me, 
 Hero ; Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a 
 Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first 
 suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as 
 fantastical ; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a 
 measure full of state and ancientry; and then 
 comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into 
 the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into 
 his grave. 
 
 Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 
 
 Beat. I have a good eye, uncle; I can see a 
 church by day-light. 
 
 Leon. The revellers are entering ; brother, make 
 good room. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Bal- 
 thazar, Don John, Borachio, Margaret, 
 Ursula, and others, masked. 
 
 D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your 
 friend ? 
 
 Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and 
 say nothing, I am yours for the walk: and, espe- 
 cially, when I walk away. 
 
 D. Pedro. With me in your company ? 
 
 Hero. I may say so when I please. 
 
 D. Pedro. And when please you to say so ? 
 
 Hero. When I like your favor; for God defend, 
 the lute should be like the case ! 
 
 D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within 
 the house is Jove. 
 
 Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd. 
 
 D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. 
 
 [Takes her aside. 
 
 Bene. Well, I would you did like me. 
 
 Marg. So would not I, for your own sake ; for 
 I have many ill qualities. 
 
 Bene. Which is one! 
 
 Marg. I say my prayers aloud. 
 
 Bene. I love you the better; the hearers may 
 cry Amen. 
 
 Marg. God match me with a good dancer ! 
 
 Balfh. Amen. 
 
 Marg. And God keep him out of my sight, when 
 tile dance is done ! — Answer, clerk. 
 
 Balth. No more words ; the clerk is answered. 
 
 Urs. I knotv you well enough; you are signior 
 Antonio. 
 
 1 Importunate 
 
 Ant. At a word, I am not. 
 
 Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 
 
 Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 
 
 Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless 
 you were the very man : Here's his dry hand up and 
 down ; you are he, you arc he. 
 
 Ant. At a word, I am not. 
 
 Urs. Come, come ; do you think I do not know 
 you by y mr excellent wit I Can virtue hide itself? 
 Go to, mum, you are he: graces will appear, and 
 there's an end. 
 
 Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so'-' 
 
 Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 
 
 Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are • 
 
 Bene. Not now. 
 
 Beat. That I was disdainful, — and that I had mj 
 good wit out of the Hundred Merry Tales,- — Well, 
 this was signior Benedick that said so. 
 
 Bene. What's he ? 
 
 Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough. 
 
 Bene. Not I, believe me. 
 
 Beat. Did he never make you laugh? 
 
 Bene. I pray you, what is he ? 
 
 Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull 
 fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders : 
 none but libertines delight in him ; and the com- 
 mendation is not in his wit, but in his villany ; for 
 he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and then 
 they laugh at him, and beat him : I am sure, he is 
 in the fleet; I would he had boarded 2 me. 
 
 Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him 
 what you say. 
 
 Beat. Do, do ; he'll but break a comparison or 
 two on me; which, peradventure, not marked, or 
 not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; and 
 then there's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool will 
 eat no supper that night. [Music within.] We 
 must follow the leaders. 
 
 Bene. In every good thing. 
 
 Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave 
 them at the next turning. 
 
 [Dance. Then exeunt all but Don John, 
 Borachio, and Claudio. 
 
 D.John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and 
 hath withdrawn her father to break with him about 
 it : The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains. 
 
 Bora. And that is Claudio ; I know him by his 
 bearing.' 
 
 D. John. Are not you signior Benedick? 
 
 Claud. You know me well ; I am he. 
 
 D. John. Signior, you are very near my brother 
 in his love; he is enamored on Hero; I pray you, 
 dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth • 
 you may do the part of an honest man in it. 
 
 Claud. How know you he loves her? 
 
 D. John. I heard him swear his affection. 
 
 Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry 
 her to night. 
 
 D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. 
 
 [Exeunt Don John and Borachio 
 
 Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, 
 But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio, — 
 'Tis certain so; — the prince woos for himself. 
 Friendship is constant in all other things, 
 Save in the office and affairs of love : 
 Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues, 
 Let every eye negotiate for itself, 
 And trust no agent: for beauty is a witch. 
 Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. 4 
 This is an accident of hourly proof, 
 Which I mistrusted not : Farewell therefore, Hero 
 
 * Accosted. ' Carriage, demeanor. ' Pmhob, 
 
Re-enter Benedick. 
 
 Bene. Count Claudio? 
 
 Claud. Yea, the same. 
 
 Bene. Come, will you go with me? 
 
 Claud. Whither? 
 
 Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
 ousiness, count. What fashion will you wear the 
 garland of? About your neck, like a usurer's 
 chain ? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf? 
 You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got 
 your Hero. 
 
 Claud. I wish him joy of her. 
 
 Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover ; 
 so they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince 
 would have served you thus. 
 
 Claud. I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Bene. Ho! now you strike like the blind man; 
 twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat 
 the post. 
 
 Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep 
 
 into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should 
 
 know me, and not know me ! The prince's fool ! — 
 Ha, it may be, I go under that title, because I am 
 merry.— Yea; but so; I am apt to do myself wrong: 
 I am not so reputed : it is the base, the bitter dis- 
 position of Beatrice, that puts the world into her 
 person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be re- 
 venged as I may. 
 
 Re-enter Don Pedro. 
 D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count ? Did 
 you see him ? 
 
 Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the part of 
 lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a 
 lodge in a warren; I told him, and, I think, I told 
 him true, that your grace had got the good will of 
 this young lady ; and I offered him my company to 
 a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, as 
 being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being 
 worthy to be whipped. 
 
 D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault? 
 Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy ; 
 who, being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest, 
 shows it his companion, and he steals it. 
 
 D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgres- 
 sion ? The transgression is in the stealer. 
 
 Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had been 
 made, and the garland too ; for the garland he might 
 have worn himself; and the rod he might have be- 
 stowed on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n his 
 bird's nest. 
 
 D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and re- 
 store them to the owner. 
 
 Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by 
 my faith, you say honestly. 
 
 D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to 
 you ; the gentleman that danced with her, told her, 
 she is much wronged by you. 
 
 Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a 
 block ; an oak, with but one green leaf on it, would 
 have answered her; my very visor began to assume 
 life, and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I 
 had been myself, that I was the prince's jester ; that 
 I was duller than a great thaw ; huddling jest upon 
 jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, 
 that I stood like a l.ian at a mark, with a whole 
 army shooting at me : She speaks poniards, and 
 every word stabs : if her breath were as terrible as 
 her terminations, there were no living near her, 
 *he would infect to the north star. I would not 
 marry her, though she were endowed with all that 
 Adam had left him before he transgressed: she 
 
 would have made Hercules have turned spit; yea, 
 and have cleft his club to make the fire too. — 
 Come, talk not of her : you shall find her the infer- 
 nal Ate' in good apparel. I would to God, some 
 scholar would conjure her; for certainly, while she 
 is here, a man may live as quiet in hell, as in a 
 sanctuary ; and people sin upon purpose, because 
 they would go thither ; so, indeed, all disquiet, hor 
 ror, and perturbation follow her. 
 
 Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leojtato. and 
 Hero. 
 
 D. Pedro Look, here she comes. 
 Bene. Will your grace command me any service 
 to the world's end ? I will go on the slightest errand 
 now to the Antipoaes, that you can devise to send 
 me on : I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the 
 farthest inch of Asia : bring you the length of Prester 
 John's foot; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's 
 beard ; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather 
 than hold three words' conference with this harpy : 
 You have no employment for me ? 
 
 D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. 
 
 Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not ; I 
 
 cannot endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, lady, come; you have lost the 
 
 heart of signior Benedick. 
 
 Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lei t it me a while ; 
 and I gave him use 6 for it, a double heart for hia 
 single one : marry, once before, he won it of me 
 with false dice, therefore your grace may well say 
 I have lost it. 
 
 D. Pedro. You have put him down, lady, you 
 have put him down. 
 
 Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, 
 
 lest I should prove the mother of fools. I have 
 
 brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, how now, count, wherefore are 
 
 you sad? 
 
 Claud. Not sad, my lord. 
 D.Pedro. How then? Sick? 
 Claud. Neither, my lord. 
 Becd. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
 merry, nor well : but civil, count ; civil as an orange 
 and something of that jealous complexion. 
 
 D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be 
 true; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit 
 is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, 
 and fair Hero is won ; I have broke with her father, 
 and his good will obtained : name the day of mar- 
 riage, and God give thee joy ! 
 
 Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with 
 her my fortunes: his grace hath made the match, 
 and all grace say Amen to it! 
 
 Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 1 
 Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I 
 were but little happy, if I could say how much. — 
 Lady, as you are mine, I am yours ; I give away 
 myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. 
 
 Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his 
 mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak, neither. 
 D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. 
 Beat. Yea, my lord ; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps 
 on the windy side of care : — My cousin tell.s him 
 in his ear, that he is in her heart. 
 Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 
 Beat. Good lord, for alliance ! — Thus goes cveiy 
 one to the world but I, and I am sun-burned , I 
 may sit in a corner and cry heigh ho ! for a hu> 
 band. 
 
 D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 
 
 » The Goddess of Discord. • Interest. 
 
 ' Turn : a phrase among the r lajers. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 115 
 
 Beat. I would rather have one of your father's 
 getting : Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you 7 
 Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could 
 come by them. 
 
 D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady 7 
 Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another 
 for working days ; your grace is too costly to wear 
 every day : — But, I beseech your grace, pardon me : 
 I was born to speak all mirth and no matter. 
 
 D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to 
 be merry best becomes you; for out of question, 
 you were born in a merry hour. 
 
 Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cried; but 
 then there was a star danced, and under that was I 
 born. — Cousins, God give you joy ! 
 
 Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 
 you of] 
 
 Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's 
 pardon. [Exit Beatrice. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. 
 Leon. There's little of the melancholy element 
 in her, my lord: she is never sad, but when she 
 sleeps: and not ever sad then; for I have heard 
 my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of un- 
 happincss, and waked herself with laughing. 
 
 D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of s> 
 husband. 
 
 Leon. 0, by no means ; she mocks all her wooers 
 out of suit. 
 
 D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Bene- 
 dick. 
 
 Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a week 
 married, they would talk themselves mad. 
 
 D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go 
 to church] 
 
 Claud. To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on 
 crutches, till love have all his rites. 
 
 Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is 
 hence a just seven-night ; and a time too brief too, 
 to have all things answer my mind. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long 
 a breathing; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time 
 shall not go dully by us ; I will, in the interim, 
 undertake one of Hercules' labors; which is, to 
 bring signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into 
 a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I 
 would fain have it a match; and I doubt not but 
 to fashion it, if you three will but minister such 
 assistance as [ shall give you direction. 
 
 Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me 
 ten nights' watchings. 
 Claud. And I, my lord. 
 D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero 7 
 Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to 
 help m/ cousin to a good husband. 
 
 D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest 
 husband that I know : thus far can I praise him ; 
 he is of a noble strain, 8 of approved valor, and con- 
 firmed honesty. I will teach you how to humor 
 vour cousin, that she shall fall in love with Bene- 
 dick: — and I, with your two helps, will so practise 
 on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and 
 his queasy' stomach, he shall fall in love with Bea- 
 trice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an 
 archer ; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only 
 love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my 
 drift. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in Lconato's House. 
 Enter Don John and Bojiachio. 
 D. John. It is so ; the count Claudio shall marry 
 he daughter of Leonato. 
 
 Linungc. 
 
 » Fastidious. 
 
 Bora. Yea, my lord ; but I can cross it. 
 
 D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment 
 will be medicinable to me: I am sick in displeasure 
 to him ; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, 
 ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross 
 this marriage 7 
 
 Bora. Not honestly, my lord; but so covertly, 
 that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 
 
 D. John. Show me briefly how. 
 
 Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, 
 how much I am in the favor of Margaret, the wait- 
 ing-gentlewoman to Hero. 
 
 D. John. I remember. 
 
 Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the 
 night, appoint her to look out at her lady's cham- 
 ber-window. 
 
 D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of 
 this marriage] 
 
 Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. 
 Go you to the prince your brother; spare not to tell 
 him, that he hath wronged his honor in marrying 
 the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you 
 mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a 
 one as Hero. 
 
 D. John. What proof shall I make of that ] 
 
 Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex 
 Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : Look 
 you for any other issue 7 
 
 D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavor 
 any thing. 
 
 Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw dor? 
 Pedro and the count Claudio alone: tell them, thai 
 you know that Hero loves me; intend 1 a kind of 
 zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as — in love 
 of your brother's honor, who hath made this match ; 
 and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be 
 cozened with the semblance of a maid, — that you 
 have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe 
 this without trial : offer them instances ; which shall 
 bear no less likelihood, than to see me at her cham- 
 ber-window ; hear me call Margaret, Hero ; hear 
 Margaret term me Borachio ; and bring them to 
 see this, the very night before the intended wed- 
 ding : for, in the mean time, I will so fashion the 
 matter, that Hero shall be absent; and there shall 
 appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that 
 jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the pre- 
 paration overthrown. 
 
 D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 
 I will put it in practice : Be cunning in the work- 
 ing this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 
 
 Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and 
 my cunning shall not shame me. 
 
 D. John. I will presently go learn their day ot 
 marriage. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Leonato's Garden. 
 Enter Bexedick and a Boy. 
 
 Bene. Boy, — 
 
 Boy. Signior. 
 
 Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book ; bring 
 it hither to me in the orchard. 
 
 Boy. I am here already, sir. 
 
 Bene. I know that; — but I would have thee 
 hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] — I do much 
 wonder, that one man, seeing how much another 
 man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors to 
 love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow 
 follies in others, become the argument of his own 
 scorn by falling in love: And such a man is Clau- 
 dio. I have known, when there was no music witL 
 him but the drum and fife ; and now had he rathe* 
 Preteno. 
 
116 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act I! 
 
 ftcar the tabor and the pipe : I have known, when 
 he would have walked ten mile afoot, to see a good 
 armor ; and now will he lie ten nights awake carv- 
 ing the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont 
 to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an honest 
 man, and a soldier ; and now is he turn'd orthogra- 
 pher; his words are a very fantastical banquet, 
 just so many strange dishes. May I be so con- 
 verted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ; 
 I think not: I will not be sworn, but love may 
 transform me to an oyster ; but I'll take my csth 
 on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall 
 never make me such a fool. One woman is fair ; 
 yet I am well : another is wise ; yet I am well : 
 another virtuous; yet I am well: but till all graces 
 be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my 
 grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or 
 I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her ; fair, 
 or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near; 
 noble, or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an 
 excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what 
 color it please God. Ha ! the prince and monsieur 
 Love ! I will hide me in the arbor. [ Withdraws. 
 Enter Don Pedro, Leonato. and Claudio. 
 D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? 
 Claud. Yea, my good lord:— How still the 
 evening is, 
 As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! 
 D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath hid 
 
 himself] 
 Claud. 0,very well, my lord: the music ended, 
 We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth. 
 Enter Balthazar with music. 
 D. Pedro. Come Balthazar, we'll hear that song 
 
 again. 
 Balth. good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
 To slander music any more than once. 
 
 D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, 
 To put a strange face on his own perfection : 
 I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 
 
 Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing: 
 Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
 To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he woos ; 
 Yet will he swear, he loves. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 
 
 Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
 Do it in notes. 
 
 Balth. Note this before my notes, 
 
 There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting. 
 D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he 
 speaks ; 
 Note, notes, forsooth, and noting ! [Music. 
 
 Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravish'd ! 
 — Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale 
 souls out of men's bodies ? — Well, a horn for my 
 money, when all's done. 
 
 Balthazar sings. 
 I. 
 Ualth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, 
 Men were deceivers ever,- 
 One foot in sea, and one on shore,- 
 To one thing constant never: 
 Then sigh not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny: 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into, Hey nanny, nonny. 
 II. 
 Sing no more ditties, sing no md* 
 Of dumps Su dull ana heavy; 
 » More. 
 
 The fraud of men was ever s" 
 Since summer first was leavy. 
 Then sigh not so, <$•<% 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 
 Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 
 D. Pedro. Ha ? no ; no, faith ; thou singest weC 
 enough for a shift. 
 
 Bene. [Aside. - ] An he had been a dog, that 
 should have howled thus, they would have hanged 
 him ; and, I pray God, his bad voice bode no mis- 
 chief! I had as lief have heard the night-raven, come 
 what plogue could have come after it. 
 
 D. Pcd;o. Yea, marry; [2b Clavdio.] — Dosi 
 thou hear, Balthazar ? I pray thee get us some ex- 
 cellent music ; for to-morrow night we would have 
 it at the lady Hero's chamber-window. 
 Balth. The best I can, my lord. 
 D.Pedro. Do so: farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar 
 and music] Come hither, Leonato: What was it 
 you told me of to-day i that your niece Beatrice 
 was in love with signior Benedick ? 
 
 Claud. 0, ay; — Stalk on. stalk on; the fowl 
 sits. [Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that 
 lady would have loved any man. 
 
 Leon. No, nor I neither; but most wonderful, 
 that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom 
 she hath in all outward behaviors seemed ever to 
 abhor. 
 
 Bene. Is't possible! Sits the wind in that corner? 
 
 [Aside. 
 Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what 
 to think of it; but that she loves him with an en- 
 raged affection, — it is past the infinite of thought. 
 D Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 
 Claud, 'Faith, like enough. 
 Leon. God! counterfeit! There never was 
 counterfeit of passion came so near the life of pas- 
 sion, as she discovers it. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows 
 she? 
 
 Claud, Bait the hook well ; this fish will bite. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you — 
 You heard my daughter tell you how. 
 Claud. She did, indeed. 
 
 D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze 
 me : I would have thought her spirit had been in- 
 vincible against all assaults of affection. 
 
 Leon, I would have sworn it had, my lord; es- 
 pecially against Benedick. 
 
 Bene. [Aside.] I should think this a gull, bu 
 that the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery 
 cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence. 
 
 Claud. He hath ta'en the infection; hold it up. 
 
 [Aside. 
 D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known 
 to Benedick? 
 
 Leon. No ; and swears she never will ; that's her 
 torment. 
 
 Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : 
 Shall I, says she, that have so oft encounter 'd him 
 with scorn, write to him that 1 love him? 
 
 Leon. This says she now when she is beginning 
 to write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a 
 night; and there will she sit in her smock, till she 
 have writ a sheet of paper: — my daughter tells 
 us all. 
 
 Claud, Now you talk of a sheet ?f paper, re- 
 member a pretty jest your daughter tolu us of. 
 
 Leon. O ! — When she had writ it, and was read- 
 ing it over, she found Benedick snd Beatrice bo 
 tween the sheet? 
 
Act III. Scene 1. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 117 
 
 Claud. That. 
 
 Leon. O ! she tore the letter into a thousand 
 half-pence; railed at herself, that she should be so 
 immodest to write to one that she knew would flout 
 her: J measure him, says she, by my oivn spirit,- 
 for I should flout him, if he writ to me,- yea, 
 though I love him, I should. 
 
 Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, 
 weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, 
 curses: — sweet Benedick.' God give me pa- 
 tience! 
 
 Leon. She doth, indeed; my daughter says so: 
 and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that 
 my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a des- 
 perate outrage to herself: It is very true. 
 
 D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of 
 it by some other, if she will not discover it. 
 
 Claud. To what end? He would but make a 
 sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse. 
 
 D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang 
 him : She's an excellent sweet lady ; and, out of 
 all suspicion, she is virtuous. 
 
 Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 
 
 D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 
 
 Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating 
 in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that 
 blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I 
 have just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. 
 
 D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage 
 on me ; I would have daff 'd * all other respects, and 
 made her half myself: I pray you, tell Benedick of 
 it, and hear what he will say. 
 
 Leon. Were it good, think you? 
 
 Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die. for she 
 says, she will die if he love her not; and she will 
 die ere she make her love known ; and she will die 
 if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath 
 of her accustomed crossness. 
 
 D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make ten- 
 der of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it ; for 
 the man, as you know all, hath a contemptuous spirit. 
 
 Claud. He is a very proper man. 
 
 D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. 
 
 D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks 
 that are like wit. 
 
 Leon. And I take him to be valiant. 
 
 D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the 
 managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for 
 either he avoids them with great discretion, or un- 
 dertakes them with a most Christian-like fear. 
 
 Leon- If he do fear God, he must necessarily 
 keep peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to enter 
 into a quarrel with fear and trembling. 
 
 D. Pedro. And so will he do ; for the man doth 
 fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some 
 large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for 
 your niece : Shall we go see Benedick, and tell 
 him of her love ? 
 
 Claud. Never tell him, my lord ; let her wear it 
 out with good counsel. 
 
 Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her 
 heart out first. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your 
 daughter; let it cool the while. I love Benedick 
 well ; and I could wish he would modestly examine 
 himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good 
 a lady. 
 
 Leon. My lord, will you walk? dinner is ready. 
 
 Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I 
 will never trust my expectation. [Aside. 
 
 D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread for 
 her ; and that must your daughter and her gentle* 
 woman cany. The sport will be, when they hold 
 one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such 
 matter ; that's the scene that I would see, which 
 will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to 
 call him in to dinner. [Aside. 
 
 [Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, arce? Lkonato. 
 Benedick advances from the Arbor. 
 
 Bene. This can be no trick : The conference was 
 sadly borne. 1 — They have the truth of this from 
 Hero. They seem to pity the lady ; it seems, her 
 affections have their full bent. Love me ! why, it 
 must be requited. I hear how I am censured: they 
 say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the 
 love come from her ; they say too, that she will ra- 
 ther die than give any sign of affection. — I did 
 never think to marry : — I must not seem proud : 
 — Happy are they that hear their detractions, and 
 can put them to mending. They say, the lady is 
 fair ; 'tis a truth I can bear them witness : and vir- 
 tuous ; — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but 
 for loving me : — By my troth, it is no addition to 
 her wit; — nor no great argument of her folly, for 
 I will be horribly in love with her. — I may chance 
 have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken 
 on me, because I have railed so long against mar- 
 riage : — But doth not the appetite alter ? A man 
 loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure 
 in his age : Shall quips, and sentences, and these 
 paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the 
 career of his humor ? No : The world must be 
 peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I 
 did not think I should live till I were married. — 
 Here comes Beatrice : By this day, she's a fair lady : 
 I do spy some marks of love in her. 
 Enter Beatrice. 
 
 Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you 
 come in to dinner. 
 
 Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 
 
 Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks, than 
 you take pains to thank me ; if it had been painful, 
 I would not have come. 
 
 Bene. You take pleasure in the message? 
 
 Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon 
 a knife's point, and choke a daw withal : — You 
 have no stomach, signior ; fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Bene. Ha! Against my loill, I am sent to bid 
 you come to dinner — there's a double meaning in 
 that. / took no more pains for those thanks, than 
 you took pains to thank me — that's as much as 
 to say, Any pains that I take for you is as easy as 
 thanks : — If I do not take pity of her, lama villain ; 
 if I do not love her, I am a Jew: I will go get her 
 picture. [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Leonato's Garden. 
 
 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
 
 Hero. Good Margaret, run thee ii'to the parlor : 
 » Thrown off. 
 
 There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
 Proposing 4 with the prince and Claudio : 
 Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula 
 Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
 « Seriously carried on. ' Discoursing. 
 
118 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Is all of her; say, that thou overheard'st us; 
 And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
 Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
 Forbid the sun to enter ; — like favorites, 
 Made proud by princes, that advance their pride 
 Against that power that bred it: — there will she 
 
 hide her, 
 To listen our propose : This is thy office, 
 Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 
 
 Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pre- 
 sently. [Exit. 
 
 Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come, 
 As we do trace this alley up and down, 
 Our talk must only be of Benedick : 
 When I do name him, let it be thy part 
 To praise him more than ever man did merit : 
 My talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
 Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter 
 Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
 That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin; 
 
 Enter Beatrice, behind. 
 
 For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
 Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 
 
 Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
 Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, 
 And greedily devour the treacherous bait : 
 So angle we for Beatrice; who even now 
 Is couched in the woodbine coverture : 
 Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 
 
 Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose 
 nothing 
 Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — 
 
 [They advance to the bower. 
 No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful : 
 I know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
 As haggards of the rock. s 
 
 Urs. But are you sure, 
 
 That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? 
 
 Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed 
 lord. 
 
 Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam ? 
 
 Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it : 
 But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, 
 To wish him wrestle with affection, 
 And never to let Beatrice know of it. 
 
 Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman 
 Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, 
 As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? 
 
 Hero. O God of love ! I know, he doth deserve 
 As much as may be yielded to a man : 
 But nature never fram'd a woman's heart 
 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice: 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
 Misprising what they look on ; and her wit 
 Values itself so highly, that to her 
 All matter else seems weak: she cannot love, 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
 She is so self-endeared. 
 
 Urs. Sure, I think so; 
 
 And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
 She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 
 
 Hero. Why, you speak truth: I never yet saw man, 
 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd, 
 But she would spell hirn backward: if fair-faced, 
 She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ; 
 If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick, 
 Made, a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed; 
 e ow, an agate very vilely cut: 
 
 npeaking, why, a vane blown with all wind ; 
 *f silent, why, a block moved with none. 
 So turns she every man the wrong side out ; 
 • A species of hawks. 
 
 And never gives to truth and virtue, that 
 Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 
 
 Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable 
 
 Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashion* 
 As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : 
 But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, 
 She'd mock me into air; O, she would laugh me 
 Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
 Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, 
 Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : 
 I* were a better death than die with mocks; 
 Which is as bad as die with tickling. 
 
 Urs. Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will say, 
 
 Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick 
 And counsel him to fight against his passion: 
 And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders 
 To stain my cousin with : One doth not know, 
 How much an ill word may empoison liking. 
 
 Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
 She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
 (Having so swift and excellent a wit, 
 As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse 
 So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. 
 
 Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
 Always excepted my dear Claudio. 
 
 Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, 
 Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick, 
 For shape, for bearing, argument, and valor, 
 Goes foremost in report through Italy. 
 
 Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name. 
 
 Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.— 
 When are you married, madam ? 
 
 Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow : Come : 
 go in ; 
 I'll show thee some attires; and have thy counsel, 
 Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 
 
 Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you ; we have caught 
 her, madam. [Aside. 
 
 Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps : 
 Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 
 [Exeunt Hero and Ursula 
 
 Beatrice advances. 
 
 Beat. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? 
 
 Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much ? 
 Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 
 
 No glory lives behind the back of such. 
 And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee; 
 
 Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand ; 
 If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 
 
 To bind our loves up in a holy band : 
 For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I 
 Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and 
 Leonato. 
 
 D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be 
 consummate, and then I go toward Arragon. 
 
 Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if you'll 
 vouchsafe me. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in 
 the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child 
 his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only 
 be bold with Benedick for his company; for, from 
 the crowi of his head to the sole of his foot, he is 
 all mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow- 
 string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at 
 him: he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and hii 
 tongue is the clapper ; for what his heart thinks, 
 his tongue speaks. 
 
 Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 
 
SCENK III 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 119 
 
 Leon. So say I; vnethinks you are sadder. 
 
 Claud. I hope, he be in love. 
 
 D. Pedro. Hang him, truant ; there's no true 
 drop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love ; 
 if he be sad, he wants money. 
 
 Bene. I have the tooth-ache. 
 
 D. Pedro. Draw it. 
 
 Bene. Hang it! 
 
 Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it 
 afterwards. 
 
 D. Pedro. What ! sigh for the tooth-ache 1 
 
 Leon. Where is but a humor, or a worm ] 
 
 Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but 
 he that has it. 
 
 Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 
 
 D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in 
 him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to strange 
 disguises: as, to be a Dutchman to-day; a French- 
 man to-morrow ; or in the shape of two countries 
 at once, as a German from the waist downward, 
 all slop; 1 and a Spaniard from the hip upward, no 
 doublet: unless he have a fancy to this foolery, as 
 it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as you 
 would have it appear he is. 
 
 Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, 
 there is no believing old signs : he brushes his hat 
 o' mornings ; What should that bode ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's] 
 
 Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen 
 with him ; and the old ornament of his cheek hath 
 already stuffed tennis-balls. 
 
 Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did by 
 the loss of a beard. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay he rubs himself with civet : Can 
 you smell him out by that? 
 
 Claud. That's as much as to say, The sweet 
 youthS in love. 
 
 D.Ptv o. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. 
 
 Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face] 
 
 D. Petro. Yea, or to paint himself] for the 
 which, I hear what they say of him. 
 
 Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now 
 crept into & lutestring, and now governed by stops. 
 
 D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him : 
 Conclude, conclude, he is in love. 
 
 Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. 
 
 D. Pedro. That would I know, too ; I warrant, 
 one that knows him not. 
 
 Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and, in despite 
 of all, dies for him. 
 
 D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up- 
 wards. 
 
 Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ache. — 
 Old signior, walk aside with me : I have studied 
 eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which 
 these hobby-horses must not hear. 
 
 [Exeunt Benedick and Leoxato. 
 
 D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about 
 Beatrice. 
 
 Claud. 'Tis even so : Hero and Margaret have 
 by this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then 
 the two bears will not bite one another, when they 
 meet. 
 
 Enter Don John. 
 
 D. John. My lord and brother, God save you. 
 
 D. Vedro. Good den, brother. 
 
 D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak 
 with you. 
 
 D. Pedro. In private ] 
 
 D. John. If it please you ; — yet count Olaudio 
 may hear ; for what I would speak of, concerns him. 
 ' Large loose breeches. 
 
 D. Pedro. What's the matter? 
 
 D. John. Means your lordship to be married to- 
 morrow] [To Claudio. 
 
 D. Pedro. You know, he does. 
 
 D. John. I know not that, when he knows what 
 I know. 
 
 Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, 
 discover it. 
 
 D. John. You may think I love you not ; lei that 
 appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I 
 now will manifest: For my brother, I think he 
 holds you well ; and in dearness of heart hath holp 
 to effect your ensuing marriage: surely, suit ill 
 spent, and labor ill bestowed ! 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? 
 
 D. John. I came hither to tell you; and, cir- 
 cumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long 
 a talking of) the lady is disloyal. 
 
 Claud. Who] Hero] 
 
 D.John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero, 
 every man's Hero. 
 
 Claud. Disloyal ] 
 
 D. John. The word is too good to paint out her 
 wickedness ; I could say, she were worse ; think 
 you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder 
 not till further warrant : go but with me to-night, 
 you shall see her chamber-window entered; even 
 the night before her wedding-day : if you love her 
 then, to-morrow wed her; but it would better fit 
 your honor to change your mind. 
 
 Claud. May this be so ? 
 
 D. Pedro. I will not think it. 
 
 D.John. If you dare not trust that you see, con- 
 fess not that you know : if you will follow me, I 
 will show you enough ; and when you have seen 
 more and heard more, proceed accordingly. 
 
 Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should 
 not marry her to-morrow; in the congregation, 
 where I should wed, there will I shame her. 
 
 D. Pedro. And as I wooed for thee to obtain 
 her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. 
 
 D. John. I will disparage her no farther, till you 
 are my witnesses . bear it coldly but till midnight, 
 and let the issue show itself. 
 
 D. Pedro. day untowardly turned! 
 
 Claud. mischief strangely thwarting! 
 
 D. John. plague right well prevented! 
 So will you say when you have seen the sequel. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — .4 Street. 
 Enter Dogberry awe? Verges, ivith the Watch. 
 
 Dogb. Are you good men and true ] 
 
 Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should 
 suffer salvation, body and soul. 
 
 Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
 them, if they should have any allegiance in them, 
 being chosen for the prince's watch. 
 
 Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbor 
 Dogberry. 
 
 Dogb. First, who think you the most disheartless 
 man to be constable ] 
 
 1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal. 
 for they can write and read. 
 
 Dogb. Come hither, neighbor Seacoal. God 
 hath blessed you with a good name : to be a well- 
 favored man is the gift of fortune ; but to write and 
 read comes by nature. 
 
 2 Watch. Both which, master constable, 
 
 Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your ar- 
 
 swer. Well, for your favor, sir, why, give Go 
 thanks, and make no boast of it; and foryoui writ- 
 ing and reading, let that appear when iTierr io □« 
 
120 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 A.CT III 
 
 «u 
 
 need of such vanity. You are thought here to be 
 the most senseless and fit man for the constable of 
 the watch ; therefore bear you the lantern : This is 
 your charge; You shall comprehend all vagrom 
 men ; you are to bid any man stand in the prince's 
 name 
 
 2 Watch. How, if he will not stand] 
 
 Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let 
 him go; and presently call the rest of the watch 
 together, and thank God you are rid of a knave. 
 
 Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, 
 he is none of the prince's subjects. 
 
 Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none 
 but the prince's subjects : — You shall also make no 
 noise in the streets; for, for the watch to babble and 
 talk is most tolerable, and not to be endured. 
 
 2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk; we 
 Smow what belongs to a watch. 
 
 Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
 quiet watchman; for I cannot see how sleeping 
 should offend: only have a care that your bills 9 
 be not stolen : — Well, you are to call at all the 
 ale-houses, and bid those that are drunk get them 
 to bed. 
 
 2 Watch. How, if they will not! 
 
 Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are 
 sober; if they make you not then the better an- 
 swer, you may say, they are not the men you took 
 them for. 
 
 2 Watch. Well, sir. 
 
 Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, 
 by virtue of your office, to be no true man ; and 
 for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make 
 with them, why, the more is for your honesty. 
 
 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall 
 we not lay hands on him] 
 
 Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may; but, I 
 think, they that touch pitch will be defiled: the 
 most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, 
 is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal 
 out of your company. 
 
 Verg. You have been always called a merciful 
 man, partner. 
 
 Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ; 
 much more a man who hath any honesty in him. 
 
 Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you 
 must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 
 
 2 Watch. How, if the nurse be asleep, and will 
 not hear us ] 
 
 Dogb. Why, then depart in peace, and let the 
 child wake her with crying ; for the ewe that will 
 not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer 
 a calf when he bleats. 
 
 Verg. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con- 
 stable, are to present the prince's own person: if 
 you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him. 
 
 Verg. Nay, by'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. 
 
 Dogb. Five shillings to one on't, with any man 
 that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry, 
 not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, the 
 Watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence 
 to stay a man against his will. 
 
 Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so. 
 Dogl. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: 
 an there be any matter of weight chances, call up 
 me : keep your fellows' counsel and your own, and 
 good night. — Come, neighbor. 
 
 2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge : let 
 Us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and 
 then all to-bed. 
 
 Dogb. One word more, honest neighbors: I 
 • Weapons of the watchmen. 
 
 ! pray you, watch about signior Leonato's duor; fo\ 
 , the wedding being there to-monow, there is a great 
 j coil to-night: Adieu, be vigdant, I beseech you. 
 [Exeunt Dogberry and Vergil. 
 
 Enter Borachio and Coxrade. 
 
 Bora. What! Conrade, — 
 
 Watch. Peace, stir not. [Aside. 
 
 Bora. Conrade, I say ! 
 
 Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow. 
 
 Bora. Mass, and my elbow itched; I thought 
 I there would a scab follow. 
 
 Con. I will owe thee an answer for that; and 
 now forward with thy tale. 
 
 Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent- 
 house, for it drizzles rain; and I will, like a true 
 drunkard, utter all to thee. 
 
 Watch. [Aside."] Some treason, masters; yet 
 stand close. 
 
 Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of don 
 John a thousand ducats. 
 
 Con. Is it possible that any villany should be 
 so dear] 
 
 Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were pos- 
 sible any villany should be so rich; for when ri h 
 villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may 
 make what price they will. 
 
 Con. I wonder at it. 
 
 Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed :* Thou 
 know est that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or 
 a cloak, is nothing to a man. 
 
 Con. Yes, it is apparel. 
 
 Bora. I mean the fashion. 
 
 Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 
 
 Bora. Tush! I may as well say. the fool's the 
 fool. But see'st thou not what a deformed thiei 
 this fashion is ] 
 
 Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a 
 vile thief this seven year; he goes up and down 
 like a gentleman: I remember his name. 
 
 Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ] 
 
 Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. 
 
 Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed 
 thief this fashion is] how giddily he turns about 
 all the hot bloods between fourteen and five-and- 
 thirty ] sometime, fashioning them like Pharaoh's 
 soldiers in the reechy 1 painting; sometime, like god 
 Bel's priests in the old church window ; sometime, 
 like the shaven Hercules in the smirched 2 worm- 
 eaten tapestry, where his cod-piece seems as massy 
 as his club] 
 
 Con. All this I see; and see that the fashion 
 wears out more apparel than the man : But art not 
 thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou 
 hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the 
 fashion ] 
 
 Bora. Not so neither : but know, that I have 
 to-night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentle- 
 woman, by the name of Hero; she leans me out 
 at her mistress' chamber window, bids me a thou- 
 sand times good night, — I tell this tale vilely : — I 
 should first tell thee, how the prince, Claudio, and 
 my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by 
 my master don John, saw afar off in the orchard 
 this amiable encounter. 
 
 Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero ] 
 Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio; 
 but the devil my master knew she was Margaret ; 
 and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, 
 partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, 
 but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm anv 
 
 • Unpractised in the ways of the world. 
 
 • Smoked. » Soiled. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MXJCA ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 121 
 
 slander that don John had made, away went Clau- 
 dio enraged ; swore he would meet her, as he was 
 appointed, next morning at the temple, and there, 
 before the whoic congregation, shame her with what 
 »»e saw over-night, and send her home again with- 
 out a husband. 
 
 1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name, 
 stand. 
 
 2 Watch. Call up the right master constable: We 
 have here recovered the most dangerous piece of 
 lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. 
 
 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them ; I 
 know him, he wears a lock. 
 Con. Masters, masters, — 
 1 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth, 
 I warrant you. 
 Con. Masters, — 
 
 1 Watch. Never speak; we charge you, let us 
 obey you to go with us. 
 
 Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commo- 
 dity, being taken up of these men's bills. 
 
 Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. 
 Come, we'll obey you. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
 
 Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, 
 »nd desire her to rise. 
 Urs. I will, lady. 
 
 Hero. And bid her come hither. 
 
 Urs. Well. [Exit Ursula. 
 
 Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato 3 were 
 better. 
 
 Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this. 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it's not so good ; and I war- 
 rant your cousin will say so. 
 
 Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another; 
 I'll wear none but this. 
 
 Marg. I like the new attire within excellently, if 
 the hair were a thought browner : and your gown's 
 a most rare fashion, i'faith. I saw the duchess of 
 Milan's gown, that they praise so. 
 
 Hero. O that exceeds, they say. 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in re- 
 spect of yours : Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced 
 with silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, side- 
 sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish 
 tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excel- 
 lent fashion, yours is worth ten on't. 
 
 Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart 
 is exceeding heavy ! 
 
 Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of 
 a man. 
 
 Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed ? 
 
 Marg. Of what, lady! of speaking honorably] 
 Is not marriage honorable in a beggar 1 Is not 
 four lord honorable without marriage? I think 
 you would have me say, saving your reverence, — 
 a husband: an bad thinking do not wrest true 
 speaking, I'll offend nobody : Is there any harm in 
 — the heavier for a husband? None, I think, an 
 if it be the right husband, and the right wife ; other- 
 wise, 'tis light, and not heavy: Ask my lady Be- 
 trice else, here she comes. 
 
 Enter Beatrice. 
 
 Hero. Good morrow, coz. 
 
 Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 
 
 Hero. Why, how now ! do you speak in the sick 
 june ? 
 
 Beat. I am out of all other tune, methinks. 
 
 Marg. Clap us into — Light o' love,- that goes 
 without a burden ; do you sing it, and I'll dance it. 
 • A kind of ruff. 
 
 Beat. Yea, lAght o' love, with your heels !— • 
 then if your husband have stables enough, you'll 
 see he shall lack no barns. 
 
 Marg. O illegitimate construction! I scorn that 
 with my heels. 
 
 Beat. 'I is almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time 
 you were ready. By my troth, I am exceeding ill 
 — hey ho ! 
 
 Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? 
 
 Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 4 
 
 Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there's 
 no more sailing by the star. 
 
 Beat. What means the fool, trow? 
 
 Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one theii 
 heart's desire ! 
 
 Hero. There gloves the count sent me, they are 
 an excellent perfume. 
 
 Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. 
 
 Marg. A maid, and stuffed ! there's goodly catch- 
 ing of cold. 
 
 Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how long 
 have you profess'd apprehension? 
 
 Marg. Ever since you left it: doth not my wit 
 become me rarely? 
 
 Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it 
 in your cap. — By my troth, I am sick. 
 
 Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus 
 Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only 
 thing for a qualm. 
 
 Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 
 
 Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have 
 some moral in this Benedictus. 
 
 Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no moral 
 meaning; I meant, plain holy thistle. You may 
 think, perchance, that I think you are in love : nay. 
 by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list 
 nor I list not to think what I can ; nor, indeed, . 
 cannot think, if I would think my heart out of 
 thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be 
 in love, or that you can be in love ; yet Benedick 
 was such another, and now is he become a man: 
 he swore he would never marry ; and yet now, in 
 despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudg- 
 ing: and how you may be converted, I know not ; 
 but, methinks, you look with your eyes as other 
 women do. 
 
 Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps * 
 
 Marg. Not a false gallop. 
 
 Re-enter Ursula. 
 
 Urs. Madam, withdraw ; the prince, the count, 
 signior Benedick, don John, and all the gallants of 
 the town are come to fetch you to church. 
 
 Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, 
 good Ursula. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Leonato, with Dogberrt and Verges. 
 
 Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 Dogb. Marry, sir, I would have some confidence 
 with you, that decerns you nearly. 
 
 Leon. Brief, I pray you, for, you see, 'lis a busy 
 time with me. 
 
 Dogb. Marry, this it is, sir. 
 
 Verg. Yes, in truth, it is, sir. 
 
 Leon. What is it, my good friends ! 
 
 Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off 
 the matter ; an old man, sir, and his wits are not so 
 blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were; but, 
 in faith, honest, as the skin between his b- r >ws. 
 
 Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any 
 4 i. e. for an ache or pain. 
 
r 
 
 122 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 man living, that is an old man, and no honester 
 than I. 
 
 Dogb. Comparisons are odorous: palabras, neigh- 
 bor Verges. 
 
 Leon. Neighjors, you are tedious. 
 
 Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we 
 are the poor duke's officers ; but truly, for mine own 
 part if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in 
 my heart to bestow it all of your worship. 
 
 Leon. All thy tediousness on mc ! ha ! 
 
 Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more 
 than 'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on your 
 worship, as of any man in the city ; and though I 
 be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it. 
 
 Verg. And so am I. 
 
 Leon. I would fain knoww^at you have to say. 
 
 Verg. Marry, sir, our watch >j -night, excepting 
 your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as 
 arrant knaves as any in Messina. 
 
 Dogb. A good old man, sir ; he will be talking ; 
 as they say, when the age is in, the wit is out: 
 God help us! it is a world to see! 5 — Well said, 
 i'faith, neighbor Verges : — well, God's a good man; 
 an two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind : 
 — An honest soul, i'faith, sir ; by my troth he is, as 
 ever broke bread : but, God is to be worshipped : 
 all men are not alike ; alas, good neighbor ! 
 
 Leon. Indeed, neighbor, he comes too shor* of you. 
 
 Dogb Gifts, that God gives. 
 
 Leon. I must leave you. 
 
 Dogb. One word, sir ; our watch, sir, have, in- 
 deed, comprehended two aspicious persons, and we 
 would have them this morning examined before 
 your worship. 
 
 Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring 
 it me; I am now in great haste, as it may appear 
 unto you. 
 
 Dogb. It shall be suffigance. 
 
 Leon. Drink some wine ere you go; fare you well. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your 
 daughter to her husband. 
 
 Leon. I will wait upon them; I am ready. 
 
 [Exeunt Leonato and Messenger. 
 
 Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Fran-cis 
 Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and ink horn to the 
 gaol ; we are now to examination these nun. 
 
 Verg. And we must do it wisely. 
 
 Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you; 
 here's that [Touching his forehead.] shall drive 
 some of them to a non com: only get the learned 
 writer to set down our excommunication, and meet 
 me at the gaol. [Exeui 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Inside of a Church. 
 
 Enter Don Pediio, Don John, Leonato, Friar, 
 Clacdio, Benedick, Hero, Beatrice, <$-c. 
 
 Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the 
 plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 
 particular duties afterwards. 
 
 Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marrv this 
 lady? 
 
 Claud. No. 
 
 Leon. To be married to her, friar; you come to 
 marry her. 
 
 Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to 
 this count? 
 
 Hero. I do. 
 
 Friar. If either of you know any inward impe- 
 diment why you should not be conjoined, I charge 
 you, on your souls, to utter it. 
 
 Claud. Know you any, Hero? 
 
 Hero. None, my lord. 
 
 Friar. Know you any, count ? 
 
 Leon. I dare make his answer, none. 
 
 Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men may do ! 
 what men daily do ! not knowing what they do ! 
 
 Bene. How now ! Interjections? Why, then some 
 be of laughing, as ha ! ha ! he ! 
 
 Claud. Stand thee by, friar : — Father, by your 
 leave ! 
 Will you with free and unconstrained soul 
 Give me this maid, your daughter? 
 
 Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me. 
 
 Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose 
 worth 
 May counterpoise this rich and precious gift ? 
 
 D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. 
 
 Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank- 
 fulness. — 
 There, Leonato, take her back again; 
 (iive not this rotten orange to your friend ; 
 •fa^'s bu*. the sign and semblance of her honor: — 
 » »' e. It is wonderful to see 
 
 Behold, how like a maid she blushes here : 
 O, what authority and show of truth 
 Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! 
 Comes not that blood, as modest evidence, 
 To witness simple virtue ? Would you not sweai 
 All you that see her, that she were a maid, 
 By these exterior shows ? But she is none : 
 She knows the heat of a luxurious 6 bed* 
 Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 
 
 Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? 
 
 Claud. Not to be married 
 
 Not knit my soul to an approved wanton. 
 
 Leon. Dear my lord, if you in jour own proof 
 Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, 
 And made defeat of her virginity, 
 
 Claud. I know what you would say; if I have 
 known her, 
 You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband, 
 And so extenuate the 'forehand sin: 
 No, Leonato, 
 
 I never tempted her with word too large, 1 
 But. as a brother to his sister, show'd 
 Bashful sincerity, and comely love. 
 
 Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you ? 
 
 Claud. Out on thy seeming ! I will write agains 
 it: 
 You seem to me as Dian in her orb: 
 As chaste as is the bwl ere it be blown ; 
 But you are more intemperate in your blood 
 Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals 
 That rage in savage sensuality. 
 
 Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide '* 
 
 Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you 1 
 
 D. Pedro. What should I speak ? 
 
 I stand dishonor'd, that have gone about 
 To link my dear friend to a common stale. 
 
 Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream! 
 
 D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things 
 are true. 
 
 Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. 
 8 Lascivious. 1 Licentious. 8 Wildly. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 MUCH ADO A.BOUT NOTHING. 
 
 12:J 
 
 Hero. True 1 O God ! 
 
 Claud. Leonato, stand I here? 
 Is this the prince ? Is this the prince's brother 7 
 Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ? 
 
 Leon. All this is so ; But what of this, my lord ? 
 
 Claud. Let me but move one question to your 
 daughter : 
 And, by that fatherly and kindly power 
 That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 
 
 Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. 
 
 Hero. O God defend me ! how am I beset ! — 
 What kind of catechising call you this ? 
 
 Claud. To make you answer truly to your name. 
 
 Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that name 
 With any just reproach? 
 
 Claud. Marry, that can Hero ; 
 
 Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
 What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
 Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ? 
 Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 
 
 Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. — Leo- 
 nato, 
 I am sorry you must hear ; Upon mine honor, 
 Myself, my brother, and this grieved count, 
 Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, 
 Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ; 
 Who hath, indeed, most like a liberar 9 villain, 
 Confcss'd the vile encounters they have had 
 A thousand times in secret. 
 
 D.John. Fye, fye! they are 
 
 Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of; 
 There is not chastity enough in language, 
 Without offence to utter them : Thus, pretty lady, 
 I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 
 
 Claud. O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been, 
 If half thy outward graces had been placed 
 About thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart ! 
 But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair! farewell, 
 Thou pure impiety, and impious purity ! 
 For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love. 
 And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang, 
 To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
 And never shall it more be gracious. 
 
 Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? 
 [Hkro swoons. 
 
 Beat. Why, how now, cousin ? wherefore sink 
 3 T ou down? 
 
 D. John. Come, let us go; these things, come 
 thus to light, 
 Smother her spirits up. 
 [Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, and Claudio. 
 
 Bene. How doth the lady ? 
 
 Beat. Dead, I think ; — help, uncle ; — 
 
 Hero ! why, Hero ! — Uncle ! — Signior Benedick ! 
 friar ! 
 
 Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand! 
 Death is the fairest cover for her shame, 
 That may be wish'd for. 
 
 Beat. How now, cousin Hero? 
 
 Friar. Have comfort, lady. 
 
 Leon. Dost thou look up ? 
 
 Friar. Yea; wherefore should she not? 
 
 Leon. Wherefore ? Why, doth not every earthly 
 thing 
 Cry shame upon her ? Could she here deny 
 The story that is printed in her blood? 
 Do not live, Hero : do not ope thine eyes : 
 For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die. 
 Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames. 
 Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches, 
 Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one 1 
 , 9 Too free of tongue. 
 
 Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame?' 
 O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one? 
 Why ever wast thqu lovely in my eyes ? 
 Why had I not, with charitable hand, 
 Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ; 
 Who smirched 2 thus, and m'u'd with infamy, 
 I might have said, No part of it is mine. 
 This shame derives itself from unknown loins? 
 But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd, 
 And mine that I was proud on : mine so much, 
 That I myself was to myself not mine, 
 Valuing of her; why, she — 0, she is fallen 
 Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea 
 Hath drops too few to wash her clean again ; 
 And salt too little, which may season give 
 To her foul tainted flesh ! 
 
 Bene. Sir, sir, be patient . 
 
 For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder, 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Beat. 0, on my soul my cousin is belied ! 
 
 Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night 1 
 
 Beat. No. truly, not: although until last night, 
 I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 
 
 Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! 0, that is strongei 
 made, 
 Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron ! 
 Would the two princes lie ? and Claudio lie — 
 Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 
 Wash'd it with tears ? Hence from her ; let her die 
 
 F'riar. Hear me a little : 
 For I have only been silent so long, 
 And given way unto this course of fortune, 
 By noting of the lady : I have mark'd 
 A thousand blushing apparitions start 
 Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
 In angel whiteness bear away those blushes ; 
 And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire, 
 To burn the errors that these princes hold 
 Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool; 
 Trust not my reading, nor my observations, 
 Which with experimental seal doth warrant 
 The tenor of my book ; trust not my age, 
 My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 
 If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
 Under some- biting error. 
 
 Leon. Friar, it cannot, be 
 
 Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, 
 Is, that she will not add to her damnation 
 A sin of perjury ; she not der.-ic* it : 
 Whv seek'st thou than to cover with excuse 
 That which appears in prope.' nakedness? 
 
 Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of" 
 
 Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; I know 
 none : 
 If I know more of any man alive, 
 Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
 Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O my father, 
 Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
 At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
 Maintain'd the change of words with any creature.. 
 Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death. 
 
 Friar. There is some strange misprision 3 in the 
 princes. 
 
 Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honor . 
 And if their wisdoms be misled in this, 
 The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 
 Whose spirits toil in frame of viilanies. 
 
 Leon. I know not ; If they speak but truth of hex, 
 These hands shalltcar her ; if they wrong her honor 
 The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
 Time hath not yet so dried this blood <*f mine, 
 Nor age so eat up my invention, 
 
 « Disposition of things. » SulUeU. » Misconception 
 
134 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Nor fortuni made such havoc of my means, 
 Nor my had life reft me so much of friends, 
 But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind, 
 Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, 
 Ability in means, and choice of friends, 
 To quit me of them thoroughly. 
 
 Friar. Pause a while, 
 
 And let my counsel sway you in this case, 
 Your daughter here the princes left for dead ; 
 Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 
 And publish it, that she is dead indeed: 
 Maintain a mourning ostentation : 
 And on your family's old monument 
 Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
 That appertain unto a burial. 
 
 Leon. What shall become of this"! What will 
 this do] 
 
 Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf 
 Change slander to remorse ; that is some good : 
 But not for that, dream I on this strange course, 
 But on this travail look for greater birth. 
 She dying, as it must be so maintained, 
 Upon the instant that she was accus'd, 
 Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd, 
 Of every hearer : For it so falls out, 
 That what we have we prize not to the worth, 
 Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost, 
 Why, then we rack 1 the value ; then we find 
 The virtue, that possession would not show us 
 Whiles it was ours: — So will it fare withClaudio: 
 When he shall hear she died upon his words, 
 The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
 Into his study of imagination ; 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit, 
 More moving-delicate, and full of life, 
 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
 Than when she liv'd indeed : — then shall he mourn, 
 (If ever love had interest in his liver,) 
 And wish he had not so accused her; 
 No, though he thought his accusation true. 
 Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
 Will fo«hion the event in better shape 
 Than I enri lay it down in likelihood. 
 But if all aim but this be levell'd false, 
 The supposition of the lady's death 
 Will quench the wonder of her infamy: 
 And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 
 (As best befits her wounded reputation) 
 Li some reclusive and religious life, 
 Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries 
 
 Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advjsv you : 
 And though, you know, my inwardness 5 and 
 
 love 
 Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
 Yet, by mine honor, I will deal in this 
 As secretly, and justly, as your soul 
 Should with your body. 
 
 Leon. Being that I flow in grief, 
 
 The smallest twine may lead me. 
 
 Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ; 
 For to strange sores strangely they strain the 
 cure : — 
 Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day, 
 
 Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience, and 
 endure. 
 
 [Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leoxato. 
 
 Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this 
 while? 
 
 Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 
 
 Bene. I will not desire that. 
 
 Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely. 
 • Orer-rate. s Intimacy. 
 
 Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin u 
 wrong'd. 
 
 Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of 
 me, that would right her! 
 
 Bene. Is there anyway to show such friendship] 
 
 Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 
 
 Bene. May a man do it] 
 
 Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 
 
 Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well aa 
 you : Is not that strange ] 
 
 Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It 
 were as possible for me to say, I love nothing so 
 well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie not , 
 I confess nothing, nor, I deny nothing : — I am sorry 
 for my cousin. 
 
 Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me. 
 
 Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. 
 
 Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and 
 I will make him eat it, that says I love not you. 
 
 Beat. Will you not eat your word ] 
 
 Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it 
 I protest, I love thee. 
 
 Beat. Why then, God forgive me ! 
 
 Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice] 
 
 Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour ; I was 
 about to protest, I loved you. 
 
 Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 
 
 Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that 
 none is left to protest. 
 
 Bene. Come, bid me do any thing fo. thee. 
 
 Beat. Kill Claudio. 
 
 Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 
 
 Beat. You kill me to deny it : Farewell 
 
 Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 
 
 Beat. I am gone, though I am here : — 'There is 
 no love in you: — Nay, I pray you let me go. 
 
 Bene. Beatrice, — 
 
 Beat. In faith, I will go. 
 
 Bene. We'll be friends first. 
 
 Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than 
 fight with mine enemy. 
 
 Bene. Is Claudio thinfe memy] 
 
 Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, 
 that hath slandered, scorned, dishonored my kins- 
 woman] — O, that I were a man! — What! bear 
 her in hand until they come to take hands; and 
 then with public accusation, uncovered slander, un- 
 mitigated rancor, — God, that I were a man ! I 
 would eat his heart in the market-place. 
 
 Bene. Hear me, Beatrice; — 
 
 Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ] — p. 
 proper saying ! 
 
 Bene. Nay, but, Beatrice; — 
 
 Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wronged, she is 
 slandered, she is undone. 
 
 Bene. Beat — 
 
 Beat. Princes and counties ! " Surely, a princery 
 testimony, a goodly count-confect ; 1 a sweet gal 
 lant, surely! O, that I were a man for his sake! 01 
 that I had any friend would be a man for my sake ! 
 But manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into 
 compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, 
 and trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercu- 
 les, that only tells a lie, and swears it: — I cannot 
 be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a wo- 
 man with grieving. 
 
 Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice: By this hand I 
 love thee. 
 
 Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
 swearing by it. 
 
 Bene. Think you in your soul the counc Olau 
 dio hath wronged Hero ] 
 
 « Noblemen. ' A nobleman Eiade out of sugar 
 
\ct V. Scene 'l. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 125 
 
 Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a 
 soul 
 
 Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge 
 him ; I will kiss your h?~. 1, and so leave you : By 
 this hand Claudio .shall render me a dear account. 
 As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort 
 your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, fare- 
 well [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — ^1 Prison. 
 
 Enfe? DoBBERKr, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns,- 
 
 and the Watch, with Conraue and Borachio. 
 
 Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared ? 
 
 Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton ! 
 
 Sexton. Which be the malefactors ] 
 
 Dogb. Many, that am I and my partner. 
 
 Verg. Nay, that's certain; we have the exhibi- 
 tion to examine. 
 
 Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be 
 examined ? let them come before master constable, 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — 
 What is your name, friend 1 
 
 Bora. Borachio. 
 
 Dogb. Pray write down — Borachio. Yours, 
 
 sirrah ] 
 
 Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is 
 Conrade. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — master gentleman Con- 
 rade.- -Masters, do you serve God] 
 
 Con. Bora. Yea, sir, we hope. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — that they hope they serve 
 God: — and write God first: for God defend but 
 God should go before such villains ! — Masters, it is 
 proved already that you are little better than false 
 knaves ; and it will go near to be thought so short- 
 ly. How answer you for yourselves ] 
 
 Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 
 
 Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; 
 but I will go about with him. — Come you hither, 
 surah : a word in your ear, sir ; I say to you, it is 
 thought you are false knaves. 
 
 Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 
 
 Dogb. Well, stand aside. — 'Fore God, they are 
 both in a tale: Have you writ down — that they 
 are none] 
 
 Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way 
 to examine: you must call forth the watch that 
 are their accusers. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way: — Let 
 the watch come forth. — Masters, I charge you, in 
 the prince's name, accuse these men. 
 
 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that don John, the 
 prince's brother, was a villain. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain: — 
 Why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother 
 — villain. 
 
 Bora. Master constable, — 
 
 Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like 
 :hy look, I promise thee. 
 
 Sexton. What heard you him say else ] 
 
 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thoj 
 sand ducats of don John, for accusing the lady 
 Hero wrongfully. 
 
 Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. 
 Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 
 Sexton. What else, fellow ] 
 
 1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, 
 upon his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole 
 assembly, and not marry her. 
 
 Dogb. O villain ! thou wilt be condemned into 
 everlasting redemption for this. 
 Sexton. What else ] 
 
 2 Watch. This is all. 
 
 Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can 
 deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen 
 away ; Hero was in this manner accused, in tliis 
 very manner refused, and upon the grief of this 
 suddenly died. — Master constable, let these men be 
 bound, and brought to Leonato's ; I will go before, 
 and show him their examination. [Exit 
 
 Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. 
 
 Verg. Let them be in band. 
 
 Con. Off, coxcomb ! 
 
 Dogb. God's my life ! where's tne sexton ] let 
 him write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb. — 
 Come, bind them : Thou naughty varlet ! 
 
 Con. Away! you are an ass, you are an ass. 
 
 Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place ] Dost 
 thou not suspect my years ] — O that he were here 
 to write me down — an ass ! — but, masters, remem- 
 ber, that I am an ass ; though it be not written 
 down, yet forget not that I am an ass: — No, thou 
 villain, thou art full of piety, as shali be proved 
 upon thee by good witness. I am a wise fellow ; 
 and, which is more, an officer; and, which is more, 
 a householder: and, which is more, as pretty a 
 piece of flesh as any is in Messina; and one that 
 knows the law, go to ; and a rich fellow enough, 
 go to; and a fellow that hath had losses; and one 
 that hath two gowns, anJ every tiling handsome 
 about him . — Bring him away. O, that I had 
 been writ down — an ass. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Leonato's House. 
 Enter Leonato and Antoxio. 
 
 Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself; 
 And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief 
 Against yourself. 
 
 Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 
 Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
 As water in a sieve: give not me counsel ; 
 Nor let no comforter delight mine ear, 
 But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. 
 Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child, 
 Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, 
 And bid him speak of patience; 
 Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, 
 A.nd let it answer every strain for strain ; 
 \s thus for thus, and such a grie* - for such, 
 
 In every lineament, branch, shape, and form: 
 If such a one wiil smile, and stroke his beard: 
 Cry — sorrow, wag ! and hem, when he shou Id groa n ; 
 Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk 
 With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me, 
 And I of him will gather patience. 
 But there is no such man : For, brother, men 
 Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief 
 Which they themselves not feel; but tasting it, 
 Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
 Would give preceptial medicine to rage, 
 Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, 
 Charm ache with air, and agony with words 
 No, no: 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
 To tb ise that wring under the load of sorrow, 
 But r man's virtue, nor sufficiency, 
 To b< *o moral, when he shall endure 
 
126 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act V 
 
 The like himself: therefore give me no counsel : 
 My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 9 
 
 Ant. Therein d<i men from children nothing differ. 
 
 Leon. I pray thee, peace : I will be flesh and blood ; 
 For there was never yet philosopher, 
 That could endure the tooth-ache patiently ; 
 However they have writ the style of gods, 
 And made a pish at chance and sufferance. 
 
 Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself. 
 Make those, that do offend you, suffer too. 
 
 Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, J will 
 do so: 
 My soul doth tell me, Hero is belied ; 
 And that shall Claudio know, so shall the priru-e, 
 And all of them, that thus dishonor her. 
 
 Enter Don Peduo and Claudio. 
 
 Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 
 
 Claud. Good day to both of you. 
 
 Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 
 
 D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 
 
 Leon. Some haste, my lord ! — well, fare you well, 
 my lord : — 
 Are you so hasty now ? — well, all is one. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old 
 man. 
 
 Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling, 
 Some of us would lie low. 
 
 Claud. Who wrongs him? 
 
 Leon. Marry, 
 
 Thou, thou dost wrong me: thou dissembler, thou: — 
 Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, 
 [ fear thee not. 
 
 Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand, 
 
 If it should give your age such cause of fear : 
 In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 
 
 Leon. Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me; 
 I speak n-ot like a dotard, nor a fool; 
 As, under privilege of age, to brag 
 What I have done being young, or what would do, 
 Were I not old : Know, Claudio, to thy head, 
 Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me, 
 That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by; 
 And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days, 
 Do challenge thee to trial of a man. 
 I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ; 
 Thy slander hath gone through and through her 
 
 heart, 
 And she lies buried with her ancestors : 
 O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept, 
 Save this of hers fram'd by thy villany ! 
 
 Claud. My villany! 
 
 Leon. Thine, Claudio; thine, I say. 
 
 D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 
 
 Leon. My lord, my lord, 
 
 I'll prove it on his body, if he dare ; 
 Despite his nice fence, and his active practice, 
 His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood. 
 
 Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you. 
 
 Leon. Canst thou so daff me ? Thou hast kill'd 
 my child; 
 if thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 
 
 Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed: 
 but that's no matter; let him kill one first; 
 Win me and wear me, — let him answer me, — 
 Come, follow me, boy; come, boy, follow me: 
 Sir boy, I'll whip you from your mining 5 fence ; 
 tf ay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 
 
 Leon. Brother, — 
 
 int. Content yourself: God knows, T lov'd my 
 niece ; 
 
 • A<iminitkD. 
 
 ' ThrustJDg. 
 
 And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains; 
 That dare as well answer a man, indeed, 
 As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : 
 Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! — 
 
 Leon. Brother Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Hold you content: What, man! I know 
 them, yea, 
 And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple 
 Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, 
 That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave, and siandei, 
 Go untidy, and show outward hideousness, 
 And speak off half a dozen dangerous words, 
 How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst 
 And this is all. 
 
 Leon. But, brother Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Come, 'tis no matter 
 
 Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. 
 
 D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake 
 your patience. 
 My heart is'sorry for your daughter's death; 
 But, on my honor, she was charg'd with nothing 
 But what was true, and very full of proof. 
 
 Leon. My lord, my lord, — 
 
 D. Pedro. I will not hear you. 
 
 Leon. No? 
 
 Brother, away : — I will be heard ; — 
 
 Ant. And shall, 
 
 Or some of us will smart for it. 
 
 [Exeunt Leonato and Antonio, 
 
 Enter Benedick. 
 
 D. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man we went 
 to seek. 
 
 Claud. Now, signior ! what news ? 
 
 Bene. Good day, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: You are almost 
 come to part almost a fray. 
 
 Claud. We had like to have had our two noses 
 snapped off with two old men without teeth. 
 
 D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What 
 think'st thou? Had we fought, I doubt we should 
 have been too young for them. 
 
 Bene. In a false quarrel thero is no true valor 
 I came to seek you both. 
 
 Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee; 
 for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain 
 have it beaten away: Wilt thou use thy wit? 
 
 Bene. It is in my scabbard; shall I draw it? 
 
 D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ? 
 
 Claud. Never any did so, though very many 
 have been beside their wit. — I will bid thee draw, 
 as we do the minstrels; draw, to pleasure us. 
 
 D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks 
 pale : — Art thou sick, or angry ? 
 
 Claud. What! courage, man! What though 
 care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to 
 kill care. 
 
 Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, 
 an you charge it against me: — I pray you, choose 
 another subject. 
 
 Claud. Nay, then give him another staff; this 
 last was broke cross. 
 
 D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
 more; I think, he be angry indeed. 
 
 Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. 
 
 Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear? 
 
 Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 
 
 Bene. You are a villain; — I jest not: — I will 
 make it good how you dare, with what you dare, 
 and when you dare : — Do me right, or I will pro* 
 test your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady, 
 and her death shall fell heavy on you : Let me b^ai 
 from you. 
 
S( ENE I. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 127 
 
 Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have 
 good cheer. 
 
 D. Pedro. What a feast? a feast! 
 
 Claud. I'faith, I thank him ; he hath bid me to 
 a calf's head and a capon; the which if I do not 
 carve most curiously, say, my knife's naught. — 
 Shall I not find a woodcock too? 
 
 Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily. 
 
 D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised thy 
 wit the other day: I said thou hadst a fine wit: 
 True, says she, a fine little one: iVo,said I, a great 
 wit; Right, says she, a great gross one: Nay, said I, 
 a good wit; Just, said she, it hurts nobody: Nay, 
 said I, the gentleman is wise,- Certain, said she, a 
 ivise gentleman: Nay, said I, he hath the tongues,- 
 That I believe, said she, for he swore a thing to me 
 on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday 
 morning; there's a double tongue,- there's two 
 tongues. Thus did she, an hour together, trans- 
 shape thy particular virtues ; yet, at last, she con- 
 cluded with a sigh, thou wast the properest man 
 in Italy. 
 
 Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and 
 said she cared not. 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet for all that, 
 an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love 
 him dearly : the old man's daughter told us all. 
 
 Claud. All, all; and moreover, God saw him 
 when he was hid in the garden. 
 
 D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage 
 bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head? 
 
 Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells 
 Benedick the married man? 
 
 Bene. Fare you well, boy; you know my mind; 
 I will leave you now to your gossip-like humor: 
 you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, 
 God be thanked, hurt not. — My lord, for your many 
 courtesies, I thank you : I must discontinue your 
 company • your brother, the bastard, is fled from 
 Messina : you have, among you, killed a sweet and 
 innocent lady: For my lord lack-beard, there, he 
 and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him. 
 [Exit Benedick. 
 
 D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 
 
 Claud. In most profound earnest; and, I'll war- 
 rant you, for the love of Beatrice. 
 
 D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee? 
 
 Claud. Most sincerely. 
 
 I). Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he 
 goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit ! 
 
 Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, with 
 Conrade and Borachio. 
 
 Claud. He is then a giant to an ape : but then 
 is an ape a doctor to such a man. 
 
 D. Pedro. But, soft you, let be ; pluck up, my 
 heart, and be sad !' Did he not say, my brother was 
 fled? 
 
 Dogb. Come, you, sir; if justice cannot tame you, 
 sne shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance : 
 nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must 
 be looked to. 
 
 D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men 
 bound ! Borachio, one ! 
 
 Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord! 
 
 D. Pedro. Officers, what offence have these men 
 done? 
 
 Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false re- 
 port; moreover, they have spoken untruths; se- 
 condarily, they are slanders ; sixth, and lastly, they 
 have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified un- 
 just things; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves. 
 
 « Serious. 
 
 D. Pedro. First, I ask thee whatthry nave done: 
 thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth and 
 lastly, why they are committed; and, to conclude, 
 what you lay to their charge ? 
 
 Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division, 
 and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. 
 
 D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, 
 that you are thus bound to your answer ? this learn- 
 ed constable is too cunning to be understood , 
 What's your offence? 
 
 Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine 
 answer ; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. 
 I have deceived even your very eyes ; what your 
 wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools 
 have brought to light; who, in the night, over- 
 heard mc confessing to this man, how don John 
 your brother incensed 3 me to slander the lady 
 Hero : how you were brought into the orchard, and 
 saw me court Margaret in Hero's garments ; how 
 you disgraced her, when you should many her: 
 my villany they have upon record ; which I had 
 rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my 
 shame : the lady is dead upon mine and my master's 
 false accusation ; and, briefly, I desire no-thing but 
 the reward of a villain. 
 
 D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 
 your blood ? 
 
 Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he utter'd it. 
 
 D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this ? 
 
 Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice 
 of it. 
 
 D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of trea- 
 chery : — 
 And fled he is upon this villany. 
 
 Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear 
 In the rare semblance that I loved it first. 
 
 Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs ; by this 
 time our sexton hath reformed signior Lconato of 
 the matter. And, masters, do not forget to spe' ify, 
 when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass. 
 
 Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato. 
 and the sexton too. 
 
 Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, with the Sexton. 
 
 Leon. Which is the villain ? Let me see his eyes- 
 That when I note another man like him, 
 I may avoid him: Which of these is he ! 
 
 Bora. If you would know your wionger, look 
 on me. 
 
 Leon. Art thou the slave, that will thy breatl 
 hast kill'd 
 Mine innocent child ? 
 
 Bora. Yea, even I alone. 
 
 Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou bely'st thyself; 
 Here stand a pair of honorable men, 
 A third is fled, that had a hand in it : — 
 I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death 
 Record it with your high and worthy deeds; 
 'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 
 
 Claud. I know not how to pray your patience 
 Yet I must speak : Choose your revenge yourself 
 Impose me to what penance your invention 
 Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not, 
 But in mistaking. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I : 
 
 And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
 I would bend under any heavy -veight 
 That he'll enjoin me to. 
 
 Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live. 
 That were impossible: but, I pray you both. 
 Possess* the people in Messina here 
 How innocent she died : and, if your love 
 
 » Incited. « Acquaint 
 
!28 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Act \ 
 
 Can labor aught m sad invention, 
 
 Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb, 
 
 And sing it to her bones; sing it 10-night : — 
 
 To-n.orrow morning come you to my house ; 
 
 And since you could not be my son-in-law, 
 
 lie yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter, 
 
 Almost the copy of my child that's dead, 
 
 And she alone is heir to both of us ; 
 
 Give her the right you should have given her cousin, 
 
 And so dies my revenge. 
 
 Claud. O, noble sir, 
 
 Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me! 
 I do embrace your offer; and dispose 
 For henceforth of poor Claudio. 
 
 Leon. To-morrow then I will expectyour coming; 
 To-night I take my leave. — This naughty man 
 Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
 Who, I believe, was pack'd 4 in all this wrong, 
 Hir'd to it by your brother. 
 
 Bora. No, by my soul, she was not ; 
 
 Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me; 
 But always hath been just and virtuous, 
 In any thing that I do know by her. 
 
 Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under 
 white and black,) this plaintiff here, the offender, 
 ckd call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered 
 in his punishment : And also the watch heard them 
 talk of one Deformed : they say, he wears a key in 
 his ear, and a lock hanging by it ; and borrows mo- 
 ney in God's name; the which he hath used so 
 long, and never paid, that now men grow hard- 
 hearted, and will lend nothing for God's sake: 
 Pray you, examine hkn upon that point. 
 
 Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. 
 
 Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thank- 
 ful and reverend youth ; and I praise God for you. 
 
 Leon. There's for thy pains. 
 
 Dogb. God save the foundation! 
 
 Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and 
 I thank thee. 
 
 Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship: 
 which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself, 
 for the example of others. God keep your wor- 
 ship ; I wish your worship well ; God restore you 
 to health : I humbly give you leave to depart ; and 
 if a merry meeting may be wished, God prohibit 
 it. — Com?, neighbor. 
 
 [Ex. Dogberry, Verges, and Watch. 
 
 Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. 
 
 Ant. Farewell, my lords ; we look for you to- 
 morrow. 
 
 D. Pedro. We will not fail. 
 
 Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. 
 
 [Exeunt Don Pedro and Ceaudio. 
 
 Leon. Bring you these fellows on; we'll talk 
 with Margaret, 
 How her acquaintance grew with this lewd 1 fellow. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Leonato's Garden. 
 Enter Bejjedick and Margaret, meeting. 
 
 Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, de- 
 e«. rve well at my hands, by helping me to the speech 
 of Beatrice. 
 
 Marg. Will yo'\ then write me a sonnet in praise 
 of my beauty 1 
 
 Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man 
 living shali come over it; for in most comely truth, 
 thou deservest it. 
 
 Marg. To have no man come over me? why, 
 6hall I always ke^p below stairs] 
 
 4 Combined. « Wicked. 
 
 Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound'* 
 mouth, it catches. 
 
 Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's foils, 
 which hit, but hurt not. 
 
 Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it wiil not 
 hurt a woman ; and so I pray thee, call Beatrice : 
 I give thee the bucklers. 
 
 Marg. Give us the swords, we have bucklers of 
 our own. 
 
 Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must pit 
 in the pikes with a vice ; and they are dangerous 
 weapons for maids. 
 
 Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you, who I 
 think, hath legs. [Exit Margaret. 
 
 Bene. And therefore will come. 
 
 The god of love, [ Singing.] 
 
 That sits above, 
 And knows me, and knoivs me, 
 How pitiful I deserve, — 
 I mean, in singing : but in loving, — Leander the 
 good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pan- 
 dars, and a whole book full of these quondam car- 
 pet-mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the 
 even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so 
 truly turned over and over as my poor self, in love: 
 Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme ; I have tried ; I 
 can find out no rhyme to lady but baby, an innocent 
 rhyme; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme ; for school, 
 fool, a babbling rhyme; very ominous endings: 
 No, I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I 
 cannot woo in festival terms. 
 
 Enter Beatrice. 
 
 Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called 
 thee? 
 
 Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me. 
 
 Bene. O, stay but till then ! 
 
 Beat. Then, is spoken; fare you well now: — 
 and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, 
 which is, with knowing what hath passed between 
 you and Claudio. 
 
 Bene. Only foul words; and thereupon I will 
 kiss thee. 
 
 Beat. Foul words are but foul breath, and foul 
 breath is noisome ; therefore I will depart unkissed. 
 
 Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his 
 right sense, so forcible is thy wit: But I must tell 
 thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge; 
 and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will 
 subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, 
 tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first 
 fall in love with me? 
 
 Beat. For them all together ; which maintained so 
 politic a state of evil, that they will not admit any 
 good part to intermingle with them. But for which 
 of my good parts did you first suffer love for me ? 
 
 Bene. Suffer love,- a good epithet ! I do suftei 
 love, indeed, for I love thee against my will. 
 
 Beat. In spite of your heart, I think ; alas ! pooi 
 heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for 
 yours; for I will never love that which my friend 
 hates. 
 
 Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. 
 
 Beat. It appears not in this confession: there'? 
 not one wise man among twenty that will praise 
 himself. 
 
 Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, thai 
 lived in the time of good neighbors: if a man dc 
 not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he 
 shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings, 
 and the widow weeps. 
 
 Beat. And how long is that, think you ? 
 
 Bene. Question? — Why, an hour ir clamor 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 
 
 129 
 
 ind a quarter in rheum: Therefore it is most ex- 
 pedient for the wise, (if don Worm his conscience 
 find no impediment to the contrary,) to be the 
 trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself: So 
 much for praising myself, (who, I myself will bear 
 witness, is praise-worthy,) and now tell me, How 
 doth your cousin] 
 
 Beat. Very ill. 
 
 Bene. And how do you 1 
 
 Beat. Very ill too. 
 
 Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend: there 
 will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 
 
 Enter Ursula. 
 Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle; 
 yonder's old coil 6 at home : it is proved, my lady 
 Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and 
 Claudio mightily abused; and don John is the 
 Huthor of all, who is fled and gone: will you come 
 presently 1 
 
 Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior] 
 Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and 
 be buried in thy eyes, and, moreover, I will go 
 with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Inside of a Church. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with 
 ?nusic and tapers. 
 
 Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ' 
 
 Atten. It is, my lord. 
 
 Claud. [Reads from a scrolW] 
 
 Bone to death by slanderous tongues, 
 
 Was the Hero that here lies: 
 Death in guerdon'' of her ivrongs, 
 
 Gives her fame which never dies: 
 So the life, that died with shame, 
 Lives in death with glorious fame. 
 
 Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Affixing it. 
 Praising her when I am dumb. — 
 
 Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Pardon, goddess of the night, 
 Those that slew thy virgin knight, 
 For the which, with songs of woe, 
 Round about her tomb they go. 
 Midnight, assist our moan,- 
 Help us to sigh and groan, 
 
 Heavily, heavily: 
 Graves yawn, and yield your dead, 
 Till death be uttered, 
 Heavily, heavily. 
 Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night! 
 
 Yearly will I do this rite. 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put your 
 
 torches out: 
 The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day, 
 Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about 
 
 Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey : 
 Thanks to you all, and leave us; fare you well. 
 Claud. Good morrow, masters ; each his several 
 
 way. 
 /). Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other 
 weeds ; 
 And then to Leonato's we will go. 
 
 Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue 
 speeds, 
 Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 i Reward. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 
 .Zi'rtfer Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice, 
 Ursula, Friar, and Hero. 
 
 t 1 riar. Did I not tell you she was innocent 1 
 
 Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who ac- 
 cus'd her, 
 Upon the error that you heard debated: 
 But Margaret was in some fault for this, 
 Although against her will, as it appears 
 In the true course of all the question. 
 
 Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. 
 
 Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enfore'd 
 To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 
 
 Leon. Well, daughter, and you, gentlewomen all, 
 Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ; 
 And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd ■ 
 The prince and Claudio promised by this hour 
 To visit me: — You know your office, brother; 
 You must be father to your brother's daughter, 
 And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance. 
 
 Bene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think. 
 
 Friar. To do what, signior? 
 
 Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them.- • 
 Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior, 
 Your niece regards me with an eye of favor. 
 
 Leon. That, eye my daughter lent her : 'Tis most 
 true. 
 
 Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 
 
 Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from 
 me, 
 From Claudio, and the prince; But what's your will] 
 
 Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical : 
 But, for my will, my will is, your good will 
 May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
 In the estate of honorable marriage ; — 
 In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 
 
 Leon. My heart is with your liking. 
 
 Friar. And my help 
 
 Here comes the prince, and Claudio. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants 
 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
 
 Leon. Good mcrrow, prince: good morrow 
 Claudio ; 
 We here attend you ; are you yet deter min'd 
 To-day to marry with my brother's daughter? 
 
 Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope 
 
 Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar 
 ready. [Exit, Antonio 
 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow, Benedick: Why, what's 
 the matter, 
 That you have such a February face, 
 So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness] 
 
 Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull : — 
 Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold, 
 And all Europa shall rejoice at thee; 
 As once Europa did at lusty Jove. 
 When he would play the noble beast in lovp 
 
 Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low; 
 And some such strange bull leap'd your father's 
 
 cow, 
 And got a calf in that same noole feat, 
 Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies jnasked. 
 Claud. For this I owe you: here come other 
 
 reckonings. 
 Which is the lady I must seize upon 1 
 
 Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 
 Claud. Why, then she's mine : Sweet 'e\ me .see 
 
 your face. 
 
 I 
 
130 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 
 
 Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her 
 hand, 
 Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 
 
 Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar; 
 I am your husband, if you like of me. 
 
 Hero. And when I lived I was your other wife : 
 
 [TJnmasMng. 
 And when you loved, you were my other husband. 
 Claud. Another Hero 1 
 
 Hero. Nothing certainer: 
 
 One Hero died defil'd ; but I do live, 
 And, surely as I live, I am a maid. 
 
 D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! 
 Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander 
 
 lived. 
 Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; 
 When, after that the holy rites are ended, 
 I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death : 
 Mean time let wonder seem familiar, 
 And to the chapel let us presently. 
 
 Bene. Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice? 
 Beat. I answer to that name; [Unmasking.'] 
 
 What is your will 1 
 Bene. Do not you love me 1 
 Beat. No, no more than reason. 
 
 Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, 
 and Claudio, 
 Have been deceived; for they swore you did. 
 Beat. Do you not love me? 
 Bene. No, no more than reason. 
 
 Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret,and Ursula, 
 Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did. 
 Bene. They swore that you were almost sick 
 
 for me. 
 Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead 
 
 for me. 
 Bene. 'Tis no such matter : — Then you do not 
 
 love me? 
 Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 
 Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the 
 
 gentleman. 
 Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves 
 her; 
 For here's a paper, written in kis hand, 
 k halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
 Fashion'd to Beatrice. 
 Hero. And here's another, 
 
 Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen n)^ he: r-;< *?t. 
 Containing her affection unto Benedick. 
 
 Bene. A miracle! here's our own handr airoloM 
 our hearts ! — Come, I will have thee ; but, rj thla 
 light, I take thee for pity. 
 
 Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this good 
 day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and, partly. ;o 
 save your life ; for I was told you were in *\ ton- 
 sumption. 
 
 Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth.- 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 D. Pedro. How dost thou, Benedick the married 
 man? 
 
 Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college oi 
 wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor • 
 Dost thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram: 
 No : If a man will be beaten with brains, he shall 
 wear nothing handsome about him : In brief, since 
 I do propose to marry, I will think nothing to any 
 purpose that the world can say against it ; and 
 therefore never flout at me for what I have said 
 against it; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my 
 conclusion. — For thy part, Claudio, I did ihink to 
 have beaten thee; but in that 8 thou art like to bfl 
 my kinsman, live unbruised, and love my cousin. 
 
 Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have 
 denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee 
 out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer , 
 which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin 
 do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. 
 
 Bene. Come, come, we are friends :— let's ha^o 
 a dance, ere we are married, that we might lighten 
 our own hearts and our wives' heels. 
 
 Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards. 
 
 Bene. First, o'my word; therefore, play, music. 
 
 Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee 
 a wife : there is no staff more reverend than one 
 tipped with horn. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'er. in 
 flight, 
 And brought with armed men back to Messina. 
 
 Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow ; I'll 
 devise thee'hrave punishments for him. — Strike up, 
 pipers. [Dance — Exeuni. 
 
 • Because. 
 
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 'I drSEtrs, 1'uke of Athens. 
 
 L • *us, Father to Hermia. 
 
 Lysander, > in hve w . th Hermia- 
 
 Demetrius, ) 
 
 Philostrate, Master of the Revels to Theseus. 
 
 Quince, the Carpenter. 
 
 Snug, the Joiner. 
 
 Bottom, the Weaver. 
 
 Flute, the Bellows-mender. 
 
 i*srcuT, the Tinker. 
 
 b\j. -jYElinb, the Tailor. 
 
 Oberon, King of the Fairies. 
 
 Titanta, Queen of the Fairies. 
 
 Puck, or Roijin-goodfellow, a Fairy. 
 
 Peas-blossom, 
 
 Cobweb, 
 
 Moth, 
 
 Mustard-Seed, 
 
 Pyramus, 
 
 fhisbe, 
 
 Wall, 
 
 Moonshine, 
 
 Lion, 
 
 > Fairies. 
 
 I Characters in the Interiudi 
 | performed by the Clowns. 
 
 Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to 
 
 Tneseus. 
 Hetlmx a, Daughter to~Egeus,in lovewithLysander. 
 He 1 ena. in love vnth Demetrius. 
 
 SCENE, Athens ; and a Wood not far from it. 
 
 Other Fairies attending their Kins and Queen. 
 Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta- 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — Athens. A Room in the Palace of 
 
 Theseus. 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and 
 Attendanis. 
 The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
 Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
 Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow 
 This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires, 
 Like to a step-dame, or a dowager, 
 Long withering out a young man's revenue. 
 Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves 
 in nights; 
 Four nights will quickly dream away the time ; 
 And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
 New bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
 ffcf our solemnities. 
 
 The. Go, Philostrate, 
 
 Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments; 
 Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
 Turn melancholy forth to funerals, 
 The pale companion is not for our pomp. 
 
 [Exit Philostrate. 
 Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword, 
 And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; 
 But I will wed thee in another key, 
 With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 
 Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and 
 
 Demetrius. 
 Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! 
 The. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news 
 
 with thee ? 
 Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
 Against my child, my daughter Hermia. — ■ 
 Stand forth, Demetrius; — My noble lord, 
 [1311 
 
 This man hath my consent to marry her : — 
 Stand forth, Lysander; — and, my gracious; duke^ 
 This hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child: 
 Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes' 
 And interchang'd love-tokens with my child: 
 Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung, 
 With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
 And stoi'n the impression of her fantasy 
 With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits, 
 Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; messengers 
 Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth: 
 With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's 
 
 heart , 
 Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me, 
 To stubborn harshness : — And, my gracious duke, 
 Be it so she will not here before your grace 
 Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
 I beg the ancient privilege of Athens; 
 As she is mine, I may dispose oi her : 
 Which shall be either to this gentleman, 
 Or to her death ; according to our law, 
 Immediately provided in that case. 
 
 The. What say you, Hermia 7 be advised, fair 
 maid: 
 To you your father should be as a god ; 
 One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one 
 To whom you are but as a form in wax, 
 By him imprinted, and within his power 
 To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
 Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
 
 Her. So is Lysander. 
 
 The. In himself he is: 
 
 But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice. 
 The other must be held the worthier. 
 
 Her. I would, my father look'd but with m> eye* 
 
132 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act I 
 
 The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment 
 look. 
 
 Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me. 
 I know not by what power I am made bold ; 
 Nor how it may concern my modesty, 
 in such a presence here, to plead my thoughts : 
 But I beseech your grace that I may know 
 The worst that may befa.1 me in this case, 
 If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 
 
 The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
 For ever the society of men. 
 Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires, 
 Know of your youth, examine well your blood, 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice, 
 You can endure the livery of a nun ; 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd, 
 To live a barren sister all your life, 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
 Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
 But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, 
 Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn, 
 Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness. 
 
 Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord, 
 Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
 Unto his lordship, whose unwished 3-oke 
 My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 
 
 The. Take time to pause; and, by the next new 
 moon, 
 (The sealing-day betwixt my love and me, 
 For everlasting bond of fellowship,) 
 Upon that day either prepare to die, 
 For disobedience to your father's will; 
 Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would; 
 Or on Diana's altar to protest, 
 For aye, austerity and single life. 
 
 Bern. Relent, sweet Hermia : — And, Lysander, 
 yield 
 Thy crazed title to my certain right. 
 
 Lys. You have her father's love, Demetrius: 
 Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him. 
 
 Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love ; 
 And what is mine my love shall render him : 
 And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
 I do estate unto Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. I am, my lord, as well derived as he, 
 As well possess'd; my love is more than his; 
 My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 
 If not with vantage, as Demetrius' ; 
 And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
 I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia. 
 Why should not I then prosecute my right ? 
 Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head, 
 Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
 And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes 
 Upon this spotted ' and inconstant man. 
 
 The. I must confess, that I have heard so much, 
 \nd with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof ; 
 But, being over-full of self-affairs, 
 My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come; 
 And come, Egeus;you shall go with me; 
 I have some private schooling for you both. — 
 For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
 To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
 Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
 ^ Which by no means we may extenuate) 
 To death, or to a vow of single life. — 
 Come, my Hippolyta; What cheer, my love? 
 Demetrius, and Egeus, go along: 
 I must employ you in some business 
 Against our nuptial ; and confer with you 
 Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 
 » Wicked. 
 
 Ege. With duty and desire, we follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt Thes., Hip., Ege., Dem., and Train. 
 
 Lys. How now, my love ? Why is your cheek 
 so pale? 
 How chance the roses there do fade so fast ! 
 
 Her. Belike, for want of rain ; which I could well 
 Beteem 2 them from the tempest of mine eyes. 
 
 Lys. Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, 
 Could ever hear by tale or history, 
 The course of true love never did run smooth: 
 But, either it was different in blood ; 
 
 Her. cross ! too high to be enthrall'd to low \ 
 
 Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years; 
 
 Her. spite! too old to be engag'd to young! 
 
 Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends ; 
 
 Her. hell ! to choose love by another's eye ! 
 
 Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy i); choice, 
 War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it , 
 Making it momentany 3 as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
 Brief as the lightning in the collied" night, 
 That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
 And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold ! 
 The jaws of darkness do devour it up : 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. 
 
 Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross' A, 
 It stands as an edict in destiny : 
 Then let us teach our trial patience, 
 Because it is a customary cross; 
 As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, 
 Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's 6 followers. 
 
 Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me, 
 Hermia. 
 I have a widow aunt, a dowager 
 Of great revenue, and she hath no child: 
 From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
 And she respects me as her only son. 
 There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
 And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
 Cannot pursue us : If thou lov'st me then, 
 Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ; 
 And in the wood, a league without the town, 
 Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
 To do observance to a morn of May, 
 There will I stay for thee. 
 
 Her. My good Lysander! 
 
 I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow ; 
 By his best arrow with the golden head ; 
 By the simplicity of Venus' doves ; 
 By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves; 
 And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, 
 'When the false Trojan under sail was seen ; 
 By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
 In number more than ever women spoke ; — 
 In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 
 
 Lys. Keep promise, love ; Look, here comes 
 Helena. 
 
 Enier Helena. 
 
 Her. God speed fair Helena! Whither away? 
 
 Hel. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. 
 Demetrius loves you fair : O happy fair ! 
 Your eyes are lode-stars ; 6 and your tongue's sweet 
 
 air 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear, 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
 Sickness is catching; 0, were favor 1 so! 
 Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 
 My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eya. 
 
 » Give, bestow. 
 « Black. 
 • J* He sters. 
 
 a Momentary. 
 
 » Love's. 
 
 ' Countenance. 
 
*V EH\2 II 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 133 
 
 My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
 Wer; tne world mine, Demetrius being bated, 
 x ne rest I'll give to be to you translated. 
 ■ ), teach me how you look ; and with what art 
 v ou sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
 
 Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 
 
 Hel. 0, that your frowns would teach my smiles 
 such skill ! 
 
 Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. 
 
 Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection 
 move! 
 
 Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me. 
 
 Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 
 
 Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 
 
 Hel. None, but your beauty; 'Would that fault 
 were mine ! 
 
 Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face, 
 Lysander and myself will fly this place. — 
 Before the time I did Lysander see, 
 Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me: 
 
 then, what graces in my love do dwell, 
 That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell ! 
 
 Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold! 
 To-morrow right when Phoebe doth behold 
 Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, 
 Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
 (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) 
 Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 
 
 Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
 Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie, 
 Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ; 
 There my Lysander and myself shall meet : 
 And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, 
 To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
 Farewell, sweet play-fellow ; pray thou for us, 
 And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius ! 
 Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight 
 From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight. 
 
 [Exit Hemi. 
 
 Lys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu : 
 As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! [Exit Lts. 
 
 Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be ! 
 Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
 But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; 
 He will not know what all but he do know. 
 And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, 
 So I, admiring of his qualities. 
 Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
 Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
 Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; 
 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
 Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste ; 
 Wings, and no eyes, figure unhecdy haste : 
 And therefore is Love said to be a child, 
 Because in choice he is so oftbeguil'd. 
 As waggish boys in game 3 themselves forswear. 
 So the boy Love is perjur'd every where : 
 For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, 9 
 He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine; 
 And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, 
 So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melt. 
 
 1 will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight; 
 Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night, 
 Pursue her; and for this intelligence 
 
 If I have thanks, it is a dear expence : 
 But herein mean I to enrich my pain, 
 To have his sight thither, and back again. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. A Room in a Cottage. 
 
 Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, 
 
 and Starveling. 
 
 Quin. Is all our company here ] 
 « Sport. 
 
 1 Eyes. 
 
 Bot. You were best to call them generally, man 
 by man, according to the scrip. 
 
 Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
 which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in 
 our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his 
 wedding-day at night. 
 
 Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the 
 play treats on ; then read the names of the actors ; 
 and so grow to a point. 
 
 Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable 
 comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and 
 Thisby. 
 
 Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you, 
 and a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth 
 your actors by the scroll : Masters, spread yourselves. 
 
 Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, 
 the weaver. 
 
 Bot. Ready : Name what part I am for, and 
 proceed. 
 
 Quin. You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Py- 
 ramus. 
 
 Bot. What is Pyramus '< a lover, or a tyrant. 
 
 Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly 
 for love. 
 
 Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- 
 forming of it : If I do it, let the audience look to 
 their eyes ; I will move storms, I will condole in 
 some measure. To the rest : — Yet my chief } «i- 
 mor is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, >t 
 a part to tear a cat in, to make all split. 
 " The raging rocks, 
 " With shivering shocks, 
 " Shall break the locks 
 
 "Of prison gates : 
 " And Phibbus' car 
 " Shall shine from fai, 
 " And make and mar 
 " The foolish fates." 
 This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players 
 — This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is 
 more condoling. 
 
 Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 
 
 Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You must take Thisby on you. 
 
 Flu. What is Thisby ? a wandering knight 1 ? 
 
 Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love. 
 
 Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I 
 have a beard coming. 
 
 Quin. That's all one ; you shall play it in a mask 
 and you may speak as small as you will. 
 
 Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby 
 too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice ; — Thisne, 
 Thisne, — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear,- thy Thisby 
 dear: and lady dear! 
 
 Quin. No, no : you must play Pyramus, and 
 Flute you Thisby. 
 
 Bot. Well, proceed. 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. 
 
 Stari\ Here, Peter Quince, 
 
 Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's 
 mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker. 
 
 Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You, Pyramus's father; myself Thisby's 
 father; — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part : — 
 and, I hope, here is a play fitted. 
 
 Snug. Have you the lion's part written '! prav 
 you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study 
 
 Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing 
 but roaring. 
 
 Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roai , that 
 I will do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will 
 roar, that I will make the duke say, Let him rua> 
 again, Let him roar agai'i. 
 
!34 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you 
 would fright the ducness and the ladies, that they 
 would shriek : and that were enough to hang us all. 
 
 All. That would hang us every mother's son. 
 
 Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should 
 fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have 
 no more discretion but to hang us: but I will ag- 
 gravate my voice so, that I will roar you as gently 
 as any sucking dove ; I will roar you an ' 'twere 
 any nightingale. 
 
 Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for 
 Pj'ramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper man, as 
 one shall see in a summer's day : a most lovely, 
 gentleman-like man; therefore you must needs 
 play Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard 
 were I best to play it in 1 
 
 Quin. Why, what you will. 
 
 Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
 colored beard, your orange-tawny beard, your 
 
 purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-coloi 
 beard, your perfect yellow. 
 
 Quin. Some of your French crowns have no 
 hair at all, and then you will play bare-faced. — 
 But, masters, here are your parts: and I am tr 
 entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con 
 them by to-morrow night; and meet 113 in th 
 palace wood, a mile without the town, by n.Cv. : 
 light ; there will we rehearse : for if we meet Ll 
 the city, we shall be dog'd with company, and e - r 
 devices known. In the mean time, I will dra\ s 
 bill of properties, 8 such as our play wants. I pray 
 you, fail me not. 
 
 Bot. We will meet; and there we may ichearse 
 more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains; 
 be perfect; adieu. 
 
 Quin. At the duke's oak we meet. 
 
 Bot. Enough:. Hold, or cut bow-strings. 5 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Wood near Athens. 
 Enter a Fairy at one door, and Puck at another. 
 Puck. How now, spirit ! whither wander you ? 
 Fai. Over hill, over dale, 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough briar, 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 I do wander every where, 
 Swifter than the moone's sphere; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs 2 upon the green : 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favors, 
 In those freckles live their savors : 
 I must go seek some dew-drops here, 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 Farewell, thou lob 3 of spirits, I'll be gone ; 
 Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 
 
 Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night; 
 Take heed, the queen come not within his sight, 
 For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
 Because that she, as her attendant, hath 
 A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king ; 
 She never had so sweet a changeling : 
 And jealous Oberon would have the child 
 Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild: 
 But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy, 
 Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy: 
 And now they never meet in grove, or green, 
 By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen/ 
 But they do square ; 6 that all their elves, for fear, 
 Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 
 Fai. Either I mistake your shape and making 
 quite, 
 Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
 Call'd Robin Goodfellow : are you not he, 
 That fright the maidens of the villagery ; 
 Skim milk; and sometimes labor in the quern, 6 
 And bootless make the breathless housewife churn: 
 And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm ;' 
 Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm ] 
 Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
 Ifou do their work, and they shall have good luck : 
 Are not you he? 
 
 Puck. Thou speak'st aright; 
 
 i As if. a Circle.;. 3 A term of contempt. 
 
 • Shining i Quarrel. « Mill. ' Yeast. 
 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon, and make him smile, 
 When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, 
 Neighing in likeness of a silly foal : 
 And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, 
 In very likeness of a roasted crab ; ' 
 And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob, 
 And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
 The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale, 
 Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ; 
 Then slip I from her bum, down topples she, 
 And tailor cries, and falls into a cough; 
 And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe 
 And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there. — 
 But room, Fairy, here comes Oberon. 
 
 Fai. And here my mistress : — 'Would that he 
 were gone ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Oberon, at one door, with his train, and 
 Titania, at another, with hers. 
 
 Obe. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania. 
 
 Tit a. What, jealous Oberon 1 Fairy, skip hence ; 
 I have forsworn his bed and company. 
 
 Obe. Tarry, rash wanton : Am not I thy lord 1 
 
 Tita. Then I must be thy lady : But I know 
 When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land, 
 And in the shape of Corin sat all day, 
 Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love 
 To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here, 
 Come from the farthest steep of India 1 ? 
 But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon, 
 Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love, 
 To Theseus must be wedded ; and you come 
 To give their bed joy and prosperity. 
 
 Obe. How canst thou thus, for shame, Titania, 
 Glance at my credit with Hippolyta, 
 Knowing I know thy love to Theseus? 
 Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering 
 
 night, 
 From Perigenia, whom he ravished] 
 And make him with fair JEgle break his faith, 
 With Ariadne, and Antiopa? 
 
 Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy: 
 And never since the middle summer's spring, 
 
 « Articles required in performing a i>lay. 
 » At al) "vents. » Wild apple. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 I3. e i 
 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, 
 
 By paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
 
 Or on the beached margent of the sea, 
 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, 
 
 But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport. 
 
 Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
 
 As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
 
 Contagious fogs ; which tailing in the land, 
 
 Have every pelting' river made so proud, 
 
 That they have overborne their continents : 3 
 
 The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain, 
 
 The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn 
 
 Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard: 
 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned field, 
 
 And crows are fatted with the murrain flock ; 
 
 The nine men's morris 4 is fill'd up with mud ; 
 
 And the quaint mazes in the wanton green, 
 
 For lack of tread, are '.indistinguishable : 
 
 The human mortals want their winter here ; 
 
 No night is row with hymn or carol blest : — 
 
 Th?refor3 :h<! moon, the governess of floods, 
 
 Pal =! in he. anger, washes all the air, 
 
 Tm~t rheumatic diseases do abound: 
 
 And thorough this distemperature, we »ee 
 
 T"be seasons alter: hoary -headed frosts 
 
 Fail in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
 
 And on old Hyems' chin, and icy crown, 
 
 An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 
 Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer, 
 
 The childing 5 autumn, angry winter, change 
 
 Their wanted liveries; and the 'mazed world, 
 
 By their increase, now knows not which is which : 
 
 And this same progeny of evils comes 
 
 Frr.T •-•ar debate, from our dissension; 
 
 We ars their parents and original. 
 
 Obe. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you : 
 Why should Titania cross her Oberon ? 
 I do but beg a little changeling boy, 
 To be my henchman. 6 
 
 Tita. Set your heart at rest, 
 
 The fairy land buys not the child of me. 
 His mother was a vot'ress of my order: 
 And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, 
 Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ; 
 And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands, 
 Marking the embarked traders on the flood ; 
 When we have laugh'd to see the s-ails conceive, 
 And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind : 
 Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait 
 (Following her womb, then rich with my young 
 
 'squire,) 
 Would imitate ; and sail upon the land, 
 To fetch me trifles, and return again, 
 As from a voyage, rich with merchandise. 
 But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ; 
 And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy ; 
 And, for her sake, I will not part with him. 
 
 Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay? 
 
 Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day. 
 If you will patiently dance in our round, 
 And see our moonlight revels, go with us; 
 If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 
 
 Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee. 
 
 Tita. Not for thy kingdom. — Fairies, away : 
 
 i shall chide downright, if I longer stay. 
 
 [Exeunt Titania, and her train. 
 
 Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this 
 grove, 
 Till I torment thee for this injury. — 
 My gentle Puck, come hither: Thou remember'st 
 
 » Putty. * Banks which contain them. 
 
 « Holes made for a game played by boys. 
 
 « Autnmn producing flowers unseasonably. • Page. 
 
 w 
 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's hack, 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, 
 To hear the sea-maid's music. 
 
 Puck. I remember. 
 
 Obe. That very time I saw, but thou could'st not, 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth 
 Cupid all arm'd : A certain aim he took 
 At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 
 And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow, 
 As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : 
 But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
 Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon; 
 And the imperial vot'ress passed on, 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
 Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
 It fell upon a little western flower, — 
 Before, milk-white; now purple with love's wound— 
 And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
 Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee once 
 The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid, 
 Will make or man or woman madly dote 
 Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
 Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again, 
 Ere the Leviathan can swim a league. 
 
 Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes. [Exit Puck 
 
 Obe. Having once this juice, 
 
 I'll watch Titania when she is asleep, 
 And drop the liquor of it in her eyes : 
 The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
 (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull, 
 On meddling monkey, or on busy s-pe,) 
 She shall pursue it with the soul of love. 
 And ere I take this charm off from her sight, 
 (As I can take it with another herb,) 
 I'll make her render up her page to me 
 But who comes here ? I am invisible ; 
 And I will over-hear their conference. 
 
 Enter Demetrius, Helena folloiuing him. 
 
 Dem. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
 Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia ? 
 The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me 
 Thou told'st me they were stolen into this wood, 
 And here am I, and wood 1 within this wood, 
 Because I cannot meet with Hermia. 
 Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. 
 
 Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant 
 But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
 Is true as steel : Leave you your power to draw. 
 And I shall have no power to follow you. 
 
 Dem. Do I entice you ? Do I speak you fair ' 
 Or rather, do I not in plainest truth 
 Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot love you? 
 
 Hel. And even for that do I love you the more, 
 lam your spaniel; and, Demetrius, 
 The more you beat me, I will fawn on you: 
 Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me. strike me ; 
 Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave, 
 Unworthy as I am. to follow you. 
 What worser place can I beg in your love, 
 (And yet a place of high respect with me,) 
 Than to be used as you use your dog? 
 
 Dem. Tempi not too much the hatred of my 
 spirit ; 
 For I am sick, when I do look on thee. 
 
 Hel. And I am sick when I look not on you. 
 
 Dem. You do impeach 3 your modesty too much, 
 T' ;ave the city, and commit yourself 
 
 ' Raving mad • Bring in question. 
 
136 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 A'JT II 
 
 Into the hands of one that loves you not ; 
 To trust the opportunity of night, 
 And the ill counsel of a desert place, 
 With the rich worth of your virginity. 
 
 Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. 
 It is not night, when I do see your face, 
 Therefore. I think I am not in the night : 
 Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company; 
 For you, in my respect, are all the world : 
 Then how can it be said, I am alone, 
 When all the world is here to look on me 1 
 
 Dent. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the 
 brakes, 
 A nd leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 
 
 Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
 Hun when you will, the story shall be chang'd ; 
 Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
 The dove pursues the griffin ; the mild hind 
 Makes speed to catch the tiger : Bootless speed ! 
 When cowardice pursues, and valor flies. 
 
 Dcm. I will not stay thy questions : let me go : 
 Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
 But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 
 
 Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field, 
 You do me mischief. Fye, Demetrius! 
 Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex ! 
 We cannot fight for love, as men may do ; 
 We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. 
 I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell, 
 To die upon 9 the hand I love so well. 
 
 [Exeunt Dem. and Hel. 
 
 Obe. Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave 
 this grove, 
 Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. — 
 
 Re-enler Puck. 
 
 Hast thou the flower there 1 Welcome, wanderer. 
 
 Puck. Ay, there it is. 
 
 Obe. I pray thee, give it me. 
 
 I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 Where ox-lips' and the nodding violet grows; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush 3 woodbine, 
 With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine: 
 There sleeps Titania, some time of the night, 
 Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight; 
 A.nd there the snake throws her enamell'd skin, 
 Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in : 
 And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes 
 And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
 Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove : 
 A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
 With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ; 
 But do it, when the next thing he espies 
 May be the lady : Thou shalt know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he hath on. 
 Effect it with some care; that he may prove 
 More fond on her, than she upon her love ; 
 And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
 
 Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do 
 s - ; [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another part of the Wood. 
 
 Enter Titania, with her train. 
 Tita. Come, now a roundel, 3 and a fairy song; 
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 
 Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; 
 Some, war with rear-mice 4 for their leathern wings, 
 To make my small elves coats ; and, some, keep back 
 The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders 
 At our quaint spirits: 5 Sing me now asleep; 
 Then to your offices, and let me rest. 
 
 •By. « The greater cowslip 
 
 » A kind of Clance. * Bats. 
 
 2 Vigorous. 
 » Sports. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1 Fai. You spotted snakes, with double tongue, 
 
 Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen.- 
 Newts, 6 and blind-worms,'' do no icr-jjig. 
 Come not near our fairy queen: 
 Chorus. Philomel, with melody, 
 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby,- 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby,- lulla, lulla, lullaby 
 Never harm, nor spell, nor charm. 
 Come our lovely lady nigh,- 
 So good night, with lullaby. 
 II. 
 
 2 Fai. Weaving spiders, come not here; 
 
 Hence, you long-/egg , d spinners, hence, 
 Beetles black, approach not near,- 
 Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 
 Chorus. Philomel, with melody, <$•<:. 
 1 Fai. Hence, away : now all is well : 
 One, aloof, stand sentinel. 
 
 [Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleep*. 
 Enter Obeuon. 
 Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 
 [Squeezes the flower on Titania's eye-li-h 
 Do it for thy true love take ; 
 Love and languish for his sake : 
 Be it ounce, 8 or cat, or bear, 
 Pard, or boar with bristled hair. 
 In thy eye that shall appear 
 When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; 
 Wake, when some vile thing is near. [Exit 
 
 En/«* Lysander and Hermia. 
 Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in th6 
 
 wood ; 
 And to speak truth, I have forgot our way; 
 We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, 
 And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
 Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed, 
 For I upon this bank will rest my head. 
 
 Lys. One turf shall serve as pillow for us both 
 One heart, one bed, two bosoms, and one troth. 
 
 Her. Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear. 
 Lie further off yet, do not lie so near. 
 
 Lys. O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence, 
 Love takes the meaning, in love's conference. 
 I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit, 
 So that but one heart we can make of it : 
 Two bosoms interchained with an oath; 
 So then, two bosoms, and a single troth. 
 Then, by your side no bed-room me deny; 
 For, lying so, Hermia, I do not lie. 
 
 Her. Lysander riddles very prettily : — 
 Now much beshrew my manners and my pride, 
 If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. 
 But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
 Lie further oft"; in human modesty. 
 Such separation, as, may well be said, 
 Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : 
 So far be distant ; and good night, sweet friend : 
 Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end ! 
 
 Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I , 
 And then end life, when I end loyalty ! 
 Here is my bed : sleep give thee all his rest ! 
 Her. With half that wish the wisher's eyes be 
 press'd! [They sltep 
 
 Enter Puck. 
 Puck. Through the forest have I gone, 
 But Athenian found I none, 
 On whose eyes I might approve 
 This flower's force if stirring love. 
 « Efts. ' Slow-worms. « The small tiger 
 
SiJKNE I 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 137 
 
 Night and silence! who is here? 
 
 Weeds of Athens he doth wear: 
 
 'This is he my master said, 
 
 Despised the Athenian maid: 
 
 And here the maiden, sleeping sov'-fld, 
 
 On the dank and dirty ground. 
 
 Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
 
 Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. 
 
 Churl, upon thy eyes T throw 
 
 All the power this charm doth owe : 9 
 
 When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
 
 Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid. 
 
 So awake, when 1 am gone ; 
 
 For I must now to Oberon. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Helena, running. 
 
 Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 
 Dcm. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me 
 
 thus. 
 Hel. O, wilt thou darkling 1 leave me? do not 
 
 Dtm. Stay, on thy peril; I alone will go. 
 
 [Exit Demetrius. 
 
 Hel. 0, I am out of breath in this fond chase ! 
 The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
 Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 
 For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
 How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt 
 
 tears : 
 If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
 No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ; 
 For beasts that meet me, run away for fear : 
 Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius 
 Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus: 
 What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
 Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ? — 
 But who is here ? — Lysander ! on the ground ! 
 Dead? or asleep? I see no blood, no wound: — 
 Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 
 
 Lys. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet 
 sake, [ Waking. 
 
 Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art, 
 That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
 Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word 
 Is that vile name to perish on my sword ! 
 
 Hel. Do not say so, Lysander: say not so: 
 What though he love ycur Hermia ! Lord, what 
 
 though ? 
 Vet Hermia still loves you: then be content. 
 
 Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent 
 The tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
 Not Hermia, but Helena I love : 
 Who will not change a raven for a dove? 
 The will of man is by his reason sway'd ; 
 And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
 Things growing are not ripe until their season: 
 So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ; 
 And touching now the point of human skill, 
 Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
 And leads me to your eyes; where I o'erlook 
 Love's stories written in love's richest book. 
 
 Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? 
 When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn? 
 Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man, 
 That I did never, no, nor never can, 
 Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
 But you must flout my insufficiency? 
 Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth you do, 
 In such disdainful manner me to woo. 
 But fare you well : perforce I must confess, 
 I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
 O, that a lady, of one man refus'd, 
 Should of another, therefore, be abus'd ! [Exit. 
 
 Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep thou 
 there ; 
 And never may'st thou come Lysander near ! 
 For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
 The deepest loathing to the stomach brings; 
 Or, as the heresies that men do leave, 
 Are hated most of those they did deceive; 
 So thou, my surfeit and my heresy, 
 Of all be hated ; but the most of me ! 
 And all my powers, address your love and might, 
 To honor Helen, and to be her knight! [Exit. 
 
 Her. [Starting.'] Help me, Lysander ! help me ! 
 do thy best, 
 To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
 Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ? 
 Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear ! 
 Methought a serpent eat my heart away, 
 And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : — 
 Lysander! what, removed? Lysander! lord! 
 What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word' 7 
 Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear; 
 Speak, of all loves; 3 I swoon almost with fear. 
 No? — then I well perceive you are not nigh: 
 Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. [Exit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. The Queen of Fairies 
 lying asleep. 
 
 Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, 
 and Starveling. 
 
 Bot. Are we all met? 
 
 Quin. Pat, pat; and here's a marvellous conve- 
 nient place for our rehearsal : This green plot shall 
 be our stage, this hawthorn brake our ty ring-house ; 
 and we will do it in action, as we will do it before 
 the duke. 
 
 Hot Peter Quince, — 
 
 Quin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom? 
 
 Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramut 
 and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyra- 
 mus must draw a sword to kill himself; which the 
 ladies cannot abide. How answer you that? 
 
 Snout. By'rlakin, a parlous fear. 
 » Possets. » Ic the dar\c. s By our ladykin. 
 
 Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, 
 when all is done. 
 
 Bot. Not a whit; I have a device to make all 
 well. Write me a prologue : and let the prologue 
 seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords; 
 and that Pyramus is not killed indeed: and for the 
 more better assurance, tell thern, that I, Pyramus, 
 am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: This 
 will put them out of fear. 
 
 Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; and 
 it shall be written in eight and six. 
 
 Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written in 
 eight and eight. 
 
 Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ? 
 
 Star. I fear it, I promise vou. 
 
 Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with yoai 
 
 selves: to bring in, God shield us! a lion among 
 
 ladies, is a most dreadful thing ; for there is not ft 
 
 » By all that is dew. 
 
 K 
 
r~u 
 
 m 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 raore fearful wild-fowl than your lion, living; and 
 we ought to look to it. 
 
 Snout Therefore, another prologue must tell, 
 ht! is not a lion. 
 
 Dot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his 
 face must be seen through the lion's neck; and he 
 himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the 
 same defect, — Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish 
 you, or I would request you, or, I would entreat 
 you, not to fear, not to tremble : my life for yours. 
 If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity 
 of my life : No, I am no such thing ; I am a man 
 as other men are: — and there, indeed, let him 
 name his name ; and tell them plainly, he is Snug 
 the joiner. 
 
 Qum. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard 
 things ; that is, to bring the moon-light into a cham- 
 ber : for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by 
 moon- light. 
 
 Snug. Doth the moon shine, that night we play 
 our play? 
 
 Bot. A calendar, a calendar! look in the alma- 
 nac; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine. 
 
 Quin. Yes. it doth shine that night. 
 
 Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of 
 the great chamber window, where we play, open; 
 and the moon may shine in at the casement. 
 
 Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush 
 of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to dis- 
 figure, or to present, the person of moon-shine. 
 Then, there is another thing: we must have a wall 
 in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says 
 the story, did talk through the chinks of a wall. 
 
 Snug. You never can biing in a wall. — What 
 say you, Bottom ? 
 
 Bot. Some man or other must present wall: and 
 let him have some plaster, or some loam, or some 
 rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; or let him 
 hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall 
 Pyramus and Thisby whisper. 
 
 Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
 down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts. 
 Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your 
 speech, enter into that brake ; 4 and so every one 
 according to his cue. 
 
 Enter Puck behind. 
 
 Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- 
 gering here, 
 So near the cradle of the fairy queen 1 
 What, a play toward ! I'll be an auditor ; 
 An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. 
 
 Quin. Speak, Pyramus: — Thisby, stand forth. 
 
 Pyr Thisby, the flowers of odious savors sweet — 
 
 Quin. Odors, odors. 
 
 Pyr. odors savors sweet: 
 
 So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. — 
 But, hark, a voice/ stay thou but here awhile, 
 
 And by and by I will to thee appear. [Exit. 
 
 Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'erplay'd here ! 
 [Aside. — Exit. 
 
 This. Must I speak now ? 
 
 Quin. Ay, marry, must you : for you must un- 
 derstand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, 
 tnd is to come again. 
 
 This. Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white 
 of hue, 
 
 Of color like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
 Most brisky juvenal, ,* and eke most lovely Jew, 
 
 As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire, 
 I'll meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny's tomb. 
 
 Qv.in. Ninus' tomb, man : Why you must not 
 • Thicket. » Young man. 
 
 speak that yet ; that3'0u answer to F yramus : v.< 
 speak all yoi-r part at oi.ee, cues* and a!i. — Pyrs 
 mus, enter ; your cue is past : it is, never tire. 
 Re-enter Pcck. and Bottom with an Ass's heaa 
 This. O.—r-As trui as v>*ie&t horse, thai ye\ 
 
 would nevet :,irt- 
 Pyr. If I wcrefui*. thisby, I were only thine: 
 Quin. monstrous! Csxinge! we are haunted 
 Pray, masters: tij, ro .".ster? ! her ! 
 
 [Exeunt Clowns 
 Puck. V\\ follow you, I'll lead you about n round. 
 Through bog, through bush, through n^kc, 
 through brier; 
 Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound 
 A hog, a headless bear, sometime a nre 
 And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and \w n, ( 
 Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at everv turn. 
 
 [Exit 
 Bot. Why do they run away : t' is is a knv ,."» 
 of them, to make me afeard. 
 
 Re-enter Snout. 
 Snout. O Bottom, thou art change/! ! what Jo 
 aee on thee? [Exit 
 
 Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass's head 
 of your own ; Do you ? 
 
 Re-enter Quince. 
 
 Quin. Bless thee, Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art 
 
 translated. [Exit. 
 
 Bot. I see their knavery: this is to make an ass 
 
 of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not 
 
 stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk 
 
 up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall 
 
 hear I am not afraid. [Sings. 
 
 The ousel cock, so black of hue, 
 
 With orange-tawny bill, 
 The throstle with his note so true, 
 The wren with little quill. 
 Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery 
 bed? [Waking 
 
 Bot. The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 
 The plain-song cuckoo grey, 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark, 
 And dares not answer, nay; — 
 
 or, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a 
 bird? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry 
 cuckoo, never so? 
 
 Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again : 
 Mine ear is much enamor'd of thy note, 
 So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
 And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me, 
 On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee. 
 
 Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little 
 reason for that: And yet, to say the truth, reason 
 and love keep little company together now-a-days: 
 The more the pity, that some honest neighbors 
 will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek' upon 
 occasion. 
 
 Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
 
 Bot. Not so, neither: but if Iliad wit enough to 
 get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine 
 own turn. 
 
 Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go; 
 Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
 I am a spirit of no common rate : 
 The summer still doth tend upon my state, 
 And I do love thee: therefore, go with me; 
 I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee ; 
 And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep, 
 
 « The last words of the preceding speech, >rhich serT« 
 as a hint to him who is to speak next. 
 1 Joke. 
 
Scene II 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 i3D 
 
 And sing, while ',hou oa pressed flowers dost sleep: 
 And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, 
 That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. — 
 Pes-R-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard-seed ! 
 Enter f crir Fairies. 
 
 1 Fai. Ready 
 
 2 Fid ' And I. 
 
 3 Fai. And I. 
 
 4 Fai. Where shall we go ? 
 Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
 
 Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes; 
 Feed him with apricocks and dewberries, 
 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ; 
 The honey bags steal from the humble-bees, 
 And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs, 
 And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes, 
 To have my love to bed, and to arise ; 
 And pluck the wings from painted butterflies, 
 To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes: 
 Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 
 
 1 Fai. Hail mortal! 
 
 2 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 3 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 4 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — I 
 beseech, your worship's name ? 
 
 Cob. Cobweb. 
 
 Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, 
 good master Cobweb: If I cut my finger, I shall 
 make bold with you. — Your name, honest gentle- 
 man ! 
 
 Feas. Peas-blossom. 
 
 Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, 
 your mother, and to master Peascod, your father. 
 Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more 
 acquaintance too. — Your name, I beseech you, sir'! 
 
 Mus. Mustard-seed. 
 
 Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your 
 patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox- 
 beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your 
 house : I promise you, your kindred hath made my 
 eyes water ere now. I desire you more acquaint- 
 ance, good master Mustard-seed. 
 
 Tita. Come wait upon him ;leadhim to my bower. 
 
 The moon, methinks, looks with a wateiy eye ; 
 And when she weens, weeps every little flower, 
 
 Lamenting some enforced chastity. 
 
 Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IL— Another part of the Wood. 
 Enter Obeiion. 
 Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd ; 
 Then, what it was that next came in her eye, 
 Which she must dote on in extremity. 
 
 Enter Puck. 
 Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit ? 
 What night-rule now about this haunted grove? 
 Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
 Near to her close and consecrated bower, 
 While she was m her dull and sleeping hour, 
 A crew of patches, 8 rude mechanicals, 
 That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 
 Were met together to rehearse a play, 
 Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day. 
 The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort, 
 Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 
 Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake : 
 When I did him at this advantage take, 
 A.n ass's nowl I fixed on his head; 
 Anon. his> This'*: must be answered, 
 * Simple fctlowj. 
 
 And forth my mimic comes ■ When they him spy, 
 
 As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye, 
 
 Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, 
 
 Rising and cawing at the gun's report 
 
 Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky; 
 
 So, at his sight, away his fellows fly ; 
 
 And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls ; 
 
 He murder cries, and help from Athens calls. 
 
 Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus 
 
 strong, 
 Made senseless things begin to do them wrong : 
 For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch; 
 Some, sleeves ; some, hats : from yieldcrs all tilings 
 
 catch. 
 I led them on in this distracted fear, 
 And left sweet Pyramus translated there : 
 When in that moment, (so it came to pass,) 
 Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 
 
 Obe. This falls out better than I could devise. 
 But hast thou yet latch'd 3 the Athenian's eyes 
 With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? 
 
 Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too,— 
 And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
 That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Hermia. 
 
 Obe. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian. 
 
 Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. 
 
 Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so ? 
 Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 
 
 Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse. 
 For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
 If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep, 
 Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep, 
 And kill me too. 
 
 The sun was not so true unto the day, 
 As he to me : Would he have stol'n away 
 From sleeping Hermia ? I'll believe as soon, 
 This whole earth may be hor'd : and that the moor 
 May through the centre creep, and so displease 
 Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes. 
 It cannot be but thou hast murder'd him ; 
 So should a murderer look; so dead, so grim. 
 
 Dem. So should the murder'd look; and so should I 
 Picrc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty 
 Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear. 
 As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 
 
 Her. What's this to my Lysander ? where is he? 
 Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? 
 
 Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds 
 
 Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past 
 the bounds 
 Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then 1 
 Henceforth be never nmnber'd among men ! 
 
 ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ; 
 Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake, 
 And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? brave touch 
 Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ? 
 
 An adder did it ; for with doublcr tongue 
 Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 
 Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd 
 mood : 
 
 1 am not guilty of Lysander's blood; 
 Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
 
 Her. I pray thee, tell me then, that he is well 
 Dent. And if I could, what should I get therefore 1 
 Her. A privilege, never to see me more. — 
 
 And from thy hated presence part I so : 
 
 See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [Exit 
 Dem. There is no following her in this fierce voir 
 
 Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. 
 
 So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
 • Infected. > Mistaken 
 
i40 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ; 
 Which now, in some slight measure, it will pay, 
 If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies down. 
 Obe. What hast thou done ? thou hast mistaken 
 quite, 
 And laid the love-juice on some true love's sight: 
 Of thy misprision must perforce ensue 
 Some true love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. 
 Puck. Then fate o'er-rules ; that, one man hold- 
 ing troth, 
 A million fail, confounding oath on oath. 
 
 Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, 
 And Helena of Athens look thou find: 
 All fancy-sick 3 she is, and pale of cheer, 3 
 With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear : 
 By some illusion see thou bring her here; 
 ['11 charm his eyes, against she do appear. 
 
 Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go ; 
 Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Exit. 
 Obe. Flower of this purple die, 
 Hit with Cupid's archery, 
 Sink in apple of his eye ! 
 When his love he doth espy, 
 Let her shine as gloriously 
 As the Venus of the sky. — 
 When thou wak'st, if she be by, 
 Beg of her for remedy. 
 
 Re-enter Puck. 
 Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 
 Helena is here at hand ; 
 And the youth, mistook by me, 
 Pleading for a lover's fee ; 
 Shall we their fond pageant see 7 
 O, what fools these mortals be ! 
 
 Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make, 
 Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
 
 Puck. Then will two at once, woo one; 
 That must needs be sport alone ; 
 And those things do best please me, 
 That befal preposterously. 
 
 Enter Lysander and Helena. 
 Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo 
 
 in scorn 7 
 Scorn and derision never come in tears: 
 L"ok, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born, 
 
 In their nativity all truth appears. 
 Jow can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
 Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true 7 
 Bel. You do advance your cunning more and 
 
 more. 
 When truth kills truth, O deviiish-holy fray ! 
 These vows are Hermia's : Will you give her o'er? 
 Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing 
 weigh : 
 Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales, 
 Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales. 
 Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 
 Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her 
 
 o'er. 
 Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 
 Dem. [awaking.} O Helen, goddess, nymph, 
 perfect, divine! 
 To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ? 
 (Jrystal is muddy. 0, how ripe in show 
 Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
 That pjre congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
 Faim'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow, 
 When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss 
 This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 
 Hel. O spite ' hell ! I see you all arc bent 
 To set against me for your merriment. 
 
 » Love-sick. » Countenance. 
 
 If you were civil, and knew courtesy. 
 
 You would not do me thus much injury. 
 
 Can you not hate me, as I know you do, 
 
 But you must join, in souls,' to mock me too 1 
 
 If you were men, as men you are in show, 
 
 You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
 
 To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts, 
 
 When, I am sure, you hate me with your hearts. 
 
 You both are rivals, and love Hermia ; 
 
 And now both rivals, to mock Helena : 
 
 A trim exploit, a manly enterprise, 
 
 To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes, 
 
 With your derision ! none, of noble sort, 
 
 Would so offend a virgin; and extort 
 
 A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
 
 Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius: be not so, 
 For you love Hermia ; this, you know, I know : 
 And here, with all good will, with all my heart, 
 In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ; 
 And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
 Whom I do love, and will do to my death. 
 
 Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath 
 
 Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia ; I will none 
 If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. 
 My heart with her, but as guest-wise, sojourn'd ; 
 And now to Helen is it home return'd, 
 There to remain. 
 
 Lys. Helen, it is not so. 
 
 Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, 
 Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. 5 — 
 Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 
 
 Enter Hermia. 
 
 Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
 takes, 
 The ear more quick of apprehension makes ; 
 Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 
 It pays the hearing double recompense :- 
 Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
 Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
 But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? 
 
 Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press 
 to go 7 
 
 Her. What love could press Lysander from my 
 side 7 
 
 Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bid*v 
 Fair Helena : who more engilds the night 
 Than all yon fiery oes 6 and eyes of light. 
 Why seek'st thou me 7 could not this make thee 
 
 know, 
 The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so? 
 
 Her. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be 
 
 Hel. Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
 Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three, 
 To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
 Injurious Hermia: most ungrateful maid! 
 Have you conspir'd, have j r ou with these contriv'c 
 To bait me with this foul derision ? 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd, 
 The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, — 0, and is all forgot ? 
 All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence * 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial" gods, 
 Have with our neelds 3 created both one flower, 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key; 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds, 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew togethe:. 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; 
 But yet a union in partition. 
 
 * Heartily. 
 
 • Circles. 
 
 » Pay dc-arly for it. 
 i Ingenious • NeecUee 
 
Scene II 
 
 .MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Ml 
 
 Two lo\ely berries moulded on one stem: 
 So with two seeming bodies, but cne heart; 
 Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, 
 Hue but to one, and crowned with one crest: 
 And will you rent our ancient lovo asunder, 
 To join with men in scorning your poor friend ? 
 It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly: 
 Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it; 
 Though I alone do feel the injury. 
 
 Her. I am amazed at your passionate words: 
 I scorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me. 
 
 Hcl. Have you not sec Lysander, as in scorn, 
 To follow me, and praise my eyes and face? 
 And made your other love, Demetrius, 
 ("Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) 
 To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare, 
 Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this 
 To ber he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander 
 De:.v your love, so rich withi.n his soul, 
 Arm ieuder me, forsooth, affection; 
 But by youi setting on, by your consent! 
 What though I be not so in grace as you, 
 So hung upon wilh love, so fortunate; 
 But miserable :r.03t, to love unlov'd 1 
 This you should pity, rather than despise. 
 
 Her. I understand not what you mean by this. 
 
 Hel. Ay, do, pcrsever, counterfeit sad looks, 
 Make mows 9 upon me when I turn my back; 
 Wink at each other ; hold the sweet jest up : 
 This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
 If you have any pity, grace, or manners, 
 You would not make me such an argument. 
 But fare ye well: 'tis partly mine own fault; 
 Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. 
 
 Lys. Stay, gentle Helena; hear my excuse; 
 My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 
 
 Hcl. O excellent! 
 
 Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so. 
 
 Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 
 
 Lys. Thou canst compel no more than she en- 
 treat ; 
 Thy threats have no more strength than her weak 
 
 prayers. — 
 Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do ; 
 I swear by that which I will lose for thee, 
 To prove him false, that says I love thee not. 
 
 Don. I say, I love thee more than he can do. 
 
 Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. 
 
 Dem. Quick, come, — 
 
 Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this ? 
 
 Lys. Away, you Ethiop ! 
 
 Dem. No, no, sir: — he will 
 
 Seem to break loose; take on, as you would follow: 
 But yet come not: you are a tame man, go ! 
 
 Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr: vile thing, 
 let loose ; 
 Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent. 
 
 Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what change 
 is this, 
 Sweet love? 
 
 Lys. Thy love? out, tawny Tart ar, out ! 
 
 Her. Do you not jest? 
 
 Hel. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you. 
 
 Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 
 
 Dem. I would, I ha»l your bond; for, I perceive, 
 A weak bond holds you ; I'll not trust your word. 
 
 Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill 
 her dead ! 
 Although! hate her, I'll not harm her so. 
 
 Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than 
 bate ! 
 Hate tne ! wnt.efo^e? Ome! what news, my love ? 
 9 Wrv faces. 
 
 Am not I Hermia ? Are not you Lysander ' 
 
 I am as fair now, as I was erewhile. 
 
 Since night, you lov'dme; yet, since night you left 
 
 me: 
 Why, then you left me — 0, the gods forbid ! — 
 In earnest, shall I say ? 
 
 Lys. Ay, by my life ; 
 
 And never did desire to see thee more. 
 Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt, 
 Be certain, nothing truer; 'tis no jest, 
 That I do hate thee, and love Helena. 
 
 Her. me! you juggler! you canker blossom . ' 
 You thief of love ! what, have you come by night. 
 And stol'n my love's heart from him ? 
 
 .Hel. Fine, i'faith ! 
 
 Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 
 No touch of bashfulness ? What, will you tear 
 Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? 
 Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet you ! 
 
 Her. Puppet ! why so ? Ay, that way goes the 
 game. 
 Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
 Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height 
 And with her personage, her tall personage, 
 Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. — 
 And are you grown so high in his esteem. 
 Because I am so dwarfish, and so low? 
 How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ; 
 How low am I ? I am not yet so low, 
 But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 
 
 Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentle- 
 men, 
 Let her not hurt me : I was never curst ; Q 
 I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
 I am a right maid for my cowardice; 
 Let her not strike me : you, perhaps, may think, 
 Because she's something lower than myself, 
 That I can match her. 
 
 Her. Lower ! hark, again ! 
 
 Hel. Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with mo 
 I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
 Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you , 
 Save, that, in love unto Demetrius, 
 I told him of your stealth unto this wood : 
 He followed you ; for love, I follow'd him : 
 But he hath chid me hence; and threaten'd me 
 To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
 And now, so you will let me quiet go, 
 To Athens will I bear my folly back, 
 And follow you no further: Let me go: 
 You see how simple and how fond 3 1 am. 
 
 Her. Why, get you gone : Who is't that hinders 
 you? 
 
 Hel. A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 
 
 Her. What, with Lysander? 
 
 Hel. With Demetrius 
 
 Lys. Be not afraid: she shall not harm thet, 
 Helena. 
 
 Dem. No, sir; she shall not, though you take 
 her part. 
 
 Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd: 
 She was a vixen, when she went to school ; 
 And, though she be but little, she is fierce. 
 
 Her. Little again? nothing but low and little 1- 
 Why will you suffer her to flout me thus? 
 Let me come to her. 
 
 Lys. Get you gone vou dwarf; 
 
 You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made; 
 You bead, you acorn. 
 
 1 A worm that preys on buds of flowers. 
 a Shrewish or mischievous. * Foolish. 
 
 i Anciently, knot-grass was believe I ti prevtnt th» 
 growth of children. 
 
142 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 .Act Ih 
 
 Dem. You are too officious 
 
 In he r Hehal/ ';hat scorns youi services. 
 Let her alone, speak not of Helena; 
 Take not her pa.t: for if thou dost intend 5 
 Never so little show of love to her, 
 Thou shalt aby it. 
 
 Lys. Now, she holds me not; 
 
 Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right, 
 Or thiEe or mine, is most in Helena. 
 
 Dent. Follow 1 nay, I'll go with thee cheek by 
 jole. [Exeunt Lys. and Dem. 
 
 Her You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you : 
 Nay, go not back. 
 
 Hel. I will not trust you, I ; 
 
 Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
 Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray j: 
 My legs arc longer though, to run away. [Exit. 
 
 Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say. 
 [Exit, pursuing Helena. 
 
 Obe. Tliis is thy negligence: still thou mistak'st, 
 Or else, commit'st thy knaveries wilfully. 
 
 Pitch. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
 Did not you tell me, I should know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he had on? 
 And so far blameless proves my enterprize, 
 That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes: 
 And so far am I glad it so did sort, 
 As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 
 
 Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight: 
 Hie, therefore, Robin, overcast the night; 
 The starry welkin cover thou anon 
 With drooping fog, as black as Acheron ; 
 And lead these testy rivals so astray, 
 As one come not within another's way. 
 Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue, 
 Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 
 And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
 And from each other look thou lead them thus, 
 Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
 With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep: 
 Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
 Whose liquor hath this virtuous property, 
 To take from thence all error, with his might, 
 And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight. 
 When they next waive, all this derision 
 Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision; 
 And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 6 
 With league, whose date till death shall never end. 
 Whiles I in this affair do thee employ, 
 I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ; 
 And then I will her charmed eye release 
 F'-om monster's view, and all things shall be peace. 
 
 Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste; 
 For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, 
 And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ; 
 At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and 
 
 there, 
 Troop home to church-yards : damned spirits all, 
 That in crossways and floods have burial, 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
 For fear lest day should look their shames upon, 
 They wilfully themselves exile from light, 
 And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 
 
 Obe. But we are spirits of another sort : 
 I with the Morning's Love" have oft made sport; 
 And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 
 Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red, 
 Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams, 
 Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. 
 But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay: 
 We may effect this business yet ere day. [Exit Ob. 
 
 i Pretend. 
 ' Cephalus 
 
 the paramour of Aurora. 
 
 «Go. 
 
 Puck. Up and down, up and down; 
 I will lead them up and down: 
 I am fear'd in field and town ; 
 Goblin, lesd them up and down. 
 Here comes one. 
 
 Enter Lysander. 
 Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? Speak 
 
 thou now. 
 Puck. Here, villain; drawn and ready. Wher? 
 
 art thou 1 
 Lys. I will be with thee straight. 
 Puck. Follow me then 
 
 To plainer ground. 
 
 [Exit Lysander, as following the voice 
 Enter Demetrius. 
 Dem. Lysander ! speak again 
 
 Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled 1 
 Speak. In some bush ] Where dost thou hide thj 
 head] 
 Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars 
 Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
 And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou 
 
 child; 
 I'll whip thee with a rod : He is defiPd, 
 That draws a sword on thee. 
 
 Dem. Yea ; art thou there 7 
 
 Puck. Follow my voice ; we'll try no manhood 
 here. [Exeunt 
 
 Re-enter Lysander. 
 Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on : 
 When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
 The villain is much lighter heel'd than I : 
 I foHow'd fast, but faster he did fly; 
 That fallen am I in dark uneven way, 
 And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day . 
 
 [Lies doivn 
 For if but once thou show me thy grey light, 
 I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps 
 Re-enter Puck and, Demetrius'. 
 Puck. Ho, ho! ho, ho! Coward, why com'st thou 
 
 not! 
 Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st; for well I wot, 
 Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place; 
 And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
 Where art thou ? 
 
 Puck. Come hither; I am here. 
 
 Dem. Nay, then, thou mock'st me. Thou shalt 
 buy this dear, 
 If ever I thy face by daylight see : 
 Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
 To measure out my length on this cold bed. — 
 By day's approach look to be v.isited. 
 
 [Lies down and sleeps. 
 Enter Helena. 
 Hel. weary night, O long and tedious night, 
 Abate thy hours: shine, comforts, from the east; 
 That I may back to Athens, by day-light, 
 
 From these that my poor company detest: — 
 And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
 Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps. 
 Puck. Yet but three 1 Come one more ; 
 Two of both kinds makes up four. 
 Here she comes, curst and sad: — 
 Cupid is a knavish lad, 
 Thus to make poor females mad. 
 Enter Hermia. 
 Her. Never so weary, never so in woe. 
 
 Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briem 
 I can no further crawl, no further go ; 
 
 My legs can keep no pace with my desires 
 
4crIV. Scene I. 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 i4» 
 
 Here will I rest me till the break of day. 
 Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 
 
 [Lies down. 
 Puck. On the ground 
 Sleep sound: 
 I'll apply 
 To your eye, 
 Gentle lover, remedy. 
 [Squeezing the juice on Lysaxder's eye. 
 When thou wak'st, 
 Thou tak'st 
 
 True delight 
 In the sight 
 Of thy former lady's eye . 
 And the country proverb known, 
 That every man should take his own, 
 In your waking shall be shown : 
 Jack shall have Jill; 
 Nought shall go ill; 
 The man shall have his mare again, and all shall bt 
 well. 
 
 [Exit Puck. — Dem., Hel., 6(C., sleep 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 Er.ter Titania and Bottom, Fairies attend- 
 ing; Ohekon- behind unseen. 
 
 Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, 
 While I thy amiable checks do coy," 
 \nd stick musk roses in thy sleek smooth head, 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
 
 Bot. Where's Peas-blossom 1 
 
 Peas. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom. — Where's 
 monsieur Cobweb? 
 
 Cob. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get your 
 weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped 
 humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good mon- 
 sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret your- 
 self too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good 
 monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not : I 
 would be loath to have you overflown with a honey- 
 bag, signify. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed 1 
 
 M'jmt. Ready. 
 
 Bet. Give me your nief, s monsieur Mustard-seed. 
 Fray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur. 
 
 Must. What's your will 1 
 
 }i:?t. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalero 
 Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, mon- 
 sieur ; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about 
 the face : and I am such a tender ass, if my hair 
 do but l.'ckb me, I must scratch. 
 
 tita. Wirt, wilt thou hear some music, my 
 sweet lovel 
 
 Bat. I have a reasonable good ear in music : let 
 G» /.ave the tongs and the bones. 
 
 Tila. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 
 
 Bot. Truly, a peck of provender; I could munch 
 yau? dry peat! eats. Methinks I have a great de- 
 s'fira to r. toitle of hay; good hay, sweet hay hath 
 rji Cdbv 
 
 7$ia. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
 Tb* cq livrei'fl hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
 
 £?i. I had other have a handful, or two, of dried 
 f#?3. I 5 ut I pray yea, let none of your people stir 
 ht~,: \ b.T'e sn exposition of sleep come upon me. 
 
 'fly .'. tP.cop thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. 
 f^/'f.a, begone, and be all ways away. 
 
 [Exeunt Fairies. 
 tfo '.I-. ■:;; the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, 
 U*nt> entwist, — tbe female ivy so 
 Eariflgs the barky fingers of the elm. 
 *), Low I lo7S thee! how I dote on thee! 
 
 [They sleep. 
 Orzboit advances. Enter Puck. 
 
 Qbe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this 
 &wc«t sight 1 
 Her iblagc uotrl ^;bsf.ir. to pity. 
 
 •Stroke »Fist. 
 
 For meeting her of late, behind the wood. 
 Seeking sweet savors for this hateful fool, 
 I did upbraid her, and fall out with her: 
 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
 And that same dew, which sometime on the bud* 
 Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, 
 Stood now within the pretty flowrets' eyes, 
 Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail. 
 When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her, 
 And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience, 
 I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
 Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent 
 To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
 And now I have the boy, I will undo 
 This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
 And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
 From off the head of this Athenian swain ; 
 That he awaking when the others do, 
 May all to Athens back again repair; 
 And think no more of this night's accidents. 
 But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
 But first I will release the fairy queen. 
 Be, as thou wast wont to be ; 
 
 [Touching her eyes with an herb. 
 See, as thou wast wont to see : 
 Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
 Hath such force and blessed power. 
 Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet q.ueen. 
 
 Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen ! 
 Methought, I was enamor'd of an ass. 
 
 Obe. There lies your love. 
 
 Tita. How came these things to pass .' 
 
 0, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! 
 
 Obe. Silence, awhile. — Robin, take off this head, 
 Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
 Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 
 
 Tita. Music, ho ! music, such as charmeth sleep 
 
 Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine owii 
 fool's eyes peep. 
 
 Obe. Sound, mu-sic. [Still music.'] Come, rnj 
 queen, take hands with me, 
 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers oe. 
 Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
 And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly, 
 Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
 And bless it to all fair posterity : 
 There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
 Wedded, with Theseus, all in jolliiv 
 
 Puck. Fairy king, attend and maik, 
 
 I do hear the morning lark. 
 
 Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
 
 Trip we after the night's shade : 
 
 We the globe can compass soon, 
 
 Swifter than the wand'ring moon. 
 
 Tita. Come, my lord; and in nur flight 
 
 Tell me how it came this night. 
 
144 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Tha* ^ sleeping her. ~*'as found, 
 
 Witn these mortals, on the ground. [Exeunt. 
 
 \Hnrns sound within. 
 
 Ente r Theseus. Hipp3i.tta, Egeus, and train. 
 
 The. Go, one of you, find out the forester; — 
 F'cr now our observation is perfonn'd ; 
 And since we have the vaweii' of the day, 
 M» love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
 Uncouple in the western valley; g3: — ■ 
 Dsspatcr., 1 say, and find the forester. — 
 We will, fail queen, up to the mountain's top, 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 
 
 Hif} I was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, 
 When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
 With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear 
 Ouch gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, 
 The skies, the fountains, every region near 
 Secm'd all cue mutual cry: I never heard 
 v'o musical a discord. suGh sweet thunder. 
 
 'llit. My hounds ar»! bred out of the Spartan kind, 
 So flew**!,' so sanded; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep awny the morning dew; 
 Crook -knee'd, and dew isp'd like Thessalian bulls; 
 PJ-if in pursuit, but nx> tah'il in mouth like bells, 
 Etch under each. A cry more tuneable 
 Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly: 
 Judge, when you hear. — But, soft; what nymphs 
 are these ! 
 
 Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep : 
 And this, Lysander; this Demetrius is; 
 This Helena, old Ne Jar's Helena. 
 I wonder of their being here together. 
 
 77ie. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
 The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent, 
 Came here in grace of our solemnity. — 
 But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
 That Hermia should give answer of her choice 1 
 
 Ege. It is, my lord. 
 
 The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 
 horns. 
 
 Horns and shouts within. Demetrius, Lysander, 
 Hermia, and Helena, wake and start up. 
 
 The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 
 past; 
 Begin these wood-birds but to couple now 1 
 
 Lys. Pardon, my lord. 
 
 [He and the rest kneel to Theseus. 
 
 The. I pray you all, stand up. 
 
 I know you are two rival enemies ; 
 How comes this gentle concord in the world, 
 That hatred is so far from jealousy, 
 To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity? 
 
 Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly, 
 Half 'sleep, half waking: But as yet, I swear 
 I cannot truly say how I came here: 
 But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — 
 And now I do bethink me, so it is,) 
 I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
 Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
 Without the peril of the Athenian law. 
 
 Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have 
 enough : 
 I beg the law, the law, upon his head. — 
 They would have stol'n away, they would, Deme- 
 trius, 
 Thereby to have defeated you and me : 
 You, of your wife; and me, of my consent; 
 Of my consent that she should be your wife. 
 
 Dcm. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth, 
 Vcre/>art • The flews are the large chaps of a hound. 
 
 Of this their purpose hither to this wood 
 And I in fury hither follow'd them ; 
 Fair Helena in fancy 3 following me. 
 But, my good lord, I wot not by what power, 
 (But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, 
 Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now 
 As the remembrance of an idle gawd, 
 Which in my childhood I did dote upon 
 And all the faith, the virtue of my heart, 
 The object, and the pleasure of mine eye, 
 Is only Helena. To her, my lord, 
 Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : 
 But, like in sickness, did I loath this food: 
 But, as in health, come to my natural taste, 
 Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, 
 And will for evermore be true to it. 
 
 The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met . 
 Of this discourse we more will hear anon. — 
 Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 
 For in the temple, by and by with us, 
 These couples shall eternally be knit. 
 And, for the morning now is something worn, 
 Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. — 
 Away, with us, to Athens : Three and three, 
 We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. — 
 Come, Hippolyta. 
 
 [Exeunt The., Hip., Ege., and train 
 
 Bern. These things seem small and undistin 
 guishable. 
 Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. 
 
 Her. Mcthinks,I see these things with parted ey« 
 When every thing seems double. 
 
 Hel. So methinks. 
 
 And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 
 Mine own, and not mine own. 
 
 Dem. It seems to me, 
 
 That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think, 
 The duke was here, and bid us follow him ? 
 
 Her. Yea; and my father. 
 
 Hel. And Hippolyta. 
 
 Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple. 
 
 Dem. Why then, we are awake: let's follow 
 him ; 
 And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 As they go out, Bottom awakes. 
 
 Bot. When my cue comes, call me, and I will 
 answer : — my next is, Most fair Pyramits.—Tiey, 
 ho! — Peter Quince! Flute,'the bellows-mender! 
 Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! God's my life ! 
 stolen hence, and left me asleep ! I have had a 
 most rare vision. I have had a dream, — past the 
 wit of man to say what dream it was • Man is but 
 an ass, if he go about to expound this dream. 
 Methought I was — there is no man can tell what. 
 Methought I was, and methought I had, — But 
 man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say 
 what methought I had. The eye of man hath 
 not heard, the ear of man hath not seen; man's 
 hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, 
 nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I 
 will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this 
 dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream, oecause 
 it hath no bottom; and I will sing it in the latter 
 end of the play, before the duke ! Peradventure, to 
 make it the more gracious, I shall sing it at her 
 death. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Athens. A Room in Quince's House. 
 Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Start eling. 
 
 Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house i » hf 
 come home yet 1 
 
 3 Love. 
 
A. ex V. Scene I. 
 
 xMIDSUxMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 145 
 
 Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he 
 is transported. 
 
 Flu. If he come not, then the play is marred ; 
 It goes not forward, doth it? 
 
 i/uin. It is not possible : you have not a man in 
 all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he. 
 
 Flu. No; he hath simply the best wit of any 
 handicraft man in Athens. 
 
 Quia. Yea, and the best person too : and he is 
 a very paramour, for a sweet voice. 
 
 Flu. You must say, paragon: a paramour is, 
 God bless us, a thing of nought. 
 Enter Snug. 
 
 Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the 
 temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies 
 more married : if our sport had gone forward, we 
 had all been made men. 
 
 Flu. sweet bully Bottom! Thus hath he lost 
 sixpence a day during his life ; he could not have 
 'scaped sixpence a-day : an the duke had not given 
 him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be 
 hanged ; he would have deserved it : sixpence a-day, 
 in Pyramus, or nothing. 
 
 Enter Bottom. 
 
 Bot. Where are these lads? where are these heai ts? 
 
 Quin. Bottom ! — most courageous dav ! 
 most happy hour ! 
 
 Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but ask 
 me not what; for, if I tell you, lam no true Athe- 
 nian. I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out 
 
 Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 
 
 Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you, 
 is, that the duke hath dined: Get your apparel to- 
 gether; good strings to your beards, new ribbons 
 to your pumps; meet presently at the palace; 
 every man look o'er his part ; for, the short and 
 the long is, our play is preferred. In any case, let 
 Thisby have clean linen ; and let not him, that 
 plays the lion, pare his nails, for they shall hang 
 out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors, 
 eat no onions, no? garlic, for we arc to utter sweet 
 breath ; and I do not doubt, but to hear them say, 
 it is a sweet comedy. No more words ; away ; go, 
 away. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace of 
 Theseus. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, 
 Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers 
 speak of. 
 
 The. More strange than true, I never may believe 
 These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. 
 Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains, 
 Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
 More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
 The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
 Are of imagination all compact: 4 
 One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ; 
 That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantic, 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 
 
 heaven, 
 And, as imagination bodies forth 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination ; 
 That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
 It comprehends some bringer of that joy ; 
 Or, in the night, imagining some fear, 
 How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear ? 
 
 Hip. But all the story of the night told over, 
 And all their minds transfigur'd so together, 
 More witnesseth than fancy's images, 
 And grows to something of great constancy; 
 But, howsoever, strange and admirable. 
 
 Enter Lysajvder, Demetrius, Hermia, and 
 Helena. 
 
 The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth, — 
 loy, gentle friends! joy, and fresh days of love, 
 Accompany your hearts ! 
 
 Lys. More than to us 
 
 Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed! 
 4 Compacted, made. 
 
 The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shall 
 we have, 
 To wear away this long age of thiee hours, 
 Between our after-supper, and bed-time? 
 Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
 What revels are in hand? Is there no play, 
 To ease the anguish of a torturing hour ? 
 Call Philostrate. 
 
 Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. 
 
 The. Say what abridgment 6 have you for this 
 evening ? 
 What mask ? what music ? How shall we beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight ? 
 
 Philost. There is a brief, 6 how many sports are ripe; 
 
 Make choice of which your highness will see first. 
 
 [Giving a paper. 
 
 The. [Reads.'] The battle with the Centaurs, 
 to be sung, 
 
 By an Athenian eunuch to the harp. 
 We'll none of that : that have I told my love, 
 In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
 
 The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
 
 Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. 
 Thai is an old device ; and it was play'd 
 When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
 
 The thrice three Muses mourning for the death 
 
 Of learning, late deceas'd in beggary. 
 That is some satire, keen, and critical, 
 Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 
 
 A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, 
 
 And his love Thisbe: very tragical mirth. 
 Merry and tragical? Tedious and brief? 
 That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow. 
 How shall we find the concord of this discord 1 
 
 Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten wo t o* 
 long; 
 Which is as brief as I have known a play . 
 But by ten words, my lord, it is too long; 
 Which makes it tedious : for in all the play 
 There is not one word apt, one player fitted. 
 And tragical, my noble lord, it is; 
 For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
 
 » Pastime. • Short accrual 
 
146 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Acr V 
 
 Which, when I saw rehcars'd, I must confess, 
 Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears 
 The passion of loud laughter never shed. 
 
 The. What are they, that do play it 1 
 
 Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens 
 here, 
 Which never laDor"d in their minds till now ; 
 And now have toil'd their nnbreath'd marhories 
 With this s*me play, against your nuptial. 
 
 The. And we will hear it. 
 
 Philost. No, my noble lord, 
 
 It is not for you : I have heard it over, 
 And it is nothing, nothing in the world; 
 Unless you can find sport in their intents, 
 Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain, 
 To do you service. 
 
 The. I will hear that play ; 
 
 For never anything can be amiss, 
 When simpleness and duty tender it. 
 Go, bring them in ;— and take your places, ladies. 
 [Exit Philostrate. 
 
 Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd, 
 And duty in his service perishing. 
 
 The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such 
 thing. 
 
 Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. 
 
 The. The kinder we, to give them thanks for noth- 
 ing. 
 Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake: 
 And what poor duty can do, 
 Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
 Where I have come, great clerks have purposed 
 To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
 Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences, 
 Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears, 
 And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, 
 Not paying me a welcome: Trust me, sweet, 
 Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome; 
 And in the modesty of fearful duty 
 I read as' much, as from the rattling tongue 
 Of saucy and audacious eloquence. 
 Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, 
 In least, speak most, to my capacity. 
 
 Enter Philostrate. 
 
 Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is 
 
 addrest. 1 
 The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets. 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 
 Prol. If we offend, it is with our good-will. 
 
 That you should think, we come not to offend, 
 But with good-will. To show our simple skill, 
 
 That is the true beginning of our end. 
 Consider then, we come but in despite. 
 
 We do not come as minding to content you. 
 Our true intent is. All for your delight, 
 
 We are not here. That you should here repent 
 you. 
 The adors are at hand,- and, by their show, 
 You shall know all, that you are like to know. 
 
 The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
 
 Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt; 
 he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord: 
 It is not enough to speak, but to speak true 
 
 Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, 
 like a child on a recorder; 8 a sound, but not in 
 government. 
 
 The. His speech was like a tangled chain; no- 
 thing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next? 
 
 ' Readr. 
 
 • A musical instrument. 
 
 Enter Pyramus and This«e, Wall, Moonshine 
 and Lion, as in dumb show. 
 
 Prol. " Gentles, perchance, y< >u wonder at this 
 show ; 
 
 " But wonder on, till truth make all * v ings plain. 
 "This man is Pyramus, if you would know, 
 
 " This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. 
 " This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 
 
 " Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers 
 sunder : 
 "And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are 
 content 
 
 " To whisper ; at the which let no man wonder. 
 "This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 
 
 " Presenteth moon-shine: for, if you wiil know, 
 " By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn 
 
 " To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo. 
 " This grisly beast, which by name lion hight, 9 
 " The trusty Thisby, coming first by night, 
 " Did scare away, or rather did affright : 
 " And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall ; 
 
 " Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain • 
 " Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall, 
 
 " And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain : 
 " Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 
 
 " He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast , 
 " And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade, 
 
 " His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
 " Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain, 
 " At large discourse, while here they do remain." 
 
 [Ex. Prol., Pyh., Tin sn e, Lion, and Moonshine. 
 
 The. I wonder if the lion be to speak. 
 
 Hem. No wonder, my lord : one lion may r , when 
 many asses do. 
 
 Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befall, 
 " That I, one Snout by name, present a wall : 
 " And such a wall, as I would have you think, 
 " That had in it a cranny 'd hole, or chink, 
 " Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, 
 '•' Did whisper often very secretly. 
 " This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth 
 
 show, 
 " That I am that same wall ; the truth is so : 
 " And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 
 " Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." 
 
 The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 
 better 1 
 
 Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 
 discourse, my lord. 
 
 The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence ! 
 
 Enter Pyramus. 
 Pyr. " grim-look'd night ! O night with hue 
 
 so black ! 
 " O night, which ever art, when day is not ! 
 " night, night, alack, alack, alack, 
 
 " I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! — 
 "And thou, O wall, sweet, lovely wall, 
 " That stand'st between her father's ground and 
 mine ! 
 " Thou wall, wall, sweet and lovely wall, 
 " Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine 
 eyne. [Wall holds up his Jingers. 
 
 " Thanks, courteous wall: Jove shield thee well for 
 this! 
 "But what see I ? No Thisby do I see. 
 " wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; 
 " Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! " 
 The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should 
 curse again. 
 
 Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving 
 me, is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I an 1 
 
 » Called 
 
Scene I 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 147 
 
 t' spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will 
 fall pat as I told you : — Yonder she comes. 
 Enter This be. 
 
 This. "0 wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, 
 
 " For parting my fair Pyramus and me : 
 " My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ; 
 
 " Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee." 
 
 Pyr. " I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 
 " To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 
 ' Tbisby ! " 
 
 This. " My love, thou art my love, I think." 
 
 Pyr. "Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace; 
 " And like Limander am I trusty still " 
 
 This. " And I like Helen, till the fates me kill." 
 
 Pyr. " Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true." 
 
 This. " As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you." 
 
 Pyr. " O, kiss me through the hole of this vile 
 wall." 
 
 TJiis. " I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all." 
 
 Pyr. " Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me 
 straightway ? " 
 
 This. " Tide life, tide death, I come without delay." 
 
 Wall. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so ; 
 " And, being done, thus wall away doth go." 
 
 [Exeunt Wall, Pthamus, and Thisbe. 
 
 The. Now is the mural down between the two 
 neighbors. 
 
 Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so 
 wilful to hear without warning. 
 
 Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
 
 The. The best in this kind are but shadows : and 
 the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them. 
 
 Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not 
 theirs. 
 
 The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they 
 of themselves, they may pass for excellent men. 
 Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. 
 Enter Lion and Moonshine. 
 
 Lion. " You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts 
 do fear 
 
 " The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on 
 floor. 
 " May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here, 
 
 " When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
 " Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am 
 •* A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam: 
 " For if I should as lion come in strife 
 " Into this place, 'twere pity on my life." 
 
 The. A very gentle beast and of a good conscience. 
 
 Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er 
 I saw. 
 
 Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valor. 
 
 The. True ; and a goose for his discretion. 
 
 Dem. Not so, my lord : for his valor cannot 
 carry his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose. 
 
 The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his val- 
 or; for the goose carries not the fox. It is well : leave 
 it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon. 
 
 Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon 
 present : — ■" 
 
 Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. 
 
 The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisi- 
 ble within the circumference. 
 
 Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon 
 present ; 
 " Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be." 
 
 The. This is the greatest error of all the rest: the 
 man should be put into the lantern How is it else 
 the man i'the moon ? 
 
 Dem. He dares not come there for the candle: 
 for vou see, it is already in snuff. 1 
 • In anger ; a quibble. 
 
 Hip. I am aweary of this moon : Would, hf 
 would change ! 
 
 The. It appears, by hissroaU light of discretion 
 that he is in the wane : but yet, in courtesy, in all 
 reason, we must stay the time. 
 
 Lys. Proceed, moon. 
 
 Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, thai 
 the lantern is the moon; I, the man in the moon; this 
 thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog. 
 
 Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern : 
 for they are in the moon. But, silence; here 
 comes Thisbe. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 
 This. " This is old Ninny's tomb : Where is my 
 
 love!" 
 Lion. " Oh. — " 
 
 [The Lion roars. — Thisbe runs off. 
 Dem. Well roared, lion. 
 The. Well run, Thisbe. 
 Hip. Well shone, moon. — Truly, the iioon 
 
 shines with a good grace. 
 The. Well moused, lion. 
 
 [The Lion tears Thisbe's mantle, and exit 
 Dem. And so comes Pyramus. 
 Lys. And so the lion vanish'd. 
 
 Enter Pithamtjs. 
 
 Pyr. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy susnj 
 
 beams ; 
 " I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright 
 " For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams, 
 " I trust to taste of truest Thisbe's sight. 
 " But stay ; — spite ! 
 " But mark ; — Poor knight, 
 " What dreadful dole is here ? 
 " Eyes, do you see ? 
 " How can it be ? 
 " dainty duck ! O deal ! 
 " Thy mantle good, 
 " What, stain'd with blood? 
 " Approach, ye furies fell ! 
 " fates ! come, come ; 
 " Cut thread and thrum ; J 
 " Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! ' 
 The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend 
 would go near to make a man look sad. 
 
 Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. 
 Pyr. " O, wherefore, nature, didst thou liont 
 
 frame'? 
 " Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear : 
 " Which is — no, no— which was the fairest dame, 
 " That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'c 
 " with cheer. 3 
 " Come, tears, confound ; 
 " Out, sword, and wound 
 " The pap of Pyramus : 
 " Ay, that left pap, 
 " Where heart doth hop : 
 " Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. 
 " Now am I dead, 
 " Now am I fled, 
 " My soul is in the sky : 
 
 " Tongue, lose thy light ! 
 " Moon, take thy flight ! 
 " Now die, die, die, die, die." 
 
 [Dies. — Exit Moonshine. 
 Dem. No die, but an ace, for him, for he is but one. 
 Lys. Less than an ace, man; for ne is dead; he 
 is nothing. 
 
 The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet 
 recover, and prove an ass. 
 
 » Coarse yarn, * Count/ nance 
 
148 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Hip. Hoy. chance moonshine is gone, before 
 Thisbe comes back and finds her .over 1 
 
 The. She will find him by star-light. — Here she 
 come* ; and her passion ends the play. 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one, 
 "or such a Pyramus : I hope, she will be brief. 
 
 Don. A mote will turn the balance, which Py- 
 ramus, which Tlisbe, is the better. 
 
 Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet 
 eyes. 
 
 Dem. And thus she moans, videlicet. — 
 This. " Asleep, my love 1 
 u What, dead, my dove 1 
 " O Pyramus, arise, 
 
 " Speak, speak. Quite dumb 1 
 " Dead, dead 1 A tomb 
 " Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
 " These lily brows, 
 " This cherry nose, 
 " These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
 " Are gone, are gone : 
 " Lovers, make moan ! 
 " His eyes were green as leeks. 
 " O sisters three, 
 " Come, come, to me, 
 " With hands as pale as milk ; 
 " Lay them in gore, 
 " Since you have shore 
 " With shears his thread of silk. 
 " Tongue, not a word : — 
 " Come, trusty sword ; 
 " Come, blade, my breast imbrue : 
 " And farewell, friends ; — 
 " Thus Thisbe ends : 
 " Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies. 
 
 The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. 
 Dem. Ay, and wall too. 
 
 Bot. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that 
 parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the 
 epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between 
 two of our company ? 
 
 The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play 
 needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the 
 players are all dead, there need none to be blamed. 
 Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus, and 
 hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have 
 been a fine tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very 
 notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask : 
 let your epilogue alone. 
 
 [Here a dance of Clowns. 
 The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : — 
 Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 
 I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn, 
 As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
 This palpable gross play hath well beguil'd 
 The heavy gait of night. — Sweet friends, to bed. — 
 \. fortnight hold we this solemnity, 
 In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Enter Puck. 
 Puck. Now the hungry lion roars, 
 
 And the w >lf behowls the moon ; 
 Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 
 
 All with weary task fordone. 4 
 Now the wasted brands do glow, 
 Whilst the scritch-owl, switching loud, 
 * Overcome. 
 
 Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud 
 Now it is the time of night, 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide. 
 Every one lets forth his sprite, 
 
 In the church-way paths to glide. 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 
 By the triple Hecate's team, 
 From the presence of the sun, 
 
 Following darkness like a dream, 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 Shall disturb this hallow'd house : 
 I am sent, with broom, before, 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Enter Obehox and Titajtia, with their Train. 
 
 Obe. Through this house give glimmering light 
 By the dead and drowsy fire: 
 
 Every elf, and fairy sprite, 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier ; 
 And his ditty, after me, 
 Sing, and dance it trippingly. 
 
 Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote ' 
 To each word a warbling note, 
 Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 
 Will we sing, and bless this place. 
 
 SONH, and DANCE. 
 
 Obe. Now, until ths break of day, 
 Through this house each fairy stray. 
 To the best bride-bed will we, 
 Which by us shall blessed be ; 
 And the issue, there create, 
 Ever shall be fortunate. 
 So shall all the couples three 
 Ever true in loving be ; 
 And the blots of nature's hand 
 Shall not in their issue stand ; 
 Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, 
 Nor mark prodigious, 6 such as are 
 Despised in nativity, 
 Shall upon their children be. — 
 With this field-dew consecrate, 
 Every fairy take his gait ; 6 
 And each several chamber bless, 
 Through this palace with sweet peace: 
 E'er shall it in safety rest, 
 And the owner of it blest. 
 
 Trip away ; 
 
 Make no stay; 
 Meet me all by break of day. 
 
 [Exeunt Oherox, Titania, and Tisin 
 
 Puck. If we shadows have offended, 
 
 Think but this, {and all is mended,) 
 That you have but slumber'd here, 
 While these visio?rs did appear, 
 And this weak and idle theme, 
 No more yielding but a dream, 
 Gentles, so not reprehend; 
 If you pardon, we will ?nend. 
 And, as I am honest Puck, 
 If we have unearned luck 
 Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, 
 We will make amends, ere long: 
 Else the Puck a liar call. 
 So, good night unto you all. 
 Give me your hands, if we be friends, 
 And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit 
 ■' Portentous. • Way. 
 
LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Ferdinand, King of Navarre. 
 
 BlRON, } 
 
 Longaville, > Lords, attending on the King. 
 
 Dumain, ) 
 
 Boyet, ) Lords, attending on the Princess 
 
 Mercare, $ °f France. 
 
 Don Aiiriano de Arm ado, a fantastical Spaniard. 
 
 Sir Nathaniel, a Curate. 
 
 HoLOFERNEs,a Schoolmaster. 
 
 Dun, a Constable. 
 
 Costard, a Cloivn. 
 
 Moth, Page to Armado. 
 A Forester. 
 
 Princess of France. 
 
 Rosaline, } 
 
 Maria, V Ladies, attending on the Princess 
 
 Katharine, ) 
 
 Jaq.uenetta, a Country Wench. 
 
 Officers and others, attendants on the King 
 Princess. 
 
 and 
 
 SCENE, Navarre. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — Navarre. A Park, luith a Palacein it. 
 Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and 
 
 DuMAIN. 
 
 King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, 
 Live iegister'd upon our brazen tombs, 
 And then grace us in the disgrace of death 
 When, spite of cormorant devouring time, 
 The endeavor of this present breath may buy 
 That honor, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, 
 And make us heirs of all eternity. 
 Therefore, brave conquerors : — for so you are, 
 That war against your own affections. 
 And the huge army of the world's desires, — 
 Our late edict shall strongly stand in force : 
 Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ; 
 Our court shall be a little Academe, 
 Still and contemplative in living art. 
 You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, 
 Have sworn for three years' term to live with me. 
 My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, 
 That are recorded in this schedule here : 
 Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ; 
 That his own hand may strike his honor down, 
 That violates the smallest branch herein : 
 Tf you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, 
 Subscribe to your deep oath and keep it too. 
 
 Long. I am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast ; 
 The mind shall banquet, though the body pine : 
 Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits 
 Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits. 
 
 Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified ; 
 The grosser manner of these world's delights 
 He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves: 
 To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ; 
 With all these living in philosophy. 
 
 Biron- I can but say their protestation over, 
 So mucn, dear liege, I have already sworn, 
 That is, To live and study here three years. 
 But ihere are other strict observances: 
 \s, not to see a woman in that term ; 
 [1491 
 
 Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there: 
 And, one day in a week to touch no food : 
 And but one meal on every day beside ; 
 The which, I hope, is not enrolled there; 
 And then, to sleep but three hours in the night, 
 And not be seen to wink of all the day ; 
 (When I was wont to think no harm all night, 
 And make a dark night too of half the day;) 
 Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there: 
 O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep; 
 Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. 
 
 King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. 
 
 Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please 1 
 
 I only swore, to study with your grace, 
 
 And stay here in your court for three years' space. 
 
 Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest 
 
 Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest. — 
 
 What is the end of study? let me know. 
 
 King. Why, that to know, which else we should 
 
 not know. 
 Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from 
 
 common sense 1 
 King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. 
 Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so. 
 To know the thing I am forbid to know : 
 As thus — To study where I well may dine, 
 
 When I to feast expressly am forbid; 
 Or, study where to meet some mistress fine, 
 
 When mistresses from common sense are hid : 
 Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath, 
 Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
 If study's gain be thus, and this be so, 
 Study knows that, which yet it doth not know : 
 Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no. 
 
 King. These be the stops that hinder study quite 
 And train our intellects to vain delight. 
 
 Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but that mosi 
 vain, 
 Which with pain purchas d, doth inherit part ■ 
 As, painfully to pore upon a book, 
 
 To seek the light of truth; while truth tae while 
 
150 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look : 
 
 Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile: 
 So, ere you find where light in darkness lies, 
 four light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
 Study me how to please the eye indeed, 
 
 By fixing it upon a fairer eye; 
 Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed, 
 
 And give him light that was it blinded by. 
 Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, 
 
 That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks ; 
 Small have continual plodders ever won, 
 
 Save base authority from others' books. 
 These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 
 
 That give a name to every fixed star, 
 Have no more profit of their shining nights, 
 
 Than those that walk, and wot not what they are 
 Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame ; 
 And every godfather can give a name. 
 
 King. How well he's read, to reason against 
 reading ! 
 
 Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding! 
 
 Long. He weeds the corn, and still let's grow 
 the weeding. 
 
 Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are 
 a breeding. 
 
 Dum. How follows that ? 
 
 Biron. Fit in his place and time. 
 
 Dum. In reason nothing. 
 
 Biron. Something then in rhyme. 
 
 Long. Biron ie like an envious sneaping 1 frost, 
 That bites the first-born infants of the spring. 
 
 Biron. Well, say I am; why should proud 
 summer boast, 
 Before the birds have any cause to sing ? 
 Why should I joy in an abortive birth ? 
 At Christmas I no more desire a rose 
 Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; 
 But like of each thing, that in season grows. 
 So you, to study now it is too late, 
 Climb o'er the house t' unlock the little gate. 
 
 King. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron ; adieu ! 
 
 Biron. No, my good lord ; I have sworn to stay 
 with you : 
 And, though I have for barbarism spoke more, 
 
 Than for that angel knowledge you can say, 
 Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore, 
 
 And bide the penance of each three years' day. 
 Give me the paper, let me read the same ; 
 And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name. 
 
 King. How well this yielding rescues thee from 
 shame ! 
 
 Biron. [Reads.] Item. TJiat no woman shall 
 come within a mile of my curt. — 
 And hath this been proclaim d ? 
 
 Long. Four days ago. 
 
 Biron. Let's see the penalty. 
 [Reads.] — On pain of losing her tongue.— 
 
 Who devis'd this ? 
 
 Long. Marry, that did I. 
 
 Biron. Sweet lord, and why ? 
 
 Long. To fright them hence with that tiread pe- 
 nalty. 
 
 Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. 
 
 [Reads.] Item, If any man be seen to talk with 
 a, woman within the term of three years, he shall 
 endure such public shame as the rest of the court 
 can possibly devise. — 
 This article, my liege, yourself must break; 
 
 For, well yov know, here comes in embassy 
 The French king's daughter, with yourself to 
 speak, — 
 
 A maid of grace, and complete majesty, — 
 1 Nipping. 
 
 About surrender-up of Aquitain 
 
 To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father • 
 Therefore this article is made in vam, 
 
 Or vainly comes the admired princess hi*her. 
 
 King. What say you, lords? why, this was qvite 
 forgot. 
 
 Biron. So study evermore is ovevshot ; 
 While it doth study to have what it would, 
 It doth forget to do the thing it should : 
 And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
 'Tis won, as towns with fire; so won, so lost. 
 
 King. We must of force, dispense with this decree 
 She must lie 1 here on mere necessity. 
 
 Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 
 
 Three thousand times within this tlnee years 
 space : 
 For every man with his affects is born ; 
 
 Not by might master'd, but by special grace : 
 If I break faith, this word shall speak for me, 
 I am forsworn on mere necessity. — 
 So to the laws at large I write my name: [Subscribe.) 
 
 And he, that breaks them in the least degree, 
 Stands in attainder of eternal shame: 
 
 Suggestions 3 are to others, as to me; 
 But, I believe, although I seem so loath, 
 I am the last that will last keep his oath. 
 But is there no quick recreation granted ? 
 
 King. Ay, that there is : our court, you know, i* 
 haunted 
 
 With a refined traveller of Spain ; 
 A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 
 
 That hath a mint of phrases in his brain: 
 One, whom the music of his own vain tongue 
 
 Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ; 
 A man of compliments, whom right and wrong 
 
 Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : 
 This child of fancy, that Armado hight, 4 
 
 For interim to our studies, shall relate, 
 In high-born words, the worth of mai v a knight 
 
 From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. 
 How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ; 
 But, I protest, I love to hear him lie, 
 And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 
 
 Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
 A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 
 
 Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be out 
 sport : 
 And, so to study, three years is but short. 
 
 Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. 
 
 Dull. Which is the duke's own person ? 
 
 Biron. This, fellow; What would'st? 
 
 Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I 
 am n!s grace's tharborough : 5 but I would see his 
 own person in flesh and blood. 
 
 Bii-on. This is he. 
 
 Dull. Signior Arme — Arme- commends you. — 
 There's villany abroad ; this letter will tell you 
 more. 
 
 Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touch- 
 ing me. 
 
 King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 
 
 Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in 
 God for high words. 
 
 Long. A high hope for a low having: God grant 
 us patience! 
 
 Biron. To hear? or forbear hearing! 
 
 Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh mod- 
 erately ; or to forbear both. 
 
 Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall giw ui 
 cause to climb in the merriness. 
 
 a Reside. 3 Temptations. 
 
 5 i. e. Third-borough, a pe-ne-officer 
 
 « Called. 
 
Scene II 
 
 LOVE : S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 15J 
 
 Cost The matter is to me, sir, as concerning 
 Jaquenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken 
 with the manner.' 
 
 Birnn. In what manner? 
 
 Cost. In manner and form following, sir; all 
 those three: I was seen with her in the manor 
 house, sitting with her upon the form, and taken 
 following her into the park ; which, put together, 
 is, in manner and form following. Now, sir, for 
 the manner, — it is the manner of a man to speak 
 to a woman : for the form, — in some form. 
 Biron For the following, sir? 
 Cost. As it shall follow in my correction ; and 
 God deff.id the right! 
 
 King. Will you hear this letter with attention ? 
 Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 
 Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken 
 after the flesh. 
 
 King. [Beads.] Great deputy, the welkin's vice- 
 gerent, and sole dominator of Navarre, my soul's 
 earth's God, and body's fostering patron, — 
 Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 
 Kl.ig. So it is, — 
 
 Cost. It may he so : but if he say it is so, he is, 
 in telling -ue, but so, so. 
 King. Peace. 
 
 Cost. — be to me, and every man that dares 
 not fight! 
 
 King. No words. 
 
 Cost. — of other men's secrets, I beseech you. 
 King. So it is, besieged with sable-colored mel- 
 ancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing hu- 
 nt r to the ?jiost wholesome physic of thy health- 
 giving air,- and, as I am a gentleman, betook 
 myself to walk. The time when? About, the sixth 
 liour,- when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and 
 men sH down to that nourishment which is called 
 supper. So much for the time when. Now for 
 the ground which; which, I mean, I walked upon; 
 it is yclcped thy park. Then for the place where,- 
 where, I mean, I did encounter that obscene and 
 most preposterous event, that draweth from my 
 snow-white pen the ebon-colored ink, which here 
 thou vicwest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest: but to 
 the place, where, — It standcth north-north-east and 
 by east from the west corner of thy curious-knot- 
 ted garden: there did I see that low-spirited swain, 
 that base minnow of thy mirth, 
 Cost. Me. 
 
 King. — that unletter'd small-knowing soul, 
 Cost. Me. 
 
 King. — that shallow vassal, 
 Cost. Still me. 
 
 King- — which, as I remember, hight Costard, 
 Cost. O me ! 
 
 King. — sorted and consorted, contrary to thy 
 established proclaimed edict and continent canon, 
 with — with,- -0 with — but with this I passion to 
 say wherewith — 
 
 Cost . W ith a wench. 
 
 King. — - with a child of our grandmother Eve, 
 a female,- or, for thy more sweet understanding, 
 awoman. Him I (as my ever-esteemed duty pricks 
 m* o-n) have sent to thee, to receive the meed of 
 punisr„,ncnt, by thy sweet grace's officer, Antony 
 Dull,- a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, 
 ami -Miination. 
 
 Dull. Me, an't shall please you; I am Antony 
 Dull. 
 
 King. For Jaquenetta, (so is the weaker vessel 
 called, which I apprehended with the aforesaid 
 $wain,) I keep her as a vessel of thy law's fury,- 
 • In tb» fact. 
 
 and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring 
 her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted 
 and heart-burning heat of duty. 
 
 Don Adriano De Armado. 
 
 Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but 
 the best that ever I heard. 
 
 King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, 
 what say you to this? 
 
 Cost. Sir, I confess ihe wench. 
 
 King. Did you hear the proclamation? 
 
 Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but 
 little of the marking of it. 
 
 King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, 
 to be taken with a wench. 
 
 Cost. I was taken with none, sir, I was taken 
 with a damosel. 
 
 King. Well, it was proclaimed damosel. 
 
 Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir ; she was 
 a virgin. 
 
 King. It is so varied voo ; for it was proclaimed, 
 virgin. 
 
 Cost. If it were, I deny her virginity ; I was 
 taken with a maid. 
 
 King. This maid will not serve your turn, sir. 
 
 Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 
 
 King. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence ; You 
 ; shall fast a week with bran and water. 
 
 Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton 
 and porridge. 
 
 King. And Don Armado shall be your keepet. 
 My lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er. — 
 
 And go we, lords, to put in practice that 
 
 Which each to other hath so strongly sworn. — 
 [Exeunt King, Lon g ay mx, and Dumain. 
 
 Biron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat, 
 These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. 
 — Sirrah, come on. 
 
 Cost. I suffer for the truth, sir: tbi true it is, I 
 was taken with Jaquenetta, and Jaquenetta is a 
 true girl; and therefore, Welcome the sour cup of 
 prosperity! Affliction may one day smile again, 
 and till then, Sit thee down, sorrow ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Armado's Hmse. 
 Enter Armado and Moth. 
 
 Arm. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great 
 spirit grows melancholy 1 
 
 Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 
 
 Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same 
 thing, dear imp. 
 
 Moth. No, no; O lord, sir, no. 
 
 Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan- 
 choly, my tender juvenal ? ' 
 
 Moth. By a familiar demonstration of the work- 
 ing, my tough senior. 
 
 Arm- Why tough senior ? why tough senior ? 
 
 Moth. Why tender juvenal ? why tender juvenal? 
 
 Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent 
 epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which 
 we may nominate tender. 
 
 Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertincnt title 
 to your old time, which we may name tough. 
 
 Arm. Pretty and apt. 
 
 Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my 
 saying apt ? or, I apt, and my saying pretty ? 
 
 Arm. Thou pretty, because little. 
 
 Muth. Little pretty, because little : Wherefore apt? 
 
 Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 
 
 Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master? 
 
 Arm. In thy condign praise. 
 
 Moth I will praise an eel with the same y\\w 
 
 Arm . What ? that an eel is ingeniou s 7 
 • YoviDg man. 
 
i52 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Moth. That an eel is quick. 
 
 Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers: Thou 
 neatest my blood. 
 
 Moth. I am answered, sir. 
 
 Arm. I love not to be crossed. 
 
 Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses 3 love 
 not him. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. I have promised to study three years with 
 the duke. 
 
 Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. 
 
 Arm. Impossible. 
 
 Moth. How many is one thrice told? 
 
 Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit 
 of a taps l er. 
 
 Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. 
 
 Arm. I confess both ; they are both the varnish 
 of a complete man. 
 
 Moth. Then, I am sure you know how much 
 the gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 
 
 Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 
 
 Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three. 
 
 Arm. True. 
 
 Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study ? 
 Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink : 
 and how easy it is to put years to the word three, 
 and study three years in two words, the dancing 
 horse will tell you. 
 
 Arm. A most fine figure ! 
 
 Moth. To prove you a cipher. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love: and 
 as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love 
 with a base wench. If drawing my sword against 
 the humor of affection would deliver me from the 
 reprobate thought of it, I would take desire prison- 
 er, and ransom him to any French courtier for a 
 new devised courtesy. I think scorn to sigh ; me- 
 thinks, I should out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, 
 boy : What great men have been in love ? 
 
 Moth. Hercules, master. 
 
 Arm. Most sweet Hercules! — More authority, 
 dear boy, name more; and, sweet my child, let 
 them be men of good repute and carriage. 
 
 Moth. Samson, master: he was a man of good 
 carriage, great carriage ; for he carried the town- 
 gates on his back, like a porter : and he was in love. 
 
 Arm. O well-knit Samson ! strong-jointed Sam- 
 son ! I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou 
 didst me in carrying gates. I am in love too, — 
 Who was Samson's love, my dear Moth? 
 
 Moth. A woman, master. 
 
 Arm. Of what complexion ? 
 
 Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two; 
 or one of the four. 
 
 Arm. Tell me precisely of what complexion. 
 
 Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. 
 
 Arm. Is that one of the four complexions? 
 
 Moth. As I have read, sir ; and the best of them 
 too. 
 
 Arm. Green, indeed, is the color of lovers: but 
 to have a love of that color, methinks, Samson had 
 small reason for it. He, surely, affected her for 
 her wit. 
 
 Moth. It was so, sir ; for she had a green wit. 
 
 Arm. My love is most immaculate white and red. 
 
 Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are 
 masked under such colors. 
 
 Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. 
 
 Moth. My father's wit and my mother's tongue 
 assist me ! 
 
 Arm Sweet invocation of a child; most pretty, 
 *nd patnetical! 
 
 » The name of a coin once current. 
 
 Moth. If she be made of white and red, 
 Her faults will ne'er be known; 
 For blushing cheeks by faults are bred. 
 
 And fears by pale white shown * 
 Then, if she fear, or be to blame, 
 
 By this you shall not know ; 
 For still her cheeks possess the saire. 
 Which native she doth owe.' 
 A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of 
 white and red. 
 
 Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the K : L-g ax.o 
 the Beggar ? 
 
 Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad 
 some three ages since : but, I think, l.ow 'tis not tc 
 be found; or, if it were, it wouid neither serve for 
 the writing nor the tune. 
 
 Arm. I will have the subject newly writ e'er, 
 that I may example my digression by some mighty 
 precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that 
 I took in the park with the rational hind, Costard ■ 
 she deserves well. 
 
 Moth. To be whipped; and yet a better love 
 
 than my master. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy in love. 
 
 Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light 
 
 wench. 
 
 Arm. I say, sing. 
 
 Moth. Forbear till this company be past. 
 
 Enter Dull, Costahd, and JxauENETTA. 
 
 Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep 
 Costard safe: and you mustlet him take no delight, 
 nor no penance ; but a' must Lst three days a-week : 
 For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she 
 is allowed for the day-woman.' Fare you well. 
 
 Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — M 
 
 Jaq. Man. 
 
 Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge. 
 
 Jaq. That's hereby. 
 
 Arm. I know where it is situate. 
 
 Jaq. Lord, how wise you are ! 
 
 Arm. I will tell thee wonders 
 
 Jaq. With that face ? 
 
 Arm. I love thee. 
 
 Jaq. So I heard you say. 
 
 Arm. And so farewell. 
 
 Jaq. Fair weather after you ! 
 
 Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. 
 
 [Exeunt Dull and Jaq.ue«etta. 
 
 Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, eie 
 thou be pardoned. 
 
 Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do >t, I shall do 
 it on a full stomach. 
 
 Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. 
 
 Cost. I am more bound to you than your fei 
 lows, for they are but lightly rewarded. 
 
 Arm. Take away this villain; shut him up. 
 
 Moth. Come, you transgressing slave ; away. 
 
 Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast, 
 being loose. 
 
 Moth. No, sir, that were fast and .'.cse: thou 
 shalt to prison. 
 
 Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of 
 desolation that I have seen, some shall sea— 
 
 Moth. What shall some see ? 
 
 Cost. Nay, nothing, master Moth, but what t':ty 
 look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too si.'-.nt 
 in their words ; and, therefore, I will say nothi 'g: 
 I thank God, I have as little patience as anoii.ci 
 man ; and, therefore, I can be quiet. 
 
 [Exeunt Moth and Costabt; 
 
 » Of which she is naturally possessed. 
 > Dairy-woman. 
 
Act II. Scene I. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 153 
 
 Arm. I do affect 3 the very ground, which is base, 
 where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, 
 *hich is basest, dotli tread. I shall be forsworn, 
 {which is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love : 
 A.nd how can that be true love, which is falsely 
 attempted ? Love is a familiar; love is a devil : there 
 is no evil angel but love. Yet Samson was so 
 tempted; and he had an excellent strength: yet 
 was Solomon so seduced ; and he had a very good 
 wit Cupid's butt-shaft 3 is too hard for Hercules' 
 
 club, and therefore too much odds for a Spaniard's 
 rapier. The first and second cause will not se - vc 
 my turn ; the passado he respects not, the duello he 
 regards not: his - disgrace is to be called boy; but 
 his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, valor ! rust, 
 rapier ! be still, drum ! for your manager is in love , 
 yea, he Ioveth. Assist me, some extemporal god 
 of rhyme, for, I am sure, I shall turn sonnetteer. 
 Devise, wit ; write, pen ; for I am for whole vol- 
 umes in folio. [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Pavilion, and Tents at a distance. 
 
 Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Ma- 
 ria, Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other At- 
 tendants. 
 
 Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest 
 spirits : 
 Consider who the king your father sends; 
 To whom he sends ; and what's his embassy : 
 Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem, 
 To parley with the sole inheritor 
 Of all perfections that a man may owe, 
 M atchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 
 Than Aquitain ; a dowry for a queen. 
 Be now as prodigal of all dear grace, 
 4s nature was in making graces dear. 
 When she did starve the general world beside, 
 4nd prodigally gave them all to you. 
 
 Prin. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but 
 mean, 
 Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ; 
 Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, 
 Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues: 
 I am less proud to hear you tell my worth, 
 Than you much willing to be counted wise 
 In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
 But now to task the tasker. — Good Boyet, 
 You are not ignorant, all-telling fame 
 Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow, 
 Till painful study shall out-wear three years, 
 No woman may approach his silent court: 
 Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course, 
 Before we enter his forbidden gates, 
 To know his pleasure ; and, in that behalf, 
 Bold of your worthiness, we single you 
 As our best-moving fair solicitor: 
 Tell him, the daughter of the king of France, 
 On serious business, craving quick despatch, 
 Importunes personal conference with his grace. 
 Haste, signify so much ; while we attend, 
 Like humble-visag'd suitors, his high will. 
 
 Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. — 
 Who are the votaries, my loving lords, 
 That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke? 
 
 1 Lord. Longaville is one. 
 
 Prin. Know you the man ? 
 
 Mai: I know him, madam ; at a marriage feast, 
 Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir 
 Of Jaques Falconbridge solemnized, 
 In Normandy saw I this Longaville : 
 A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ; 
 Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms : 
 Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. 
 The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 
 If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil.) 
 
 • Love. a Arrow to shoot at butts with. 
 
 Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ; 
 Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills 
 It should none spare that come within his power. 
 
 Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike ; is't so 1 
 
 Mar. They say so most, that most his humors 
 know. 
 
 Prin. Such short-li v'd wits do wither as they grow. 
 Who are the rest ? 
 
 Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd 
 youth, 
 Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd: 
 Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ; 
 For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, 
 And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
 I saw him at the duke Alencon's once ; 
 And much too little of that good I saw, 
 Is my report to his great worthiness. 
 
 Ros. Another of these students at that time 
 Was there with him : if I have heard a truth, 
 Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, 
 Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
 His eye begets occasion for his wit ; 
 For every object that the one doth catch, 
 The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; 
 Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositoi) 
 Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 
 That aged ears play truant at his tales, 
 And younger hearings are quite ravished , 
 So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 
 
 Prin. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love, 
 That every one her own hath garnished 
 With such bedecking ornaments of praise ? 
 
 Mar. Here comes Boyet. 
 
 Re-enter Boyet. 
 
 Prin. Now, what admittance, lord 1 
 
 Boyet. Navarre hath notice of your fair approach ; 
 And he, and his competitors ' in oath, 
 Were all address'd 5 to meet you, gentle lady, 
 Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, 
 He rather means to lodge you in the field, 
 (Like one that comes here to besiege his court,) 
 Than seek a dispensation for his oath, 
 To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
 Here comes Navarre. [The ladies mask. 
 
 Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of 
 Navarre. 
 
 Prin. Fair, I give you back again ; and, welcome 
 I have not yet: the roof of this coun ;= too high to 
 be yours ; and welcome to the wild fields too base 
 to be mine. 
 
 King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court 
 
 Prin. I will be welcome then ; conduct me 
 thither. 
 
 4 Confederates. » Prepared 
 
I 154 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 ArrU 
 
 King Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath. 
 
 Prin. Our lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn. 
 
 King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. 
 
 Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will, and nothing 
 else. 
 
 King. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. 
 
 Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, 
 Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. 
 I hear, your grace hath sworn-out house-keeping : 
 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, 
 And sin to break it: 
 But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold; 
 To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
 Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming, 
 And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives apaper. 
 
 King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may. 
 
 Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away ; 
 For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. 
 
 Biron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once] 
 
 Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once? 
 
 Biron. I know you did. 
 
 Ros. How needless was it then 
 
 To ask the question ! 
 
 Biron. You must not be so quick. 
 
 Ros. 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such 
 questions. 
 
 Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill 
 tire. 
 
 Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. 
 
 Biron. What time o' day 1 
 
 Ros. The hour that fools shall ask. 
 
 Biron. Now fair befall your mask ! 
 
 Ros. Fair fall the face it covers ! 
 
 Biron. And send you many lovers ! 
 
 Ros. Amen, so you be none. 
 
 Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. 
 
 King. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
 The payment of a hundred thousand crowns; 
 Being but the one half of an entire sum, 
 Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
 But say, that he, or we, (as neither have,) 
 Receiv'd that sum ; yet there remains unpaid 
 A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which, 
 One part of Aquitain is bound to us, 
 Although not valued to the money's worth. 
 If then the king your father will restore 
 But that one half which is unsatisfied, 
 We will give up our right in Aquitain, 
 And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
 But that, it seems, he little purposeth, 
 For here he doth demand to have repaid 
 A hundred thousand crowns ; and not demands, 
 On payment of a hundred thousand crowns, 
 To have his title live in Aquitain; 
 Which we much rather had depart 6 withal, 
 And have the money by our father lent, 
 Than Aquitain so gelded as it is. 
 Dear princess, were not his requests so far 
 From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 
 A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast, 
 \nd go well satisfied to France again. 
 
 Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong, 
 And wrong the reputation of your name, 
 In so unseeming to confess receipt 
 Of that which hath so faithfully been paid. 
 
 King. I do protest, I never heard of it; 
 And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back, 
 Or yield up Aquitain. 
 
 7 'rin. We arrest your word: — 
 
 Boyet, you can produce acquittances, 
 Foi such a sum, from special officers 
 Of »''hariwhis father. 
 
 • Part. 
 
 King. Satisfy me so. 
 
 Boyet. So please your grace, the packtt is not 
 come, 
 Where that and other specialties are bound; 
 To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 
 
 King. It shall suffice me : at which interview, 
 All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
 Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand, 
 As honor, without breach of honor, may 
 Make tender of to thy true worthiness : 
 You may not come, fair princess, in my gates; 
 But here without, you shall be so receiv'd. 
 As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart, 
 Though so denied fair harbor in my house. 
 Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell : 
 To-morrow shall we visit you again. 
 
 Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your 
 grace ! 
 
 King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place ! 
 [Exeunt King and his Train. 
 
 Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own 
 heart. 
 
 Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations ; I would 
 be glad to see it. 
 
 Biron. I would, you heard it groan. 
 
 Ros. Is the fool sick] 
 
 Biron. Sick at heart. 
 
 Ros. Alack, let it blood. 
 
 Biron. Would that do it good] 
 
 Ros. My physic says, I.' 
 
 Biron. Will you prick't with your eye 1 
 
 Ros. No poynt," with my knife. 
 
 Biron. Now, God save thy life ! 
 
 Ros. And yours from long living! 
 
 Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring 
 
 Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word: What lady is 
 that same ] 
 
 Boyet. The heir of Alenfon, Rosaline her name. 
 
 Dum. A gallant lady ! Monsieur, fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Long. I beseech you a word ; What is she in 
 the white ] 
 
 Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in 
 the light. 
 
 Long. Perchance, light in the light : I desire hei 
 name. 
 
 Boyet. She hath but one for herself; to desire 
 that, were a shame. 
 
 Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter] 
 
 Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard. 
 
 Long. God's blessing on your beard ! 
 
 Boyet. Good sir, be not offended: 
 She is an heir of Falconbridge. 
 
 Long. Nay, my eholer is ended. 
 She is a most sweet lady. 
 
 Boyet. Not unlike, sir ; that may be. [Exit Long. 
 
 Biron. What's her name in the cap] 
 
 Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. 
 
 Biron. Is she wedded or no ] 
 
 Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 
 
 Biron. You are welcome, sir ; adieu ! 
 
 Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. 
 [Exit BinoN. — Ladies unmask 
 
 Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord; 
 Not a word with him but a jest. 
 
 Boyet. And every jest but a word. 
 
 Prin. It was well done of you to take him at 
 his word. 
 
 Boyet. I was willing to grapple, as he was to 
 board. 
 
 Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry ! 
 
 ' Ay, yes 
 
 • A French particle of negation. 
 
A.CT III. Scene I. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 155 
 
 boyet. And wherefore not ships ! 
 
 No sheep, sweet Iamb, unless we feed on your lips. 
 
 Mar. You sheep, and I pasture ; Shall that fin- 
 ish the jest ? 
 
 Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. 
 
 [Offering to kiss her. 
 
 Mar. Not so, gentle beast; 
 
 My lips are no common, though several 9 they be. 
 
 Boyet. Belonging to whom 1 
 
 Mar. To my fortunes and me. 
 
 Prin. Good wits will be jangling: but, gentles, 
 agree ; 
 The civil war of wits were much better used 
 On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 'tis abused. 
 
 Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom 
 lies,) 
 By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes, 
 Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 
 
 Prin. With what? 
 
 Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected. 
 
 Prin. Your reason] 
 
 Boyet. Why all his behaviors did make their retire 
 To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire: 
 His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed, 
 Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed : 
 His tongue all impatient to speak and not see, 
 Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be ; 
 All senses to that sense did make their repair, 
 
 To feel only looking on fairest of fair : 
 Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye, 
 As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ; 
 Who, tendering their own worth, from where they 
 
 were glass'd, 
 Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. 
 His face's own margent did quote such amazes, 
 That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes 
 I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his, 
 An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss 
 Prin. Come, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd — 
 Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his 
 eye hath disclos'd : 
 I only have made a mouth of his eye, 
 By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. 
 Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st 
 
 skilfully. 
 Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and learns news 
 
 of him. 
 Ros. Then was Venus like her mother ; for her 
 
 father is but grim. 
 Boyet, Do you hear, my mad wenches 1 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Boyet. What then, do you see ' 
 
 Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 
 Boyet. You are too hard for me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT 111. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Park, near the Palace. 
 
 Enter Armado a?id Moth 
 
 Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense 
 of hearing. 
 
 Moth. Concolinel [Singing. 
 
 Arm. Sweet air! — Go, tenderness of years; take 
 this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him 
 festinately 1 hither; I must employ him in a letter 
 to my love. 
 
 Moth. Master, will you win your love with a 
 French brawl V 
 
 Arm. How mean'st thou 1 brawling in French 1 
 
 Moth. No, my complete master : but to jig off 
 a tune at the tongue's end, canary 3 to it with your 
 feet, humor it with turning up your eye-lids; sigh 
 a note, and sing a note; sometime through the 
 throat, as if you swallowed love with singing love; 
 sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up 
 love by smelling love; with your hat penthouse- 
 like, o'er the shop of your eyes; with your arms 
 crossed on your thin belly-doublet, like a rabbit on 
 a spit ; or your hands in your pocket, like a man 
 after the old painting; and keep not too long in 
 one tune, but a snip and away: These are com- 
 plements, these are humors; these betray nice 
 wenches — that would be betrayed without these ; 
 and make them men of note (do you note, men ?) 
 that are most affected to these. 
 
 Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience] 
 
 Moth. By my penny of observation. 
 
 Arm. But 0, — but 0, — 
 
 Moth. — the hobby-horse is forgot. 
 
 Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse 1 
 
 Moth. No, master ; the hobby-horse is but a colt, 
 and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you 
 torgot your love 1 
 
 • A quibble, several signified unenclosed lands. 
 » Hastily. * A kind of dance. 
 
 * Canary was the name "fa sprightly dance. 
 
 Arm. Almost I had. 
 
 Moth. Negligent student! learn her by heart. 
 
 Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy. 
 
 Moth. And out of heart, master : all those three 
 I will prove. 
 
 Arm. What will that prove 1 
 
 Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and 
 without, upon the instant : By heart you love her, 
 because your heart cannot come by her: in heart 
 you love her, because your heart is in love with 
 her : and out of heart you love her, being out of 
 heart that you cannot enjoy her. 
 
 Arm. I am all these three. 
 
 Moth. And three times as much more, and yet 
 nothing at all. 
 
 Arm. Fetch hither the swain; he must carry me 
 a letter. 
 
 Moth. A message well sympathised; a horse o 
 be ambassador for an ass ! 
 
 Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou 1 
 
 Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon 
 the horse, for he is very slow gaited: But I go. 
 
 Arm. The way is but short ; away. 
 
 Moth. As swift as lead, sir. 
 
 Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious 1 
 Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow 1 
 
 Moth. Mini me, honest master; or rather, master no. 
 
 Arm. I say, lead is slow. 
 
 Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so; 
 
 Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ? 
 
 Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric : 
 He reputes me a cannon ; and the buiiet, that's he: — 
 I shoot thee at the swain. 
 
 Moth. Thump then, and I flee 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Arm. A most acute juvenal ; voluble and free oi 
 grace ! 
 By thy favor, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy tacf 
 Most rude melancholy, valor gives thee placp 
 My h^nld is return'd. 
 
156 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 -VCT jf I 
 
 Re-tnter Moth and Costard. 
 
 Moth. A wonder, master; here's a costard 4 bro- 
 ken in a shin. 
 Arm. Some enigma, some riddle: come, — thy 
 
 V envoy; — begin. 
 Cost. No egma, no riddle, no V envoy;* no salve 
 m the mail, sir: 0, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; 
 no I' envoy, no V envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! 
 Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy 
 silly thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs 
 provokes me to ridiculous smiling : O, pardon me, 
 my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for 
 V envoy, and the word, V envoy, for a salve? 
 
 Moth. Do the wise think them other ? is not 
 l' envoy a salve? 
 
 Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue or discourse 
 to make plain 
 Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. 
 T will example it . 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three. 
 There's the moral : Now the T envoy. 
 Moth. Iwilladdthe/'mtw/.- Say the moral again. 
 Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 Moth. Until the goose came out of door, 
 And stay'd the odds by adding four. 
 Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow 
 with my V envoy. 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 Arm. Until the goose came out of door, 
 Staying the odds by adding four. 
 Moth. A good V envoy, ending in the goose : 
 Would you desire more ? 
 
 Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, 
 
 that's flat : — 
 
 Sir, your pennyworth is good, an y eur goose be fat. — 
 
 To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose : 
 
 Let me see a fat I 'envoy,- ay, that's a fat goose. 
 
 Arm. Come hither, come hither : How did this 
 
 argument begin ? 
 Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a 
 shin. 
 Then call'd you for the V envoy. 
 
 Cost. True, and I for a plantain : Thus :ame 
 your argument in ; 
 Then the boy's fat V envoy, the goose that you 
 
 bought ; 
 And he ended the market. 
 
 Arm. But tell me; how was there f Costard 
 broken in a shin ? 
 
 Moth. I will tell you sensibly. 
 Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth ; I will 
 speak that V envoy: 
 
 I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, 
 Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. 
 Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
 Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 
 Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. 
 Cost. O, marry me to one Frances : — I smell 
 some V envoy, some goose, in this. 
 
 Arm. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee 
 at liberty, enfreedoming thy person ; thou wert 
 immured, restrained, captivated, bound. 
 
 Cost. True, true ; and now you will be my pur- 
 gation, and let me loose. 
 
 Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set. thee from dur- 
 ance; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing 
 
 4 A head. 
 
 » An old French term for concluding verses, which 
 served either to convey the moral, or to address the poem 
 to seme person. 
 
 but this : Bear this significant to the country maid 
 Jaquenetta: there is remuneration ; [Giving him 
 money.'] for the best ward of mine honor, is re- 
 warding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. 
 Moth. I|jke the sequel, I. — Signior Costard, 
 
 adieu. 
 Cost. My sweet ounce of nan's flesh ! my in- 
 cony 6 Jew ! — [Exit MoTn. 
 Now will I look to his remuneration. Remunera- 
 tion ! O, that's the Latin word for three farthings : 
 three farthings — remuneration. — What's the price 
 of this inkle? a penny: — No, I'll give you a re- 
 muneration: why, it carries it. — Remuneration! — 
 why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I 
 will never buy and sell out of this word. 
 
 Enter Biron. 
 
 Biron. 0, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly 
 well met. 
 
 Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon 
 may a man buy for a remuneration? 
 
 Biron'. What is a remuneration ? 
 
 Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. 
 
 Biron. 0, why then, three-farthings-worth of silk. 
 
 Cost. I thank your worship: God be with you! 
 
 Biron. O, stay, slave ; I must employ thee : 
 As thou wilt win my favor, good my knave, 
 Do one thing for me that I shall entreat. 
 
 Cost. When would you have it done, sir? 
 
 Biron. O, this afternoon. 
 
 Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : Fare you well. 
 
 Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is. 
 
 Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it 
 
 Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 
 
 Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark, 
 slave, it is but this ; — 
 
 The princess comes to hunt here in the park, 
 And in her train there is a gentle lady; 
 When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her 
 
 name, 
 And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ; 
 And to her white hand see thou do commend 
 This seal'd up counsel. There's thy guerdon ; ' 
 go. [Gives him money. 
 
 Cost. Guerdon, — sweet guerdon ! better than 
 remuneration; eleven-pence farthing better: Most 
 sweet guerdon ! — I will do it, sir, in print. 3 — Guer- 
 don — remuneration. [Exit. 
 
 Biron. ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that 
 have been love's whip ; 
 A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
 A critic ; nay, a night-watch constable ; 
 A domineering pedant o'er the. boy, 
 Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 
 This whimpled, 9 whining, purblind, wayward boy 
 This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; 
 Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, 
 The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
 Liege of all loiterers and malcontents, 
 Dread prince of plackets,' king of codpieces, 
 Sole imperator, and great general 
 Of trotting paritors, 9 — O my little heart! — 
 And I to be a corporal of his field, 
 And wear his colors like a tumbler's hoop ! 
 What ? I ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife ! 
 A woman, that is like a German clock, 
 Still a repairing ; ever out of frame ; 
 And never going aright, being a watch, 
 
 • Delightful. 'Reward. 
 
 • With the utmost exactness. » Hooded, veiled 
 1 Petticoats. 
 
 • The officers of the spiritual courts who serve citation* 
 
Act IV. Scene T. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 157 
 
 But being watch'd that it may still go right 1 
 Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ; 
 And, among three, to love the worst of all; 
 A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, 
 \\ ith two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes ; 
 \y, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed, 
 Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard : 
 
 And I to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! 
 
 To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 
 
 That Cupid will impose for my neglect 
 
 Of his almighty dreadful little might. 
 
 Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan: 
 
 Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Pavilion in the Park. 
 Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katha- 
 rine, Botet, Lords, Attendants, and a For- 
 ester. 
 
 Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his horse 
 so hard 
 Against the steep uprising of the hill? 
 
 Boyet. I know not ; but I think, it was not he. 
 
 Prin Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting 
 mind. 
 Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ; 
 On Saturday we will return to France. — ■ 
 Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush, 
 That we must stand and play the murderer in ] 
 
 For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice ; 
 A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. 
 
 Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot, 
 And thereupon' thou speak'st, the fairest shoot. 
 
 For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so. 
 
 Prin. What, what 1 first praise me, and again 
 say, no 1 
 short-liv'd pride ! Not fair ] alack for woe ! 
 
 For. Yes, madam, fair. 
 
 Prin. Nay, never paint me now ; 
 
 Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
 Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; 
 
 [Giving him money. 
 Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 
 
 For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. 
 
 Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit. 
 heresy in fair, fit for these days ! 
 A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. — 
 But come, the bow : — Now mercy goes to kill, 
 And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
 Thus will I save my credit in the shoot: 
 Not wounding, pity would not let me do't ; 
 If wounding, then it was to show my skill, 
 That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. 
 And, out of question, so it is sometimes ; 
 Glory grows guilty of detested crimes ; 
 When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part, 
 We bend to that the working of the heart : 
 As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill 
 The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. 
 
 Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sove- 
 reignty 
 Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be 
 Lords o'er their lords] 
 
 Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may afford 
 To any lady that subdues a lord. 
 Enter Costard. 
 
 Prin. Here comes a member of the common- 
 wealth. 
 
 Cost. God dig-you-den 3 all ! Pray you, which 
 is the head lady ? 
 
 Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest 
 that have no heads. 
 
 Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest 1 
 
 Prin. The thickest, and the tallest 
 • God give j -»u good eveo. 
 
 Cost. The thickest, and the tallest ! i Juseo ; truth 
 is truth. 
 An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, 
 One of these maids' girdles for your waist should 
 
 be fit. 
 Are not you the chief woman ] you are the thick- 
 est here. 
 
 Prin. What's your will, sir ] what's your will 
 
 Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one 
 lady Rosaline. 
 
 Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ; he's a good friend 
 of mine : 
 Stand aside, good bearer.- -Boyet, you can carve ; 
 Break up this capon. 
 
 Boyet. I am bound to serve. — 
 
 This letter is mistook, it importeth none here ; 
 It is writ to Jaquenetta. 
 
 Prin. We will read it, I swear: 
 
 Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. 
 
 Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven, that thou art fair., 
 is most infallible,- true, that thou art beauteous,- 
 truth itself, that thou art lovely.- More fairer than 
 fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth 
 itself, have commiseration on thy heroical vassal/ 
 The magnanimous and most illustrate king Co- 
 phetua set eye upon the pernicious and indubitati 
 beggar Zenelophon ; and. he it was that might 
 rightly say, veni, vidi, vici; which to anatomize 
 in the vulgar, (0 base and obscure vulgar.') vide- 
 licet, he came, saw, and overcame: he came, one,- 
 saw, two,- overcame, three. Who came? the king: 
 Why did he come ? to see : Why did he see ? to 
 overcome: To whom came he? to the beggar: 
 What saw he? the beggar: Who overcame he? the 
 beggar.- the conclusion is victory,- On whose side'' 
 the Icing's: The captive is enriched,- On whost. 
 side? the beggar's: The catastrophe is a nuptial, 
 On whose side? the king's? — no, on both in one 
 or one in both. I am the king, -for so stands the com 
 parison.- thou the beggar,- for so witnesseth thy 
 lowliness. Shall I command thy love? I may.- 
 Shall 1 enforce thy love? I could: Shall I entreat 
 thy love? I will. What shalt thou exchange fo? 
 rags? robes,- For tittles, titles,- For thyself, me. 
 Thus, expecting thy reply, I profane my Upson thy 
 foot, my eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy 
 every part. 
 
 Thine, in the dearest design of industry, 
 Dox Adriano de Arxado 
 Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 
 
 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as nis prey, 
 Submissive fall his princely feet before, 
 
 And he from forage will incline to play : 
 But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then ! 
 Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 
 
 Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that inditee" 
 this letter] 
 What vane 1 what weathercock ] did you ever heai 
 better ] 
 
 Boyet. I am 'ach deceived, but I remember tht 
 style. 
 
158 
 
 LOVES LABOR'S LOST 
 
 lCI l\ 
 
 Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it 
 
 erewhile. 4 
 Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps 
 here in court; 
 A phantasm, a Monareho, and one that makes sport 
 To the prince, and his book-males. 
 
 Prin. Thou, fellow, a word : 
 
 Who gave thee this letter 1 
 
 Cost. I told you ; my lord. 
 
 Prin. To whom shouldst thou give it? 
 Cost. From my lord to my lady. 
 
 Prin. From which lord, to which lady ? 
 Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of 
 mine, 
 To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline. 
 Prin. Thou hast mistaken this letter. Come, 
 lords, away. 
 Here, sweet, put up this; 'twill be thine another 
 day. [Exit Princess and Train. 
 
 Boyet. Who is the suitor 1 who is the suitor ? 
 Ros. Shall I teach you to know 1 
 
 Boyet. Ay, my continent of beauty. 
 Ros. Why, she that bears the bow. 
 
 Finely put off! 
 
 Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if thou 
 marry, 
 Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. 
 Finely put on ! 
 
 Ros. Well then, I am the shooter. 
 Boyet. And who is your deer 1 
 
 Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself: come 
 near. 
 Finely put on, indeed! 
 
 Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she 
 
 strikes at the brow. 
 Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: Have I hit 
 
 her now ? 
 Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, 
 that was a man when king Pepin of France was a 
 little boy, as touching the hit it] 
 
 Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, 
 that was a woman when queen Guinever of Britain 
 was a little wench, as touching the hit it. 
 
 Ros. Thou canst not kit it, hit it, hit it,- [Singing. 
 
 Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
 Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, 
 
 An I cannot, another can. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. and Kath. 
 
 Cost. By my troth, most pleasant ! how both did 
 
 fit it! 
 Mar. A mark marvellous well shot ; for they both 
 
 did hit it. 
 Boyet. A mark ! O. mark but that mark; A mark, 
 
 says my lady ! 
 Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it 
 
 may be. 
 Mar. Wide o' the bow hand ! I'faith, your hand 
 
 is out. 
 Cost. Indeed, cSfnust shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er 
 
 hit the clout. 
 Boyet. An if my hand be out, then, belike your 
 
 hand is in. 
 Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving 
 
 the pin. 
 Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips 
 
 grow foul. 
 Cost. She's too hard for you at pricks, sir ; chal- 
 lenge her to bowl. 
 Soyet. I fear too much rubbing ; Good night, my 
 
 good owl. [Exeunt Boyet «/?tf Maria. 
 Cost. By my soul, a swain! a most simple clown! 
 4 Just now. 
 
 Lord, lord ! how the ladies and 1 have put him 
 
 down ! 
 O'my troth, most sweet jests! most mcony vulgas 
 
 wit! 
 When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as il 
 
 were, so fit. 
 Armatho o' the one side, — 0, a most dainty man ! 
 To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan ! 
 To see him kiss his hand! and how most sweetly 
 
 a' will swear ! — 
 And his page o' t'other side, that handful of wit! 
 Ah, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit ! 
 Sola, sola! [Shouting within. 
 
 [Exit Costahh, running. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter Holoferxes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 
 
 Nath. Very reverent sport, truly; and done in 
 the testimony of a good conscience. 
 
 Hoi. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis,— - 
 blood ; ripe as a pomewater, 5 who now hangeth likw 
 a jewel in the ear of ccclo, — the sky, the welkin, 
 the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on the 
 face of terra, — the soil, the land, the earth. 
 
 Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are 
 sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least : But, sir, 
 I assure ye, it was f. buck of the first head. 6 
 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, hand credo. 
 
 Dull. 'T was not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket. 
 
 Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind of 
 insinuation as it were, in via, in way, of explica- 
 tion; facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, 
 ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination, — after 
 his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, 
 untrained, or rather unlettered, or, rathcrest, un- 
 confirmed fashion, — to insert agair. my haud credo 
 for a deer. 
 
 Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo,- 'twa? 
 a pricket. 
 
 Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus! — thou 
 monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look! 
 
 Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that 
 are bred in a book; he hath not eat paper, as it 
 were; he hath not drunk ink: his intellect is not 
 replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible 
 in the duller parts; 
 And such barren plants are set before us, that we 
 
 thankful should he 
 (Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts 
 
 that do fructify in us more than he. 
 For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, 
 
 or a fool, 
 So, were there a patch ' set on learning, to see him 
 
 in a school : 
 But, omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's mind, 
 Many can brook the weather, that love not the wind. 
 
 Dull. You two are bookmen : Can you tell by 
 your wit, 
 What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not 
 five weeks old as yet 1 
 
 Hoi. Dicty.ina, good man Dull ; Dictynna, good 
 man Dull. 
 
 Dull. What is Dictynna? 
 
 Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 
 
 Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam 
 was no more; 
 
 » A species of apple. 
 
 o To render some of the allusions in this scene intellig;. 
 hie to persons who are not acquainted with the lansruaKO 
 of park-keepers and foresters, it may be necessary to men- 
 tion, that a fawn, when it is a year old, is called by them 
 a pricket ; when it is two years old, it is a sorel ; when it il 
 three years old, it is a sore ; when it is four years, it if • 
 buck of the first head ; at five years, it is an oii busk. 
 
 * A low fellow. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 .51» 
 
 And raught 8 not to five weeks, when he came to 
 
 fivescore. 
 The allusion holds in the exchange. 
 
 Dull. 'Tis true indeed ; the collusion holds in 
 the exchange. 
 
 Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allu- 
 sion holds in the exchange. 
 
 Dull. And I say the pollution holds in the ex- 
 change; for the moon is never but a month old: 
 and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin- 
 cess kill'd. 
 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
 epitaph on the death of the deer] and. to humor 
 the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess 
 kill'd a pricket. 
 
 Natk. Verge, good master Holofernes, perge,- 
 so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 
 
 Hoi. I will something affect the letter; for it 
 irgucs facility. 
 
 The praiseful princess piere'd and prick' d a pretty 
 pleasing pricket,- 
 
 Some say a sore,- but not a sore, till now made 
 sore with shooting. 
 The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps 
 from thicket; 
 
 Or pricket, sore, or else sorel; the people fall a 
 hooting, 
 if sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores,- 
 
 sore L! 
 Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but 
 one more L. 
 
 Nath. A rare talent! 
 
 Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws 
 him with a talent. 
 
 Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple; 
 a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, 
 shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revo- 
 lutions : these are begot in the ventricle of memory, 
 nourished in the womb of piu mater,- anddcliver'd 
 upon the mellowing of occasion : B ut the gift is 
 good in those in whom it is acute, and I am thank- 
 ful for it. 
 
 Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you ; and so may 
 my parishioners; for their sons are well tutor'd by 
 you, and their daughters profit very greatly under 
 you : you are a good member of the commonwealth. 
 
 Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they 
 shall want no instruction : if their daughters be ca- 
 pable, I will put it to them: But, vir sapit, qui 
 pauca loquitur.- a soul feminine saluteth us. 
 
 Enter Jaq.uenetta and Costard. 
 
 Jaq. God give you good morrow, master parson. 
 
 Hoi. Master person, — quasi pers-on. And if one 
 should be pierced, which is the one 1 
 
 Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is 
 likest to a hogshead. 
 
 Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of 
 conceit in a turf of earth; fire enough for a flint, 
 pearl enough for a swine: 'tis pretty ; it is well. 
 
 Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me 
 this letter; it was given me by Costard, and sent 
 me from Don Armalno : I beseech you, read it. 
 
 Hoi. Fauste, precor gelida quando pecus omne 
 sub umbra 
 Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan : 
 I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice ! 
 
 — — Vinegia, Vinegia, 
 
 Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia. 
 
 Old Mantuan ! old Mantuan ! Who undcrstandeth 
 
 inee not, loves thee not. — Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. — 
 
 • Reached. 
 
 Under pardon, sir, what arc the contents 1 or, rathei 
 as Horace says in his — What, my soul, verses 1 
 
 Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. 
 
 Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse ; Lege, 
 domine. 
 
 Nath. [Reads.] If love make me forsivorn, how 
 shall I swear to love? 
 
 Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! 
 Though to myself forsworn, io thee I'll faithful 
 prove,- 
 
 Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee likt 
 osiers bowed. 
 St u dy h is bias leaves, and makes h is book thine eyes, 
 
 Where all those pleasures live, that art would 
 comprehend: 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice,- 
 
 Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee, 
 commend: 
 All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without won- 
 der,- 
 
 ( Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts 
 admire,-) 
 Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread- 
 ful thunder, 
 
 Which not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. 
 Celestial,as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, 
 That sings heaven's praise with such an eartluy 
 tongue.' 
 
 Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss 
 the accent: let me supervise the canzonet. Here 
 are only numbers ratified ; but for the elegancy, 
 facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. vidius 
 Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso ; but 
 for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, 
 the jerks of invention 1 Imitari, is nothing : so doth 
 the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired 9 
 horse his rider. But damosella virgin, was this 
 directed to you ] 
 
 Jaq. Ay, sir, from one monsieur Biron, one of 
 the strange queen's lords. 
 
 Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. To the 
 snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady 
 Rosaline. I will look again on the intellect of the 
 letter, for the nomination of the party writing to 
 the person written unto : 
 
 Your ladyship's in all desired employment, 
 
 % Binopf. 
 Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with 
 the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a 
 sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, 
 or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. — 
 Trip and go, my sweet ; deliver this paper into the 
 royal hand of the king ; it may concern much : Stay 
 not thy compliment: I forgive thy duty; adieu. 
 
 Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God save 
 your life ! 
 
 Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 
 
 [Exeunt Cost, and Jaq.. 
 
 Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, 
 very religiously ; and, as a certain father saith 
 
 Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co- 
 lorable colors. But, to return to the verses; Did 
 they please you, sir Nathaniel ? 
 
 Nath. Marvellous well for the pen. 
 
 Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain 
 pupil of mine ; where if, before repast, it shall please, 
 you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my 
 privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid 
 child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto,- where 
 I will prove those verses to be very unlearned, 
 neither savoring of poetry, wit, nor invention ■ ! 
 beseech your society. 
 
 * Attired, caparisonea. 
 
160 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Nath. And thank you too: for society, (saith 
 Ihe text,) is the happiness of life. 
 
 Hoi. And, certes,' the text most infallibly con- 
 cludes it. — Sir, [To Dull.] I do invite you too; 
 you shall not say me, nay : panca verba. Away ; 
 the gentles are at their game, and we will to our 
 recreation. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another part of the Park. 
 Enter Biron, with a paper. 
 
 Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I am 
 coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil; I am 
 toiling in a pitch; pitch that defiles; defile! a foul 
 word. Well, set thee down, sorrow ! for so, they 
 say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. — 
 Well proved, wit ! By the lord, this love is as mad 
 as Ajax : it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: Well 
 proved again on my side ! 1 will not love : if I do, 
 hang me ; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye, — by 
 this light, but for her eye, I would not love her; 
 yes, for her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in the 
 world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I 
 do love : and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to be 
 melancholy ; and here is part of my rhyme, and 
 here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my son- 
 nets already ; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and 
 the lady hath it : sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest, 
 lady ! By the world, I would not care a pin if the 
 other three were in : Here comes one with a paper ; 
 God give him grace to groan ! 
 
 [Gets up into a tree. 
 Enter the King, with a paper. 
 
 King. Ah me! 
 
 Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven! — Proceed, sweet 
 Cupid ; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-bolt 
 under the left pap : — I'faith secrets. — 
 
 King. [Reads.] So sivcet a kiss ihe golden sun 
 gives not 
 
 To those fresh morning drops upon the rose 
 As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote 
 
 The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: 
 Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 
 
 Through the transparent bosom of the deep, 
 As doth thy face through tears ofminegive light; 
 
 Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep: 
 No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee. 
 
 So ridest thou triumphing in my woe; 
 Do but behold the tears that swell in me, 
 
 And they thy glory through my grief will show. 
 But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
 My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
 O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel. 1 
 No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. — 
 How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the paper ; 
 Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here 1 
 
 [Steps aside. 
 Enter Longaville, with a paper. 
 What Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear. 
 
 Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, ap- 
 pear r [Aside. 
 
 Long. Ah me ! I am forsworn. 
 
 Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wear- 
 ing papers. [Aside. 
 
 King. In love, I hope: sweet fellowship in 
 shame ! [Aside. 
 
 Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Long. Am I the first that have been perjured so ? 
 
 8iron . [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort ; not 
 !>v tw o, that I know: 
 
 Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of so- 
 ciety, 
 The shape of love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity 
 Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power tc 
 move: 
 O sweet Maria, empress of my love ! 
 These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. 
 Biron. [Aside."] O, rhymes are guards on w inton 
 Cupid's hose : 
 Disfigure not his slop. 
 
 Long. This same shall go. — 
 
 [He reads the sonnet 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 
 
 ('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument) 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 
 
 Vows, for thee broke, deserve not punishment. 
 A woman I forsivore.; but, I will prove, 
 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee,- 
 My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love,- 
 
 Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in mt. 
 Vows are but breath, and breath a vapor is: 
 Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth doth 
 shine, 
 ExhaVst this vapor vow,- in thee it is: 
 
 If broken, then, it is no fault of mine: 
 If by me broke, what fool is not so wise, 
 To lose an oath to win a paradise? 
 Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein, which 
 makes flesh a deity ; 
 A green goose a goddess: pure, pure idolatry. 
 God amend us, God amend ! we are much out o' 
 the way. 
 
 Enter Dumain, with a paper. 
 
 Long. By whom shall I send this ? — Company! 
 stay. [Stepping aside. 
 
 Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant 
 play: 
 Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky, 
 And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 
 More sacks to the mill ! heavens, I have my 
 
 wish ; 
 Dumain transform'd : four woodcocks in a dish ! 
 Dum. most divine Kate ! 
 Biron. O most profane coxcomb ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye ! 
 
 Biron. By earth, she is but corporal ; there you 
 
 lie. [Aside. 
 
 Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber 
 
 coted." 
 Biron. An amber-color'd raven was well noted. 
 
 [Aside 
 Dum. As upright as the cedar. 
 Biron. Stoop, I say ; 
 
 Her shoulder is with child. [Asidt 
 
 Dum. As fair as day. 
 
 Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun must 
 shine. [Aside. 
 
 Dum. that I had my wish ! 
 Long. And I had mine ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 King. And I mine too, good lord ! [Aside. 
 
 Biron. Amen, so I had mine : Is not that a good 
 
 word 1 [Aside 
 
 Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she 
 
 Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. 
 
 Biron. A fever in your blood, why then incision 
 Would let her out in saucers ; Sweet misprision ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I havo 
 writ. 
 
 s Outstripped, surpassed. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 J61 
 
 Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary 
 wit [Aside. 
 
 Dum. On a day, (alack the day.') 
 
 Love, wftose month is ever May, 
 Spied a blossom, passing fair, 
 Playing in the wanton air: 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find; 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blou 
 Air, would I might triumph so/ 
 But, alack, my hand is sworn, 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; 
 Youth so apt to pluck, a sweet. 
 Do not call it sin in me, 
 That I am forsworn for thee,- 
 Thou for whom even Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiop were,- 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love.—' 
 This will I send ; and something else more plain, 
 That shall express my true love's fasting pain. 
 
 would the King, Biron, and Longaville, 
 Were lovers too ! Ill to example ill, 
 
 Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note ; 
 For none offend, where all alike do dote. 
 
 Long. Dumain, [Advancing.'] thy love is far 
 from charity, 
 That in love's grief desir'st society : 
 You may look pale, but I should blush, I know, 
 To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. 
 
 King. Come, sir, [Advancing.'] you blush ; as 
 his your case is such ; 
 You chide at him, offending twice as much : 
 You do not love Maria ; Longaville 
 Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; 
 Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart 
 His loving bosom, to keep down his heart? 
 
 1 have been closely shrouded in this bush, 
 
 And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. 
 I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion ; 
 Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion: 
 Ah me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ; 
 One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes: 
 You would for paradise break faith and troth; 
 
 [To Long. 
 And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. 
 
 [To Dumain. 
 What will Biron say, when that he shall hear 
 A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear ? 
 How will he scorn ? how will he spend his wit ? 
 How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it ? 
 For all the wealth that ever I did see, 
 I would not have him know so much by me. 
 
 Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. — 
 Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me : 
 
 [Descends from the tree. 
 Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove 
 These worms for loving, that art most in love ? 
 Your eyes do make no coaches; in your tears 
 There is no certain princess that appears : 
 You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing; 
 Tush, none but minstrels like of sonnetting. 
 But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not, 
 All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot? 
 You found his mote ; the king your mote did see ; 
 But I a beam do find in each of three. 
 what a scene of foolery I have seen, 
 Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen ! 
 me vith what strict patience have I sat, 
 » Grief. 
 
 To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 
 To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, 
 And profound Solomon to tune a jigg, 
 And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, 
 And critic 4 Timon laugh at idle toys ! 
 Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain ' 
 And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain ? 
 And where my liege's ? all about the breast :- 
 A caudle, ho ! 
 
 King. Too bitter is thy jest. 
 
 Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view? 
 
 Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you ; 
 I, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin 
 To break the vow I am engaged in ! 
 I am betray'd, by keeping company 
 With moon-like men of strange inconstancy. 
 When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme ' 
 Or groan for Joan ? or spend a minute's time 
 In pruning 5 me? When shall you hear that I 
 Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
 A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
 A leg, a limb? — 
 
 King. Soft; Whither away so fast? 
 
 A true man, or a thief, that gallops so ? 
 
 Biron. I post from love ; good lover, let me go. 
 
 Enter Jaq.uenetta and Costard. 
 
 Jaq. God bless the king ! 
 King. What present hast thou there ? 
 
 Cost. Some certain treason. 
 King. What makes treason here? 
 
 Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 
 King. If it mar nothing neither, 
 
 The treason, and you, go in peace away together. 
 Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read, 
 Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he said. 
 King. Biron, read it over. 
 
 [Giving him the letter 
 Where hadst thou it ? 
 Jaq. Of Costard. 
 King. Where hadst thou it ? 
 Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. 
 King. How now ! what is in you ? why do* 4 
 
 thou tear it ? 
 Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy ; your grace needs 
 
 not fear it. 
 Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore 
 
 let's hear it. 
 Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. 
 [Picks up the pieces. 
 Biron. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [To Cos- 
 tard.] you were born to do me shame. — 
 Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess. 
 King. What? 
 
 Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool bo 
 make up the mess : 
 He, he, and you, my liege, and I, 
 Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
 O, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. 
 Dum. Now the number is oven. 
 Biron. True, true; we are foui: — 
 
 Will these turtles be gone? 
 
 King. Hence, sirs ; away. 
 
 Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the trai- 
 tors stay. [Exeunt Cost, and i\% 
 Biron. Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us err. 
 brace ! 
 As true we are, as flesh and blood can be : 
 The sea will ebb and flow, heaven show his faca , 
 
 Young blood will not obey an old decree 
 We cannot cross the cause why we were born 
 ' ' erefope, of all hands must we be forsworn. 
 
 » Cynic. 
 
 • In trimming myself 
 
162 
 
 LOVE'S LABORS LOST. 
 
 Act IV . 
 
 King. What, did these rent lines show some love 
 
 of thine] 
 Biron. Did they, quoth you 1 ? Who sees the 
 heavenly Rosaline, 
 That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 
 
 At the first opening of the gorgeous east, 
 Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind, 
 
 Kisses the base ground with obedient breast ? 
 What peremptory eagle-sighted eye 
 
 Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
 That is not blinded by her majesty 1 
 
 King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee 
 now 1 
 My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ; 
 
 She, an attending star, scarce seen a light. 
 Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron : 
 O, but for my love, jay would turn to night ! 
 Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty 
 
 Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ; 
 Where several worthies make one dignity ; 
 
 Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. 
 Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues — 
 
 Fye, painted rhetoric ! O, she needs it not ; 
 To things of sale a seller's praise belongs; 
 
 She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot. 
 A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn, 
 
 Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : 
 Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, 
 
 And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy. 
 O, 'tis the sun. that maketh all things shine ! 
 King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 
 Biron. Is ebony like her 1 wood divine ! 
 A wife of such wood were felicity. 
 O, who can give an oath 1 where is a book 1 
 
 That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack, 
 If that she learn not of her eye to look : 
 No face is fair, that is not full so black. 
 King. paradox ! Black is the badge of- hell, 
 The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night; 
 And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. 
 Biron. Devils soonest tempt, resembling spirits 
 of light. 
 O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, 
 
 It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair, 
 Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 
 
 And therefore is she born to make black fair. 
 Her favor turns the fashion of the days ; 
 
 For native blood is counted painting now ; 
 And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, 
 Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
 Dum. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers 
 
 black. 
 Long. And, since her time, are colliers counted 
 
 bright. 
 King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion 
 
 crack. 
 Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is 
 
 light. 
 Biron. Y Dur mistresses dare never come in rain, 
 For fear their colors should be wash'd away. 
 King. 'Twere good, yours did; for, sir, to tell 
 you plain, 
 I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. 
 Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day 
 
 here. 
 King. No devil will fright thee then so much as 
 
 she. 
 
 Dum. I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. 
 
 Long. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her 
 
 face see. [Showing his shoe. 
 
 Biron. 0, if the streets were paved with thine 
 
 eyes, 
 
 Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! 
 
 Dum. O vile! then as she goes, what upward' 
 lies 
 The street should see as she walk d over neaJ- 
 
 King. But what of this 1 Are we not all in love! 
 
 Biron. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn. 
 
 King. Then leave this chat : and, good Biron, 
 now prove 
 Our loving lawful, and oui faith not torn. 
 
 Dum. Ay, marry, there,— some flattery for thLi 
 evil. 
 
 Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; 
 Some tricks, some quillets, 5 how to cheat the devil 
 
 Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
 
 Biron. 0, 'tis more than need! — 
 
 Have at you then, affection's men at arms : 
 Consider, what you first did swear unto ; — 
 To fast, : — to study, — and to see no woman ; — 
 Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
 Say, can you fast 1 your stomachs are too young 
 And abstinence engenders maladies. 
 And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 
 In that each' of you hath forsworn his book : 
 Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look? 
 For when would you, my lord, or you, or you, 
 Have found the ground of study's excellence, 
 Without the beauty of a woman's face 1 
 From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 
 They are the ground, the books, the academes, 
 From'whence doth spring the true Promethean fire 
 Why, universal plodding prisons up 
 The nimble spirits in the arteries ; 
 As motion, and long-during action, tires 
 The sinewy vigor of the traveller. 
 Now, for not looking on a woman's face, 
 You have in that forsworn the use of eyes 
 And study too, the causer of your vow: 
 For where is any author in the world, 
 Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye 1 
 Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, 
 And where we are, our learning likewise is. 
 Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes, 
 Do we not likewise see our learning there 1 
 O, we have made a vow to study, lords ; 
 And in that vow we have forsworn our books ; 
 For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, 
 In leaden contemplation, have found out 
 Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes 
 Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with ' 
 Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ; 
 And therefore finding barren practisers, 
 Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil : 
 But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
 Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 
 But, with the motion of all elements, 
 Courses as swift as thought in every power ; 
 And gives to every power a double power, 
 Above their functions and their offices. 
 It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 
 A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
 A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, 
 When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd; 
 Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 
 Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 
 Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste 
 For valor, is not love a Hercules, 
 Still climbing trees in the HesperidesT 
 Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet, and musical, 
 As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ; 
 And, when Love speaks, the voice of all the goik 
 Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
 Never durst poet touch a pen to write, 
 Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sigh* 
 e Law-chicane. 
 
Act V. Scene * 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 lfi» 
 
 C, tnen his lines would ravisn savage ears, 
 And plant in tyrants mild humility. 
 From women's eyes this rVictrine I derive : 
 They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 
 They are the books, the arts, the academes, 
 That show, contain, and nourish all the world; 
 Else none at all in aught proves excellent: 
 Then fools you were these women to forswear; 
 Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. 
 For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love; 
 Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men ; 
 Or for men's sake, the authors of these women ; 
 Or women's sake, by whom we men are men; 
 Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves, 
 Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths: 
 It is religion to be thus forsworn : 
 For charity itself fulfils the law; 
 And who can sever love from charity? 
 
 King. Saint Cupid, then! and, soldiers, to the 
 field! 
 
 Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, 
 lords ; 
 
 Pell-mell, down with them ! hut be first advis'd, 
 In conflict that you get the sun of them. 
 
 Long. Now to plain-cealing ; lay these glozes by : 
 Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? 
 
 King. And win them too : therefore let us devise 
 Some entertainment for them in their tents. 
 
 Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them 
 thither ; 
 Then, homeward, every man attach the hand 
 Of his fair mistress: in the afternoon 
 We will with some strange pastime solace them. 
 Such as the shortness of the time can shape ; 
 For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours, 
 Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. 
 
 King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted, 
 That will be time, and may by us be fitted. 
 
 Biron. Allans.' Allons.' — Sow'd cockle reap'd 
 no corn; 
 And justice always whirls in equal measure. 
 Light wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn; 
 If so, our coppe' buys no better treasure. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE 1.-^4 Street. 
 Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 
 
 Hoi. Satis quod sufficit. 
 
 Nath. I praise God for you, sir, your reasons 1 
 at dinner have been sharp and sententious; plea- 
 sant without scurrility, witty without affection, 8 
 audacious without impudency, learned without 
 opinion, and strange without heresy. I did con- 
 verse this quondam day with a companion of the 
 king's, who is intituled, nominated, or called, Don 
 Adriano de Armado. 
 
 Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te: His humor is 
 lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his 
 eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general 
 oehavior vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. 9 He is 
 too picked, 1 too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it 
 were, t^o peregrinate, as I may call it. 
 
 Nat/u \ most singular and choice epithet. 
 
 [Takes out his table-book. 
 
 Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity 
 finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor such 
 fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-de- 
 vise 2 companions; such rackers of orthography, as 
 to speak, dout, fine, when he should say, doubt; 
 det, when he should pronounce, debt ; d, e, b, t ; 
 not, d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; 
 neighbor, vacatur, nebour, neigh, abbreviated, ne: 
 This is abhominable, (which he would call abomin- 
 able,) it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intelligis, 
 tlomine? to make frantic, lunatic. 
 
 Nath. Laus deo, bone intelligo. 
 
 Hoi. Bone? — bone, for bene: Priscian a little 
 e( ratch'd ; 'twill serve. 
 
 Enter Aiimado, Moth, and Costard. 
 Nath. Videsne quis venit? 
 Hoi. Video, et gaudeo. 
 
 Arm. Chirra ! [To Moth. 
 
 Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah ? 
 Arm. Men of peace, well encounter'd. 
 Hoi. Most military sir, salutation. 
 Moth. They have been at a great feast of lan- 
 guages, and stolen the scraps. [To Costard aside. 
 
 * Discourses. » Affectation. • Boastful. 
 
 - over-dresiied. » Finical exactness. 
 
 Cost. O, they have lived long in the alms-basket 
 of words ! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten thee 
 for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as 
 honorificabilitudinitatibus: thou art easier swal 
 lowed than a flap-dragon. 3 
 
 Moth. Peace; the peal begins. 
 
 Arm. Monsieur, [To HoL.]are you not letter'd ? 
 
 Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn-book : 
 — What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his 
 head] 
 
 Hoi. Ba, pueritia, with a horn added. 
 
 Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn : — You 
 hear his learning. 
 
 Hoi. Quis, quis, thou consonant? 
 
 Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat 
 them ; or the fifth, if I. 
 
 Hoi. I will repeat them, a, e, i. — 
 
 Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes it ; 
 o, u. 
 
 Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Mediteira- 
 neum, a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit : snip, 
 snap, quick and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect : 
 true wit. 
 
 Moth. Offer'd by a child to an old man; which 
 is wit-old. 
 
 Hoi. What is the figure ? what is the figure ? 
 
 Moth. Horns. 
 
 Hoi. Thou disputes! like an infant: go, whip 
 thy gig. 
 
 Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and I 
 will whip about your infamy circura circa,- A gig 
 of a cuckold's horn ! 
 
 Cost. An I had but one penny in the world, thou 
 shouldst have it to buy gingerbread: hold, there is 
 the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou half 
 penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion. 
 O, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou wort 
 but my bastard ! what a joyful father vvoul l'st thou 
 make me ! Go to ; thou hast it ad dunghill, at the 
 fingers' ends, as they say. 
 
 Hoi. O, I smell false Latin; dunghill for un- 
 guem. 
 
 Arm. Arts-man, praeambula,- we will be singled 
 
 » A small inflammable substance, swallowed in a glass 
 of wine. 
 
164 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 ActV 
 
 from the barbaious. Do you not educate youth at 
 the charge-house * on the top of the mountain ? 
 
 Hoi. Or, rru n«, the hill. 
 
 Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain. 
 
 HoL I do, sans question. 
 
 Arm. Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure 
 and affection, to congratulate the princess at her 
 pavilion, in the posteriors of this day; which the 
 rude multitude call the afternoon. 
 
 Hoi. The posterior of the day, most generous 
 sir, is liable, congruent, and measurable for the 
 afternoon: the word is well cull'd, chose; sweet 
 and apt, I do assure you, sir, I do assure. 
 
 Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman ; and my 
 familiar, I do assure you, very good friend : — For 
 what is inward between us, let it pass : — I do be- 
 seech thee, remember thy courtesy; — I beseech 
 thee, apparel thy head; — and among other im- 
 portunate and most serious designs, — and of great 
 import indeed, too; — but let that pass: — for I 
 must tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world) 
 sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder ; and with 
 his royal finger, thus, dally with my excrement/ 
 with my mustachio : but sweet heart, let that pass. 
 By the world, I recount no fable; some certain 
 special honors it pleaseth his greatness to impart 
 to Armado, a soldier, a man of travel, that hath 
 seen the world : but let that pass. — The very all of 
 all is, — but sweet heart, I do implore secrecy, — 
 that the king would have me present the princess, 
 sweet chuck, with some delightful ostentation, or 
 show, or pageant, or antic, or fire-work. Now, un- 
 ierstanding that the curate and your sweet self, 
 ire good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking 
 Jut of mirth, as it were, I have acquainted you 
 jvithal, to the end to crave your assistance. 
 
 Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine 
 worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some en- 
 tertainment of time, some show in the posterior of 
 this day, to be rendered by our assistance, — the 
 king's command, and this most gallant, illustrate, 
 and learned gentleman, — before the princess ; I say, 
 none so fit as to present the nine worthies. 
 
 Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough 
 to present them ? 
 
 Hoi. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant 
 gentleman, Judas Maccabaeus; this swain, because 
 of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the 
 great; the page, Hercules. 
 
 Arm. Pardon, sir, error : he is not quantity enough 
 for that worthy's thumb: he is not so big as the 
 end of his club. 
 
 Hoi. Shall I have audience? he shall present 
 Hercules in minority : his enter and exit shall be 
 strangling a snake; and I will have an apology for 
 that purpose. 
 
 Moth. An excellent device! so, if any of the 
 audience hiss, you may cry, Well done, Hercules! 
 now tliou cruskest the snake.' that is the way to 
 make an offence gracious ; though few have the 
 grace to do it. 
 
 Arm. For the rest of the worthies 1 
 
 Hoi. I will play three myself. 
 
 Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman ! 
 
 Arm. Shall I tell you a thing ? 
 
 Hoi. We attend. 
 
 Arm. We will have, if this fadge 8 not, an antic. 
 1 beseech you, follow. 
 
 Hoi. Via,'' goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no 
 ■vi* rd all this while. 
 
 Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. 
 
 i Free-fschooL 
 suit. 
 
 » Beard. 
 1 Courage. 
 
 Hoi. Allans.' we will employ thee. 
 
 Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; oi I will 
 play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them 
 dance the hay. 
 
 Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE H. — Before the Princess's Pavilion. 
 
 Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, cma 
 
 Maria. 
 
 Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart, 
 If fairings come thus plentifully in : 
 A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! — 
 Look you, what I have from the loving king. 
 
 Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that? 
 
 Prin. Nothing but this? yes, as much love in 
 rhyme, 
 As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper, 
 Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all ; 
 That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 
 
 Ros. That was the way to make his god-head 
 wax; 8 
 For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 
 
 Kath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too. 
 
 Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him ; he kill'd 
 your sister. 
 
 Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, andheavy ; 
 And so she died : had she been light, like you, 
 Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, 
 She might have been a grandam ere she died : 
 And so may you: for a light heart lives long. 
 
 Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse, 9 of this 
 light word ? 
 
 Kath. A light condition in a beauty dark. 
 
 Ros. We need more light to find youi meaning out. 
 
 Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuff; 1 
 Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument. 
 
 Ros. Look what you do, you do it still i' the 
 dark. 
 
 Kath. So do not you ; for you are a light wench. 
 
 Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore light. 
 
 Kath. You weigh me not — 0, that's you care 
 not for me. 
 
 Ros. Great reason ; for, Past cure is still past care. 
 
 Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well play'd. 
 But, Rosaline, you have a favor too: 
 Who sent it 1 and what is it ? 
 
 Ros. I would, you knew. 
 
 An if my face were but as fair as yours, 
 My favor were as great ; be witness this. 
 Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron : 
 The numbers true ; and, were the numb'ring too, 
 I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
 I am compared to twenty thousand fairs. 
 O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter ! 
 
 Prin. Any thing like ? 
 
 Ros. Much, in the letters : nothing, in the praise. 
 
 Prin. Beauteous as ink; a good conclusion. 
 
 Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 
 
 Ros. 'Ware pencils ! How ? let me not die your 
 debtor, 
 My red dominical, my golden letter: 
 O, that your face were not so full of O's ! 
 
 Kath. A pox of that jest ! and beshrew all shro-ws! 
 
 Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Dumain! 
 
 Kath. Madam, this glove. 
 
 Prin. Did he not send you twain ! 
 
 Kath. Yes, madam ; and moreover, 
 Some thousand verses of a faithful lover: 
 A huge translation of hypocrisy, 
 Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. 
 
 » Grow. » Formerly a term of en'karmeB* 
 
 1 In anger. 
 
ScEJTE II. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 16? 
 
 Mar. Tt is, an i thewe pearls, to me sent Lon- 
 gaviMe ; 
 The letter is too long by half a mile. 
 
 Priti. I think no less: Dost thou not wish in heart, 
 The chain were longer, and the letter short 1 
 
 Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never 
 part. 
 
 Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so. 
 
 Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. 
 That same Biron I'll torture ere I go. 
 0, that I knew he were but in by the week! 
 How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek; 
 And wait the season, and observe the times ; 
 And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes; 
 And shape his service wholly to my behests ; 
 And make him proud to make me proud that jests! 
 So portent-like would I o'ersway his state, 
 That he should be my fool, and I his fate. 
 
 Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are 
 catch'd, 
 As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd, 
 Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school ; 
 And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 
 
 Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such 
 excess, 
 As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 
 
 Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, 
 As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote; 
 Since all the power thereof it doth apply, 
 To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. 
 
 Enter Botet. 
 
 Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 
 
 Boyet. 0, 1 am stabb'd with laughter ! Where's 
 her grace? 
 
 Prin. Thy news, Boyet 1 
 
 Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! — 
 
 Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are 
 Against your peace : Love doth approach disguis'd, 
 Armed in arguments; you'll be surpris'd: 
 Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ; 
 Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 
 
 Prin. Saint Denis to saint Cupid! What are they, 
 That charge their breath against us 1 say, scout, say. 
 
 Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore, 
 T thought to close mine eyes some half an hour: 
 When, lo! to interrupt my purpos'd rest, 
 Toward that shade I might behold addrest 
 The king and his companions: warily 
 I stole into a neighbor thicket by, 
 And overheard what you shall overhear; 
 That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here. 
 Their herald is a pretty knavish page, 
 That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage : 
 Action, and accent, did they teach him there ; 
 Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear: 
 And ever and anon they made a doubt, 
 Presence majestical would put him out ; 
 For, quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see; 
 Yet fear not thou, but speak audaciously- 
 The boy rcply'd, An angel is not evil; 
 1 should have fear'd her, had she been a devil. 
 With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the 
 
 shoulder; 
 Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. 
 One rubb'd his elbow, thus ; and fleer'd, and swore, 
 A better speech was never spoke before : 
 Another with his finger and his thumb, 
 Cry'd, Via! we vjill do 't, come what will come: 
 The third he caper'd, and cried, All goes well: 
 The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. 
 With that they all did tumble on the ground, 
 With s ich a zealous laughter, so profound, 
 
 That in this spleen ridiculous appears, 
 
 To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. 
 
 Prin. But what, but what, coiae they to visit i.» ! 
 
 Boyet. They do, they do; and are apparel'd 
 thus, — 
 Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess, 
 Their purpose is. to parle, to court, and dance : 
 And every one his love-feat will advance 
 Unto his several mistress; which they'll know 
 By favors several, which they did bestow. 
 
 Prin. And will they so 1 the gallants shall be 
 task'd : — 
 For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd; 
 And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
 Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. — 
 Hold, Rosaline, this favor thou shalt wear; 
 And then the king will court thee for his dear; 
 Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine; 
 So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. — 
 And change your favors too; so shall your loves 
 Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. 
 
 Ros. Come on then; wear the favors most in sight 
 
 Kath. But, in this changing, what is your intent! 
 
 Prin. The effect of my intent is to cross theirs : 
 They do it but in mocking merriment; 
 And mock for mock is only my intent. 
 Their several counsels they unbosom shall 
 To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal, 
 Upon the next occasion that we meet, 
 With visages display'd, to talk, and greet. 
 
 Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? 
 
 Prin. No: to the death, we will not move a foot, 
 Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace ; 
 But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. 
 
 Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's 
 heart, 
 And quite divorce his memory from his part. 
 
 Prin. Therefore I do it ; and I make no doubt 
 The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
 There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown ; 
 To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own : 
 So shall we stay, mocking intended game ; 
 And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 
 [Trumpets sound within. 
 
 Boyet. The trumpet sounds; be mask'd, the 
 maskers come. [The Ladies mask. 
 
 Enter the Kistg, Bmox, Longaville, and Dc- 
 main, in Russian habits, and masked; Moth, 
 Musicians, and Attendants. 
 
 Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth! 
 Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taffeta. 
 Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames, 
 
 [The Ladies turn their backs to him. 
 That ever turn'd theii — backs — to mortal views! 
 Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. 
 Moth. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal 
 
 views! Out — 
 Boyet. True ; out, indeed. 
 Moth. Out of your favors, heavenly spirits, 
 vouchsafe, 
 Not to behold— 
 
 Biron. Once to behold, rogue. 
 
 Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes, 
 
 ivith your sun-beamed eyes — 
 
 Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet . 
 You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes. 
 Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings mr 
 
 out. 
 Biron. Is this your perfectnessT begone, vnn rogue. 
 Ros. What would these strangers 1 know theh 
 minds, Boyet: 
 If they do speak our language, 'tis our will 
 
166 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act \ 
 
 That some plain man recount their purposes : 
 Know what they would. 
 
 Boyet. What would you with the princess? 
 
 Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation. 
 
 Ros. What would they, say they ? 
 
 Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 
 
 Ros. Why, that they have; and bid them so begone. 
 
 Boyet. She says, you have it, and you may be gone. 
 
 King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles 
 To tread a measure with her on this glass. 
 
 Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many 
 a mile, 
 To tread a measure with you on this grass. 
 
 Ros. It is not so : ask them how many inches 
 Is in one mile : if they have measur'd many, 
 The measure then of one is easily told. 
 
 Boyet. If to come hither } r ou have measur'd miles, 
 And many miles ; the princess bids you tell, 
 How many inches do fill up one mile. 
 
 Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps. 
 
 Boyet. She hears herself. 
 
 Ros. How many weary steps, 
 
 Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, 
 Are number'd in the travel of one mile ? 
 
 Biron. We number nothing that we spend for 
 you ; 
 Our duty is so rich, so infinite, 
 That we may do it still without accompt. 
 Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face, 
 That we, like savages, may worship it. 
 
 Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 
 
 King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do! 
 Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine 
 (Those clouds remov'd) upon our wat'ry eyne. 
 
 Ros. vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; 
 Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water. 
 
 King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe 
 one change ; 
 Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange. 
 
 Rns. Play, music, then : nay, you must do it 
 
 soon. [Music plays. 
 
 Not yet ; — no dance : — thus change I like the moon. 
 
 King. Will you not dance ? How come you thus 
 estrang'd ? 
 
 Ros. You took the moon at full ; but now she's 
 chang'd. 
 
 King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. 
 The music plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it. 
 
 Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 
 
 King. But your legs should do it. 
 
 Rns. Since you are strangers and come here by 
 chance, 
 We'll not be nice : take hands ; — we will not dance. 
 
 King. Why take we hands then? 
 
 Ros. Only to part friends : — 
 
 Court'sy, sweethearts; and so the measure ends. 
 
 King. More measure of this measure; be not nice. 
 
 Ros. We can afford no more at such a price. 
 
 King. Prize you yourselves; What buys your 
 company ' 
 
 Ros. Your absence only. 
 
 King. That can never be. 
 
 Ros. Then cannot we be bought: and so adieu; 
 Twice to your visor, and half once to you ! 
 
 King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. 
 
 Ros. In private then. 
 
 King. I am best pleas'd with that. 
 
 [They converse apart. 
 
 Biron. White-han led mistress, one sweet word 
 with thee. 
 
 Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there is three. 
 Biron. Nay then, two treys^ (an if yo» grow so 
 nice,) 
 
 Metheglin, wort, and malmsey; — Well run, dice. 
 There's half a dozen sweets. 
 
 Prin. Seventh sweet, adieu! 
 
 Since you can cog, 2 I'll play no more with you. 
 Biron. One word in secret. 
 Pi-in. Let it not be sweet 
 
 Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. 
 Prin. Gall ? bitter. 
 
 Biron. Therefore meet. 
 
 [They converse apart. 
 Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a 
 
 word? 
 Mar. Name it. 
 Dum. Fair lady, — 
 
 Mar. Say you so ? Fair lord, — 
 
 Take that for your fair lady. 
 
 Dum. Please it you, 
 
 As much in private, and I'll bid adieu. 
 
 [They converse apart 
 Kath. What, was your visor made without a 
 
 tongue ? 
 Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. 
 Kath. O, for your reason! quickly, sir; I long. 
 Long. You have a double tongue within youi 
 mask, 
 And would afford my speechless visor half. 
 
 Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman; — Is not veal 
 
 a calf? 
 Long. A calf, fair lady? 
 Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 
 
 Long. Let's part the word. 
 Kath. No, I'll not be your half 
 
 Take all, and wean it; it may prove an ox. 
 
 Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these 
 sharp mocks! 
 Will you give horns, chaste lady ? do not so. 
 Kath. Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. 
 Long. One word in private with you, ere I die 
 Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you 
 cry. [They converse apart 
 
 Boyet. The tongues of mocking wenches are aa 
 keen 
 As is the razor's edge invisible, 
 Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; 
 
 Above the sense of sense : so sensible 
 Seemeth their conference; their conceits have wings, 
 Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter 
 things. 
 Ros. Not one word more, my maids ; break off", 
 
 break off". 
 Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff"! 
 King. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple 
 wits. [Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, 
 
 Music, and Attendants. 
 Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. — 
 Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at? 
 
 Boyet. Tapers they are, with your sweet breaths 
 
 pufFd out. 
 Ros. Well-liking wits thev have: gross, gross 
 
 fat, fat. 
 Prin. O poverty in wit, kingly-poor flout' 
 Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night? 
 
 Or ever, but in visors, show their faces ? 
 This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 
 Ros. ! they were all in lamentable cases ! 
 The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. 
 Prin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 
 Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword 
 No point, 3 quoth I ; my servant straight was mute 
 Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'erhis'heart 
 And trow you, what he call'd me ? 
 
 ' Falsify dice, lie. 
 A quibble on the French adverb of negation. 
 
Scene II, 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 167 
 
 Qualm, perhaps. 
 
 Prin. 
 
 Kath. Yes, in good faith. 
 
 Prin. Go, sickness as thou art! 
 
 Ros. Wei!, better wits have worn plain statute- 
 caps. 4 
 But will you hear] the king is my love sworn. 
 
 Prin, And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me. 
 
 Kath. And Longaville was for my service born. 
 
 Mar. Duinain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. 
 
 Boyd. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear: 
 Immediately they will again be here 
 In their own shapes ; for it can never be, 
 They will digest this harsh indignity. 
 
 Prin. Will they return? 
 
 Boyd. They will, they will, God knows ; 
 
 And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : 
 Therefore, change favors ; ' and when they repair, 
 Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. 
 
 Pn'«. How blow ] how blow ] speak to be un- 
 derstood. 
 
 Boyd. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud : 
 Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown, 
 Aro angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 
 
 Prin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do, 
 If they return in their own shapes to woo ] 
 
 Ros. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd, 
 Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd : 
 Let us complain to them what fools were here, 
 Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear; 
 And wonder what they were ; and to what end 
 Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd, 
 And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
 Should be presented at our tent to us. 
 
 Boyd. Ladies, withdraw ; the gallants are at hand. 
 
 Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. 
 [Exeunt Princess, Ros., Kath., and Maria. 
 
 Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Du- 
 main, in their proper habits. 
 
 King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the 
 princess ] 
 
 Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty, 
 Command me any service to her thither 1 
 
 King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one 
 word. 
 
 Boyet. I will ; and so will she, I know, my lord. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas ; 
 And utters it again when God doth please: 
 He is wit's pedlar ; and retails his wares 
 At wakes and wassels. 6 meetings, markets, fairs ; 
 And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, 
 Have not the grace to grace it with such show. 
 This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve; 
 Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve: 
 He can carve too, and lisp : Why, this is he, 
 That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ; 
 This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, 
 That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
 In honorable terms; nay, he can sing 
 A mean 1 most meanly ; and, in ushering, 
 Mend him who can: the ladies call him, sweet; 
 The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet: 
 This is the flower that smiles on every one, 
 To show his teeth as white as whales' bone : 9 
 And consciences, that will not die in debt, 
 Pay him the due of honcy-tongued Boyet. 
 
 King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my 
 heart, 
 That put Armado's page out of his part ! 
 
 * Bettor wits may be found among citizens. 
 
 » Features, countenances. • Rustic merry-meetings. 
 
 * The teuor in music. • The tooth of the t TBe-whale. 
 
 Enter the Princess, ushered by Boyet; Rosa- 
 line, Maria, Katharine, and Attendants. 
 Biron. See where it comes! — Behavior, what 
 wert thou, 
 Till this man show'd theel and what art thou now ] 
 King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day! 
 Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. 
 King. Construe my speeches better, if you may, 
 Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. 
 King. We came to visit you; and purpose now 
 
 To lead you to our court : vouchsafe it then 
 Prin. This field shall hold me ; and so hold youi 
 vow : 
 Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'd men. 
 King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke 
 The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 
 Prin. You nick-name virtue : vice you shoulc 
 have spoke; 
 For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
 Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure 
 
 As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
 A world of torments though I should endure, 
 
 I would not yield to be your house's guest: 
 So much I hate a breaking-cause to be 
 Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 
 King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here, 
 
 Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 
 Prin. Not so, my lord; it is not so, I swear; 
 We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game; 
 A mess of Russians left us but of late. 
 King. How, madam ] Russians ] 
 Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord; 
 
 Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. 
 
 Ros. Madam, speak true : — It is not so, my lord ; 
 My lady, (to the manner of the days,") 
 In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. 
 We four, indeed, confronted here with four 
 In Russian habit: here they stay'd an hour. 
 And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord, 
 They did not bless us with one happy word. 
 I dare not call them fools ; but this I think, 
 When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. 
 Biron. This jest is dry to me — Fair, gentle, 
 sweet, 
 Your wit makes wise things foolish ; when we greet 
 With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye, 
 By light we lose light : Your capacity 
 Is of that nature, that to your huge store 
 Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. 
 Ros. This proves you wise and rich ; for in my 
 
 eye, — 
 Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 
 Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, 
 It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 
 Biron. 0, I am yours, and all that I possess. 
 Ros. All the fool mine ] 
 
 Biron. I cannot give you less. 
 
 Ros. Which of the visors was it that you wore 1 
 Biron. Where] when] what visor] why de- 
 mand you this ] 
 Ros. There, then, that visor; that superfluous case. 
 That hid the worse, and show'd the better face. 
 King. We are descried: they'll mock us new 
 
 downright. 
 Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest. 
 Prin. Amaz'd, my lord] Why looks your high 
 
 ness sad ] 
 Ros. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon ! Why 
 look you pale] 
 Sea-sick, I think, coining from Muscovy. 
 
 Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues foj 
 perjury. 
 
 • After the fashion of tfce times. 
 
1C8 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Can any face of brass hold longer out? — 
 Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 
 
 Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a 
 flout; 
 Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; 
 
 Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; 
 And I will wish thee never more to dance, 
 
 Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
 
 ! never will I trust to speeches penn'd, 
 
 Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue ; 
 Nor never come in visor to my friend ; 
 
 Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song: 
 Taffeta phrases, silken terms precise, 
 
 Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
 Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies 
 
 Have blown me full of maggot ostentation : 
 
 1 do forswear them : and I here protest, 
 
 By this white glove, (how white the hand, 
 God knows !) 
 Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd 
 
 In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes : 
 And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la! — 
 My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 
 
 Ros. Sa?is sans, I pray you. 
 
 Biron. Yet I have a trick 
 
 Of the old rage : — bear with me, I am sick ; 
 I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see ; — 
 Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three; 
 They are infected, in their hearts it lies ; 
 They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes : 
 These lords are visited ; you are not free, 
 For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. 
 
 Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us. 
 
 Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us. 
 
 Ros. It is not so : For how can this be true, 
 That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? 
 
 Biron. Peace ; for I will not have to do with you. 
 
 Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 
 
 Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end. 
 
 King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude 
 transgression 
 Some fair excuse. 
 
 Prin. The fairest is confession. 
 
 Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd ? 
 
 King. Madam, I was. 
 
 Prin. And were you well advis'd? 
 
 King. I was, fair madam. 
 
 Prin. When ) r ou then were here, 
 
 What did you whisper in your lady's ear ? 
 
 King. That more than all the world I did respect 
 her. 
 
 Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will 
 reject her. 
 
 King. Upon mine honor, no. 
 
 Prin. Peace, peace, forbear; 
 
 Your oath once broke, you force ' not to forswear. 
 
 King. Despise me when I break this oath of mine. 
 
 Prin. I will ; and therefore keep it : — Rosaline, 
 What did the Russian whisper in your ear ? 
 
 Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear 
 As precious eye-sight; and did value me 
 Above this world: adding thereto, moreover,, 
 That he would wed me or else die my lover. 
 
 Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord 
 Most honorably doth uphold his word. 
 
 King. What mean you, madam ? by my life, my 
 troth, 
 1 never swore this la<ly such an oath. 
 
 Ros. By heaven, you did ; and to confirm it plain 
 Vfou gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 
 
 King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give ; 
 I kiitw her by this jewel on her sleeve. 
 » Make no difficulty. 
 
 Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear 
 And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear : — 
 What, will you have me, or your pearl again 1 ! 
 
 Biron. Neither of either ; I remit both twain. 
 I see the trick on't ; — Here was a consent, 3 
 (Knowing aforehand of our merriment,) 
 To dash it like a Christmas comedy : 
 Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, 
 Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some 
 
 Dick,— 
 That smiles his cheek in years; and knows the trick 
 To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, — 
 Told our intents before: which once disclos'd, 
 The ladies did change favors ; and then we, 
 Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of sho 
 Now, to our perjury to add more terror, 
 We are again forsworn; in will, and error. 
 Much upon this it is : — And might not you, 
 
 [To Bo YET. 
 Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue ? 
 Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire,' 
 
 Andlaugh upon the apple of her eye? 
 And stand between her back, sir, and the fire, 
 
 Holding a trencher, jesting merrily? 
 You put our page out: Go, you are allow'd; 
 Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud. 
 You leer upon me, do you ? there's an eye, 
 Wounds like a leaden sword. 
 
 Boyet. Full merrily 
 
 Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 
 
 Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight ! Peace ; I have 
 done. 
 
 Enter Costaiii). 
 Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. 
 
 Cost. O, Lord, sir, they would know 
 Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no. 
 
 Biron. What, are there but three ? 
 
 Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, 
 
 For every one pursents three. 
 
 Biron. And three times thrice is nine. 
 
 Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir ; I hope, 
 it is not so; 
 You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir ; we 
 
 know what we know . 
 I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, — 
 
 Biron. Is not nine ! 
 
 Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil 
 it doth amount. 
 
 Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine . 
 
 Cost. 0, Lord, sir, it were a pity you should get 
 your living by reckoning, sir. 
 
 Biron. How much is it? 
 
 Cost. O, Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the 
 actors, sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount: 
 for my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect 
 one man, — e'en one poor man ; Pompion the great, 
 sir. 
 
 Biron. Art thou one of the worthies? 
 
 Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of 
 Pompion the great : for mine own part, I know not 
 the degree of the worthy : but I am to stand for him. 
 
 Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 
 
 Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will take 
 some care. [Exit Costahd. 
 
 King. Biron, they will shame us, let them not 
 approach. 
 
 Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord ; and 'tis 
 some policy 
 To have one show worse than the king's and hi» 
 company. 
 
 King. I say they shall not come. 
 
 » Conspiracy. * BuffooD * Square, rule 
 
FCENE II. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 169 
 
 Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you 
 now; 
 That sport best pleases, that doth least know how : 
 Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
 Die in the zeal of them which it presents, 
 Their form confounded makes most form in mirth; 
 When great things laboring perish in their birth. 
 
 Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. 
 
 Enter Armado. 
 Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of 
 thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. 
 [Armado converses with the King, and de- 
 livers him a paper. 
 Prin. Doth this man serve God? 
 Biron. Why ask you? 
 
 Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. 
 Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey 
 monarch: for, I protest, the schoolmaster is ex- 
 ceeding fantastical ; too, too vain ; too, too vain : 
 But we will put it, as they say, to fortuna delta 
 guerra. I wish you the peace of mind, most royal 
 couplement ! [Exit Armado. 
 
 King. Here is like to be a good presence of wor- 
 thies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, 
 Pompey the great ; the parish curate, Alexander ; 
 Armado's page, Hercules ; the pedant, Judas Ma- 
 chabaeus: 
 
 And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, 
 These four will change habits, and present the 
 other five. 
 Biron. There is five in the first show. 
 King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so. 
 Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge- 
 priest, the fool, and the boy : — 
 Abate a throw at novum ; s and the whole world 
 
 again, 
 Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein. 
 King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes 
 amain. 
 
 [Seats brought for the King, Princess, SfC. 
 Pageant of the Nine Worthies. 
 Enter Costard arm'd,for Pompey. 
 
 Cost. I Pompey am, 
 
 Boyet. You lie, you are not he. 
 
 Cost. I Pompey am. 
 
 Boyet. With libbard's head on knee. 
 
 Biron. Well said, old mocker ; I must needs be 
 
 friends with thee. 
 Cost. I Pompey am, Pompey surnam'dthe big, — 
 Dum. The great. 
 
 Cost. It is great, sir ; — Pompey surnam'd the 
 great; 
 That oft infield, with targe and shield, did make 
 
 my foe to sweat: 
 And, travelling along this coast, I here am corns 
 
 by chance,- 
 And lay my arms before the legs of this sweet lass 
 
 of France. 
 If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I 
 had done. 
 Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 
 Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but, I hope, I was 
 perfect ; I made a little fault in great. 
 
 Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves 
 ihe best worthy. 
 
 Enter Nathaniel arm'd,for Alexander. 
 Nath. When in ihe world I liv'd, I was the 
 world's commander, 
 liy east, west, north, and south, I spread my con- 
 quering might: 
 
 • A game with dice. 
 
 My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander. 
 
 Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not; for it 
 stands too right. 
 
 Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most ten- 
 der-smelling knight. 
 
 Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd. Proceed, good 
 Alexander. 
 
 Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the 
 world's commander,- — 
 
 Boyet. Most true, 'tis right ; you were so, Ah 
 sander. 
 
 Biron. Pompey the great, 
 
 Cost. Your servant, and Costard. 
 
 Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali- 
 sander. 
 
 Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown 
 Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scraped out 
 of the painted cloth for this : your lion, that holds 
 his poll-ax sitting on a close-stool, will be given to 
 A-jax, he will be the ninth worthy. A conqueror, 
 and afeared to speak ! run away for shame, Alisan 
 der. [Nath. retires^] There, an't shall please you ; 
 a foolish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and 
 soon dash'd ! He is a marvellous good neighbor. 
 in sooth ; and a very good bowler : but. for Alisander, 
 alas, you see, how 'tis; — a little o'erparted: — But 
 there are worthies a coming will speak their mind 
 in some other sort. 
 
 Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 
 
 Enter Holofernes arm'd, and Moth arm'd, for 
 Hercules. 
 
 Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp 
 Whose club kilFd Cerberus, that three-headea 
 canus ; 
 And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp, 
 
 Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus: 
 Quoniam, he seemeth in minority; 
 Ergo, / come with this apology. — 
 Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish. 
 
 [Exit Moth. 
 
 Hoi. Judas I arn, — 
 
 Dum. A Judas! 
 
 Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir. — 
 Judas I am, ycleped Machabasus. 
 
 Dum. Judas Machabaeus dipt, is plain Judas. 
 
 Biron. A kissing traitor : — How art thou prov'd 
 Judas ? 
 
 Hoi. Judas I am, — 
 
 Dum. The more shame for you, Judas. 
 
 Hoi. What mean you, sir? 
 
 Boyet. To make Judas hang himself. 
 
 Hoi. Begin, sir; you are my elder. 
 
 Biron. Well follow'd : Judas was hang'd on an 
 elder. 
 
 Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. 
 
 Biron. Because thou hast no face. 
 
 Hoi. What is this? 
 
 Boyet. A cittern head. 
 
 Dum. The head of a bodkin. 
 
 Biron. A death's face in a ring. 
 
 Long. The face of an old Roman coin,scarce seen. 
 
 Boyet. The pummel of Caisar's faulchion. 
 
 Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. 
 
 Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch. 
 
 Dum. Ay, in a brooch of lead. 
 
 Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth 
 drawer : 
 And now, forward ; for we have put thee in coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 
 
 Biron. False; we have given thee faces. 
 
 Hoi. But you have out-faced them all. 
 
 M 
 
170 
 
 LOVE'S LABORS LOST. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 
 
 Boyet. Therefore, as he is an ass, let him go. 
 
 And so, adieu, sweet Jude! nay, why dost thou 
 
 stay! 
 Dum. For the latter end of his name. 
 Biron. For the ass to the Jude; give it him : — 
 
 Jud-as, away. 
 Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. 
 Boyet. A light for Monsieur Judas: it grows 
 
 dark, he may stumble. 
 Prin. Alas, poor Machabaeus, how hath he been 
 
 baited ! 
 
 [Exit HoLOFERNES. 
 
 Enter Armado arrrCd, for Hector. 
 
 Biron. Hir'j thy head, Achilles; here comes 
 Hector in arms. 
 
 Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I 
 will now be merry. 
 
 King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. 
 
 Boyet. But is this Hector 1 
 
 Dum. I think, Hector was not so clean-timber'd. 
 
 Long. His leg is too big for Hector. 
 
 Dum. More calf, certain. 
 
 Boyet. No ; he is best indued in the small. 
 
 Biron. This cannot be Hector. 
 
 Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes faces. 
 
 Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the al- 
 mighty, 
 Gave Hector a gift, — 
 
 Dum. A gilt nutmeg. 
 
 Biron. A lemon. 
 
 Long. Stuck with cloves. 
 
 Dum. No, cloven. 
 
 Arm. Peace ! 
 The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty, 
 
 Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Won,- 
 A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea 
 
 From nwm till night, out of his pavilion. 
 I am that flower, — 
 
 Dum. That mint. 
 
 Long. That columbine. 
 
 Arm. Sweet lord Longaviile, rein thy tongue. 
 
 Long I must rather give it the rein; for it runs 
 against Hector. 
 
 Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. 
 
 Arm. The sweet war-man i.-; dead and rotten ; 
 swee'c chucks, beat not the bcr.es of the buried: 
 when he breath'd, he was a man. — But I will for- 
 ward with my device: Sweet royally, [To the Prin- 
 cess.] bestow on me the sense of hearing. 
 
 [Biron whispers Costard. 
 
 Prin. Speak, brave Hector ; we are much de- 
 lighted. 
 
 Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 
 
 Boyet. Loves her by the foot. 
 
 Dum. He may not by the yard. 
 
 Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal. — 
 
 Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is 
 gone; she is two months on her way. 
 
 Arm. What meanest thou 1 
 
 Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, 
 ihe poor wench is cast away: she's quick; the 
 child brags in her belly already; 'tis yours. 
 
 Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among poten- 
 tates 1 thou shalt die. 
 
 Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jacque- 
 netta that is quick by him ; and hanged, for Pom- 
 pey that is dead by him. 
 
 Dum. Most rare Pompey ! 
 
 Boyet. Renowned Pompey ! 
 
 Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great 
 Pompev ' Porr.pey the huge ! 
 
 Dum. Hector trembles. 
 
 Biron. Pompey is mov'd: — More Ates/ more 
 Ates ; stir them on ! stir them on ! 
 
 Dum. Hector will challenge him. 
 
 Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in'a 
 belly than will sup a flea. 
 
 Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 
 
 Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern 
 man; I'll slash; I'll doit by the sword: — I pray 
 you, let me borrow my arms again. 
 
 Dum. Room for the incensed worthies. 
 
 Cost. I'll do it in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 
 
 Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole 
 lower. Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for 
 the combat 1 What mean you ! you will lose your 
 reputation. 
 
 Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me: I 
 will not combat in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. You may not deny it: Pompey hatb. 
 made the challenge. 
 
 Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 
 
 Biron. What reason have you for't! 
 
 Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt 
 I go woolward 1 for penance. 
 
 Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Ronn 
 for want of linen: since when, I'll be sworn, h< 
 wore none, but a dish-clout of Jacquenetta's; and 
 that 'a wears next his heart, for a favor. 
 
 Enter Mercade. 
 
 Mer. God save you, madam ! 
 
 Prin. Welcome, Mercade ; 
 But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. 
 
 Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news / 1/ ing 
 Is heavy in my tongue. The king your ill or — 
 
 Prin. Dead, for my life. 
 
 Mer. Even so; my tale is told. 
 
 Biron. Worthies, away; the scene bcr/ais to 
 cloud. 
 
 Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath : 
 I have seen the day of wrong through the little 
 hole of discretion, and I will right myself like a 
 soldier. [Exeunt Worthies. 
 
 King. How fares your majesty 1 
 
 Prin. Boyet, prepare ; 1 will away to-night. 
 
 King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. 
 
 Prin. Prepare, I say. — I thank you, gracious 
 lords. 
 For all your fair endeavors; and entreat, 
 Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
 In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide, 
 The liberal 8 opposition of our spirits : 
 If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
 In the converse of breath, your gentleness 
 Was guilty of it. — Farewell, worthy lord ! 
 A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue: 
 Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks 
 For my great suit so easily obtain'd. 
 
 King. The extreme parts of time extremely form 
 All causes to the purpose of his speed ; 
 And often, at his very loose, decides 
 That which long process could not arbitrate: 
 And though the mourning brow of progeny 
 Forbid the smiling courtesy of love, 
 The holy suit which fain it would convince; 
 Yet, since love's argument was first on foot, 
 Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
 From what it purpos'd ; since, to wail friends lost 
 Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, 
 As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 
 
 « Ate was the goddess of discord. 
 
 1 Clothed in wool, without Hnen. ' Free to excess. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 171 
 
 Prin. I understand you not ; my griefs are double. 
 Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of 
 grief;— 
 And by these badges understand the king. 
 For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
 Play'd foul play with our oaths ; your beauty, ladies, 
 Hath much defonn'd us, fashioning our humors 
 Even to the opposed end of our intents: 
 And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, — 
 As love is full of unbefitting strains ; 
 All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ; 
 Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye, 
 Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms, 
 Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll 
 To every varied object in his glance : 
 Which party-coated presence of loose love 
 Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes, 
 Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities, 
 Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults, 
 Suggested us to make : Therefore, ladies, 
 Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
 Is likewise yours: we to ourselves prove false, 
 By being once false for ever to be true 
 To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you: 
 And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, 
 Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. 
 
 Prin. We have rcceiv'd your letters, full of love ; 
 Your favors, the embassadors of love ; 
 And, in our maiden council, rated them 
 At courtship, pie.asant jest, and courtesy, 
 As bombast, and as lining to the time : 
 But more devout than this, in our respects, 
 Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves 
 In their own fashion, like a merriment. 
 
 Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more 
 
 than jest. 
 liOng. So did our looks. 
 
 Ros. We did not quote 9 them so. 
 
 King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour, 
 Grant us your loves. 
 
 Prin. A time, methinks, too short 
 
 To make a world-without-end bargain in : 
 No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much. 
 Full of dear guiltiness ; and therefore this, — 
 If for my love (as there is no such cause) 
 You will do aught, this shall you do for me : 
 Your oath I will not trust ; but go with speed 
 To some forlorn and naked hermitage, 
 Remote from all the pleasures of the world; 
 There stay, until the twelve celestial signs 
 Have brought about their annual reckoning; 
 If this austere insociable life 
 Change not your offer made in heat of blood ; 
 If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds,' 
 Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love, 
 But that it bear this trial, and last love; 
 Then, at the expiration of the year, 
 Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, 
 And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, 
 I will be thine; and, till that instant, shut 
 My woeful self up in a mourning house ; 
 Raining the tears of lamentation, 
 For the remembrance of my father's death. 
 If this thou do deny, let our hands part; 
 Neither intitled in the other's heart. 
 
 King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, 
 To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, 
 The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! 
 Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast. 
 Biron. And what to me, my love ? and what to 
 
 me? 
 Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank; 
 • Regard. ' Clothing. 
 
 You are attaint with faults and perjury ; 
 Therefore, if you my favor mean to get, 
 A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest, 
 But seek the weary beds of people sick. 
 
 Dum. But what to me, my love? but what to me" 
 
 Kath. A wife ! — A beard, fair health, and hi 
 nesty ; 
 With three-fold love I wish you all these three. 
 
 Dum. 0, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife? 
 
 Kath. Not so, my lord; — a twelvemonth and a da5 
 I'll mark no words that smooth-faced wooers say : 
 Come when the king doth to my lady come, 
 Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. 
 
 Dum. I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then 
 
 Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. 
 
 Long. What says Maria? 
 
 Mar. At the twelvemonth's end, 
 
 I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. 
 
 Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long. 
 
 Mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young. 
 
 Biron. Studies my lady 1 mistress, look on me. 
 Behold the window of my heart, mine eye, 
 What humble suit attends thy answer there 
 Impose some service on me for thy love. 
 
 Ros. Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron, 
 Before I saw you : and the world's large tongue 
 Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks; 
 Full of comparisons and wounding flouts ; 
 Which you on all estates will execute, 
 That lie within the mercy of your wit: 
 To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain , 
 And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, 
 (Without the which I am not to be won,) 
 You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day 
 Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 
 With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be, 
 With all the fierce endeavor of your wit, 
 To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 
 
 Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of 
 death ? 
 It cannot be; it is impossible: 
 Mirth cannot move a soul in agony. 
 
 Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit. 
 Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, 
 Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools : 
 A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
 Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
 Of him that makes it : then if sickly years, 
 Deaf 'd with the clamors of their own dear groans, 
 Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, 
 And I will have you, and that fault withal ; 
 But, if they will not, throw away that spirit, 
 And I shall find you empty of that fault. 
 Right joyful of your reformation. 
 
 Biron. A twelvemonth ? well, befal what will 
 befal, 
 I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 
 
 Prin. Ay, sweet my lord : and so I take my leave. 
 {To the King. 
 
 King. No, madam : we will bring you on your 
 way. 
 
 Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play 
 Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy 
 Might well have made our sport a comedy. 
 
 King. Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a 
 day, 
 And then 'twill end. 
 Biron. That's too long ioi a play 
 
 Enter Ahmado. 
 
 Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, — 
 Prin. Was not that Hector ? 
 Dum. The worthy knight of Troy. 
 
17° 
 
 LOVE'S LABOR'S LOST. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger and take leave : 
 I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold 
 the plough for her sweet love three years. But, 
 most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue 
 that the two learned men have compiled, in praise 
 of the owl and the cuckoo 1 It should have followed 
 in the end of our show. 
 
 King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. 
 
 Arm. Holla! approach. 
 
 Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Cos- 
 
 taiid, and others. 
 This side is Hiems, winter; this Ver, the spring; 
 the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the 
 cuckoo. Ver, begin. 
 
 SONG. 
 I. 
 
 Spring. When daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 And lady smocks all silver-white, 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight. 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 
 
 Cuckoo; 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear! 
 
 II. 
 
 When shepherds pipe on eaten straws, 
 And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 
 
 When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, 
 And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 
 
 The cuckoo then, on every tret, 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he. 
 
 Cuckoo; 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear 
 Unpleasing to a married ear.' 
 
 III. 
 
 Winter. When icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
 When blood is nipp'd, and ways befoul, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To-who; 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel* the pot. 
 
 IV. 
 
 When all aloud the icind doth blow, 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow, 
 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
 When roasted crabs 3 hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To-who; 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note, 
 While greasy loan, doth keel the pot. 
 
 Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the 
 songs of Apollo. You that way; we, this way. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 •Sewn. 
 
 a Wild »pples. 
 
MERCHANT OF YENICE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Suitors to Portia. 
 
 Dcke of Venice. 
 
 Prince of Morocco, 
 
 Prince of Arragon, 
 
 Antonio, the Merchant of Venice. 
 
 Bassanio, his Friend. 
 
 Salanio, ) 
 
 Salarino, > Friends to Antonio and Bassanio. 
 
 Gratiano, ) 
 
 Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 
 
 Sutlock, a Jew. 
 
 Tudal, a Jew, his Friend. 
 
 Launcelot Gobbo,<z Cloivn, Servant /oShylock. 
 
 Old Gob bo, Father to Launcelot. 
 Salerio, a Messenger from Venice. 
 Leonardo, Servant to Bassanio. 
 Balthazar, 
 Stephano, 
 
 Serva?its to Portia. 
 
 Portia, a rich Heiress. 
 Nerissa, her Waiting-Maid. 
 Jessica, Daughter to Shylock. 
 
 Magnificoes of Venice, Officers of the Court of 
 Justice, Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCEIE I.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 
 
 Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad; 
 It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ; 
 But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
 What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
 I am to learn ; 
 
 And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 
 That I have much ado to know myself. 
 
 Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
 There, where your argosies' with portly sail, — 
 Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood, 
 Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
 Do overpeer the petty traffickers. 
 That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 Salon. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth, 
 The better part of my affections would 
 Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
 Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; 
 Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads ; 
 And every object, that might make me fear 
 Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt, 
 Would make me sad. 
 
 Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, 
 
 Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
 What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
 I should not see the sandy hour-glass run, 
 But I should thing ofshillows and of flats; 
 And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand, 
 Vailing 2 her high-top lower than her ribs, 
 To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, 
 And see the holy edifice of stone, 
 And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks? 
 Which touching but my gentle vessel's side 
 Would scatter al. her spices on the stream ; 
 1 Ships of large burden. » Lowering 
 
 [173] 
 
 Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks ; 
 And, in a word, but even now worth this, 
 And now worth nothing ! Shall I have the thought 
 To think on this ; and shall I lack the thought, 
 That such a thing, bechanc'd,would make me sad* 
 But, tell not me ; I know, Antonio 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandize. 
 
 Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune forit, 
 My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
 Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate 
 Upon the fortune of this present year : 
 Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. 
 
 Salan. Why then you are in love. 
 
 Ant. Fye, fye ! 
 
 Salan. Not in love neither 1 ? Then let's say, you 
 are sad, 
 Because you are not merry: and 'twere as easy 
 For you, to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry, 
 Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed 
 
 Janus, 
 Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time: 
 Some that will evermore peep through their even, 
 And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper; 
 And other of such vinegar aspect, 
 That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 
 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 
 
 Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble 
 kinsman, 
 Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; 
 We leave you now with better company. 
 
 Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry, 
 If worthier friends had not prevented me. 
 
 Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it, your own business calls on ."ou, 
 And you embrace the occasion to depart. 
 
 Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 
 
174 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act i 
 
 Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh 1 ? 
 Say, when 1 
 You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? 
 Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
 [Exeunt Salarino and Salanio. 
 Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found 
 Antonio, 
 We two will leave you : but, at dinner-time, 
 I pi ay you, have in mind where we must meet. 
 Bass. I will not fail you. 
 (rra. You look not well, signior Antonio ; 
 You have too much respect upon the world : 
 They lose it, that do buy it with much care. 
 Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd. 
 
 Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; 
 A stage where every man must play a part, 
 And mine a sad one. 
 
 Gra. Let me play the Fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
 Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster 1 
 Sleep when he wakes] and creep into the jaundice 
 By being peevish 1 I tell thee what, Antonio, — 
 I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ; 
 There are a sort of men, whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; 
 And do a wilful stillness 3 entertain, 
 With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; 
 As who should say, lam sir Oracle. 
 And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark.' 
 0, my Antonio, I do know of these, 
 That therefore only are reputed wise, 
 For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure, 
 If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, 
 Which, hearing them,would call their brothers, fools. 
 I'll tell thee more of this another time : 
 But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 
 For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — 
 Come, good Lorenzo: — Fare ye well, a while; 
 I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 
 
 Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time: 
 I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
 For Gratiano never lets me speak. 
 
 Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, 
 Thoushaltnotknow the sound of thine own tongue. 
 Ant- Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this gear. 
 Gra. Thanks, i'faith ; for silence is only com- 
 mendable 
 In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 
 [Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo. 
 Ant. Is that any thing now! 
 Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
 more than any man in all Venice : His reasons are 
 as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff; 
 you shall seek all day ere you find them : and, when 
 you have them, they are not worth the search. 
 
 Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this same 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage, 
 That you to-day promis'd to tell me of 1 
 
 Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate, 
 By something showing a more swelling port 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance: 
 Vor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
 From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
 Is, to come fairly off from the great debts, 
 Wherein my time, something too prodigal, 
 Hath left me gaged: To you, Antonio, 
 I owe the most, in money, and in love ; 
 » Obstinate silence. 
 
 And from your love I hilve a warranty 
 To unburthen all my plots, and purposes, 
 How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 
 
 Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it, 
 And, if it stand, as you yourself still do, 
 Within the eye of honor, be assured, 
 My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
 Lie all unlock'd to your occasions. 
 
 Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft 
 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
 The self-same way, with more advised watch, 
 To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both, 
 I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof, 
 Because what follows is pure innocence. 
 I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, 
 That which I owe is lost : but if you please 
 To shoot another arrow that self way 
 Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt, 
 As I will watch the aim, or to find both. 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again, 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first. 
 
 Ant. You know me well ; and herein spend but 
 time, 
 To wind about my love with circumstance; 
 And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, 
 In making question of my uttermost, 
 Than if you had made waste of all I have : 
 Then do but say to me what I should do, 
 That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
 And I am prcst 1 unto it : therefore speak. 
 
 Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left, 
 And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, 
 Of wond'rous virtues; sometimes 6 from her eyes 
 I did receive fair speechless messages : 
 Her name is Portia : nothing undervalued 
 To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
 Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
 For the four winds blow in from every coast 
 Renowned suitors: and her sunny locks 
 Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 
 Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand 
 And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
 
 my Antonio, had I but the means 
 To hold a rival place with one of them, 
 
 1 have a mind presages me such thrift, 
 That I should questionless be fortunate. 
 
 Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea; 
 Nor have I money, nor commodity 
 To raise a present sum : therefore go forth, 
 Try what my credit can in Venice do ; 
 That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost, 
 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
 Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
 Where money is; and I no question make, 
 To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House, 
 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is 
 a-weary of this great world. 
 
 Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mi- 
 series were in the same abundance as your good 
 fortunes are : And yet, for aught I see, they are as 
 sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve 
 with nothing. It is no mean happiness, therefore, 
 to be seated in the mean; superfluity comes sooner 
 by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 
 
 For. Good sentences, and well pronounced. 
 
 Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 
 
 Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were 
 good to do, chapels Lid been churches, and poor 
 * Beady. » FormerV. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 lib 
 
 men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine 
 that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach 
 twenty what were good to be done, than be one of 
 the twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain 
 may devise laws for the blood ; but a hot temper 
 leaps over a cold decree : such a hare is madness 
 the youth, to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel 
 the cripple. But this reasoning is not in the fashion 
 to choose me a husband : — O me, the word choose ! 
 I may neither choose whom I would, nor refuse 
 whom I dislike ; so is the will of a living daughter 
 curb'd by the will of a dead father : — Is it not hard, 
 Nerissa, that I cannot choose one, nor refuse none? 
 
 Ner. Your father was ever virtuous; and holy 
 men, at their death, have good inspirations ; there- 
 fore, the lottery that he hath devised in these three 
 chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who chooses 
 his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt, never 
 be chosen by any rightly, but one who you shall 
 rightly love. But what warmth is there in your 
 affection towards any of these princely suitors that 
 are already come'? 
 
 Por. I pray thee over-name them ; and as thou 
 namest them, I will describe them ; and, according 
 to my description, level at my affection. 
 
 Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 
 Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing 
 but talk of" his horse ; and he makes it a great ap- 
 propriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe 
 him himself: I am much afraid, my lady, his moth- 
 er, played false with a smith. 
 
 Ner. Then, is there the county 6 Palatine. 
 
 Por. He doth nothing but frown; as who should 
 say, An if you will not have me, choose,- he hears 
 merry tales, and smiles not : I fear he will prove 
 the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being 
 so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had 
 rather be married to a death's head with a bone in 
 his mouth, than to either of these. God defend me 
 from these two! 
 
 Ner. How say you by the French lord, monsieur 
 Le Bon? 
 
 Por. God made him, and therefore let him pass 
 for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a 
 mocker : But. he ! why, he hath a horse better than 
 the Neapolitan's ; a better bad habit of frowning 
 than the count Palatine: he is every man in no 
 man : if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; 
 he will fence with his own shadow: If I should 
 marry him, I should marry twenty husbands: If 
 he would despise me, I would forgive him ; for if he 
 love me to madness, I shall never requite him. 
 
 Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, the 
 young baron of England? 
 
 Por. You know, I say nothing to him ; for he 
 understands not me, nor I him : he hath neither 
 Latin, French, nor Italian ; and you will come into 
 the court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth 
 in the English. He is a proper man's picture; But, 
 alas! who can converse with a dumb show? How 
 oddly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet 
 in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in 
 Germany, and his behavior every where. 
 
 Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
 neighbor ? 
 
 Por. That he hath a neighborly charity in him ; 
 for he borrowed a box of the ear of the English- 
 man, and swore he would pay him again, when he 
 was able: I think, the Frenchman became his surety, 
 and sealed under for another. 
 
 Ner. How like you the young German ne duke 
 of Saxony's nephew? 
 
 • Count. 
 
 Por. Very vilely in the morning wl,en he is 
 sober; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he in 
 drunk : when he is best, he is a little worse than a 
 man; and when he is worst, he is little better than 
 a beast : an the wirst fall that ever fell, I hope, I 
 shall make shift to go without him. 
 
 Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose 
 the right casket, you should refuse to perform your 
 father's will, if you should refuse to accept him. 
 
 Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, 
 set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary 
 casket; for, if the devil be within, and that temp- 
 tation without, I know he will choose it. I will do 
 any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge. 
 
 Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of 
 these lords, they have acquainted me with theii 
 determinations : which is indeed, to return to their 
 home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless 
 you may be won by some other sort than your fa- 
 ther's imposition, depending on the caskets. 
 
 Por. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die 
 as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the 
 manner of my father's will : I am glad this parcel 
 of wooers are so reasonable; for there is not one 
 among them but I dote on his very absence, and I 
 pray God grant them a fair departure. 
 
 Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
 time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that 
 came hither in company of the Marquis of Mont- 
 ferrat ? 
 
 Por. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio; as I think, so 
 was he called. 
 
 Ner. True, madam ; he of all the men that ever 
 my foolish e} es looked upon, was the best deserv- 
 ing a fair lady. 
 
 Por. I remember him well ; and I remember him 
 worthy of thy praise. — How now ! what news ? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
 to take their leave: and there is a fore-runner come 
 from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; who brings 
 word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 
 
 Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome w ; Mi so 
 good heart, as I can bid the other four farewell, I 
 should be glad of his approach: if he have the con- 
 dition 1 of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I 
 had rather he should shrive me than wive me. 
 Come, Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we 
 shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at 
 the door. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— Venice. A Public Place. 
 
 Enter Bassajoo and Shtlock. 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, — well. 
 
 Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shy. For three months, — well. 
 
 Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall 
 be bound. 
 
 Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. 
 
 Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me? 
 Shall I know your answer? 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, 
 and Antonio bound. 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass, Have you heard any imputation to the 
 contrary ? 
 
 Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; — my meaning, in say 
 
 ing he is a good man, is to have you understand me, 
 
 that he is sufficient : yet his means are in supposition: 
 
 he hath an argosy bound toTripolis, anothei tcthe 
 
 1 Temper, qualities 
 
176 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Indies ; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he 
 
 hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, 
 
 and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad : 
 But ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be 
 land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land- 
 thieves; I mean, pirates; and then, there is the 
 peril of waters, winds, and rocks : The man is, not- 
 withstanding, sufficient ; — three thousand ducats ; 
 — I think I may take his bond. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. I will be assured, I may; and, that I may 
 je assured, I will bethink me : May I speak with 
 Antonio ? 
 
 Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habita- 
 tion which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured 
 the devil into: I will buy with you, sell with you, 
 talk with you, walk with you, and so following ; 
 but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor 
 pray with you. What news on the Rialto ? — Who 
 is he comes here? 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Bass. This is signior Antonio. 
 
 Shy. [Aside.'] How like a fawning publican he 
 looks ! 
 I hate him, for he is a Christian : 
 But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
 Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
 On me, my bargains, and my well won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest: Cursed be my tribe, 
 If I forgive him ! 
 
 Bass. Shylock, do you hear? 
 
 Shy. I am debating of my present store ; 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 Of full three thousand ducats : What of that ? 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
 Will furnish me: But soft; How many months 
 Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good signior ; 
 
 [To Antonio. 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 
 
 Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, 
 By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
 Yet to supply the ripe wants 9 of my friend, 
 I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd, 9 
 How much you would ? 
 
 Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Ant. And for three months. 
 
 Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me so. 
 
 Well then, your bond ; and, let me see, But 
 
 hear you ; 
 Methought, you said, you neither lend nor borrow, 
 Upon advantage. 
 
 Ant. I do never use it. 
 
 Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's 
 sheep, 
 This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
 (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf) 
 The third possessor; ay, he was the third. 
 
 Ant. And what of him? did he take interest? 
 
 Shy. No, not take interest; not, as you would 
 say, 
 Directly interest: mark what Jacob did. 
 When Laban and himself were compromis'd, 
 That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and pied, 
 Should fall as Jacob's hire ; the ewes, being rank, 
 
 ' Wants which admit no longer delay. » Informed. 
 
 In the end of autumn turned to the rams : 
 And when the work of generation was 
 Between these woolly breeders in the act, 
 The skilful shepherd peel'd me certain wands, 
 And in the doing of the deed of kind, 1 
 He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes; 
 Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time 
 Fall party-color'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
 This was the way to thrive, and he was blest; 
 And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 
 
 Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd 
 for; 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass, 
 But sway'd and fashion'd, by the hand of heaven. 
 Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
 Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rams? 
 
 Shy. I cannot tell : I make it breed as fast : — 
 But note me, signior. 
 
 Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 
 
 The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
 An evil soul, producing holy witness, 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart ; 
 0, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round 
 sum. 
 Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 
 
 Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you! 
 
 Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
 In the Rialto you have rated me 
 About my monies, and my usances ; a 
 Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
 For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. 
 You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
 And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 
 And all for use of that which is mine own. 
 Well then, it now appears, you need my help: 
 Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
 Shylock, we would have monies,- You say so ; 
 You, that did void your rheum upon my beard, 
 And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur 
 Over your threshold; monies is your suit. 
 What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
 Hath a dog money? is it possible, 
 A cur can lend three thousand ducats? or 
 Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, 
 With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness, 
 
 Say this, 
 
 Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last; 
 You spurn' d me such a day,- another time 
 You call'd me — dog,- and for these courtesies 
 I'll lend you thus much 'monies? 
 
 Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 As to thy friends ; (for when did friendship take 
 A breed for barren metal of his friend?) 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
 Who if he break, thou may'st with betlei - face 
 Exact the penalty. 
 
 Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 
 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love, 
 Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with. 
 Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
 Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear m«. 
 This is kind I offer. 
 
 Ant. This were kindness. 
 
 Shy. This kindness will I show 
 
 Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
 Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
 If you repay me not on such a day, 
 In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are 
 1 Nature. a Interest 
 
Act II. Scknk I 
 
 MERCHA TT OF VENICE. 
 
 IT) 
 
 Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
 Be nominated foi an equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me. 
 
 Ant. Content, in faith ; I'll seal to such a bond, 
 And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
 Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, 
 I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 Ant. Why, fear not, man I will not forfeit it ; 
 Within these two months, that's a month before 
 This bond expires, I do expect return 
 Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 
 
 Shy. father Abraham, what these. Christians are; 
 Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect 
 The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ; 
 If he should break his day, what should I gain 
 By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 
 A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, 
 
 Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
 
 As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say 
 
 To buy his favor, I extend this friendship: 
 
 If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
 
 And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me net. 
 
 Ant. Yes, Shyloek, I will seal unto this bond. 
 
 Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's , 
 Give him direction for this merry bond, 
 And I will go and purse the ducats straight; 
 See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
 Of an unthrifty knave; and presently 
 I will be with you. [Exit 
 
 Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 
 
 This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kind. 
 
 Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. 
 
 Ant. Come on: in this there can be no dismay, 
 My ships come home a month before the day. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's 
 House. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Mo- 
 rocco and his Train; Portia, Nerissa, and 
 other of her Attendants. 
 Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion, 
 The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun, 
 To whom I am a neighbor, and near bred. 
 Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
 Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
 And let us make incision ' for your love, 
 To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. 
 I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
 Hath fear'd' the valiant; by my love, I swear, 
 The best regarded virgins of our clime 
 Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue, 
 Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 
 
 For. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
 By nice direction of a maiden's eyes ; 
 Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
 Bars me the right of voluntary choosing: 
 But, if my father had not scanted me, 
 And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
 His wife, who wins me by that means I told you, 
 Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair, 
 As any comer I have look'd on yet, 
 For my affection. 
 
 Mor. Even for that I thank you; 
 
 Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets, 
 To try my fortune. By this scimitar, — 
 That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince, 
 That won three fields of sultan Solyman, — 
 I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look, 
 Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth, 
 Pluck the young sucking cubs fium the she bear, 
 Yea, mock the lion when he roa 3 for prey, 
 To win thee, lady : But, alas the while ! 
 If Hercules, and Lichas, play at dice 
 Which is the better man, the greater throw 
 May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
 So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 
 And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 
 Miss that which one unworthier may attain, 
 And die with grieving. 
 
 Por. You must take your chance ; 
 
 And either not attempt to choose at all, 
 Or swear, before you choose, — if you choose wrong, 
 » Allusion to the Eastern custom for lovers to testify 
 tlieir passion ty cutting themselves in their mistresses' 
 vht * Terrified. 
 
 Never to speak to lady afterward 
 
 In way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd. 
 
 Mor. Nor will not; come, bring me unto my 
 
 chance. 
 Por. First, forward to the temple ; after dinner 
 Your hazard shall be made. 
 
 Mor. Good fortune then ! [Cornets. 
 
 To make me bless't or cursed'st among men. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Launcelot Gob bo. 
 
 Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to 
 run from this Jew, my master: The fiend is at 
 mine elbow ; and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, 
 Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo, 
 or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the 
 start, run away: My conscience says, — no,- take 
 heed, honest. Launcelot,- take heed, honest Gobbo,- 
 or, as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo,- do not 
 run,- scorn running with thy heels.- Well, the most 
 courageous fiend bids me pack ; via .' says the , 
 fiend; away! says the fiend, for the heavens,- 
 rouse up a brave mind, says the fiend, and run. 
 Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck of 
 my heart, says very wisely to me, — my honest 
 friend Launcelot, being an honest man's son, — or 
 rather an honest woman's son ; — for, indeed, my 
 father did something smack, something grow to, 
 he had a kind of taste ; — well, my conscience says, 
 Launcelot, budge not,- budge, says the fiend; 
 budge not, says my conscience : Conscience, say I, 
 you counsel well; fiend, say I, you counsel well: 
 to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay with 
 the Jew my master, who (God bless the mark !) 
 is a kind of devil; and, to run away from the Jew, 
 I should be ruled by the fiend, who, saving your 
 reverence, is the devil himself: Certainly, the Jew 
 is the very devil incarnation ; and, in my conscience, 
 my conscience is but a kind of hard conscience, tc 
 offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew : The fiend 
 gives the more friendly counsel: I will run, fiend; 
 my heels are at your commandment, I will run. 
 
 Enter old Gobbo, with a Basket 
 
 Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you, 
 which is the way to master Jew's! 
 
 Laun. [Aside.'] O heavens, this is my true-be- 
 gotten father ! who, being more than sand-blind 
 
178 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 high-gravel blind, knows me not: — I will try con- 
 clusions 5 with him. 
 
 Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you, 
 which is the way to master Jew's ? 
 
 Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next 
 urning, but, at the next turning of all, on your 
 fell; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no 
 hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. 
 
 Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to 
 hit. Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that 
 dwells with him, dwell with him, or no? 
 
 Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot ? — 
 Mark me now ; [Aside.'] now will I raise, the waters : 
 — Talk you of young master Launcelot? 
 
 Gob. No, master, sir, but a poor man's son ; his 
 father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor 
 man, and, God be thanked, well to live. 
 
 Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we 
 talk of young master Launcelot. 
 
 Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 
 
 Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I be- 
 seech you ; Talk you of young master Launcelot? 
 
 Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership. 
 
 Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of 
 master Launcelot, father ; for the young gentleman 
 (according to fates and destinies, and such odd 
 sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of 
 learning,) is indeed deceased; or, as you would 
 say, in plain terms, gone to heaven. 
 
 Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very 
 staff of my age, my very prop. 
 
 Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, 
 a staff, or a prop ? — Do you know me, father ? 
 
 Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young 
 gentleman ; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy (God 
 rest his soul !) alive, or dead ? 
 
 Laun. Do you not know me, father? 
 
 Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. 
 
 Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you 
 might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father, 
 that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will 
 tell you news of your son : Give me your blessing : 
 truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid 
 long, a man's son may ; but, in the end, truth will 
 out. 
 
 Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure you are 
 not Launcelot, my boy. 
 
 Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about 
 it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot, your 
 boy that was, your son that is, your child that 
 shall be. 
 
 Gob. I cannot think you are my son. 
 
 Laun. I know not what I shall think of that: 
 but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man ; and, I am 
 sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother. 
 
 Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be 
 iworn, if thou b< Launcelot, thou art mine own 
 flesh and blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be! 
 what a beard hast thou got ! thou hast got more 
 hair on thy chin, than Dobbin, my thill-horse" has 
 on his tail. 
 
 Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail 
 grows backward ; I am sure he had more hair on 
 his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw 
 him . 
 
 G-jb. Lord, how art thou changed! How dost 
 thou and thy master agree? I have brought him 
 a present; How 'gree you now? 
 
 Laun. Well, well : but for mine own part, as I 
 
 have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest 
 
 till I have run some ground: my master's a very 
 
 '«• Give him a present! give him a halter: I am 
 
 '• Ex periments. « Shaft-horse. 
 
 famish'd in his service ; you may tell every fingei 
 I have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are 
 come ; give me your present to one master Bassa- 
 nio, who indeed, gives rare new liveries ; if I serve 
 not him, I will run as far as God has any ground.— 
 
 rare fortune! here comes the man; — to him, 
 father ; for I am a Tow, if I serve the Jew any 
 longer. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, andother 
 Followers.. 
 
 Bass. You may do so ; — but let it be so hasted, 
 that supper be ready at the farthest by five of the 
 clock: See these letters deliver'd ; put the liveries 
 to making; and desire Gratiano to come anon to 
 my lodging. [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Laun. To him, father. 
 
 Gob. God bless your worship ! 
 
 Bass. Gramercy ; Wouldst thou aught with me ? 
 
 Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, 
 
 Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's 
 man ; that would, sir, as my father shall specify, 
 
 Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would 
 say, to serve 
 
 Laun. Indeed the short and the long is, I serve 
 the Jew, and I have a desire, as my father shall 
 specify, 
 
 Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship's 
 reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins: 
 
 Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the 
 Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my 
 father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto 
 you, 
 
 Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would 
 bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is, 
 
 Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to 
 myself, as your worship shall know by this honest 
 old man ; and, though I say it, though an old man, 
 yet, poor man, my father. 
 
 Bass. One speak for both ; — What would you ? 
 
 Laun. Serve you, sir. 
 
 Gob. This is the very delect of the matter, sir. 
 
 Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy 
 suit: 
 Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day, 
 And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment, 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
 Laun. The old proverb is very well parted be- 
 tween my master Shylock and you, sir; you have 
 the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough. 
 
 Bass. Thou speak'st it well : Go, father, with 
 thy son : — 
 Take leave of thy old master, and enquire 
 My lodging out : — Give him a livery 
 
 [To his Followers 
 More guarded 1 than his fellows': Sec it done. 
 
 Laun. Father, in : — I cannot get a service, no , 
 — I have ne'er a tongue in my head. — Well ; [look 
 ing on his palm.] if any man in Italy have a fair- 
 er table, 8 which doth ofler to swear upon a book. 
 
 1 shall have good fortune ; Go to, here's a simple 
 line of life ! here's a small trifle of wives : Alas, 
 fifteen wives is nothing; eleven widows, and nine 
 maids, is a simple coming-in for one man : and 
 then, to 'scape drowning thrice; and to be in peril 
 of my life with the edge of a feather-bed ; — here 
 are simple 'scapes ! Well, if fortune be a woman, 
 she's a good wench for this gear. — Father, come , 
 I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling of an 
 eye. [Exeunt Launcelot and old Gon bo. 
 
 Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this : 
 1 Ornamented. » The -palm of the hand extended 
 
ENE V. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 179 
 
 These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd, 
 
 Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
 
 My best-esteem "d acquaintance; hie thee, go. 
 
 Leon. My bust endeavors shall be done herein. 
 Enter Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. Where is your master'? 
 
 Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. 
 
 [Exit Leonardo. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, — 
 
 Bass. Gratiano! 
 
 Gra. I have a suit to you. 
 
 Bass. You have obtain'd it. 
 
 Gra. You must not deny me ; I must go with 
 ou to Belmont. 
 
 Bass. Why, then you must ; — But hear thee, 
 Gratiano ; 
 Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; — 
 Parts, that become thee happily enough, 
 And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
 But where thou art not known, why, there they show 
 Something too liberal ; 9 — pray thee, take pain 
 To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
 Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild be- 
 havior, 
 I be misconstrued in the place I go to, 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me: 
 
 If I do not put on a sober habit, 
 Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
 Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
 Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
 Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen ; 
 Use all the observance of civility, 
 Like one well studied in a sad ostent ' 
 To please his grandam, never trust me more. 
 
 Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 3 
 
 Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not 
 gage me 
 By what we do to-night. 
 
 Bass. No, that were pity ; 
 
 I would entreat you rather to put on 
 Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
 That purpose merriment: But fare you well, 
 I have some business. 
 
 Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ; 
 But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in Shylock's House. 
 Enter Jessica and Launcelot. 
 
 Jes. I am sorry, thou wilt leave my father so ; 
 Our house is hell, and thou, a merry devil, 
 Didst 10b it of some taste of tediousness: 
 But fare thee well; there is a ducat for thee. 
 And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see 
 Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
 Give him this letter ; do it secretly, 
 And so farewell ; I would not have my father 
 See me talk with thee. • 
 
 Laun. Adieu ! — tears exhibit my tongue. — 
 Most beautiful pagan, — most sweet Jew ! If a 
 Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I 
 am much deceiv'd : But, adieu ! these foolish drops 
 do somewhat drown my manly spirit ; a lieu ! [Exit. 
 
 Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. — 
 Alack, what heinous sin it is in me 
 To be ashamed to be my father's child ' 
 But though I am a daughter to his bloc; 
 I am not to his manners : Lorenzo, 
 If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife: 
 Become a Christian, and thy loving whe. {Exit. 
 
 * Licentious. » Show of staid and serious demeanor. 
 
 Carriage, deportment. 
 
 SCENE IV.— .i Street 
 
 Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and 
 Salanio. 
 
 Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time 
 Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
 All in an hour. 
 
 Gra. We have not made good preparation. 
 
 Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearera 
 
 Salan. 'Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd; 
 And better, in my mind, not undertook. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have tw« 
 hours 
 To furnish us : — 
 
 Enter Launcelot, with a Letter. 
 
 Friend Launcelot, what's the news* 
 
 Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, 
 it shall seem to signify. 
 
 Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand 
 And whiter than the paper it writ on, 
 Is the fair hand that writ. 
 
 Gra. Love-news, in faith. 
 
 Laun. By your leave, sir. 
 
 Lor. Whither goest thou? 
 
 Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew 
 to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.. 
 
 Lor. Hold here, take this: — tell gentle Jessica, 
 I will not fail her ; — speak it privately ; go. — 
 Gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot 
 
 Will you prepare you for this masque to-night 1 
 I am provided of a torch-bearer. 
 
 Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight. 
 
 Salan. And so will I. 
 
 Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano. 
 
 At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence. 
 
 Salar. 'Tis good we do so. 
 
 [Exeunt Salar. and Salan. 
 
 Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica T 
 
 Lor. I must needs tell thee all : She hath directed, 
 How I shall take her from her father's house ; 
 What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with ; 
 What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
 If e'er the Jew, her father, come to heaven, 
 It will be for his gentle daughter's sake : 
 And never dare misfortune cross her foot, 
 Unless she do it under this excuse, — 
 That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
 Come, go with me; peruse this, as thou goest: 
 Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE V.— Before Shylock's House. 
 Enter Shtlock and Launcelot. 
 Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy 
 judge, 
 The difference of old Shy lock and Bassanio ' — 
 What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize, 
 As thou has done with me: — What, Jessica!- - 
 And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out;- 
 Why, Jessica, I say .' 
 
 Laun. Why, Jessica ! 
 
 Shy. Who bids thee call 1 I do not bid thee call. 
 Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I cou Id 
 do nothing without bidding. 
 
 Enter Jessica. 
 Jes. Call you ? What is your will 1 
 Shy. I am bid' forth to supper, Jessica ; 
 There arc my keys: — But wherefore should I go' 
 I am not bid for love ; they flatter me . 
 But yet I'll go in hate, to 'bed upon 
 The prodigal Chr:»tian. — Jessica, my girl, 
 > Invited. 
 
180 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Look to my house : — I am right loath to go ; 
 There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, 
 For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 
 
 Laun. I beseech you, sir, go ; my young master 
 doth expect your reproach. 
 
 Shy. So do I his. 
 
 Laun. And they have conspired together, — I 
 will not say, you shall see a masque ; but if you do, 
 then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a 
 bleeding on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i'the 
 morning, falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday 
 was four year in the afternoon. 
 
 Shy. What ! are there masques ? Hear you me, 
 Jessica : 
 Lock up my doors; and when you hear the drum, 
 And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife, 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then, 
 Nor thrust your head into the public street, 
 To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces : 
 But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements ; 
 Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter 
 My sober house. — By Jacob's staff, I swear 
 T , have no mind of feasting forth to-night : 
 But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah ; 
 Say, I will come. 
 
 Laun. I will go before, sir. — 
 
 Mistress, look out at window, for all this; 
 There will come a Christian by, 
 Will be wen a Jewess' eye. [Exit Laun. 
 
 Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, 
 ha? 
 
 Jes. His words were, Farewell mistress ; nothing 
 else. 
 
 Shy. The patch is kind enough; but a huge feeder, 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 More than the wild-cat ; drones hive not with me ; 
 Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
 To one that I would have him help to waste 
 His borrow'd purse.— Well, Jessica, go in; 
 Perhaps, I will return immediately ; 
 Do, as I bid you, 
 
 Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; 
 -V proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 
 
 Jes. Farewell : and if my fortune be not crost, 
 have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI.— The same. 
 Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masked. 
 
 Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo 
 Jesir'd us to make stand. 
 
 Salar. His hour is almost past. 
 
 Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
 for lovers ever run before the clock. 
 
 Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
 To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont, 
 To keep obliged faith unforfeited ! 
 
 Gra. That ever holds : Who riseth from a feast, 
 With that keen appetite that he sits down ? 
 Where is the horse that doth untread again 
 His tedious measures with the unbated fire 
 That he did pace them first ? All things that are, 
 A.re with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. 
 How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay ! 
 Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! 
 How like the prodigal doth she return ; 
 With over-weather'd ribs, and ragged sails, 
 uean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Sular. Here comes Lorenzo ; — more o this 
 hereafter 
 
 Lor. Sweet friends, j'our patience for my loni 
 abode ; 
 Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait ; 
 When you shall please to play the thieves for wives 
 I'll watch as long for you then. — Approach ; 
 Here dwells my father Jew : — Ho ! who's with-n '' 
 Enter Jessica, above, in Boy's clothes. 
 
 Jes. Who are you? Tell me, for more certainty 
 Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ; 
 For who love I so much ? And now who knows, 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours? 
 
 Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that 
 thou art. 
 
 Jes. Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains 
 I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me, 
 For I am much asham'd of my exchange : 
 But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
 The pretty follies that themselves commit: 
 For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
 To see me thus transformed to a boy. 
 
 Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer 
 
 Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames? 
 They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
 Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; ' 
 And I should be obscur'd. 
 
 Lor. So are you, sweet, 
 
 Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
 But come at once; 
 
 For the close night doth play the run-away, 
 And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. 
 
 Jes. I will make fast the doors, and gild mysell 
 
 With some more ducats, and be with you straight 
 
 [Exit, from above. 
 
 Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew. 
 
 Lor. Beshrew me, but I love her heartily : 
 For she is wise, if I can judge of her; 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true; 
 And true she is, as she hath proved herself; 
 And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true, 
 Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 
 
 Enter Jessica, below. 
 What, art thou come? — On, gentlemen, away; 
 Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 
 
 [Exit, with Jessica and Salauino 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant. Who's there ? 
 
 Gra. Signior Antonio ? 
 
 Ant. Fye, fye, Gratiano ! where are all the rest? 
 'Tis nine o'clock: our friends all stay for you: — 
 No masque to-night ; the wind is come about, 
 Bassanio presently will go aboard: 
 I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 
 
 Gra. I am glad on't; I desire no more delight, 
 Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VII. — Belmpnt. A Room in Portia's 
 
 House. 
 
 Flourish of Cornels. Enter Portia, with thr. 
 
 Prince of Morocco, and both their Trains. 
 
 Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover 
 
 The several caskets to this noble prince : — 
 
 Now make your choice. 
 
 Mor. The first, of gold, which this inscription 
 bears ; — 
 Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
 The second, silver, which this promise carries; — 
 Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. 
 This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; — 
 Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath 
 How shall I know if I do choose the right 1 
 
 J 
 
Scene IX. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 161 
 
 Por. The one of tlvui contains my picture, prince; 
 If you choose that, tnen 1 am yours withal. 
 
 Mor. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me see, 
 [will survey the inscriptions back again: 
 What says this leaden casket ? 
 Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath. 
 Must give — For what ? for lead ? hazard for lead ? 
 This casket threatens ; Men, that hazard all, 
 Do it in hope of fair advantages : 
 A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross : 
 I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for. lead. 
 What says the silver, with her virgin hue? 
 Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves. 
 As much as he deserves ? — Pause there, Morocco, 
 And weigh thy value with an even hand : 
 If thou be'st rated by thy estimation, 
 Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough 
 May not extend so far as to the lady; 
 And yet to be afeard of my deserving, 
 Were but a weak disabling of myself. 
 As much as I deserve ! — 'Why, that's the lady : 
 I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes, 
 In graces, and in qualities of breeding; 
 But more than these, in love I do deserve. 
 What if I stray'd no further, but chose here? — 
 Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold : 
 Wlio chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
 Why, that's the lady ; all the world desires her : 
 From the four corners of the earth they come, 
 To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
 The Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 
 Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now, 
 For princes to come view fair Portia: 
 The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head 
 Spits in the fac* "*f heaven, is no bar 
 To stop the forei£ spirits ; but they come, 
 As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
 One of these three contains her heavenly picture. 
 Is't like, that lead contains her? 'Twere damnation, 
 To think so base a thought; it were too gross 
 To rib 4 her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
 Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd, 
 Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold? 
 sinful thought! Never so rich a gem 
 Was set in worse than gold. They have in England 
 A coin that bears the figure of an angel 
 Stamped in gold; but that's insculp'd 5 upon; 
 But here an angel in a golden bed 
 Lies all within. — Deliver me the key; 
 Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may ! 
 
 Por. There, take it, prince, and if my form lie there, 
 Then I am yours. [He unlocks the golden casket. 
 Mor. hell ! what have we here ? 
 
 A carrion death, within whose empty eye 
 There is a written scroll ? I'll read the writing. 
 
 All that glisters is not gold, 
 Often have you heard that told: 
 Many a man his life hath sold, 
 But my outside to behold: 
 Gilded tombs do worms infold, 
 Had you been as wise as bold, 
 Young in limbs, in judgment old, 
 Your answer had not been inscroll'd: 
 Fare you well,- your suit is cold. 
 
 Cold, indeed ; and labor lost : 
 Then, .arewell, heat; and, welcome, frost. — 
 Portia, adieu ! I have too griev'd a heart 
 To take a tedious leave: thus losers part. [Exit. 
 
 Por. A gentle riddance : Draw the curtains ; 
 
 go; 
 
 Let all of his complexion cL">ose me so. [Exeunt. 
 « Enclose. » Engraven. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Salarino and Salanio. 
 Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail ; 
 With him is Gratiano gone along; 
 And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not. 
 Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the 
 duke; 
 Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. 
 
 Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail ; 
 But there the duke was given to understand, 
 That in a gondola were seen together 
 Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica : 
 Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke, 
 They were not with Bassanio in his ship. 
 
 Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd, 
 So strange, outrageous, and so variable, 
 As the dog Jew did utter in the streets : 
 My daughter! my ducats! — my daughter * 
 Fled with a Christian? — my Christian ducats.' 
 Justice! the law! my ducats, and my daughter ' 
 A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats, 
 Of double ducats, stol'n from me by my daughter! 
 And jewels; two stones, two rich and precious 
 
 stones, 
 StoPn by m.y daughter! — Justice! find the girl! 
 She hath the stones upon her, and the ducats! 
 
 Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him, 
 Crying, — his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 
 
 Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day, 
 Or he shall pay for this. 
 
 Salar. Marry, well remember'd 
 
 I reason'd 6 with a Frenchman yesterday ; 
 Who told me, — in the narrow seas, that part 
 The French and English, there miscarried 
 A vessel of our country, richly fraught : 
 I thought upon Antonio, when he told me ; 
 And wish'd in silence, that it were not his. 
 
 Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you 
 hear; 
 Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 
 
 Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
 I saw Bassanio and Antonio part: 
 Bassanio told him, he would make some speed 
 Of his return ; he answer'd — Do not so. 
 Slubber" not business for my sake, Bassanio, 
 But stay the very riping of the time,- 
 And for the Jew's bond, which he hath of me, 
 Let it not enter in your mind of love: 
 Be merry,- and employ your chiefest thoughts 
 To courtship, and such fair ostents* of love- 
 As shall conveniently become you there: 
 And even there, his eye being big with tears, 
 Turning his face, he put his hand behind him, 
 And with affection wondrous sensible 
 He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted. 
 
 Salan. I think he only loves the world for him 
 I pray thee, let us go, and find him out, 
 And quicken his embraced heaviness 9 
 With some delight or other. 
 
 Salar. Do we so. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IX. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House 
 Enter Nerissa, with a Servant. 
 Ner. Quick, quick, I pray thee, draw the curttur. 
 straight ; 
 The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath, 
 And comes to his election presently. 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Arm 
 gon, Portia, and their Trains. 
 Por. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince 
 « Conversed. « To si: jber is to do a thing carelessly. 
 • Shows, tokens. • Xbe heaviness ht is fond of 
 
182 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 If you choose that wherein I am contain'd, 
 Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd ; 
 But if you fail, without more speech, my lord, 
 You must be gone from hence immediately. 
 
 Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things: 
 First, never to unfold to any one 
 Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail 
 Of the right casket, never in my life 
 To woo a maid in way of marriage ; lastly, 
 If I do fail in fortune of my choice, 
 Immediately to leave you and be gone. 
 
 Por. To these injunctions every one doth swear, 
 That comes to hazard for my worthless self. 
 
 Ar. And so have I address'd 1 me : Fortune now 
 To my heart's hope ! — Gold, silver, and base lead. 
 Who chooseth me, must give andhazard all he hath: 
 You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard. 
 What says the golden chest 1 ha ! let me see : — 
 Who chooseth me, sh all gain what many men desire. 
 What many men desire. — That many may be meant 
 By the fool multitude, that choose by show, 
 Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach : 
 Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet, 
 Builds in the weather on the outward wall, 
 Even in the force and road of casualty. 
 I will not choose what many men desire, 
 Because I will not jump 2 with common spirits, 
 And rank me with the barbarous multitudes. 
 Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure house ; 
 Tell me once more what title thou dost bear: 
 Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves; 
 And well said too ; For who shall go about 
 To cozen fortune, and be honorable 
 Without the stamp of merit 1 Let none presume 
 To wear an undeserved dignity. 
 O, that estates, degrees, and offices, 
 Were not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honor 
 Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
 How many then should cover that stand bare ! 
 How many be commanded that command ! 
 How much low peasantry would then be glean'd 
 From the true seed of honor ! and how much honor, 
 Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times, 
 To be new varnish'd ! Well, but to my choice : 
 Who chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves: 
 I will assume desert; — Give me a key for this. 
 And instantly unlock my fortunes here. 
 
 For. Too long a pause for that which you find 
 there. 
 
 Ar. What's here? the portrait of a blinking idiot, 
 Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it. 
 How much unlike art thou to Portia! 
 
 How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings * 
 Who chooseth m e, shall have as much as he deserves 
 Did I deserve no more than a fnnl's head! 
 Is that my prize ] are my deserts no better 1 
 
 Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct office.. 
 And of opposed natures. 
 
 Ar. What is here 1 
 
 The fire seven times tried this: 
 Seven times tried that judgment is, 
 That did never choose amiss: 
 Some there be that shadows hiss: 
 Such have but a shadow's bliss: 
 There befools alive, I wis, 2 
 Silver' d o'er,- and so was this. 
 Take what wife you will to bed, 
 I will ever be your head: 
 So begone, sir, you are sped. 
 
 Still more fool I shall appear, 
 
 By the time I linger here: 
 
 With one fool's head I came to woo, 
 
 But I go away with two. 
 
 Sweet, adieu ! I'll keep my oath, 
 
 Patiently to bear my wroth. 
 
 [Exeunt Arragon, a?id Train 
 Por. Thus hath the candle singed the moth.. 
 these deliberate fools ! when they do choose, 
 They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 
 Ner. The ancient saying is no heresy ;- 
 Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
 Por. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Where is my lady] 
 
 Por. Here ; what would my lord 1 
 
 Serv. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
 A young Venetian, one that comes before 
 To signify the approaching of his lord : 
 From whom he bringeth sensible regreets ; 4 
 To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath, 
 Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen 
 So likely an embassador of love : 
 A day in April never came so sweet, 
 To show how costly summer was at hand. 
 As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 
 
 Por. No more, I pray thee; I am half afeard, 
 Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee, 
 Thou spend'stsuch high-day wit in praising him.— 
 Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see 
 Quick Cupid's post that comes so mannerly. 
 
 Ner. Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be ! 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 
 
 Enter Salanio and Salaiuno. 
 
 Satan. Now, what news on the Rialto 1 
 
 Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that 
 
 Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the 
 
 narrow seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the 
 
 place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the 
 
 carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, 
 
 if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word. 
 
 Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that 
 
 as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbors 
 
 relieve she wei>t. for the death of a third husband : 
 
 •Jut it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or 
 
 ioss>in;r. the plain high-way of talk, — that the good 
 
 1 Prepared. a Agree. 
 
 Antonio, the honest Antonio,- that I had a 
 
 title good enough to keep his name company ! — 
 
 Salar. Come, the full stop. 
 
 Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou 1 — Why the end 
 is, he hath lost a ship. 
 
 Salar. I would it might prove the end of his 
 losses ! 
 
 Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil 
 cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness 
 of a Jew. — 
 
 Enter Shtlock. 
 
 How now, Shylock? what news among the mei 
 chants 1 
 
 Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as 
 you, of my daughter's flight. 
 
 a Krow. ' Salutations. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 MERCHANT JF VENICE. 
 
 183 
 
 Salar. That's certain; I, for my part, knew the 
 tailor that made n.e wings she flew withal. 
 
 Sa/an. And Shyloek, lor his own part, knew the 
 bird was fledg'd; and then it is the complexion of 
 them all to leave the dam. 
 
 Shi/. She is damn'd for it. 
 
 Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her 
 judge. 
 
 Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel! 
 
 Salan. Out upon it, old carrion! rebels it at 
 these years ? 
 
 Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 
 
 Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh 
 and hers, than between jet and ivory ; more between 
 your bloods, than there is between red wine and 
 Rhenish : — -But tell us, do you hear whether An- 
 tonio have had any loss at sea or no ] 
 
 Shi/. There I have another bad match : a bank- 
 rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on 
 the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used to come so smug 
 upon the mart ; — let him look to his bond : he was 
 wont to call me usurer; — let him look to his bond: 
 he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ; 
 — 'let him look to his bond. 
 
 Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt 
 not take his flesh ; What's that good for ] 
 
 Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing 
 else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced 
 me, and hindered me of half a million; laughed at 
 my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, 
 thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
 mine enemies ; and what's his reason ] I am a Jew : 
 Hath not a Jew eyes] hath not a Jew hands, organs, 
 dimensions, senses, affections, passions'! fed with the 
 same food, hurt with the same weapons^subject to 
 the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
 warmed and cooled by the same winter and sum- 
 mer, as a Christian is ] If you prick us, do we not 
 bleed ] if you tickle us, do we not laugh ] if you 
 poison us, do we not die 1 and if you wrong us, 
 shall we not revenge ] If we are like you in the 
 rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong 
 a Christian, what is his humility ] revenge ; If a 
 Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance 
 be by Christian example] why, revenge. Thevil- 
 lany you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go 
 hard, but I will better the instruction. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his 
 house, and desires to speak with you both. 
 
 Solar. We have been up and down to seek him. 
 
 Enter Tubal. 
 
 Salun. Here comes another of the tribe; a third 
 cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn 
 Jew. [Exeunt Salan., Salar., and Servant. 
 
 Shy. How now. Tubal, what news from Genoa ] 
 hast thou found my daughter 1 
 
 Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but 
 cannot find her. 
 
 Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! i> diamond 
 gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort! 
 The curse never fell upon our nation till now ; I 
 never felt it till now : — two thousand ducats in 
 that ; and other precious, precious jewels. — I would, 
 my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels 
 in her ear ! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and 
 the ducats in her coffin ! No news of them 1 — Why, 
 so : — and I know not what's spent in the search . 
 Why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so 
 much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis- 
 faction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring, but | 
 
 what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my 
 breathing ; no tears, but o' my shedding. 
 
 Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio, 
 as I heard in Genoa, — 
 
 Shy. What, what, what 7 ill luck, ill luck 7 
 
 Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
 Tripolis. 
 
 Shy. I thank God, I thank God: — Is it true 1 ? 
 is it true! 
 
 Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that es- 
 caped the wreck. 
 
 Shy. I thank thee, gcod Tubal ; — Good new*, 
 good news: ha! ha! — Where] in Genoa] 
 
 Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I hearu, 
 one night, fourscore ducats. 
 
 Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me : 1 shall 
 
 never see my gold again : Fourscore ducats at a 
 sitting! fourscore ducats. 
 
 Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors 
 in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot 
 choose but break. 
 
 Shy. I am very glad of it : I'll plague him ; I'll 
 torture him ; I am glad of it. 
 
 Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had 
 of your daughter for a monkey. 
 
 Shy. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal : 
 it was my torquoise ; s I had it of Leah, when I was 
 a bachelor : I would not have given it for a wilder- 
 ness of monkeys. 
 
 Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 
 Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go, 
 Tubal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight 
 before : I will have the heart of him, if ho forfeit; 
 for were he out of Venice, I can make what mer- 
 chandize I will ; Go, go, Tubal, and meet me at 
 our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our syna- 
 gogue, Tubal. [Exeuni 
 
 SCENE II.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Bassatjio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, 
 
 and Attendants. The caskets are set out. 
 
 For. I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two, 
 Before you hazard ; for in choosing wrong, 
 I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : 
 There's something tells me, (but it is not love.) 
 I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
 Hate counsels not in such a quality : 
 But lest you should not understand me well, 
 (And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,) 
 I would detain you here some month or two, 
 Before you venture for me. I could teach you, 
 How to choose right, but then I am forsworn; 
 So will I never be : So may you miss me; 
 But if you do, you'll make me wish a sin 
 That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 
 They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me. ; 
 One half of me is yours ; the other half yours,— 
 Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours. 
 And so all yours : ! these naughty times 
 Put bars between the owners and their rights ; ' 
 And so, though yours, not yours. — Prove it co, 
 Let fortune go to hell for it, — not I. 
 I speak too long : but 'tis to pcize 6 the time ; 
 To eke it, and to draw it out in length, 
 To stay you from election. 
 
 Bass. Let me cnoose; 
 
 For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 Por. Upon the rack, Bassanio] then contess 
 What treason there is mingled with your love. 
 
 Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrusl, 
 Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love : 
 « A precious stone. « Delay. 
 
184 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act _- 
 
 There may as weU be amity and life 
 
 Tween snow and fne, as treason and my love. 
 
 Por. Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack, 
 Where men enforced do speak any thing. 
 
 Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth. 
 
 Por. Well then, confess and live. 
 
 Bass. Confess and love, 
 
 Had been the very sum of my confession : 
 O happy torment, when my torturer 
 Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
 But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 
 
 Por. Away then : T am lock'd in one of them ; 
 If you do love me, you will find me out. — 
 Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — 
 Let music sound while he doth make his choice, 
 Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 
 Fading in music : that the comparison 
 May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream, 
 And wat'ry death-bed for him : He may win ; 
 And what is music then 1 then music is 
 Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
 To a new-crowned monarch : such it is, 
 As are those dulcet sounds in break of day, 
 That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear, 
 And summon him to marriage. Now he goes 
 With no less presence, 1 but with much more love, 
 Than young Alcides, when he did redeem 
 The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
 To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice, 
 The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 
 With bleared visages, come forth to view 
 The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules ! 
 Live thou, I live : — 'With much much more dismay 
 [ view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. 
 
 Music, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets 
 to himself. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1 . Tell me, where is fancy 9 bred, 
 Or in the heart or in the head ? 
 How begot, how nourished? 
 
 Reply. 2. It is engendered in the eyes, 
 
 With gazing fed; and fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies: 
 
 Let us all ring fancy 's knell; 
 Vll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 All. Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 Bass. — So may the outward shows be least 
 themselves ; 
 The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. 
 In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
 But, being season'd with a gracious voice, 
 Obscures the show of evil 1 In religion, 
 What damned error, but some sober brow 
 Will bless it, and approve it with a text, 
 Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 
 There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
 Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. 
 How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false 
 As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
 The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars ; 
 Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ? 
 And these assume but valor's excrement, 
 To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 
 And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight ; 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
 So are those crisped" snaky golden locks, 
 Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 
 rjpon supposed fairness, often known 
 To be the dowry of a second head ; 
 
 « Dignity of mien. • Love. • Curled. 
 
 The scull that bred them, in tne sepulchre. 
 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled ' shore 
 
 To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scaif 
 
 Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 
 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
 
 To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
 
 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : 
 
 Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
 
 'Tween man and man: butthou, thou meagre lead. 
 
 Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught, 
 
 Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, 
 
 And h?re choose I : Joy be the consequence ! 
 
 Por. How all the other passions fleet to air, 
 As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair, 
 And shudd'ring fear and green-ey'd jealousy. 
 
 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstacy, 
 
 In measure rein thy joy, scant this excess; 
 
 1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less. 
 For fear I surfeit ! 
 
 Bass. What find I here ? 
 
 [Opening the leaden casket. 
 Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god 
 Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes? 
 Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
 Seem they in motion? Here are scver'd lips, 
 Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
 Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her hairs 
 The painter plays the spider; and hath woven 
 A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, — 
 How could he see to do them ? having made one, 
 Methinks, it should have power to steal both his, 
 And leave itself unfurnish'd : Yet look, how far 
 The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
 In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
 Doth limp behind the substance, — Here's the scroll 
 The continent and summary of my fortune. 
 
 You that choose not by the view, 
 Chance as fair and choose as true/ 
 Since this fortune falls to you, 
 Be content and seek no new. 
 If you be well pleas 'd with this, 
 And hold your fortune for your bliss. 
 Turn you where your lady is, 
 And claim her with a loving kiss. 
 
 A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave ; 
 
 \ Kissing her 
 I come by note, to give and to receive. 
 Like one of two contending in a prize, 
 That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes. 
 Hearing applause and universal shout, 
 Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt 
 W'hether those peals of praise be his or no . 
 So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so; 
 As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
 Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
 
 Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand. 
 Such as I am : though for myself alone, 
 I would not be ambitious in my wish, 
 To wish myself much better; yet, for you, 
 I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
 A thousand times more fair, ten thousand time* 
 More rich : 
 
 That only to stand high on your account, 
 I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends, 
 Exceed account: but the full sum of me 
 Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross, 
 Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised: 
 Happy in this she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn ; and happier than this, 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 1 Treacherous. 
 
OENK II 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 185 
 
 Happies; of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
 Commits itself to yours to be directed, 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
 Myself and what is mine, to you, and yours, 
 [s now converted: but now I was the lord 
 Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
 Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 
 This house, these servants, and this same myself, 
 Are yours, my lord; I give them with this ring; 
 Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 
 Let it presage the ruin of your love, 
 And be my vantage to exclaim on you. 
 
 Bass. Madam, you have bereft me of all words, 
 Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : 
 And there is such confusion in my powers, 
 As, after some oration fairly spoke 
 By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
 Among the buzzing pleased multitude; 
 Where every something, being blent 2 together, 
 Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
 Express'd and not express'd: But when this ring 
 Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence ; 
 0, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. 
 
 Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time, 
 That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper, 
 To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and lady ! 
 
 Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
 I wish you all the joy that you can wish; 
 For I am sure, you can wish none from me ; 
 And, when your honors mean to solemnize 
 The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you, 
 Even at that time I may be married too. 
 
 Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a 
 wife. 
 
 Gra. I thanK your lordship ; you have got me one. 
 My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
 You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ; 
 You lov'd, I lov'd ; for intermission 
 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
 Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ; 
 And so did mine too, as the matter falls: 
 For wooing here, until I sweat again ; 
 And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
 With oaths of love ; at last, — if promise last, — 
 I got a promise of this fair one here, 
 To have her love, provided that your fortune 
 Achiev'd her mistress. 
 
 Par. Is this true, Nerissa! 
 
 Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 
 
 Bass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith 1 
 
 Gra. Yes, 'faith, my lord. 
 
 Bass. Our feast shall be much honor'd in yaw 
 marriage. 
 
 Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy for a 
 thousand ducats. 
 
 Ner. What, and stake down 1 — 
 
 Gra. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and 
 
 stake down. 
 
 But who comes here] Lorenzo, and his infidel] 
 What, my old Venetian friend, Salerio 1 
 
 Enter Lorestzo, Jessica, and Saleiuo. 
 
 Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither; 
 If that the youth of my new interest here 
 Have power to bid you welcome : — By your leave, 
 I bid my very friends and countrymen, 
 Sweet Portia, welcome. 
 
 For. So do I, my lord 
 
 They are entirely welcome. 
 
 Lor. I thank your honor : — For my part, my lord, 
 My purpose was not to have seen you here; 
 But meeting with Salerio by the way, 
 » Blended. 
 
 I He did entreat me, past all saying nay, 
 To come with him along. 
 
 Sale. I did, my lord, 
 
 And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
 Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a litter 
 
 Bass. Ere I ope this letter, 
 
 I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth. 
 
 Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 Will show you his estate. 
 
 Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon stranger; bid her welcome. 
 Your hand, Salerio : What's the news from Venice ? 
 How doth that royal mfcichant, good Antonio! 
 I know, he will be glad of our success ; 
 We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece. 
 
 Sale. Would you had won the fleece that he 
 hath lost ! 
 
 Par. There are some shrewd contents in yon' 
 same paper, 
 That steal the color from Bassanio's cheek: 
 Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
 Could turn so much the constitution 
 Of any constant man. What, worse and worse 1 ? — 
 With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself, 
 And I must freely have the half of any thing 
 That this same paper brings you. 
 
 Bass. sweet Portia, 
 
 Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words, 
 That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady, 
 When I did first impart my love to you, 
 I freely told you, all the wealth I had 
 Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ; 
 And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady, 
 Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
 How much I was a braggart: When I told you 
 My state was nothing, I should then have told yoa 
 That I was worse than nothing ; for indeed, 
 I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
 Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, 
 To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady; 
 The paper as the body of my friend, 
 And every word in it a gaping wound, 
 Issuing life-blood. — But is it true, Salerio .' 
 Have all his ventures fail'd ? What, not one hit ' 
 From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
 From Lisbon, Barbary, and India! 
 And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
 Of merchant-marring rocks] 
 
 Sale. Not one, my loid. 
 
 Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
 The present money to discharge the Jew, 
 He would not take it: never did I know 
 A creature, that did bear the shape of man, 
 So keen and greedy to confound a maa : 
 He plies the duke at morning, and at night; 
 And doth impeach the freedom of the state, 
 If they deny him justice: twenty merchants, 
 The duke himself, and the magnificoes 3 
 Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; 
 But none can drive him from the envious plea 
 Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 
 
 Jes. When I was with him, I have heard him 
 swear, 
 To Tubal, and to Chus, his countrymen, 
 That he would rather have Antonio's flesh, 
 Than twenty times the value of the sum 
 That he did owe him : and I know, my lord, 
 If law, authority, and power deny not, 
 It will go hard with poor Antonio. 
 
 Por. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble ! 
 
 Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
 The best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
 > The chief men. 
 
 N 
 
186 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE 
 
 Act III 
 
 Ii> doing courtesies; and one in whom 
 The ancient Roman honor more appears, 
 Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
 
 Por. What sum owes he the Jew 1 
 
 Bass. For me, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Por. What, no more 1 ? 
 
 Pay him six thousand and deface the bond; 
 Double six thousand, and then treble that, 
 Before a friend of this description 
 Shall lose a hair through my Bassanio's fault. 
 First, go with me to church, and call me wife : 
 And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
 For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
 With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
 To pay the petty debt twenty times over ; 
 When it is paid, bring your true friend along: 
 My maid Nerissa and myself, mean time, 
 Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ; 
 For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
 Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer; 4 
 Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. — 
 But let me hear the letter of your friend. 
 
 Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all 
 miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is 
 very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; andsince, 
 in paying it, it is impossible 1 should live, all 
 debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but 
 see you at my death: notwithstanding, use your 
 pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to 
 come, let not my letter. 
 
 Por. love, despatch all business, and be gone. 
 
 Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
 I will make haste: but till I come again, 
 No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay, 
 
 No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Shtlock, Salanio, Antokio, and Gaoler. 
 
 Shy. Gaoler, look to him ; — Tell not me of 
 mercy ; — 
 This is the fool that lent out money gratis ; 
 Gaoler, look to him. 
 
 Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 
 
 Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against my 
 bond; 
 I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond : 
 Thou call'dst me dog, before thou hadst a cause : 
 But since I am a dog, beware my fangs: 
 The duke shall grant me justice. — I do wonder, 
 Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond' 
 To come abroad with him at his request. 
 
 Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak. 
 
 Shy. I'll have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak ; 
 I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
 I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool, 
 To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
 To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 
 I'll have no speaking ; I'll have my bond. 
 
 [Exit Shylock. 
 
 Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur, 
 That ever kept with men. 
 
 Ant. Let him alone; 
 
 I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
 He seeks my life ; his reason well I know ; 
 I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
 Many that have at times made moan to me, 
 Therefore he hates me. 
 
 Salan I am sure the duke 
 
 Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 
 
 Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of iaw ; 
 For the commodity that strangers have 
 
 JV*. Fool ic h 
 
 With us in Venice, if it be denied, 
 Will much impeach the justice of the state ; 
 Since that the trade and profit of the city 
 Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go : 
 These griefs and losses have so 'bated me, 
 That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
 
 To-mc rrow to my bloody creditor. 
 
 W( H, gaoler, on : — Pray God, Bassanio come 
 To see me pay his debt, and then I care not! 
 
 SCENE IV. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's Houn 
 
 Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and 
 
 Balthazar. 
 
 Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your presence,. 
 You have a noble and a true conceit 
 Of god-like amity ; which appears most strongly 
 In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
 But if you knew to whom you show this honor, 
 How true a gentleman you send relief, 
 How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
 I know, you would be prouder of the work, 
 Than customary bounty can enforce you. 
 
 Por. I never did repent for doing good, 
 Nor shall not now : for in companions 
 That do converse and waste the time together, 
 Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
 There must be needs a like proportion 
 Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit ; 
 Which makes me think, that this Antonio, 
 Being the bosom lover of my lord, 
 Must needs be like my lord : If it be so. 
 How little is the cost I have bestow'd, 
 In purchasing the semblance of my fouI 
 From out the state of hellish cruelty ! 
 This comes too near the praising of myself ; 
 Therefore, no more of it : hear other things.— 
 Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
 The husbandry and manage of my house, 
 Until my lord's return ; for mine own part, 
 I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow, 
 To live in prayer and contemplation, 
 Only attended by Nerissa here, 
 Until her husband and my lord's return : 
 There is a monastery two miles off, 
 And there we will abide. I do desire you, 
 Not to deny this imposition ; 
 The which my love, and some necessity, 
 Now lays upon you. 
 
 Lor. Madam, with all my heart. 
 
 I shall obey you in all fair commands. 
 
 Por. My people do already know my mind, 
 And will acknowledge you and Jessica 
 In place of lord Bassanio and myself. 
 So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 
 
 Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on 
 you. 
 
 Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 
 Por. I thank you for your wish, and am well 
 pleas'd 
 To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — 
 [Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 
 Now, Balthazar, 
 
 As I have ever found thee honest, true, 
 So let. me find thee still : Take this same letter, 
 And use thou all the endeavor of a man, 
 In speed to Padua ; see thou render this 
 Into my cousin's hand, doctor Bellario ; 
 And, look, what notes and garments he doth give 
 
 thee, 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed 
 Unto the tranect, to the common ferry 
 Which trades to Venice : — waste no time in worcfe^ 
 But get thee gone ; I shall be there before thee. 
 
Scene \ 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 187 
 
 Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Por. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand, 
 That you yet know not of: we'll see our hus- 
 bands, 
 Before they think of us. 
 
 Ner. Shall they see us ? 
 
 Por. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit, 
 That they shall think we are accomplished 
 With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager, 
 When we are both accoutred like young men, 
 I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, 
 And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; 
 And speak, between the change of man and boy, 
 With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps 
 Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays, 
 Like a fine bragging youth : and tell quaint lies, 
 How honorable ladies sought my love, 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died; 
 I could not do withal; — then I'll repent 
 And wish, for all that, that I had not kill'd them: 
 And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell, 
 That men shall swear I have discontinued school 
 Above a twelvemonth: — I have within my mind 
 A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, 
 Which I will practise. 
 
 Ner. Why, shall we turn to men? 
 
 Por. Fie ! what a question's that, 
 If thou wert near a lewd interpreter ? 
 But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device, 
 When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
 At the park gate ; and therefore haste away, 
 For we must measure twenty miles to-day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Garden. 
 Enter Launcelot and Jessica. 
 
 Laun. Yes, truly: — for, look you, the sins of 
 the father are to be laid upon the children: there- 
 fore, I prom'se you, I fear you. I was always plain 
 with you, and so now I speak my agitation of the 
 matter: Therefore, be of good cheer; for, truly, I 
 think, you are damn'd. There is but one hope in 
 it that can do you any good ; and that is but a kind 
 of bastard hope neither. 
 
 Tes. And what hope is that, I pray thee? 
 
 Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your 
 father got you not, that you are not the Jew's 
 daughter. 
 
 Jes. That were a kind cf bastard hope, indeed; 
 so the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. 
 
 Laun. Truly then I fear you are damn'd both 
 by father and mother: thus when I shun Scylla, 
 your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother: 
 well, you are gone both ways. 
 
 Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath 
 made me a Christian. 
 
 Laun. Truly, the more to blame he; we were 
 Christians enough before; e'en as many as could 
 well live, one by another: This making of Chris- 
 tians will raise the price of hogs ; if we grow all to 
 be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly have a rasher 
 :>n the coals for money. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Jes. I'll tell my husband, Launcelot, what you 
 say ; here he comes. 
 
 Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Launce- 
 lot, if you thus get my wife into corners. 
 
 Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo; 
 Launcelot and I are out: he tells me flatly, there 
 is no mercy for me in heaven, because I am a Jew's 
 daughter: and he says, you are no good member 
 of the commonwealth; for, in converting Jews to 
 Christians, you raise the price of pork. 
 
 Lor. I shall answer that better to the common 
 wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's 
 belly : the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. 
 
 Laun. It is much, that the Moor should be more 
 than reason : but if she be less than an honest 
 woman she' is, indeed, more than I took her for. 
 
 Lor. How every fool can play upon the word! 
 I think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into 
 silence ; and discourse grow commendable in none 
 only but parrots. — Go in, sirrah ; bid them prepare 
 for dinner. 
 
 Laun. That is done, sir; they have all stomachs. 
 
 Lor. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! 
 then bid them prepare dinner. 
 
 Laun. That is done too, sir; only, cover is the 
 word. 
 
 Lor. Will you cover then, sir? 
 
 Laun. Not so, sir, neither; I know my duty. 
 
 Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt 
 thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an in- 
 stant ? I pray thee, understand a plain man in his 
 plain meaning : go to thy fellows ; bid them cover 
 the table, serve in the meat, and we will come 
 in to dinner. 
 
 Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in , 
 for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming 
 in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humors and con- 
 ceits shall govern. [Exit Launcelot. 
 
 Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited! 
 The fool hath planted in his memory 
 An army of good words ; And I do know 
 A many fools, that stand in better place, 
 Garnish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
 Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica ? 
 And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
 How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife? 
 
 Jes. Past all expressing: It is very meet, 
 The lord Bassanio live an upright life ; 
 For, having such a blessing in his lady, 
 He finds the joys of heaven here on earth - 
 And, if on earth he do not mean it, it 
 Is reason he should never come to heaven. 
 Why, if two gods should play some heavenly 
 
 match, 
 And on the wager lay two earthly women, 
 And Portia one, there must be something else 
 Pawn'd with the other ; for the poor rude world 
 Hath not her fellow. 
 
 Lor. Even such a husband 
 
 Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife. 
 
 Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 
 
 Lor. I will anon ; first, let us go to dinner. 
 
 Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a 
 stomach. 
 
 Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk , 
 Then, howsoe'er thou speak's t, 'mong other things 
 I shall digest it. 
 
 Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exeunt 
 
188 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. 
 
 Enter theDuKv,the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bas- 
 saxio, GnATiAN j, Saiahino, Salanio, and 
 others. 
 
 Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 
 
 Ant. Ready, so please your grace. 
 
 Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to 
 answer 
 A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
 Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
 From any dram of mercy. 
 
 Ant. I have heard, 
 
 Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
 His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
 And that no lawful means can carry me 
 Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
 My patience to his fury ; and am arm'd 
 To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 
 
 Salan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my 
 lord. 
 
 Enter Shtlock. 
 
 Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our 
 face. — 
 Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 
 That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
 To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought, 
 Thou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse, 6 more strange 
 Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : 
 And where 1 thou now exact'st the penalty, 
 (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,) 
 Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
 But touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
 Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 
 Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, 
 That have of late so huddled on his back ; 
 Enough to press a royal merchant down, 
 And pluck commiseration of his state 
 From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, 
 From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 
 To offices of tender courtesy. 
 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 
 
 Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose; 
 And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn, 
 To have the due and forfeit of my bond: 
 If you deny it, let the danger light 
 Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
 You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 
 A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
 Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that : 
 But, say, it is my humor; Is it answer'd? 
 What if my house be troubled with a rat, 
 And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
 To have it baned ? What, are you answer'd yet ? 
 Some men there are, love not a gaping pig; 
 Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat ; — 
 And others, when the bag-pipe sings i' the nose, 
 Cannot contain their urine; For affection, 8 
 Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood 
 Of what it likes, or loaths : Now, for your answer : 
 As there is no firm reason to be render'd, 
 Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
 Why he, a harmless necessary cat; 
 Why he, a swollen bag-pipe; but. of force 
 
 « Pity " Whereas. • Prejudice. 
 
 | Must yield to such inevitable shame, 
 As to offend, himself being offended; 
 So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 
 More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loctrnng, 
 I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
 A losing suit against him-. Are you answer'd ? 
 
 Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
 To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
 
 Shy. I am not bound to. please thee with mj 
 answer. 
 
 Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 
 
 Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill. 
 
 Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first. 
 
 Shy. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting 
 thee twice? 
 
 Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew; 
 You may as well go stand upon the beach. 
 And bid the main flood bait his usual height; 
 You may as well use question with the wolf, 
 Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
 You may as well do any thing most hard, 
 As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) 
 His Jewish heart : — Therefore, I do beseech you, 
 Make no more offers, use no further means, 
 But, with all brief and plain conveniency, 
 Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 
 
 Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here are six. 
 
 Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
 Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 
 I would not draw them, I would have my bond. 
 
 Duke. Hew shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring 
 none? 
 
 Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no 
 wrong? 
 You have among you many a purchas'd slave, 
 Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules 
 You use in abject and in slavish parts, 
 Because you bought them : — Shall I say to you, 
 Let them be free, marry them to your heirs ? 
 Why sweat they under burdens ? Let their beds 
 Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
 Be season'd with such viands. You will answer 
 The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you : 
 The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 
 Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it: 
 If you deny me, fye upon your law ! 
 There is no force in the decrees of Venice : 
 I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it? 
 
 Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court 
 Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, 
 Whom I have sent for to determine this, 
 Come here to-day. 
 
 Salar. My lord, here stays without 
 
 A messenger with letters from the doctor, 
 New come from Padua. 
 
 Duke. Bring us the letters ; Call the messenset 
 
 Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man : cor. 
 rage yet ! 
 The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all 
 Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood 
 
 Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock. 
 Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
 Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me 
 You cannot better be empioy'd, Bassanio, 
 Than to live still, and write mire epitaph 
 
Scene I. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 159 
 
 Enter Nehissa, dressed like a Lawyer's Clerk. 
 Duke Came you from Padua, from Bellario? 
 Ner. From both, my lord: Bellario greets your 
 grace. [Presents a letter. 
 
 Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? 
 Shi/. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt 
 
 there. 
 Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
 Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can, 
 No, not the hangman's ax, bear half the keenness 
 Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ? 
 Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 
 Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog ! 
 And for thy life let justice be accus'd. 
 Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith, 
 To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
 That souls of animals infuse themselves 
 Into the trunks of men: thy currish spirit 
 Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter, 
 Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
 And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
 Infus'd itself in thee ; for thy desires 
 Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 
 
 Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from offmy bond, 
 Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud : 
 Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall 
 To cureless ruin. — I stand here for law. 
 
 Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
 A young and learned doctor to our court : — 
 Where is he ? 
 
 Ner. He attendeth here hard by, 
 
 To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 
 Duke. With all my heart : — Some three or four 
 of you, 
 Go, give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
 Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 
 
 [Clerk reads.'} Your grace shall understand, that, 
 at the receipt of your letter, I am very sick: but in 
 the instant that your messenger came, in loving visit- 
 ation was with me a young doctor of Rome; his 
 name, is Balthusar: I acquainted him with the 
 cause in controversy between the Jew and Antonio 
 the merchant: we turned o'er many books together: 
 he is furnish' d with my opinion,- which, better' d 
 with his own learning, (the greatness whereof 1 
 cannot enough commend?) comes ivith him, at my 
 importunity, to fill up your grace's request in my 
 stead. I beseech you, let his lack of years be no 
 impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation,- 
 for I never knew so young a body with so old a 
 head. I leave him to your gracious acceptance, 
 whose trial shall better publish his commendation. 
 Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he 
 writes : 
 And here I take it, is the doctor come. — 
 
 Enter Poutia, dressed like a Doctor of Laws. 
 Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario ? 
 Por. I did, my lord. 
 
 Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 
 
 Are you acquainted with the difference 
 That holds this present question in the court ? 
 Por. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
 Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 
 Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 
 Por. Is your name Shylock ? 
 Shy. Shylock is my name. 
 
 Por. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
 Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
 Cannot impugn" you, as you do proceed. 
 Vou stand within his danger,' do you not ? 
 
 [To Antonio. 
 • Cppoae. ' Reach or control. 
 
 Ant. Ay, so he says. 
 
 Por. Do you confess the bond* 
 
 Ant. I do. 
 
 Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 
 
 Shy. On what compulsion must I? tell me thac, 
 Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
 It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven, 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown : 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 But mercy is above his sceptred sway. 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
 Though justice be thy plea, consider this. — 
 That, in the course of justice, none of us 
 Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; 
 And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
 The deeds of mercy. I have spoke this much, 
 To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
 Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
 Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant 
 there. 
 Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 Por. Is he not able to discharge the money ? 
 Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 
 Yea, twice the a um ; if that will not suffice, 
 I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
 On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
 If this will not suffice, it must appear 
 That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you. 
 Wrest once the law to your authority : 
 To do a great right, do a little wrong: 
 And curb this cruel devil of his will. 
 
 Por. It must not be : there is no potver in Venice 
 Can alter a decree established : 
 'Twill be recorded for a precedent; 
 And many an error, by the same example, 
 Will rush into the state : it cannot be. . 
 
 Shy. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea a Daniel! — 
 O wise young judge, how do I honor thee ! 
 Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
 Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 
 Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd 
 
 thee. 
 Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven 
 Shall I lay perjury. upon my soul? 
 No, not for Venice. 
 
 Por. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 
 
 And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
 A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
 Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
 Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 
 
 Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. — 
 It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; 
 You know the law, your exposition 
 Hath been most sound: I charge you by the law, 
 Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
 Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swear, 
 There is no power in the tongue of man 
 To alter me: I stay here on my bond. 
 
 Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
 To give the judgment. 
 
 Por. Why then, thus it is ; 
 
 You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 
 Shy. noble judge ! O excellent young man ' 
 Por. For the intent and purpose of the law 
 
190 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 AcrrV 
 
 Hath full relation to ihe penalty, 
 
 Which here appear©. a due upon the bond. 
 
 S'Ay. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright judge ! 
 How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 
 Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 
 Shy. Ay, his breast: 
 
 So says the bond; — Doth it not, noble judge? — 
 Nearest his heart : those are the very words. 
 
 Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
 The flesh. 
 
 Shy. I have them ready. 
 Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
 charge, 
 To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 
 Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond 1 
 Por. It is not so express'd: But what of that? 
 'Twere good you do so much for charity. 
 Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 
 Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to 
 
 say? 
 Ant. But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd. — 
 Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well ! 
 Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
 For herein fortune shows herself more kind 
 Than is her custom : it is still her use, 
 To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, 
 To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, 
 An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance 
 Of such a misery doth she cut me off. 
 Commend me to your honorable wife : 
 Tell her the process of Antonio's end, 
 Say, how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
 And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge, 
 Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
 Repent not you that you shall lose your friend, 
 And he repents not that he pays your debt; 
 For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
 I'll pay it instantly with all my heart. 
 
 Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife, 
 Which is as dear to me as life itself; 
 But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 
 Are not with me esteem'd above thy life : 
 I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
 Here to this devil, to deliver you. 
 Por. Your wife would give you little thanks tor 
 that, 
 [f she were by, to hear you make the offer. 
 
 Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love ; 
 I would she were in heaven, so she could 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
 
 Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
 The wish would make else an unquiet house. 
 Shy. These be the Christian husbands : I have a 
 daughter ; 
 'Would, any of the stock of Barrabaa 
 Had been her husband, rather than, a Christian ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 
 Por. A pound of that sam merchant's flesh is 
 thine ; 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
 Shy. Most rightful judge ! 
 Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his 
 breast ; 
 The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
 
 Shy. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ; come, 
 
 prepare. 
 Por Tarry a little ; — there is something else. 
 This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
 The words expressly are a pound of flesh : 
 Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
 But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
 One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
 
 Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
 Unto the state of Venice. 
 
 Gra. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — O learned 
 
 judge ! 
 Shy. Is that the law? 
 
 Por. Thyself shall see the act 
 
 For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd, 
 Thou shalt have justice more than thou desir'st. 
 Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — a learned 
 
 judge ! 
 Shy. I take this offer then ; — pay the bond thrice, 
 And let the Christian go. 
 
 Bass. Here is the money. 
 
 Por. Soft; 
 The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ! — no haste;- — 
 He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
 
 Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 
 Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
 Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, 
 But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more, 
 Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
 As makes'it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
 Or the division of the twentieth part 
 Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn 
 But in the estimation of a hair, — 
 Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 
 
 Gra. A second Daniel ! a Daniel, Jew ! 
 Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 
 
 Por. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy for 
 
 feiture. 
 Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 
 Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is. 
 Por. He hath refus'd it in the open court; 
 He shall have merely justice and his bond. 
 
 Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel— 
 I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 
 Shy. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 
 Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture 
 To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 
 
 Shy. Why then the devil give him good of it! 
 I'll stay no longer question. 
 
 Por. Tarry, Jew; 
 
 The law hath yet another hold on you. 
 It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
 If it be prov'd against an alien, 
 That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
 He seek the life of any citizen. 
 The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
 Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
 Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
 And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
 Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
 In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st : 
 For it appears by manifest proceeding, 
 That indirectly, and directly too, 
 Thou hast contriv'd against the very life 
 Of the defendant: and thou hast incurr'd 
 The danger formerly by me rehears'd. 
 Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 
 Gra. Beg, that thou mayst have leave to hang 
 thyself: 
 And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, 
 Thou hast not left, the value of a cord ; 
 Therefore thou must be hang'd at the state's charge 
 Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of out 
 spirit, 
 I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it: 
 For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's : 
 The other half comes to the general state, 
 Which humbleness may drive into a fine. 
 Por. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio. 
 Shy. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that 
 You take my house, when you do take the prop 
 
Act V. Scene 1. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 191 
 
 That doth sustain my house : you take my life, 
 When you do Jake the means whereby I live. 
 
 Por. What mercy can you render him, Antonio? 
 
 Gra. A halter gratis ; nothing else, for God's sake. 
 
 Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court, 
 To quit the fine for one half of his goods; 
 I am content, so he will let me have 
 The other half in use, — to render it, 
 Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
 That lately stole his daughter : 
 Two things provided more, — That, for this favor, 
 He presently become a Christian; 
 The other, that he do record a gift, 
 Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd, 
 Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter. 
 
 Duke. He shall do this ; or else I do recant 
 The pardon, that I late pronounced here. 
 
 Por. Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou 
 say? 
 
 Shy. I am content. 
 
 Por. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 
 
 Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence : 
 I am not well ; send the deed after me, 
 And I will sign it. 
 
 Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 
 
 Gra. In christening thou shalt have two god- 
 fathers ; 
 Had I been judge thou shouldst have had ten more, 
 To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. 
 
 [Exit Shylock. 
 
 Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 
 
 Por. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon ; 
 I must away this night toward Padua, 
 And it is meet, I presently set forth. 
 
 Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. 
 Antonio, gratify this gentleman ; 
 For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and Train. 
 
 Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend, 
 Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
 Of grievous penalties; in lieu whereof, 
 Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 
 We freely cope your courteous pains withal. 
 
 Ant. And stand indebted, over and above, 
 In love and service to you evermore. 
 
 Por. He is well paid, that is well satisfied ; 
 And I, delivering you, am satisfied, 
 And therein do account myself well paid: 
 My mind was never yet more mercenary. 
 I pray you, know me, when we meet again; 
 I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 
 
 Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you fur- 
 ther; 
 Take some remembrance of us as a tribute, 
 Not as a fee ; grant me two things, I pray you, 
 Not to deny me, and to pardon me. 
 
 Por. You press me far, and therefore I will yield. 
 Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake ; 
 And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you : — 
 Do not draw back your hand ; I'll take no more ; 
 And you in love shall not deny me this. 
 
 Bass. This ring, good sir, — alas, it is a trifle, 
 I will not shame myself to give you this. 
 
 Por. I will have nothing else but only this ; 
 And now, methinks, I have a mind to it. 
 
 Bass. There's more depends on this, than on the 
 value. 
 The dearest ring in Venice will I give you, 
 And find it out by proclamation ; 
 Only for this, I pray you, pardon me. 
 
 Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers ; 
 You taught me first to beg ; and now, methinks, 
 You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd. 
 
 Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife: 
 And, when she put it on, she made me vow, 
 That I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it. 
 
 Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save then- 
 gifts ; 
 An if your wife be not a mad woman, 
 And know how well I have deserved this ring, 
 She would not hold out enemy for ever, 
 For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you ! 
 
 [Exeunt PonTiA and Nerissa. 
 
 Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring , 
 Let his deservings, and my love withal, 
 Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment. 
 
 Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him, 
 Give him the ring ; and bring him, if thou canst, 
 Unto Antonio's house : — away, make haste. 
 
 [Exit Gratiano. 
 Come, you and I will thither presently ; 
 And in the morning early will we both 
 Fly toward Belmont : Come, Antonio. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — ^1 Street. 
 Enter Portia and Nehissa. 
 Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him this 
 deed, 
 And let him sign it: we'll away to-night, 
 And be a day before our husbands home : 
 This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo. 
 Enter Gratiano. 
 Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken: 
 My lord Bassanio, upon more advice, 2 
 Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat 
 Your company at dinner. 
 
 Por. That cannot be : 
 
 This ring I do accept most thankfully, 
 And so, I pray you, tell him : Furthermore, 
 I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house. 
 Gra. That will I do. 
 
 Ner. Sir, I would speak with you : — 
 
 I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia. 
 Which I did make him swear to keep for ever. 
 Por. Thou may'st, I warrant : We shall have old 
 swearing, 
 That they did give the rings away to men ; 
 But we'll outface them, and outswear them too. • 
 Away, make haste ; thou know'st where I will tarry. 
 Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this 
 house? [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Belmont. Avenue to Portia's House. 
 Enter Lorenzo and Jessica. 
 
 such a night 
 
 Lor. The moon shines bright : — In 
 as this, 
 
 When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, 
 And they did make no noise ; in such a night, 
 Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls, 
 
 And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, 
 Where Cressid lay that night. 
 
 Jes. In such a night 
 
 Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew ; 
 And saw the lion's shadow ere himself. 
 And ran dismay'd away. 
 
 Lor. In such a night, 
 
 • Reflection. 
 
192 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 8tood Dido with a willow in her hand 
 Upon the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love 
 To come again to Carthage. 
 
 Jes. In such a night, 
 
 Medea gathered the enchanted herbs 
 That did renew old iEson. 
 
 Lor. In such a night, 
 
 Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew ; 
 And with an unthrift love did run from Venice, 
 As far as Belmont. 
 
 Jes. And in such a night, 
 
 Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'dher well ; 
 Stealing her soul with many vows of faith, 
 And ne'er a true one. 
 
 Lor. And in such a night, 
 
 Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew, 
 Slander her love, and he forgave it her. 
 
 Jes. I would out-night you, did no body come: 
 But, hark, I hear the footing of a man. 
 Enter Stephano. 
 
 Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night! 
 
 Steph. A friend. 
 
 Lor. A friend ? what friend ? your name, I pray 
 you, friend? 
 
 Steph. Stephano is my name ; and I bring word, 
 My mistress will before the break of day 
 Be here at Belmont : she doth stray about 
 By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays 
 For happy wedlock hours. 
 
 Lor. Who ccmes with her ? 
 
 Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid. 
 I pray you, is my master yet return'd ? 
 
 Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. — 
 But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica, 
 And ceremoniously let us prepare 
 Some welcome for the mistress of the house. 
 Enter Launcelot. 
 
 Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola! 
 
 Lor. Who calls ? 
 
 Laun. Sola ! did you see master Lorenzo, and 
 mistress Lorenzo ! sola, sola ! 
 
 Lor. Leave hollaing, man ; here. 
 
 Laun. Sola! where ? where? 
 
 Lor. Here. 
 
 Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my" 
 master with his horn full of good news ; my master 
 will be here ere morning. [Exit. 
 
 Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect then- 
 coming. 
 And yet no matter ; — Why should we go in ? 
 My friend Stephano, signify, I pray you, 
 Within the house, your mistress is at hand; 
 And bring your music forth into the air. — 
 
 [Exit Stephano. 
 How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank ! 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 ' Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night, 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sit, Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ; 
 There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st, 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins : 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. — 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ; 
 With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 
 And draw her home with music. 
 
 Jes. 1 am never merry when I hear sweet music. 
 
 [Music. 
 
 Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive ■ 
 For do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
 Or race of youthful, and unhandled colts, 
 Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
 Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
 Or any air of music touch tLeir ears, 
 You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to. a modest gaze, 
 By the sweet power of music: Therefore, the p^et 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods; 
 Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage, 
 But music for the time doth change his nature. 
 The man that hath no music in himself, 
 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils : 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
 And his affections dark as Erebus: 
 'Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the music. 
 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance. 
 
 Tor. That light we see, is burning in my hall. 
 How far that little candle throws his beams ! 
 So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 
 
 Ner. When the moon shone, we did not see the 
 candle. 
 
 Por. So doth the greater glory dim the less: 
 A substitute shines brightly as a king, 
 Until a king be by ; and then his state 
 Empties itself, as doth an inland brook 
 Into the main of waters. Music ! hark ! 
 
 Ner. It is your music, madam, of the house. 
 
 Por. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; 
 Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day. 
 
 Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 
 
 Por. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, 
 When neither is attended ; and, I think, 
 The nightingale, if she should sing by day, 
 When every goose is cackling, would be thought 
 No better a musician than the wren. 
 How many things by season season'd are 
 To their right praise and true perfection ! — 
 Peace, hoa ! the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
 And would not be awak'd ! [Music ceases. 
 
 Lor. That is the voice, 
 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia. 
 
 Por. He knows me as the blind man knows the 
 cuckoo, 
 By the bad voice. 
 
 Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 
 
 Por. We have been praying for our husbands' 
 welfare, 
 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words* 
 Are they return'd? 
 
 Lor. Madam, they are not yet : 
 
 But there is come a messenger before, 
 To signify their coming. 
 
 Por. Go in, Nerissa, 
 
 Give order to my servants, that they take 
 No note at all of our being absent hence ; 
 Nor you, Lorenzo ; — Jessica, nor you. 
 
 [A tucket ' sounds. 
 
 Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet: 
 We are no tell-tales, madam, fear you not. 
 
 Por. This night, methinks, is but the day-light sick, 
 It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day, 
 Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 
 Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Grapiano, and thtxr 
 Followers. 
 
 Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes, 
 If you would walk in absence of the sun. 
 
 Por. Let me give light, but let me not be light; 
 » A flourish on a trumpet 
 
Scene I. 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 1 
 
 193 ! 
 
 For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 
 And never be Bassanio so for me; 
 But God sort all! — You are welcome home, my 
 lord. 
 
 Bass. I thank you, madam: give welcome to my 
 friend. — 
 This is the man, this is Antonio, 
 To whom I am so infinitely bound. 
 
 Por. You should in all sense be much bound to 
 him, 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
 
 Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
 Por. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
 Ft must appear in other ways than words, 
 Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy. 4 
 
 [Gratiaxo g/m/Neiiissa seemto talk apart. 
 
 Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong' 
 tn faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk. 
 Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, 
 fcince you do take it, love, so much at heart. 
 
 Por. A quarrel, ho, already 1 what's the matter 1 
 
 Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
 That she did give me ; whose posy was 
 For all the world, like cutler's poetry 
 UpOK a knife, Love me, and leave me not. 
 
 Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value 1 
 You swore to me, when I did give it you, 
 That you would wear it till your hour of death ; 
 And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
 Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths, 
 You should have been respective, 5 and have kept it 
 Give it a judge's clerk ! — but well I know, 
 The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had it. 
 
 Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man. 
 
 Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man. 
 
 Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, — 
 A kind of boy ; a little scrubbed boy, 
 No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk; 
 A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee ; 
 I could not for my heart deny it him. 
 
 Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you, 
 To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
 A thing 6tuck on with oaths upon your finger, 
 And riveted so with faith upon your flesh. 
 [ gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
 Never to part with it ; and here he stands ; 
 t dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, 
 Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
 That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
 You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief; 
 An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it. 
 
 Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand offj 
 And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [Aside. 
 
 Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
 Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, 
 Deserv'd it too ; and then the boy his clerk, 
 That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine 
 And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
 But the two rings. 
 
 Por. What ring gave you, my lord \ 
 
 Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me. 
 
 Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault, 
 I would deny it ; but you see my finger 
 Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. 
 
 Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
 By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
 Until I see the ring. 
 
 Ner. Nor I in yours, 
 
 Till I again see mine. 
 
 Bass Sweet Portia, 
 
 if you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
 If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 
 
 * Verbal, cociplimcntarv &rm. » Reeaidftil. 
 
 And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
 And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
 When nought would be accepted but the ring, 
 You would abate the strength of your displeasure 
 
 Por. If you had known the virtue of the ringi 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
 Or your own honor to contain the ring, 
 You would not then have parted with the ring. 
 What man is there so much unreasonable. 
 If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
 With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
 To urge the thing held as a ceremony 1 
 Nerissa teaches me what to believe ; 
 I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. 
 
 Bass. No, by mine honor, madam, by my soul 
 No woman had it, but a civil doctor, 
 Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me, 
 And begg'd the ring : the which I did deny him, 
 And suffer'd him to go displeas'd away : 
 Even he that had held up the very life 
 Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady! 
 I was enforced to send it after him ; 
 I was beset with shame and courtesy ; 
 My honor would not let ingratitude 
 So much besmear it : Pardon me, good lady ; ' 
 For, by these blessed candles of the night, r 
 Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd 
 The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 
 
 Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house: 
 Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd, 
 And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
 I will become as liberal as you : 
 I'll not deny him any thing I have, 
 No, not my body, nor my husband's bed: 
 Know him I shall, I am well sure of it : 
 Lie not a night from home ; watch me, like Argut 
 If you do not, if I be left alone, 
 Now, by mine honor, which is yet my own, 
 I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow. 
 
 Ner. And I his clerk ; therefore be well advis'dj 
 How you do leave me to mine own protection. 
 
 Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him then; 
 For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 
 
 Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrel* 
 
 Por. Sir, grieve not you ; You are welcome not- 
 withstanding. 
 
 Bass- Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ; 
 And in the hearing of these many friends, 
 I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes. 
 Wherein I see myself, 
 
 Por. Mark you but that ! 
 
 In both mine eyes he doubly sees himself: 
 In each eye, one : — swear by your double self, 
 And there's an oath of ciedit. 
 
 Bass. Nay, but bear me; 
 
 Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
 I never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth:* 
 Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
 
 [To PoilTIA. 
 
 Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again, 
 My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
 Will never more break faith advisedly. 
 
 Por. Then you shall be his surely : Give him this 
 And bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 Ant. Here, lord Bassanio ; swear to keep this ring 
 Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor 
 Por. I had it of him : pardon me, Bassanio ; 
 For by this ring the doctor lay with me. 
 
 Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano: 
 For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's cleik, 
 In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. 
 • Advantage. 
 
194 
 
 MERUHAN1 OF VENICE. 
 
 Ajt V 
 
 Gra. Why, this i:> like the mending of highways 
 In summer, where the ways are fair enough: 
 What! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserved it? 
 
 Por. Speak not so grossly. — You are all amaz'd : 
 Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ; 
 It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
 There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor ; 
 Nerissa there, her clerk : Lorenzo here 
 Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you, 
 And but even now return'd ; I have not yet 
 Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are welcome ; 
 And I have better news in store for you, 
 Than you expect : unseal this letter soon ; 
 There you shall find, three of your argosies 
 Are richly come to harbor suddenly: 
 You shall not know by what strange accident 
 I chanced on this letter. 
 
 Ant. I am dumb. 
 
 Bass. Were you the doctor, and I knew you not? 
 
 Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me 
 cuckold ? 
 
 Ner. Ay; but the clerk that never means to 
 do it, 
 Unless he live until he be a man. 
 
 Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; 
 When I am absen „ then lie with my wife. 
 
 Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and 
 living; 
 For here I read for certain, that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
 Por. How now, Lorenzo? 
 
 My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. • 
 
 Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. — 
 There do I give to you, and Jessica, 
 From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, 
 After his death, of all he dies possess'd of. 
 
 Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
 Of starved people. 
 
 Por. It is almost morning. 
 
 And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
 Of these events at full : Let us go in ; 
 And charge us there upon inter'gatories, 
 And we will answer all things faithfully. 
 
 Gra. Let it be so : The first inter'gatory, 
 That my Nerissa shall be sworn on, is, 
 Whether till the next night she had rather stay, 
 Or go to bed now, being t\* o hours to day : 
 But were -the day come, I should wish it dark, 
 That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
 Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing 
 So sore, as keeping safn Neriasa's ring. [Exeunt 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Duke, living in exile. 
 
 Frederick, brother to the Duke, and Usurper of 
 
 his dominions. 
 Adieus, ) Lords, attending upon the Dukeinhis 
 Jaq.ues, 5 banishment. 
 
 Le Beau, a Courtier, attending upon Frederick. 
 Charles, his Wrestler. 
 Oliver, } 
 
 Ja^ues, > Sons of Sir Rowland dc Bois. 
 Orlando, ) 
 Adam, 
 Dennis, 
 Touchstone, a Clown, 
 
 The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House,- afterwards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and 
 partly in the Forest of Arden. 
 
 Servants to Oliver. 
 
 Sir Oliver Mar-text, a Vicar. 
 a > Shepherds. 
 
 OTLTIUS, J r 
 
 William, a country Fellow, in love with Auujej, 
 A Person representing Hymen. 
 
 Rosalind, Daughter to the banished Duke. 
 Celia, Daughter to Frederick. 
 Phebe, a Shepherdess. 
 Audrey, a country Girl. 
 
 Lords belonging to the two Dukes,- Pages, Forest- 
 ers, and other Attendants. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 
 Enter Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fash- 
 ion bequeath'd me : By will, but a poor thousand 
 crowns ; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, 
 on his blessing, to breed me well: and there begins 
 my sadness. My brother Jaques he keeps at 
 school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit: 
 for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to 
 speak more properly, stays me here at home un- 
 kept : For call you that keeping for a gentleman of 
 my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox 7 
 His horses tre bred better ; for, besides that they 
 are fair with their feeding, they are taught their 
 manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : but 
 I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth ; 
 for the which his animals on his dunghills are as 
 much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that 
 he so plentifully gives me, the something that 
 nature gave me, his countenance seems to take 
 from me : he lets me feed with his hind* , bars me 
 the place of a brother, and, as much as i i him lies, 
 mines my gentility with my education. This is it, 
 Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my father, 
 which I think is within me, begins to mutiny 
 against this servitude : I will no longer endure it, 
 though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. 
 
 Fnter Oliver. 
 Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 
 Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how 
 k«> will shake me up. 
 
 Oh. Now, sir, what make you here 7' 
 Orl Nothing: I am not taught to make any thing. 
 * What do yru here f 
 [195] 
 
 Oli. What mar you then, sir 
 
 Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that 
 which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, 
 with idleness. 
 
 Oh. Marry, sir, be better employ 'd, and be naught 
 awhile. 
 
 Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 
 them 1 What prodigal portion have I spent, that 
 I should come to such penury? 
 
 Oli. Know you where you are, sir? 
 
 Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 
 
 Oli. Know you before whom, sir? 
 
 Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me 
 I know you are my eldest brother; and, in th» 
 gentle condition of blood, you should so know me : 
 The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in 
 that you are the first-born ; but the same tradition 
 takes not away my blood, were there twenty 
 brothers betwixt us : I have as much of my father 
 in me, as you ; albeit, I confess, your coming before 
 me is nearer to his reverence. 
 
 Oli. What, boy! 
 
 Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too 
 young in this. 
 
 Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ? 
 
 Orl. I am no villain : 5 I am the youngest son 
 of sir Rowland de Bois; he was my father, and he 
 is thrice a villain, that says such a#father begot 
 villains: Wert thou not my brother, I would not 
 take this hand from thy throat, till this other had 
 pulled out thy tongue for saying so ; thou hast railed 
 on thyself. 
 
 Adam. Sweet masters, be patient ; for your fa- 
 ther's remembrance, be at accord. 
 
 a Villain is used in a double sense; by Oliver for a worth- 
 less fellow, and by Orlando for a man of base extraction 
 
196 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 OIL Let me go, I say. 
 
 Orl. I will not, till I please : you shall hear me. 
 My father charged you in his will to give me good 
 education: you have trained me like a peasant, 
 obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like 
 qualities : the spirit of my father grows strong in 
 me, and I will no longer endure it ; therefore 
 allow me such exercises as may become a gentle- 
 man, or give me the poor allottery my father left 
 me by testament ; with that I will go buy my for- 
 tunes. 
 
 OIL And what wilt thou do ? beg, when that is 
 spent ? Well, sir, get you in : I will not long be 
 troubled with you : you shall have some part of 
 your will : I pray you, leave me. 
 
 Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes 
 me for my good. 
 
 OIL Get you with him, you old dog. 
 
 Adam. Is old dog my reward 7 most true, I have 
 
 lost my teeth in your service. — God be with my 
 
 old master ! he would not have spoke such a word. 
 
 [Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 
 
 OIL Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ? 
 I will physic your rankness, and yet give no thou- 
 sand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis! 
 Enter Dennis. 
 
 Den. Calls your worship 1 
 
 OH. Was not Charles, the Duke's wrestler, here, 
 to speak with me ? 
 
 Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and 
 importunes access to you. 
 
 OIL Call him in. [Exit Dennis.] — 'Twill be a 
 good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 
 Enter Charles. 
 
 Cha. Good morrow to your worship. 
 
 OIL Good monsieur Charles ! — what's the new 
 news at the new court ? 
 
 Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the 
 old news : that is, the old duke is banished by his 
 younger brother the new duke ; and three or four 
 loving lords have put themselves into voluntary 
 exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich 
 the new duke ; therefore he gives them good leave 
 to wander. 
 
 OIL Can you tell, if Kosalind, the duke's daugh- 
 ter, be banished with her father ? 
 
 Cha. 0, no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, 
 so loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred 
 together, — that she would have followed her exile, 
 or have died to stay behind her. She is at the 
 court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his 
 own daughter; and never two ladies loved as they do. 
 
 Oli. Where will the old duke live? 
 
 Cha. They say he is already in the forest of 
 Arden, and a many merry men with him; and 
 there they live like the old Robin Hood of Eng- 
 land : they say, many young gentlemen flock to 
 him every day; and fleet the time carelessly, as they 
 did in the golden world. 
 
 OIL What, you wrestle to-morrow before the 
 new duke ? 
 
 Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint 
 you with a flatter. I am given, sir, secretly to un- 
 derstand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath 
 a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try 
 a fall • To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit; 
 and he that escapes me without some broken limb, 
 shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young, 
 and tender , and, for your love, I would.be loath to 
 f '«l him, as I must, for my own honor, if he come 
 in : therefore, out ol my love to you, I came hither 
 t'> .cquamt you withal • that either you might stay 
 
 him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace 
 w ell as he shall run into, in that it is a thing of 
 his own search, and altogether against my will. 
 
 OIL Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, 
 which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I 
 had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein, 
 and have by underhand means labored to dissuade 
 him from it; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, 
 Charles, — it is the stubbornest young fellow of 
 France ; full of ambition, an envious emulator of 
 every man's good parts, a secret and villanous 
 contriver against me his natural brother; therefore 
 use thy discretion ; I had as lief thou didst breaK 
 his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look 
 to't ; for if thou do'st him any slight disgrace, or if 
 he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will 
 practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some 
 treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath 
 ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other ; for, 
 I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there 
 is not one so young and so villanous this day living. 
 I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anato- 
 mize him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep, 
 and thou must look pale and wonder. 
 
 Cha. I am heartily glad, I came hither to you ; 
 If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment : 
 If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for 
 prize more : And so, God keep your worship ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 OIL Farewell, good Charles. — Now will I stir 
 this gamester : 3 I hope I shall see an end of him : 
 for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing 
 more than he. Yet he's gentle; never school'd, 
 and yet learned ; full of noble device : of all sorts' 
 enchantingly beloved ; and, indeed, so much in the 
 heart of the world, and especially of my own peo- 
 ple, who best know him, that I am altogether mis- 
 prised : but it shall not be so long ; this wrestler 
 shall clear all : nothing remains, but that I kindle 
 the boy thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Lawn before the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. 
 
 Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am 
 mistress of: and would you yet I were merrier? 
 Unless you would teach me to forget a banished 
 father, you must not learn me how to remember 
 any extraordinary pleasure. 
 
 Cel. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the 
 full weight that I love thee : if my uncle, thy ba- 
 nished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my 
 father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could 
 have taught my love to take thy father for mine ; 
 so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were 
 so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee. 
 
 Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my 
 estate, to rejoice in yours. 
 
 Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I, 
 nor none is like to have , and, truly, when he dies, 
 thou shalt be his heir : for what he hath taken away 
 from thy father perforce, I will render thee again 
 in affection ; by mine honor, I will ; and when I 
 break that oath, let me turn monster : therefore, mj 
 sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. 
 
 Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise 
 sports ; let me see ; What think you of falling in love? 
 
 Cel. Marry, I pr'y thee, do, to make sport withai 
 but love no man in good earnest ; nor no further ii 
 sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thoi 
 mayst in honor come off again. 
 
 * Frolicksome fellow. 
 
 * Of <Ul ranks 
 
Scene II. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 197 
 
 Ros. What shall be our sport then 1 
 
 Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, 
 Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may hence- 
 forth be bestowed equally. 
 
 Ros. I would, we could do so; for her benefits 
 are mightily misplaced: and the bountiful blind 
 woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. 
 
 Cel. 'Tis true : for those, that she makes fair, she 
 scarce makes honest ; and those, that she makes 
 honest, she makes very ill-favor'dly. 
 
 Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office 
 to nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not 
 in the lineaments of nature. 
 
 Enter Touchstone. 
 
 Cel. No 1 When nature hath made a fair creature, 
 may she not by fortune fall into the fire 1 — Though 
 nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not 
 fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument 1 
 
 Rts. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature ; 
 wh'n fortune makes nature's natural the cutter oft* 
 :»f nature's wit. 
 
 Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work 
 neither, but nature's: who perceiving our natural 
 wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent 
 this natural for our whetstone : for always the dul- 
 ness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits. — How 
 new, wit? whither wander you 7 
 
 Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your 
 %trer. 
 
 Cel. Were you made the messenger ? 
 
 Touch. No, by mine honor ; but I was bid to 
 come for you. 
 
 Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool 1 
 
 Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his 
 horor they were good pancakes, and swore by his 
 ho:ior the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to 
 it, ihe pancakes were naught, and the mustard was 
 good ; and yet was not the knight forsworn. 
 
 Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
 vour knowledge 1 
 
 Ros. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom. 
 
 Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your 
 chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. 
 
 Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 
 
 Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were : 
 but if you swear by that that is not, you are not 
 forsworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his 
 honor, for he never had any ; or if he had, he had 
 sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes 
 or that n.ustari. 
 
 Cel. Pry thee, who is't that thcu mean'st ? 
 
 Touch. One. that old Frederick, your father, loves. 
 
 Cel. My father's love is enough to honor him. 
 Enough ! speak no more of him ; you'll be % hipp'd 
 for taxation, 5 one of these days. 
 
 Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak 
 wisely, what wise men do foolishly. 
 
 Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true : for since the 
 little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little 
 foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show. 
 Here comes monsieur Le Beau 
 
 Enter Le Beau. 
 
 Ros. With his mcuth full of news. 
 
 Jel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed 
 their young. 
 
 Acs. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. 
 
 CsL All the better; we shall be the mere mar- 
 keiab's. Bon jour, monsieur Le Beau : What's i.e 
 
 Lc Beau. Fair j -incess,you have lost much good 
 
 • Satire. 
 
 Cel. Sport? Of what color'' 
 
 Le Beau. What color, madam ? How shall I 
 answer you 7 
 
 Ros. As wit and fortune will. 
 
 Touch. Or as the destinies decree. 
 
 Cel. Well said ; that was laid on with a trowel 
 
 Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, 
 
 Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. 
 
 Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies ; I would have 
 told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the 
 sight of. 
 
 Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. 
 
 Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it 
 please your ladyships, you may see the end ; for 
 the best is yet to do ; and here, where you are, 
 they are coming to perform it. 
 
 Cel. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and 
 buried. 
 
 Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three 
 sons, 
 
 Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale. 
 
 Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent 
 growth and presence ; 
 
 Ros. With bills on their necks, — Be it known 
 unto all men by these presents, 
 
 Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with 
 Charles, the duke's wrestler; which Charles in a 
 moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, 
 that there is little hope of life in him : so he served 
 the second, and so the third : Yonder they lie : the 
 poor old man, their father, making such pitiful dole 
 over them, that all the beholders take his part with 
 weeping. 
 
 Ros. Alas! 
 
 Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the 
 ladies have lost 1 
 
 Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 
 
 Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day ! it 
 is the first time that I ever heard, breaking of ribs 
 was sport for ladies. 
 
 Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 
 
 Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken 
 music in his sides 1 is there yet another dotes upon 
 rib-breaking 1 — Shall we see this wrestling, cousin 1 
 
 Le Beau. You must, if you stay here : for here is 
 the place appointed for the wrestling, and they arc 
 ready to perform it. 
 
 Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming: Let us 
 now stay and see it. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Or- 
 lando, Charles, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Come on: since the youth will not be 
 entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 
 
 Ros. Is yonder the man ? 
 
 Le Beau. Even he, madam. 
 
 Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin ? are 
 you crept hither to see the wrestling 1 
 
 Ros. Ay, my liege ! so please you give us leave 
 
 Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can 
 tell you, there is such odds in the men : In pity of 
 the challenger's youth, I would fain^hssuadc him, 
 but he will not be entreated: Spea^P him, lames; 
 see if you can move him. 
 
 Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau. 
 
 Duke F. Do so: I'll not be by. [Duke goes apart. 
 
 Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses 
 call for you. 
 
 Orl. I attend them, with all respect and duty 
 
 Ros. Young man. have you challenged Charle» 
 the wrestler ? 
 
198 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Orl. No, fair princew; ; he is the general chal- 
 lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with him 
 the strength of my youth. 
 
 Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold 
 for your years : You have seen cruel proof of this 
 man's strength ; if you saw yourself with your eyes, 
 or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of 
 your adventure would counsel you to a more equal 
 enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to 
 embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt. 
 
 Ros. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall not 
 therefore be misprised : we will make it our suit to 
 iho duke, that the wrestling might not go forward. 
 
 Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your 
 hard thoughts ; wherein I confess me much guilty, 
 to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But 
 let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with mc to 
 my trial: wherein if I be foiled, there is but one 
 shamed that was never gracious ; if killed, but one 
 dead that is willing to be so : I shall do my friends 
 no wrong, for I have none to lament me ; the world 
 no injury, for in it I have nothing ; only in the 
 world I fill up a place, which may be better sup- 
 plied when I have made it empty. 
 
 Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it 
 were with you. 
 
 Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. 
 
 Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived 
 in you! 
 
 Cel. Your heart's desires be with you. 
 
 C/ia. Come, where is this young gallant, that is 
 so desirous to lie with his mother earth ? 
 
 Orl. Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more 
 modest working. 
 
 Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 
 
 Cha. No, I warrant your grace ; you shall not 
 entreat him to a second, that have so mightily per- 
 suaded him from a first. 
 
 Orl. You mean to mock me after ; you should 
 not have mocked me before : but come your ways. 
 
 Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 
 
 Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong 
 fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando wrestle. 
 
 Ros\ O excellent young man ! 
 
 Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can 
 tell who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout. 
 
 Duke F. No more, no more. 
 
 Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace ; I am not yet 
 well breathed. 
 
 Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 
 
 Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord. 
 
 DukeF. Bear him away. [Charles isburneout. 
 What is thy name, young man ? 
 
 Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of sir 
 Rowland de Bois. 
 
 Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to some 
 man else. 
 The world esteem'd thy father honorable, 
 But I did find him still mine enemy : 
 Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this 
 
 deed, 
 Hadst thou descended from another house. 
 But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ; 
 [ would tho^iadst told me of another father. 
 [ExeunrDvvLE Fred., Train, ana? Le Beau. 
 
 Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this? 
 
 Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, 
 His youngest son ; — and would not change that 
 
 calling, 
 To be adopted heir to Frederick. 
 
 Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, 
 A.nd all the world was of my father's mind: 
 Hid I before known this voung 'an his son, 
 
 I should have given him tears unto entreaties. 
 Ere he should thus have ventur'd. 
 
 Cel. Gentle cousin. 
 
 Let us go thank him, and encourage him : 
 My father's rough and envious disposition 
 Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd; 
 If you do keep your promises in love, 
 But justly, as you have exceeded promise, 
 Your mistress shall be happy. 
 
 Ros. Gentleman, 
 
 [Giving him a chain from her neck. 
 Wear this for me; one out of suits with fortune ; 
 That could give more, but that her hand lacka 
 
 means. — 
 Shall we go, coz ? 
 
 Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman. 
 
 Orl. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better parta 
 Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up, 
 Is but a quintain, 6 a mere lifeless block. 
 
 Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my 
 fortunes : . 
 
 I'll ask him what he would : — Did you call, sir ? — 
 Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown 
 More than your enemies. 
 
 Cel. Will you go, coz ? 
 
 Ros. Have with you : — Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon 
 my tongue ? 
 I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. 
 
 Re-enter Le Beau. 
 poor Orlando ! thou art overthrown; 
 Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. 
 
 Le Beau. Gccd s ; r, I i?o in friendship counsel you, 
 To leave this place : Albeit you have deserv'd 
 High commend a ;i n, true applause, and love; 
 Yet such is njw the duke's condition, 1 
 That he misconstrues all that you have done. 
 The duke is humorous ; whac he is, indeed, 
 More suits you to concei ve, than me to speak of. 
 
 Orl. I thank yen, sir: and pray you, tell me 
 this; 
 Which of the two was daughter of the duke, 
 That here was at the wrestling? 
 
 Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
 manners ; 
 But yet indeed, the shorter is his daughter: 
 The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, 
 And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, 
 To keep his daughter company; whose loves 
 Are deanr than thenatu-al bond cf sisters. 
 But I can te'l you, that of kte this d did 
 Hath ta'en displeasure 'gainst his g-r>mi«> aieoe; 
 Grour. lid upen no other a2gument, 
 But that the people praise hfci fcr h<yr virtues, 
 And pity her for her good fathers cdhz: 
 .£ni, on my life, his malice 'gainsl the .'ad} 1 ' 
 W.'ll suddenly break forth. — Sir, fare you well ; 
 Hereafter, in a better world than this, 
 'J tvdl desi-e more bv> and knowledge of you. 
 '" Orl. I resi much bounden to yo.t : fare you well ! 
 [Exit J.e Beau 
 Thus mu:f i ftjm the smoke into the smother: 
 From tyrant d'-.ke, unto a tyrant brother:- 
 Bu', heavenly Rosalind ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE 'il.—A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Celia aid Rosalind. 
 
 Cel- Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid hav* 
 mercy ! — Net i word ? 
 
 « The obj=3t to dart at La ir.arKfc" extrrisss. 
 1 Temper, disposition. 
 
SCKNE III. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 199 
 
 Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 
 
 Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast 
 away upon curs, throw some of them at me ; come, 
 lame me with reasons 
 
 Ros. Then there wen, two cousins laid up; when 
 the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other 
 mad without any. 
 
 Cel. But is all this for your father? 
 
 Ros. No, some of it for my father's child : O, 
 how full of briars is this working-day world ! 
 
 Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee 
 in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden 
 paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 
 
 Ros. I could shake them off my coat ; these burs 
 are in. my heart. 
 
 Cel. Hem them away. 
 
 Ros. I would try ; if I could cry hem, and have 
 him. 
 
 Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 
 
 Ros. 0, they take the part of a better wrestler 
 than myself. 
 
 Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! you will try in 
 time, in despite of a fall. — But, turning these jests 
 out of service, let us talk in good earnest : Is it pos- 
 sible on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong 
 a liking with old Sir Rowland's youngest son ? 
 
 Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. 
 
 Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love 
 nis son dearly ? By this kind of chase, I should hate 
 him, for my father hated his father dearly ; yet I 
 hate not Orlando. 
 
 Ros. No; hate him not, for my sake. 
 
 Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve 
 well? 
 
 Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you love 
 him because I do : — Look, here comes the duke. 
 
 Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 
 
 Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 
 
 Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest 
 haste, 
 And get you from our court. 
 
 Ros. Me, uncle? 
 
 Duke F. You, cousin ; 
 
 Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
 So near our public court as twenty miles, 
 Thou diest for it. 
 
 Ros. I do beseech your grace, 
 
 Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me : 
 »f with myself I hold intelligence, 
 Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; 
 If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
 (As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle, 
 Never, so much as in a thought unborn, 
 Did I offend your highness. 
 
 Duke F. Thus do all traitors ; 
 
 If their purgation did consist in words, 
 They are as innocent as grace itself; — 
 Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not. 
 
 Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a 
 traitor : 
 Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. 
 
 Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's 
 enough. 
 
 Ros. So was I, when your highness took his 
 dukedom ; 
 So was I when your highness banish'd him : 
 Treason is not inherited, my lord; 
 Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 
 What's that to me ? my father was no traitor : 
 Thsn, good my liege, mistake me not so much, 
 To think mv poverty is treacherous. 
 
 Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. 
 
 Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake, 
 Else had she with her father ranged along. 
 
 Ctl. I did not then entreat to have her stay, 
 It was your pleasure and your own remorse: 8 
 I was too young that time to value her, 
 But now I know her : if she be a traitor, 
 Why so am I ; we still have slept together, 
 Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together , 
 And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, 
 Still we went coupled, and inseparable. 
 
 Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and hei 
 smoothness, 
 Her very silence, and her patience, 
 Speak to the people, and they pity her. 
 Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
 And thou wilt show more bright and seem more 
 
 virtuous, 
 When she is gone : then open not thy lips ; 
 Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
 Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. 
 
 Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me my 
 liege ; 
 I cannot live out of her company. . 
 
 Duke F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide 
 yourself; 
 If you out-stay the time, upon mine honor, 
 And in the greatness of my word, you die. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords. 
 
 Cel. my poor Rosalind ! whither wilt thou go ? 
 Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee mine. 
 I charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. 
 
 Ros. I have more cause. 
 
 Cel. Thoi . ast not, cousin; 
 
 Pr'ythee, be cheerful : know'st thou not, the Juke 
 Hath banish'd me, his daughter? 
 
 Ros. That he hath not 
 
 Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love 
 Which teacheth thee that thou and I are one : 
 Shall we be sunder'd ? shall we part, sweet girl ? 
 No ; let my father seek another heir. 
 Therefore devise with me, how we may fly, 
 Whither to go, and what to bear with us : 
 And do not seek to take your change upon you, 
 To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ; 
 For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, 
 Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. 
 
 Ros. Why, whither shall we go ? 
 
 Cel. To seek my uncle- 
 
 Ros. Alas, what danger will it be t& us, 
 Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ? 
 Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 
 
 Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, 
 And with a kind of umber 9 smirch my face ; 
 The like do you ; so shall we pass along, 
 And never stir assailants. 
 
 Ros. Were it not better, 
 
 Because that I am more than common tall, 
 That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
 A gallant curtle-ax' upon my thigh, 
 A boar spear in my hand; and (in my heart, 
 Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will") 
 We'll have a swashing and a martial outside; 
 As many other mannish cowards have, 
 That do outface it with their semblanjes. 
 
 Cel. What bhall I call thee when thoWart a man 1 
 
 Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own 
 page, 
 And therefore look you call me, Ganymede. 
 But what will you be call'd? 
 
 Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state 
 No longer Celia, but Aliena. 
 
 » Compassion. 
 « Cutlass. 
 
 • A dusky, yellow-colored earth 
 
 ' Swaggering. 
 
200 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Ros. But, cousin, what if we essay'd to steal 
 The clownish fool out of your father's court? 
 Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 
 
 Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ; 
 Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away, 
 
 And get our jewels and our wealth together ; 
 
 Devise the fittest time, and safest way 
 
 To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
 
 After my flight : Now go we in content 
 
 To liberty and not to banishment. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Forest of Arden. 
 
 Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in 
 the dress of Foresters. 
 
 Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile, 
 flath not old custom made this life more sweet 
 Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
 More free from peril than the envious court ? 
 Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
 The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, 
 And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; 
 Which when it bites and blows upon my body, 
 Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — 
 This is no flattery : these are counsellors 
 That feelingly persuade me what I am. 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity; 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 
 And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 
 
 Ami. I would not change it : Happy is your grace. 
 That can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
 Into so quiet and so sweet a style. 
 
 Duke S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
 And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, — 
 Being native burghers of this desert city, — 
 Should in their own confines, with forked heads 3 
 Have their round haunches gored. 
 
 1 Lord. Indeed, my lord, 
 
 The melancholy Jaques grieves at that; 
 And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp 
 Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you. 
 To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself, 
 Did steal behind him, as he lay along 
 Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : 
 To the which place a poor sequester'd stag, 
 That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt, 
 Did come to languish; and, indeed, my lord, 
 The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans, 
 That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat 
 Almost to bursting; and the big round tears 
 Cours'd one another down his innocent nose 
 In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool, 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
 Augmenting it with tears. 
 
 Duke S. But what said Jaques? 
 
 Did he not moralize this spectacle? 
 
 i Lord. 0, yes, into a thousand similes. 
 First, for his weeping in the needless stream ; 
 Poor deer, auoth he, thou mak'st a testament 
 As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
 To that which had too much: Then, being alone, 
 Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ; 
 " Tis right, quoth he ; thus misery doth part 
 The flux of company: Anon, a careless herd, 
 Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, 
 And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jaques, 
 Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens; 
 * Barbed arrows. 
 
 'Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you look 
 Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there? 
 Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
 The body of the country, city, court, 
 Yea, and of this our life : swearing, that we 
 Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse 
 To fright the animals, and to kill them up, 
 In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. 
 
 Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem- 
 plation ? 
 
 2 Lord: We did, my lord, weeping and com- 
 menting 
 Upon the sobbing deer. 
 
 Duke S. Show me the place ; 
 
 I love to cope' him in these sullen fits, 
 For then he's full of matter. 
 
 2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Can it be possible that no man saw them? 
 It cannot be: some villains of my court 
 Are of consent and sufferance in this. 
 
 1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her. 
 The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, 
 Saw her a-bed ; and, in the morning earlv. 
 They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress. 
 
 2 Lord. My lord, the roynish' clown, at whom so oft 
 Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
 Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman, 
 Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard 
 Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
 The parts and graces of the wrestler 
 That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles: 
 And she believes, wherever they are gone, 
 That youth is surely in their company. 
 
 Duke F. Send to his brother ; fetch that gallant 
 hither; 
 If he be absent, bring his brother to me, 
 I'll make him find him: do this suddenly; 
 And let not search and inquisition quail 6 
 To bring again these foolish runaways. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Before Oliver's House. 
 Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. 
 
 Orl. Who's there ? 
 
 Adam. What ! my young master? — 0, my gentle 
 master, 
 0, my sweet master, you memory 1 
 Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
 Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you? 
 And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? 
 Why should you be so fond 8 to overcome 
 The bony prizer of the humorous duke? 
 Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
 Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
 Their graces serve them but as enemies? 
 No more do yours; your virtues, gentle master 
 Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
 
 4 Encounter. » Scurry * Sink into dejection. 
 1 Memorial. * Inconsiderate 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 201 
 
 
 0, what a world is this, when what is comely 
 Envenoms him that bears it ? 
 
 Orl. Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 Adam. O unhappy youth, 
 
 Come not within these doors; within this roof 
 The enemy of all your graces lives : 
 Your brother — (no, no brother; yet the son — 
 Yet not the son ; — I will not call him son — 
 Of him I wa* about to call his father,) — 
 Hath heard you- praises; and this night he means 
 To burn the lodging where you use to lie, 
 And you within it : if he fail of that, 
 He will have other means to cut you off: 
 I overheard him, and his practices. 
 This is no place, this house is but a butchery ; 
 Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. 
 
 Orl. Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have 
 me go? 
 
 Adam. No matter whither, so you come nothere. 
 
 Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my 
 food! 
 Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce 
 A thievish living on the common road ? 
 This I must do, or know not what to do : 
 Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; 
 I rather will subject me to the malice 
 Of a diverted blood, 9 and bloody brother. 
 
 Adam. B ut do not so : I have five hundred crowns, 
 The thrifty hire I sav'd under your father, 
 Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse, 
 When service should in my old limbs lie lame, 
 And unregarded age in corners thrown : 
 Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed, 
 Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, 
 Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold; 
 All this I give you : Let me be your servant ; 
 Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty: 
 For in my youth I never did apply 
 Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ; 
 Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
 The means of weakness and debility; 
 Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
 Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you: 
 I'll do the service of a younger man 
 In all your business and necessities. 
 
 Orl. O good old man ; how well in thee appears 
 The constant service of the antique world, 
 When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
 Thou art not for the fashion of these times, 
 Where none will sweat, but for promotion ; 
 And having that, do choke their service up 
 Even with the having : it is not so with thee. 
 But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
 That cannot so much as a blossom yield, 
 In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry: 
 But come thy ways, we'll go along together; 
 And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, 
 We'll light upon some settled low content. 
 
 Adam. Master, go on ; and I will follow thee, 
 To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — 
 From seventeen years till now almost fourscore 
 Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
 At seventeen years many their fortunes seek; 
 But at fourscore, it is too late a week : 
 Yet fortune cannot recompense me better, 
 Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE IV.— The Forest of Arden. 
 Enter Rosalind in Boy's clothes, Celia dressed 
 like a Shepherdess, and Touchstone. 
 
 Jios O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits ! 
 * Blood turned from its natural course. 
 
 Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were 
 not weary. 
 
 Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my 
 man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : but I must 
 comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought 
 to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, 
 courage, good Aliena. 
 
 Cel. I pray you, bear with me ; I can go no further. 
 
 Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you 
 than bear you : yet I should bear no cross, 1 if I did 
 beai you : for, I think, you have no money in your 
 purse. 
 
 Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 
 
 Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool 
 I ; when I was at home, I was in a better place • 
 but travellers must be content. 
 
 Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone : — Look you 
 who comes here ; a young man and an old, in 
 solemn talk. 
 
 Enter Corin and Silvius. 
 
 Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still. 
 
 Sil. Corin, that thou knew"st how I do love her . 
 
 Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now. 
 
 Sil. No, Corin, being old thou canst not guess ; 
 Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover 
 As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow : 
 But if thy love were ever like to mine, 
 (As sure I think did never man love so,) 
 How many actions most ridiculous 
 Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ? 
 
 Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten. 
 
 Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily : 
 If thou remember'st not the slightest folly 
 That ever love did make thee run into, 
 Thou hast not lov'd : 
 Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, 
 Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
 Thou hast not lov'd: 
 Or if thou hast not broke from company, 
 Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, 
 Thou hast not lov'd: Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! 
 
 [Exit SiLvioa 
 
 Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound. 
 I have by hard adventure found my own. 
 
 Touch. And I mine: I remember, when I was 
 in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid 
 him take that for coming anight 2 to Jane Smile: 
 and I remember the kissing of her batlet, 3 and the 
 cow's dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had milk'd 
 and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead 
 of her ; from whom I took two cods, and giving her 
 them again, said with weeping tears, Wear these 
 for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into 
 strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is 
 all nature in love mortal in folly. 
 
 Ros. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art 'ware of. 
 
 Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own 
 wit, till I break my shins against it. 
 
 Ros. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
 Is much upon my fashion. 
 
 Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale 
 with me. 
 
 Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man, 
 If he for gold will give us any food , 
 I faint almost to death. 
 
 Touch. Holla ; you clown ! 
 
 Ros. Peace, fool, he's not thv kinsman 
 
 Cor. Who calls? 
 
 Touch. Your betters, sir. 
 
 Cor. Else are they very wretched. 
 
 i A piece of money stamped with a cross. a In the night 
 3 The instrument with which washers beat clothes. 
 
 o 
 
r 
 
 202 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Acr U 
 
 Peace, [ say :- 
 
 Ros. 
 Good even to you, friend. 
 
 Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 
 
 Eos. I pry 'thee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, 
 Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
 Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed : 
 Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, 
 And faints for succor. 
 
 Cor. Fair sir, I pity her, 
 
 And wish for her sake, more than for mine own, 
 My fortunes were more able to relieve her : 
 But I am shepherd to another man, 
 And do not shear the fleeces that I graze ; 
 My master is of churlish disposition, 
 And little recks 4 to find the way to heaven 
 By doing deeds of hospitality: 
 Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed, 
 Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, 
 By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
 That you will feed on : but what is, come see, 
 And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 
 
 Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and 
 pasture ? 
 
 Cor. That young swain that you saw here but 
 erewhile, 
 That little cares for buying any thing. 
 
 Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
 Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
 And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 
 
 Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, 
 And willingly could waste my time in it. 
 
 Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold ; 
 Go with me ; if you like upon report, 
 The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
 I will your very faithful feeder be, 
 An! buj it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.—The same. 
 Enter Amiens, Jacques, and others. 
 SONG. 
 Ami. Under the greenwood tree, 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 And time his merry note, 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither,- 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy, 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. 
 Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur 
 Jaques. 
 
 Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can 
 suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks 
 eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more. 
 
 Ami. My voice is ragged;' I know, I cannot 
 please you. 
 
 Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do de- 
 she you to sing: Come, more; another stanza: 
 Call you them stanzas 1 
 
 Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. 
 Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe 
 me nothing: Will you sing? 
 
 Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. 
 Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll 
 thank you ; but that they call compliment, is like 
 the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man 
 thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a 
 penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. — • 
 Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your 
 'ongues. 
 
 « Ca--es. 
 
 * H^sjged an-} ringed had formerly the same meaning. 
 
 Ami. Well, I'll end the song. — Sirs, cover Ute 
 while; the duke will drink under this tree: — he 
 hath been all this day to look you. 
 
 Jaq. A nd I have been all this day to avoid him. 
 He is too disputable 6 for my company : I think of 
 as many matters as he ; but I give heaven thanks, 
 and make no boast of them. Come, warble, corae. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 \Wio doth ambition shun, [All together here. 
 And loves to live i' the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eats, 
 And pleas' d with what fie gets, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither,- 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy, 
 But ivinter and rough weather. 
 Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I madfl 
 yesterday in despite of my invention. 
 Ami. And I'll sing it. 
 Jaq. Thus it goes : — 
 
 If it do come to pass, 
 That any man turn ass, 
 Leaving his wealth and ease, 
 A stubborn will to please, 
 Ducddme, ducddme, ducddme; 
 Here shall he see 
 Gross fools as he, 
 An if he will come to Ami. 
 Ami. What's that ducddme? 
 Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a 
 circle. I'll go sleep if I can ; if I cannot, I'll nil 
 against all the first-born of Egypt. 
 
 Ami. And I'll go seek the duke ; his banquet is 
 prepared. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE VI.— The same. 
 
 Enter Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: 0, I 
 die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my 
 grave. Farewell, kind master. 
 
 Orl. Why, how now, Adam 1 no greater heart in 
 thee 1 Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself 
 a little : If this uncouth forest yield any thing 
 savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for 
 food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy 
 powers. For my sake, be comfortable ; hold death 
 awhile at the arm's end : I will here be with thee 
 presently ; and if I bring thee not something to eat, 
 I'll give thee leave to die : but if thou diest before 
 I come, thou art a mocker of my labor. Well 
 said! thou look'st cheerly: and I'll be with thee 
 quickly. — Yet thou liest in the bleak air : come, I 
 will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not 
 die for lack of a dinner, if there live any thing in 
 this desert. Cheerly, good Adam ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— The same. 
 
 A Table set out. ' Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, 
 Lords, and others. 
 Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; 
 For I can no where find him like a man. 
 
 1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence ; 
 Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
 
 Duke S. If he, compact of jars, 1 grow musical, 
 We shall have shortly discord in the spheres : — 
 Go, seek him ; tell him, I would speak with him 
 Enter Jaq.ues. 
 1 Lord. He saves my labor by his own approach 
 Disputatious. ' Made up of discords. 
 
Scene VII 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 203 
 
 Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life 
 is this, 
 That your poor friends must woo your company ? 
 What! you look merrily. 
 
 Jaq. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i'the forest, 
 
 A motley fool ; — a miserable world ! — 
 
 As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
 
 Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
 
 And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms, 
 
 r n good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 
 
 Good morrow, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, 
 
 Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune: 
 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke; 
 
 And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 
 Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock: 
 
 Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world ivags: 
 
 'Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine,- 
 
 And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven; 
 
 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 
 
 And then from hour to hour, we rot and rot, 
 
 And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear 
 
 7'he motley fool thus moral on the time, 
 
 My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 
 
 That fools should be so deep contemplative; 
 
 And I did laugh sans intermission. 
 
 An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! 
 
 A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 9 
 
 Duke S. W T hat fool is this ? 
 
 Jaq. worthy fool ! — One that hath been a 
 courtier ; 
 And says, if ladies be but young, and fair, 
 They have the gift to know it: and in his brain, — 
 Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
 After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd 
 With observation, the which he vents 
 In mangled forms ; — 0, that I were a fool ! 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 
 Duke S. Thou shalt have one. 
 
 Jaq. It is my only suit ; 
 
 Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
 Of all opinion that grows rank in them, 
 That I am wise. I must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 To blow on whom I please; for so fools have: 
 And they that are most galled with my folly, 
 They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so? 
 The. why is plain as way to parish church : 
 He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not, 
 The wise man's folly is a.natomiz'd 
 Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool. 
 Invest me in my motley; give me leave 
 To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
 Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
 If they will patiently receive my medicine. 
 
 Duke S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou 
 wouldst do. 
 
 Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good ? 
 
 Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin: 
 For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 
 As sensual as the brutish sting itself; 
 And all the embossed sores, and headed evils 
 That thou with license of free foot hast caught, 
 Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 
 
 Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 
 That can therein tax any private party ? 
 Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
 Till that the very very means do ebb ? 
 What woman in the city do I name, 
 When that I say, The city-woman bear* 
 The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
 
 s The fool was anciently Pressed in a party-colored <oat 
 
 Who can come in, and say, that I mean her, 
 
 W nen such a one as she, such is her neighbor ? 
 
 Or what is he of basest function, 
 
 That says, his bravery 9 is not on my cost, 
 
 (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
 
 His folly to the mettle of my speech! 
 
 There then ; How, what then ? Let me see wherein 
 
 My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right. 
 
 Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free, 
 
 Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
 
 Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here? 
 
 Enter Ohlando, with his sword drawn. 
 
 Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 
 
 Jaq. Why, I have eat none yet 
 
 Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 
 
 Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 
 
 Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy 
 distress ; 
 Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
 That in civility thou seem'st so empty ? 
 
 Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny 
 point 
 Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
 Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred, 
 And know some nurture: But forbear, I say; 
 He dies, that touches any of this fruit, 
 Till I and my affairs are answered. 
 
 Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason, 
 I must die. 
 
 Duke S. What would you have? Your gen- 
 tleness shall force 
 More than your force move us to gentleness. 
 
 Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 
 
 Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
 table. 
 
 Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray you, 
 I thought that all things had been savage here ; 
 And therefore put I on the countenance 
 Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are. 
 That in this desert inaccessible, 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of tinse; 
 If ever you have look'd on better days ; 
 If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church ; 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 
 If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear, 
 And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
 In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 
 
 Duke <S\ True is it that we have seen better days, 
 And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church; ■ 
 And sat at good men's feasts; and wiped our eyes 
 Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
 And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
 And take upon command what help we have, 
 That to your wanting may be minister'd. 
 
 Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, 
 Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 
 And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
 Who after me hath many a weary step 
 Limp'd ill pure love ; till he be first sufficed, — 
 Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,— 
 I will not touch a bit. 
 
 Duke S. Go find him out, 
 
 And we will nothing waste till your return. 
 
 Orl. I thank ye; and be bless'd for your good 
 comfort ! [Exit. 
 
 Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy 
 This wide and universal theatre 
 Presents more woeful pageants than the seen* 
 Wherein we play in. 
 
 • Finery. 
 
204 
 
 AS YOU LIKE 11. 
 
 Act III 
 
 1 
 
 Jaq. All the world's a stage, 
 
 And all the men and women merely players : 
 They have their exits,- and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts, 
 His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms: 
 And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
 Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then, a soldier; 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
 Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice ; 
 In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, 
 With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
 Full of wise saws and modern ' instances, 
 And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ; 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
 His youthful hose well sav'd, a world, too wide 
 For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
 And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 
 Re-enter Orlando, with Adam. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome: set down your venerable 
 burden, 
 And let him feed. 
 
 Orl. I thank you most for him. 
 
 Adam. So had you need; 
 I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, fall to : I will not trouble you 
 As yet, to question you about your fortunes : — 
 Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 
 
 Amiens sings. 
 SON J. 
 
 I. 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter loind, 
 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As mail's ingratitude,- 
 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly 
 
 Then, heigh, no, the holly! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 II. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot: 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remembered* not- 
 Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! <$c 
 
 Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's 
 son, — 
 As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were ; 
 And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
 Most truly limn'd, and living in your face, — 
 Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke, 
 That lov'd your father : The residue of ) r our fortune, 
 Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man, 
 Thou art right welcome as thy master is: 
 Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand, 
 And let me all your fortunes understand. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT 111. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Not see him since 1 Sir, sir, that cannot 
 be: 
 But were I not the better part made mercy, 
 I should not seek an absent argument 
 Of my revenge, thou present : But look to it ; 
 Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is : 
 Seeli him with candle ; bring him dead or living, 
 Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more 
 To seek a living in our territory. 
 Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, 
 Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands ; 
 Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth, 
 Of what we think against thee. 
 
 OR. 0, that your highness knew my heart in this! 
 1 never lov'd my brother in my life. 
 
 Duke F. More villain thou. — Well, push him 
 out of doors ; 
 And let my officers of such a nature 
 Make an extent 2 upon his house and lands : 
 Do this expediently, 3 and turn him going. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE ll.—TJie Forest. 
 Enter Orlando, with a paper. 
 0*1. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 
 ♦ Tiite, common. * Seizure 'Expeditiously. 
 
 And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survej 
 With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, 
 
 Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway 
 O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books, 
 
 And in their barks my thoughts I'll character ; 
 That every eye, which in this forest looks, 
 
 Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 
 Run, run, Orlando; carve, on every tree, 
 The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive t she. [Exit 
 
 Enter Corin and Touchstone. 
 
 Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, 
 master Touchstone? 
 
 Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is 
 a good life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd's 
 life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, T 
 like it very well; but in respect that it is private, 
 it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the 
 fields, it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is no' 
 in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look 
 you, it fits my humor well; but as there is no more 
 plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. 
 Hast anj r philosophy in thee, shepherd 1 
 
 Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one 
 sickens, the worse at ease he is ; and that he that 
 wants money, means, and content, is without three 
 good friends .-—That the property of rain is to wet, 
 and fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat 
 sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack 
 4 Remembering. * Inexpressible. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE I'l 
 
 20a 
 
 of the sun : That he, that hath learned no wit by 
 nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or 
 comes of a very dull kindred. 
 
 Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. 
 Wast ever in court, shepherd 1 
 Cor. No, truly. 
 Touch. Then thou art damn'd. 
 Cor. Nay, I hope, — 
 
 Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill- 
 roasted egg, all on one side. 
 
 Cor. For not being at court 1 Your reason. 
 Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou 
 never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st 
 good manners,, then thy manners must be wicked ; 
 and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation : Thou 
 art in a parlous state, shepherd. 
 
 Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are 
 good manners, at the court, are as ridiculous in the 
 country, as the behavior of the country is most 
 mockable at the court. You told me, you salute 
 not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that 
 courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were 
 shepherds. 
 
 Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. 
 Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes ; and 
 their fells, you know, are greasy. 
 
 Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands 
 sweat 1 and is not the grease of a mutton as whole- 
 some as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: 
 A better instance, I say; come. 
 Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 
 Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. — 
 Shallow, again : A more sounder instance, come. 
 
 Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the 
 surgery of our sheep ; And would you have us kiss 
 tar 1 The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. 
 Touch. Most shallow man ! Thou worms-meat, 
 in respect of a good piece of flesh : Indeed ! — Learn 
 of the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth 
 than tar ; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend 
 the instance, shepherd. 
 
 Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me ; I'll rest. 
 Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd ? God help thee, 
 shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! thou art 
 raw. 6 
 
 Cor. Sir, I am a true laborer; I earn that I 
 eat, get that I wear ; owe no man hate, envy no 
 man's happiness ; glad of other men's good, content 
 with my harm : and the greatest of my pride is, to 
 see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck. 
 
 Touch. That is another simple sin in you ; to 
 bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer 
 to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to 
 be bawd to a bell-wether ; and to betray a she-lamb 
 of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly 
 ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st 
 not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no 
 shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 
 'scape. 
 
 Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my 
 new mistress's brother. 
 
 Enter Rosalind, reading a paper 
 Ros. From the east to western Ind, 
 No jewel is like Rosalind; 
 Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
 Through all the world bears Rosalind; 
 All the pictures, fairest lin'd,'' 
 Are but black to Rosalina. 
 Let no face be kept in mind, 
 But the fair' of Rosalind. 
 Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together , 
 « {Tn?xperienv<l. 'Delineated. • Complexion trauty. 
 
 dinners and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted ■ 
 it is the right butter-woman's rank to market 
 Ros. Out, fool! 
 
 Touch. For a taste: 
 
 If a heart do lack a hind, 
 Let him seek out Rosali?id. 
 If the cat will after kind, 
 So, be sure, will Rosalind. 
 Winter-garments must be lin'd, 
 So must slender Rosalind. 
 They that reap must sheaf and bind. 
 Then to cart with Rosalind. 
 Sweetest nut hath sourest rind. 
 Such a nut is Rosalind. 
 He that sweetest rose will find, 
 Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. 
 This is the very false gallop of verses ; Why do you 
 infect yourself with them 1 
 
 Ros. Peace, you dull fool ; I found them on a 
 tree. 
 
 Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 
 Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graf! 
 it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit in 
 the country : for you'll be rotten e're you be half 
 ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. 
 
 Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or 
 no, let the forest judge. 
 
 Enter Celia, reading a paper. 
 Ros. Peace ! 
 Here comes my sister, reading ; stand aside. 
 Gel. Why should this desert silent be? 
 
 For it is unpeopled? No,- 
 Tongues I'll hang on every tree, 
 
 That shall civil" sayings show. 
 Some, how brief the life of man! 
 
 Runs his erring pilgrimage,- 
 That the stretching of a span 
 
 Buckles in his sum of age. 
 Some, of violated vows 
 
 ' Twixt the souls offriena and friend. 
 But upon the fairest boughs 
 
 Or at every sentence' end, 
 Will I Rosalinda write,- 
 
 Teaching all that read, to know 
 The quintessence of every sprite 
 
 Heaven would in little show. 
 Titer ef ore heaven nature charg'd 
 
 That one body should befill'd 
 With all graces wide enlarg'd: 
 
 Nature presently distill'd 
 Helen's cheek, but not her heart; 
 
 Cleopatra's majesty,- 
 Atalanfa's better part; 
 
 Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
 Thus Rosalind of many parts 
 
 By heavenly synod was devis'd, 
 Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, 
 
 To have the touches 1 dearest priz d. 
 Heaven ivouldthat she these gifts should have, 
 And I to live and die her slave. 
 
 Ros. O most gentle Jupiter! — what tedious 
 homily of love have you wearied your parishioners 
 withal, and never cry'd, Have patience,good people! 
 
 Cel. How now ! back friends ; — Shepherd, go 
 off a little : — Go with him, sirrah. 
 
 Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honor- 
 able retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet 
 with scrip and scrippage. 
 
 [Exeunt Corix and Touciistowe 
 
 Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? 
 8 Grave, solemn. ' Feature 
 
206 
 
 AS YOU LIKE 11. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for 
 some of them had in them more feet than the verses 
 would bear. 
 
 Cel. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the 
 rerses. 
 
 Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not 
 bear themselves without the verse, and therefore 
 stood lamely in the verse. 
 
 Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how 
 thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these 
 frees ] 
 
 Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the 
 wonder, before you came; for look here what I 
 found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rhymed 
 since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, 
 which I can hardly remember. 
 
 Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ] 
 
 Ros. Is it a man ] 
 
 Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
 neck : Change you color 1 
 
 Ros. I pr'ythee, who] 
 
 Cel. lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends 
 to meet : but mountains may be removed with earth- 
 quakes, and so encounter. 
 
 Ros. Nay, but who is it? 
 
 Cel. Is it possible ] 
 
 Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary 
 vehemence, tell me who it is. 
 
 Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonder- 
 ful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after 
 that out of all whooping ! 
 
 Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, 
 though lam caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet 
 and hose in my disposition ? One inch of delay more 
 is a South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, 
 who is it] quickly, and speak apace : I would thou 
 couldst stammer, that thou niightst pour this con- 
 cealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of 
 narrow-mouth'd bottle ; either too much at once, or 
 none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy 
 mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. 
 
 Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. 
 
 Ros. Is he of God's making] What manner 
 of man 1 Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth 
 a beard ] 
 
 Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 
 
 Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will 
 be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, 
 if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. 
 
 Cel. It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the 
 wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. 
 
 Rvs. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak 
 6ad brow, and true maid. 5 
 
 Cel. I' faith, coz, 'tis he. 
 
 Ros. Orlando] 
 
 Cel. Orlando. 
 
 Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my 
 doublet and hose ] — What did he, when thou saw'st 
 him? What said he] How look'd he] Wherein 
 went he? 3 What makes he here ] Did he ask for 
 me ? Where remains he ] How parted he with thee 1 
 and when shalt thou see him again ] Answer me in 
 one word. 
 
 Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's * mouth 
 first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this 
 age's size : To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, 
 ia more than to answer in a catechism. 
 
 hos. But doth he know that I am in this forest, 
 and in man's apparel ] Looks he as freshly as he 
 did the day he wrestled ? 
 
 Ce.. It is as easy to count atomies,* as to resolve 
 
 • Speak seriously and honestly. * How was he dressed f 
 « The giant of Rabelais. » Atoms 
 
 the propositions of a lover: — but take a taste o. 
 my finding him, and relish it with a good observance, 
 I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. 
 
 Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it 
 drops forth such fruit. 
 
 Cel. Give me audience, good madam 
 
 Ros. Proceed. 
 
 Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded 
 knight. 
 
 Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it 
 well becomes the ground. 
 
 Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee: it 
 curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like 
 a hunter. 
 
 Ros. ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 
 
 Cel. I would sing my song without a burden, 
 thou bring'st me out of tune. 
 
 Ros. Do you not know I am a woman] when I 
 think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 
 
 Enter Orlando and Jaq.tjes. 
 
 Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not 
 here] 
 
 Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. 
 
 [Celia and Rosalind retire. 
 
 Jag. I thank you for your company ; but, good 
 faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. 
 
 Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion sake, J 
 thank you too for your society. 
 
 Jag. God be with you ; let's meet as little as 
 we can. 
 
 Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 
 
 Jag. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 
 love-songs in their barks. 
 
 Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with 
 reading them ill-favoredly. 
 
 Jag. Rosalind is your love's name ] 
 
 Orl. Yes, just. 
 
 Jag. I do not like her name. 
 
 Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when 
 she was christen'd. 
 
 Jag. What stature is she of] 
 
 Orl. Just as high as my heart. 
 
 Jag. You are full of pretty answers : Have you 
 not been acquainted with goldsmith's wives, and 
 conn'd them out of rings] 
 
 Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted 
 cloth, 6 from whence you have studied your ques- 
 tions. 
 
 Jag. You have a nimble wit ; I think it was made 
 of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me 1 
 and we two will rail against our mistress the world 
 and all our misery. 
 
 Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but 
 myself; against whom I know most faults. 
 
 Jag. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. 
 
 Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best 
 virtue. I am weary of you. 
 
 Jag. By my troth, 1 was seeking for a fool, when 
 I found you. 
 
 Orl. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in 
 and you shall see him. 
 
 Jag. There shall I see mine own figure. 
 
 Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or s 
 cipher. 
 
 Jag. I'll tarry no longer with you : farewell, gooc 
 signior love. 
 
 Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good 
 monsieur melancholy. 
 
 [Exit Jaq.ues. — Celia and Rosalind 
 come forward. 
 
 • An allusion to the moral sentences issuing from th« 
 mouths of figures on old tapestry v .angings. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 207 
 
 Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, 
 and under that habit play the knave with him. — 
 Do you hear, forester? 
 
 Orl. Very well ; what would you ] 
 
 Ros. I pray you, what is't o'clock] 
 
 Or, You should ask me what time o'day , there's 
 no clock in the forest. 
 
 Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest ; 
 else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, 
 would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a 
 clock. 
 
 Orl. And why not the swift foot of time 1 had 
 not. that been as proper? 
 
 Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers 
 paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time 
 ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time 
 gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. 
 
 Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal! 
 
 Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, 
 between the contract of her marriage, and the day 
 it is solemnized : if the interim be but a se'nnight, 
 time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of 
 seven years. 
 
 Orl. Who ambles time withal] 
 
 Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich 
 man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps 
 easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives 
 merrily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking 
 the burden of lean and wasteful learning ; the other 
 knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These 
 time ambles withal. 
 
 Orl. Who doth he gallop withal 1 
 
 Ros. With a thief to the gallows ; for though he 
 go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too 
 soon there. 
 
 Orl. Who stays it still withal ] 
 
 Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep 
 between term and term, and then they perceive not 
 how time moves. 
 
 Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth ] 
 
 Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in 
 the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. 
 
 Orl. Are you a native of this place] 
 
 Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where 
 she is kindled. 
 
 Orl. Your accent is something finer than you 
 could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 
 
 Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed, 
 an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, 
 who was in his youth an inland man ; one that 
 knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I 
 have heard him read many lectures against it ; and 
 I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd 
 with so many giddy offences as he hath generally 
 tax'd their whole sex withal. 
 
 Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils, 
 that he laid to the charge of women] 
 
 Ros. There were none principal ; they were all 
 like one another, as half-pence are : every one fault 
 seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to 
 match it. 
 
 OrL I pr'ythee recount some of them. 
 
 Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physic, but 
 on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the 
 forest, that abuses our young plants with carving 
 Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon haw- 
 thorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deify- 
 ing the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy- 
 monger, I would give him some good counsel, for 
 he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. 
 
 Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, 
 tell me your remedy. 
 
 Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: 
 
 he taught me how to know a man in love ; in which ^ 
 cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. 
 Orl. What were his marks] 
 Ros. A lean ciieek; which you have not: a blue 
 eye, and sunken; which you have not: an un- 
 questionable spirit ; T which you have not: a beard 
 neglected ; which you have not: — but I pardon you 
 for that; for, simply, your having 8 in beard is a 
 younger brother's revenue: — Then your hose should 
 be ungarter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve 
 unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about 
 you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you 
 are no such man; you are rather point-device" in 
 your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seem- 
 ing the lover of any other. 
 
 Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee be- 
 lieve I love. 
 
 Ros. Me believe it ] you may as soon make her 
 that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is 
 apter to do, than to confess she does :*that is one of 
 the points in the which women still give the lie tc 
 their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you hf 
 that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosa 
 lind is so admired ] 
 
 Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand 
 of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. 
 
 Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
 speak ] 
 
 Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
 much. 
 
 Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell you, 
 deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad- 
 men do : and the reason why they are not so punish- 
 ed and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that 
 the whippers are in love too : Yet I profess curing 
 it by counsel. 
 
 Orl. Did you ever cure any so] 
 Ros. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was to 
 imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set him 
 every day to woo me : At which time would I, being 
 but a moonish' youth, grieve, be effeminate, change- 
 able, longing, and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish, 
 shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for 
 every passion something, and for no passion truly 
 any thing, as boys and women are for the most part 
 cattle of this color; would now like him, now 
 loath him; then entertain him, then forswear him; 
 now weep for him, then laugh at him, that I drave 
 my suitor from his mad humor of love, to a living 
 humor of madness; which was, to forswear the full 
 stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely 
 monastic : And thus I cured him ; and this way 
 will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as 
 a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one 
 spot of love in't. 
 
 Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 
 Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me 
 Rosalind,and come every day to my cote,and woo me. 
 Orl. Now by the faith of my love, I will ; tell 
 me where it is. 
 
 Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; 
 and, by the way, you shall tell me where in ;hts 
 forest you live : Will you go ] 
 
 Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 
 Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind: — Come, 
 sister, will you go ] [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— The S*me. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audhey ; Ja«.ue? at a 
 distance, observing them. 
 Touch. Come apace, good Audrey: I will fetci 
 
 1 A spirit averse to malversation 
 * Over-exact. 
 
 Estate. 
 'Variable 
 
208 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT 
 
 Acr III 
 
 up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey] am I 
 the man yet 1 Doth my simple feature content you? 
 
 Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what 
 features 1 
 
 Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as 
 the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among 
 the Goths. 
 
 Jaq. knowledge ill-inhabited! 3 worse than 
 Jove in a thatch'd house ! [Aside. 
 
 Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- 
 stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for- 
 ward child, understanding, it strikes a man more 
 •lead than a great reckoning in a little room : — 
 TVuly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. 
 
 A ud. I do not know what poetical is : Is it honest 
 in deed, and word ] Is it a true thing ] 
 
 Touch. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the 
 most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and 
 what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, 
 they do feign. 
 
 Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made 
 me poetical? 
 
 Touch. I do, truly: for thou swearest to me, 
 thou art honest ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might 
 have some hope thou didst feign. 
 
 Aud. Would you not have me honest] 
 
 Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favor'd : 
 for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a 
 sauce to sugar. 
 
 Jaq. A material fool ! 3 . [Aside. 
 
 Aud. Well I am not fair; and therefore I pray 
 the gods make me honest! 
 
 Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a 
 foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 
 
 Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods 
 I am foul. 4 
 
 Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! 
 sluttishness may come hereafter. But be as it may 
 be, I will many thee : and to that end, I have been 
 with sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next vil- 
 lage ; who hath promised to meet me in this place 
 of the forest, and to couple us. 
 
 Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside. 
 
 Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! 
 
 Touch. Amen. A manmay,ifhe were of afear- 
 ful heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here we have 
 no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn- 
 beasts. But what though] Courage! As horns are 
 odious, they are necessary. It is said, — Many a man 
 knows no end of his goods : right ; many a man has 
 good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that 
 is the dowry of his wife ; 'tis none of his own getting. 
 
 Horns] Even so: Poor men alone; No, 
 
 no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the 
 rascal. 5 Is the single man therefore blessed ] No: 
 As a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so 
 is the forehead of a married man more honorable 
 than the bare brow of a bachelor : and by how much 
 defence 6 is better than no skill, by so much is a 
 horn more precious than to want. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. 
 Here comes sir Oliver: — Sir Oliver Mar-text, you 
 are well met : Will you despatch us here under this 
 tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ] 
 
 Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman] 
 
 Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. 
 
 Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar- 
 riage is not lawful. 
 
 Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; 
 I'll give her. 
 
 » Ill-lodged. » A fool with matter in him. 
 
 * Homely. » Lean de/r are called rascal deer. 
 
 The art of fencing 
 
 Touch. Good even, good master What ye calVt . 
 How do you, sir] You are very well met: God'ild 
 you 1 for your last company: T Jim very glad to see 
 you: — Even a toy in hand here, sir:- -Nay; pray 
 be cover'd. 
 
 Jaq. Will you be married, motley] 
 Touch. As the ox hath his bow, 8 sir, the horse 
 his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his 
 desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be 
 nibbling. 
 
 Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
 be married under a bush, like a beggar ] Get you to 
 church, and have a good priest that can tell you 
 what marriage is: this fellow will but join you to- 
 gether as they join wainscot; then one of you will 
 prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, 
 warp, warp. 
 
 Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better 
 to be married of him than of another : for he is not 
 like to marry me well; and not being well married, 
 it will be a. good excuse for me hereafter to leave 
 my wife. [Aside. 
 
 Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 
 Touch. Come, sweet Audrey; 
 We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. 
 Farewell, good master Oliver! 
 Not — O sweet Oliver, 
 O brave Oliver, 
 Leave me not behi' thee , 
 But — Wind away, 
 Begone, I say, 
 I will not to wedding wi' thee. 
 [Exeunt Jaq.., Touch., and Audrey 
 
 Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave 
 of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Before a Cottage. 
 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia 
 
 Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. 
 
 Cel. Do, I pr'ythee ; but yet have the grace to 
 consider, that tears do not become a man. 
 
 Ros. But have I not cause to weep ] 
 
 Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; there- 
 fore weep. 
 
 Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling color. 
 
 Cel. Something browner than Judas's : marry, 
 his kisses are Judas's own children. 
 
 Ros. I'faith his hair is of a good color. 
 
 Cel. An excellent color: your chesnut was ever 
 the only color. 
 
 Rss. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the 
 touch of holy bread. 
 
 Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana : 
 a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli- 
 giously ; the very ice of chastity is in them. 
 
 Ros. But why did he swear he would come this 
 morning, and comes not] 
 
 Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him 
 
 Ros. Do you think so ] 
 
 Cel. Yes : I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a 
 horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think 
 him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm- 
 eaten nut. 
 
 Ros. Not true in love ] 
 
 Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think, he is not in, 
 
 Ros. You have heard him swear downright he 
 was. 
 
 Cel. Was is not is.* besides the oath of a lover 
 is no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are 
 both the confirmers of false reckonings : He attends 
 here in the forest on the duke your father. 
 * God reward you. • Yoke. 
 
•ScENfc V* 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 209 
 
 Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much 
 qucsti in 9 with him: He asked me of what parent- 
 age I was: I told him, of as good as he; so he 
 laugh 'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fa- 
 nners, when there is suth a man as Orlando] 
 
 Cei 0, that's a brave man ! he writes brave 
 verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and 
 breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the 
 heart of his lover; as a puny tilter that spurs his 
 horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble 
 goose ; but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly 
 guides • — Who comes here ? 
 
 Enter CoitiN. 
 
 Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired 
 After the shepherd that complain'd of love; 
 Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, 
 Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
 That was his mistress. 
 
 Cel. Well, and what of him ? 
 
 Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
 Between the pale complexion of true love 
 And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, 
 Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 
 If you will mark it. 
 
 Ros. 0, come, let us remove ; 
 
 The sight of lovers feedeth those in love : — 
 Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say 
 I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Another Part of the Forest. 
 Enter Silvius and Phebe. 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: 
 Say, that you love me not; but say not so 
 In bitterness : The common executioner, 
 Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes 
 
 hard, 
 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, 
 But first begs pardon: Will you sterner be 
 Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ? 
 Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corns, at a distance. 
 
 Phe. I would not be thy executioner; 
 I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
 Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye: 
 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, 
 That eyes. — that are the frail'st and softest things, 
 Who shut their coward gates on atomies, — 
 Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers ! 
 Now I do frown on thee with all my heart : 
 And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee; 
 Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down; 
 Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, 
 Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. 
 Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee: 
 Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
 Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, 
 The cicatrice and capable impressure 
 Thy palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes, 
 Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not 
 Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes 
 That can do hurt. 
 
 Sil. dear Phebe, 
 
 1 f ever, (as that ever may be near,) 
 You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy' 
 Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
 That love's keen arrows make. 
 
 Phe. But, till that time, 
 
 Come not thou near me; and, when that time comes, 
 Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; 
 A.s, till that time, I shall not pity thee. 
 
 Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who 
 might be your mother, 
 * Con rsrsation ' Love 
 
 That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
 
 Over the wretched? What though you have moi* 
 
 beauty, 
 (As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
 Than without candle may go dark to bed,) 
 Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? 
 Why, what means this ? Why do you look on me ' 
 I see no more in you, than in the ordinary 
 Of nature's sale-work : — Od's my little life ! 
 I think she means to tangle my eyes too: — 
 No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it; 
 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, 
 Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream, 
 That can entame my spirits to your worship. — 
 You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow hei, 
 Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? 
 You are a thousand times a properer man, 
 Than she a woman: 'Tis such fools as you, 
 That make the world full of ill-favored children: 
 'Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her; 
 And out of you she sees herself more proper, 
 Than any of her lineaments can show her. — 
 But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees, 
 And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love : 
 For I must tell you friendly in your ear, — 
 Sell when you can ; you are not for all markets : 
 Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer; 
 Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
 So take her to thee, shepherd; — fare you well. 
 
 Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year to- 
 gether ; 
 I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. 
 
 Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and 
 she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be so, as 
 fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll 
 sauce her with bitter words. — Why look you so 
 upon me? 
 
 Phe. For no ill-will I bear you. 
 
 Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with nit;. 
 For I am falser than vows made in wine : 
 Besides, I like you not : If you will know my house, 
 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by : — 
 Will you go, sister ? — Shepherd, ply her hard : - - 
 Come, sister: — Shepherdess, look on him better, 
 And be not proud : though all the world could see, 
 None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
 Come to our flock. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corns, 
 
 Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of 
 might ; 
 Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight. 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, — 
 
 Phe. Ha! what say 'st thou, Silvius? 
 
 Sil, Sweet Phebe, pity me. 
 
 Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 
 
 Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be; 
 If you do sorrow at my grief in love, 
 By giving love, your sorrow and my grief 
 Were both extermin'd. 
 
 Phe. Thou hast my love : Is not that neighborly ? 
 
 Sil. I would have you. 
 
 Phe. Why, that were covetousnes* 
 
 Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee ; 
 And yet it is not, that I bear thee love: 
 But, since that thou canst talk of love so well, 
 Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, 
 I will endure; and I'll employ thee too 
 But do not look for further recompense, 
 Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'ri 
 
 Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love, 
 And I in such a poverty of grace, 
 That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
 To glean the broken ears after the man 
 
S10 
 
 AS YOC LIKE IT. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 That the main harvest reaps : lose now and then 
 A seattcr'd smile, and that I'll live upon. 
 
 Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me 
 
 erewhile? 
 Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; 
 A-nd he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, 
 That the old carlot 5 once was master of. 
 
 Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ; 
 'Tis but a peevish 3 boy :• — yet he talks well ; — 
 But what care I for words ? yet words do well, 
 When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. 
 It is a pretty youth: — not very pretty: — 
 But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him: 
 He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him 
 Is hk complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
 Did make ofTence, his eye did heal it up. 
 lie is not tall; yet for his years he's tall: 
 His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : 
 There was a pretty redness in his lip; 
 A little riper and more lusty red 
 
 Than that mixed in his cheek ; 'twas /.wt the diffi» 
 
 rence 
 Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damasi_ 
 There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd hira 
 In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
 To fall in love with hirr. but for my part, 
 I love him not, nor hate .lim not ; and yet 
 I have more cause to ha r « him than to love him : 
 For what had he to do t.» chide at me ? 
 He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black 1 
 And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: 
 I marvel, why I answer'd not again : 
 But that's all one; omittance is no quittance. 
 I'll write to him a very taunting letter, 
 And thou shalt bear it: Wilt thou, Silvius? 
 
 Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 
 
 Phe. I'll write it straight, 
 
 The matter's in my head, and in my heart : 
 I will be bitter with him, and passing short: 
 Go with me, Silvius. [Exeur 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Same. 
 Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaq.ues. 
 
 Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better 
 .acquainted with thee. 
 
 Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
 
 Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing. 
 
 Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are 
 abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every 
 modern censure, worse than drunkards. 
 
 Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 
 
 Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 
 
 Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 
 which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is 
 fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor 
 the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, 
 which is politic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ;* 
 nor the lover's, which is all these : but it is a me- 
 lancholy of mine own, compounded of many sim- 
 ples, extracted from many objects* and, indeed, 
 the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which 
 my often rumination wraps me, is a most humor- 
 ous sadness. 
 
 Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great 
 reason to be sad : I fear, you have sold your own 
 lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much, 
 and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
 hands. 
 
 Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 
 Enter Orlando. 
 
 Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I 
 had rather have a fool to make me merry, than 
 experience to make me sad ; and to travel for it too. 
 
 Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 
 
 Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in 
 blank verse. [Exit. 
 
 Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller : Look, you 
 lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable 5 all the benefits 
 of your own country ; be out of love with your na- 
 tivity, and almost zhide God for making you that 
 countenance you dre: or I will scarce think you 
 have swam in a gondola. — Why, how now, Orlan- 
 do! where have you been all this while? You a 
 lover? — An you serve me such another trick, nev- 
 er come in my sight more. 
 
 Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour 
 of my promise. 
 
 i Peasant » Silly. * Trifling. ' Undervalue. 
 
 Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? He tha 
 will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and 
 break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute 
 in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that 
 Cupid hath clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I war- 
 rant him heart-whole. 
 
 Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in 
 my sight ; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. 
 
 Orl. Of a snail? 
 
 Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, 
 he carries his house on his head ; a better jointure, 
 I think, than you can make a woman : Besides, h 
 brings his destiny with him. 
 
 Orl. What's that? 
 
 Ros. Why, horns ; which such as you are fain 
 to be beholden to your wives for : but he comes 
 armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of 
 his wife. 
 
 Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind 
 is virtuous. 
 
 Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath 
 a Rosalind of a better leer 6 than you. 
 
 Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in 
 a holiday humor, and like enough to consent : — 
 What would you say to me now, an I were your 
 very very Rosalind ? 
 
 Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 
 
 Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when 
 you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might 
 take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when 
 they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking 
 (God warn us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 
 
 Orl. How, if the kiss be denied ? 
 
 Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there 
 begins new matter. 
 
 Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved 
 mistress? 
 
 Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your 
 mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker 
 than my wit. 
 
 Orl. What, of my suit ? 
 
 Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of 
 your suit. Am M)t I your Rosalind ? 
 
 Orl. I take sou e joy to say you are, because I 
 would be talking f her. 
 
 « Omp'exinr. 
 
SCENF II 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 211 
 
 Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have 
 you. 
 
 Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. 
 
 Ros. No, 'faith, die by attorney. The poor world 
 is almost six thousand year= ]J ) an j j n a ll this 
 time there was not any man uied in his own person, 
 videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilu-s had his brains 
 dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what 
 he could to die before ; and he is one of the pat- 
 terns of love. Leander, he would have lived many 
 a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had 
 not been for a hot midsummer night : for, good 
 youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hel- 
 lespont, and being taken with the cramp, was 
 drowned ; and the foolish chroniclers of that age 
 found it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all 
 lies ; men have died from time to time, and worms 
 have eaten them, but not for love. 
 
 Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this 
 mind ; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 
 
 Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But 
 come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more com- 
 ing-on disposition ; and ask me what you will, I 
 will grant it. 
 
 Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. Yes, 'faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, 
 and ail. 
 
 Orl. And wilt thou have me 7 
 
 Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 
 
 Orl. What say'st thou] 
 
 Ros. Are you not good? 
 
 Orl. I hope so. 
 
 Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a 
 good thing] — Come, sister, you shall be the priest, 
 and marry us. — Give me your hand, Orlando: — 
 What do you say, sister? 
 
 Orl. Pray thee, marry us. 
 
 Cel. I cannot say the words. 
 
 Ros. You must begin, — Will you, Orlando, — 
 
 Cel. Go to: — Will you, Orlando, have to wife 
 this Rosalind] 
 
 Orl. I will. 
 
 Ros. Ay, but when] 
 
 Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us. 
 
 Ros. Then you must say, — I take thee, Rosalind, 
 for wife. 
 
 Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 
 
 Ros. I might ask you for your commission; 
 but, — I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: 
 There a girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly, 
 a woman's thought runs before her actions. 
 
 Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged. 
 
 Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her, 
 after you have married her. 
 
 Orl. For ever and a day. 
 
 Ro! . Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Or- 
 lando men are April when they woo, December 
 when they wed : maids are May when they are 
 maids, but the sky changes when they arc wives. I 
 will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock- 
 pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot 
 against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape ; more 
 giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep 
 for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will 
 do that when you are disposed to be merry ; I will 
 laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined 
 \.o sleep. 
 
 Orl. But will my Rosalind do so] 
 
 Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 
 
 Orl. O, but she is wise. 
 
 Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do 
 ttiis: th° wiser, the way warder: Make the doors 1 
 " Bax tbe doors. 
 
 upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the caue- 
 ment; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; 
 stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chim 
 ney. 
 
 Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, h«' 
 might say, — Wit, whither wilt ? 
 
 Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till 
 you met your wife's wit going to your neighbor's 
 bed. 
 
 Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse 
 that] 
 
 Ros. Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there. 
 You shall never take her without her answer, un- 
 less you take her without her tongue. O, that 
 woman that cannot make her fault her husband's 
 occasion, let her never nurse her child heiself, for 
 she will breed it like a fool. 
 
 Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave 
 thee. 
 
 Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 
 
 Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two 
 o'clock I will be with thee again. 
 
 Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; — I knew 
 what you would prove ; my friends told me as much, 
 and I thought no less : — that flattering tongue of 
 yours won me : — 'tis but one cast away, and so, — 
 come, death. — Two o'clock is your hour] 
 
 Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so 
 God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not 
 dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, 
 or come one minute behind your hour, I will think 
 you the most pathetical break-promise, and the 
 most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her 
 you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the 
 gross band of the unfaithful : therefore, beware my 
 censure, and keep your promise. 
 
 Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert in- 
 deed my Rosalind; So adieu. 
 
 Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines 
 all such offenders, and let time try : Adieu. 
 
 [Exit Orlando. 
 
 Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your 
 love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose 
 plucked over your head, and show the world what 
 the bird hath done to her own nest. 
 
 Ros. coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that 
 thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in 
 love! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath 
 an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. 
 
 Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you 
 pour affection in, it runs out. 
 
 Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, 
 that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and 
 born of madness ; that blind rascally boy, that abuses 
 every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him 
 be judge how deep I am in love: — I'll tell thee, 
 Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: 
 I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. 
 
 Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter J aq,uks and Lords, in the habit of Foresters 
 
 Jan. Which is he .hat killed the deer] 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, it was I. 
 
 Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman 
 conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's 
 horns upon his head, for a branch of victory :— 
 Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? 
 
 2 Lord. Yes, sir. 
 
 Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it he in tune 
 so it make noise enough. 
 
212 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 S3NG. 
 
 1. What shall he have that kill'd the deer? 
 
 2. His leather skin and horns to wear. 
 
 1. Then sing him home: 
 Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn;~\The «*t 
 // was a crest ere thou wast born; J burden. 8 
 
 1. Thy father's father wore it; 
 
 2. And thy father bore it: 
 
 All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, 
 
 Ts not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Forest. 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two 
 j'clock? and here much Orlando! 
 
 Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled 
 brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone 
 forth — to sleep: Look, who comes here. 
 Enter Silvius. 
 
 Sil. My errand is to you. fair youth ; — 
 My gentle Phebe bid me give you this ; 
 
 [Giving a letter. 
 I know not the contents ; but, as I guess, 
 By the stern brow, and waspish action 
 Which she did use as she was writing of it, 
 It bears an angry tenor: pardon me, 
 I am but as a guiltless messenger. 
 
 Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, 
 And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: 
 She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners ; 
 She calls me proud ; and, that she could not love me 
 Were man as rare as phoenix ; Od's my will ! 
 Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : 
 Why writes she so to me ? — Well, shepherd, well, 
 This is a letter of your own device. 
 
 Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ; 
 Phebe did write it. 
 
 Bos. Come, come, you are a tool, 
 
 And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
 I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, 
 A freestone-color'd hand ; I verily did think 
 That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; 
 She has a huswife's hand: but that's no matter: 
 I say, she never did invent this letter : 
 This is a man's invention, and his hand. 
 
 Sil. Sure, it is hers. 
 
 Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, 
 A style for challengers ; why she defies me, 
 Like Turk to Christian : woman's gentle brain 
 Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, 
 Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect 
 Than in their countenance : — Will you hear the 
 letter ? 
 
 Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; 
 Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 
 
 Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how the tyrant 
 writes. 
 Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, [Reads. 
 Tlud a maiden's heart hath burn'd? — 
 
 Can a woman rail thus? 
 <S/7. Call you this railing] 
 
 Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
 
 Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? 
 
 Did you ever hear such railing? — 
 
 Whiles the eye of man diet woo me, 
 That could do no vengeance to me. — 
 
 Meaning me a beast. — 
 
 If the scorn of your bright eyne 
 
 Have power to raise such loie in mine. 
 Alack, in me what strange effect 
 Would they work in mild aspect? 
 Whiles you chid me, I did love; 
 How then might your prayers movtf 
 He, that brings this love to thee, 
 Little knows this love in me: 
 And by him seal up thy mind; 
 Whether that thy youth and kind* 
 Will the faithful offer take 
 Of me, and all that I can make; 
 Or else by him my love deny, 
 And then I'll study how to die. 
 
 Sil. Call you tins chiding ? 
 
 Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! 
 
 Ros. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no pity. 
 — Wilt thou lovesuch a woman?-— What, to mak<* 
 thee an instrument, and play false strains upon 
 thee! not to be endured ! — Well, go your way 10 
 her, (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) 
 and say this to her: — That if she love me, I charge 
 her to love thee : if she will not, I will never have 
 her, unless thou entreat for her. — If you be a true 
 lover, hence, and not a word ; for hpre comes more 
 company. [Exit Sii.vius 
 
 Enter Oliver. 
 
 Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray you, if you 
 know 
 Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands 
 A sheep-cote, fenced about with olive-trees? 
 
 Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbor 
 bottom, 
 The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, 
 Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: 
 But at this hour the house doth keep itself, 
 There's none within. 
 
 Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
 Then I should know you by description: 
 Such garments, and such years : The boy is fair, 
 Of female favor, and bestows himself 
 Like a ripe sister: but the woman low, 
 And browner than her brother. Are not you 
 The owner of the house I did enquire for? 
 
 Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. 
 
 Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both; 
 And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, 
 He sends this bloody napkin ; Are you he ? 
 
 Ros. lam: What must we understand by this? 
 
 Oli. Some of my shame ; if you will know of me 
 What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
 This handkerchief was stain'd. 
 
 Cel. I pray you tell it 
 
 Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from 
 
 you, 
 
 He left a promise to return again 
 Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest, 
 Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
 Lo, what befell ! he threw his eye aside, 
 And, mark, what object did present itself! 
 Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with ag» 
 And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
 A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
 Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck 
 A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, 
 Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'iJ 
 The opening of his mouth; but suddenly 
 Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself, 
 And with indented glides did slip away 
 Into a bush: under which bush's shade 
 A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, 
 Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-Iik« watchj 
 • Nature. 
 
Act V. Scene 1. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 213 
 
 When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis 
 The royal disposition of that beast, 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead: 
 This seen, Orlando did approach the man, 
 And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 
 
 Cel. 0, I have heard him speak of that same 
 brother ; 
 And he did render 8 him the most unnatural 
 That liv'd 'mongst men. 
 
 OIL And well he might so do, 
 
 For well I know he was unnatural. 
 
 Ros. But, to Orlando ;— Did he leave him there, 
 Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness 1 
 
 OIL Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so : 
 But kindness, nobler ever than revenge. 
 And nature, stronger than his just occasion, 
 Made him give battle to the lioness, 
 Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling' 
 From miserable slumber I awak'd. 
 
 Cel \re you his brother] 
 
 Ros Was it you he rescu'd? 
 
 Cel Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill 
 him? 
 
 OIL 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I ; I do not shame 
 To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
 So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
 
 Ros. But for the bloody napkin ? — 
 
 OIL By, and by. 
 
 When from the first to last, betwixt us two, 
 Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd 
 
 As, how I came into that desert place ; 
 
 In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 
 
 Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment, 
 
 Committing me unto my brother's love; 
 
 Who led me instantly unto his cave, 
 
 There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
 
 The lioness had torn some flesh away, 
 
 Which al! this while had bled ; and now he fainted, 
 
 And cry'd, in fainting, jpon Rosalind. 
 Brief, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; 
 And, after some small space, being strong at heart, 
 He sent me hither, stranger as I am, 
 To tell this story, that you might excuse 
 His broken promise, and to give this napkin, 
 Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 
 That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ? sweet Gany 
 mede ? [Rosalind fai?its. 
 
 OIL Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 
 
 Cel. There is more in it : — Cousin — Ganymede ! 
 
 OIL Look, he recovers. 
 
 Ros. I would, I were at home. 
 
 Cel. We'll lead you thither : — 
 I pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 
 
 OIL Be of good cheer, youth : — You a man ? — 
 You lack a man's heart. 
 
 Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would 
 think this was well counterfeited: I pray you, tell 
 your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh 
 ho!— 
 
 OIL This was not counterfeit ; there is too great 
 testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion 
 of earnest. 
 
 Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 
 
 OIL Well then, take a good heart, and coun- 
 terfeit to be a man. 
 
 Ros. So I do: but, i'faith I should have been a 
 woman by right. 
 
 Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; prayycu, 
 draw homewards: — Good sir, go with us. 
 
 OIL That will I, for I must bear answer back 
 How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you 
 commend my counterfeiting to him : — Will you go? 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, 
 gentle Audrey. 
 
 And. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all 
 the old gentleman's saying. 
 
 Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a 
 most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth 
 here in the forest lays claim to you. 
 
 Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis; he hath no interest 
 in me in the world : here comes the man you mean. 
 
 Enter William. 
 
 Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown : 
 By my troth, wc that have good wits, have much to 
 answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. 
 
 Will. Good even, Audrey. 
 
 Aud. God yc good even, William. 
 
 Will. And good even to you, sir. 
 
 Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover, thy 
 head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. 
 How old are you, friend ? 
 
 Will. Five and twenty, sir. 
 
 Touch. A ripe age : Is thy name William ? 
 
 Will. William, sir. 
 
 Touch. A fair name ; Wast born i'the '. rest here? 
 
 Will Ay, sir, I thank God. 
 • P«scriN»- 'Scuffle 
 
 Touch. Thank God; — a good answer : Art rich ? 
 
 Will. 'Faith, sir, so so. 
 
 Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent 
 -and yet it is not; it is but so, so. Art 
 thou wise? 
 
 Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 
 
 Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now re- 
 member a saying : The fool doth think he is wise, 
 but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The 
 heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a 
 grape, would open his lips when he put it into his 
 mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made 
 to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid ? 
 
 Will. I do, sir. 
 
 Touch. Give me your hand: Art thou learned? 
 
 Will. No, sir. 
 
 Touch. Then learn this of me; To have, is to 
 have : For it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, being 
 poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one 
 doth empty the other: For all your writers do con- 
 sent, thutipse is he; now you are not ipse, for I am ba. 
 
 Will. Which he, sir? 
 
 Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman: 
 Therefore, you clown, abandon, — which is, in tho 
 vulgar, leave, — the society, — which in the boorish 
 is, company, — of this female, — which in the com 
 mon is, woman, — which together is, abandon thi> 
 society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest- 
 or, to thy better understanding, ifett ; to wit, I kill 
 
!I4 
 
 AS YDU LIKE IT. 
 
 Act V 
 
 tliec, make thee away, translate thy life into death, 
 thy liberty' into bondage: I will deal in poison with 
 thee, or in bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with 
 thee in faction; I will o'er-run thee with policy; I 
 will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore 
 tremble, and depart. 
 
 And. Do, good William. 
 
 Will. God rest you merry, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Corin. 
 
 Cor. Our master and mistress seek you ; come, 
 away, away. 
 
 Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ; — I attend, 
 I attend. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— The same. 
 Enter Orlando and Oliver. 
 
 Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance 
 you should like her? that, but seeing, you should 
 love herl and, loving, woo ] and, wooing, she should 
 grant] and will you persever to enjoy her] 
 
 OH. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, 
 the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my 
 sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but 
 say with me, I iove Alicna; say with her, that she 
 loves me; consent with both, that we may enjoy 
 each other : it shall be to your good ; for my father's 
 house, and all the revenue that was old sir Row- 
 land's, will I estate upon you, and here live and die 
 a shepherd. 
 
 Enter Rosalind. 
 
 Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding 
 be to-morrow ; thither will I invite the duke, and 
 all his contented followers: Go you, and prepare 
 Aliena ; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. God save you, brother. 
 
 OIL And you, fair sister. 
 
 Ros. 0, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to 
 see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. 
 
 Orl. It is my arm. 
 
 Ros. I thought, thy heart had been wounded 
 with the claws of a lion. 
 
 Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 
 
 Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited 
 to swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief] 
 
 Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 
 
 Ros. O, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true : 
 there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight 
 of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of — I 
 came, saw, and overcame: For your brother and 
 my sister no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner 
 looked, but they loved; no sooner loved, but they 
 sighed; no sooner sighed, but they asked one an- 
 other the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but 
 they sought the remedy : and in these degrees have 
 they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they 
 will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent be- 
 fore marriage: they are in the very wrath of love, 
 and they will together ; clubs cannot part them. 
 
 Orl. They shall be married to-morrow; and I 
 will bid the luke to the nuptial. But, 0, how 
 Ditter a thing it is t > look into happiness through 
 another man's eyes! By so much *.he more shall I 
 to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by 
 how much I shall think my brother happy, in 
 having what he wishes for. 
 
 Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your 
 ."urn for Rosalind] 
 
 Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 
 
 Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle 
 talking. Know of me then, (for now I speak to 
 '«rae purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman 
 ii good concoit: I speak not this, that you should 
 
 bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch 
 I say, I know you are; neither do I labor for a 
 greater esteem than may in some little measure 
 draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and 
 not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that 1 
 can do strange things: I have, since I was three 
 years old, conversed with a magician, most profound 
 in this art, and yet not damnable. If you do love 
 Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it 
 out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you 
 marry her : I know into what straits of fortune she 
 is driven; and it is not impossible to' me, if it ap- 
 pear not inconvenient to you, to set her before 
 your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without 
 any danger. 
 
 Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings] 
 Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, 
 though I say I am a magician: Therefore, put you 
 in your best array, bid your friends ; for if you will 
 be married to-morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, 
 if you will. 
 
 Enter Silvius and. Phf.be. 
 
 Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers 
 
 Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, 
 To show the letter that I writ to you. 
 
 Ros. I care not, if I have : it is my study, 
 To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : 
 You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd; 
 Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 
 
 Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to 
 love. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And I for no woman. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service; — 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And I for no woman. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
 All made of passion, and all made of wishes; 
 All adoration, duty, and observance, 
 All humbleness, all patience, and impatience. 
 All purity, all trial, all observance ; — 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 
 
 Orl. And so am I for Rosaiind. 
 
 Ros. And so am I for no woman. 
 
 Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
 you] [To Rosalind. 
 
 Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
 you] [7b Phebe. 
 
 Orl. Ifthisbeso,why blame you metoloveyou! 
 
 Ros. Who do you speak to, why blame you me 
 to love you? 
 
 Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. 
 
 Ros. Pray you no more of this ; 'tis like the 
 howling of Irish wolves against the moon. — I will 
 help you, [To Silvius.] if I can: — I would love 
 you, [To Phebe.] if I could. — To-morrow meet 
 me all together. — I will marry you, [To Phebe.] if 
 ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow : 
 — I will satisfy you, [To Orlando.] if ever I 
 satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow : 
 — I will content you, [To Silvius.] if what pleases 
 you contents you, and you shall be married to- 
 morrow. — As you [To Orlando.] love Rosalind, 
 meet; — as you [To Silvius.] love Phebe, meet, 
 and as I love no woman, I'll meet. — So, fare you 
 well; I have left you commands. 
 
 4 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 21& 
 
 Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. 
 
 Phe Nor 1. 
 
 Orl. Na, f. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; 
 to-morrow will we be married. 
 
 Aud. I do desire it with all my heart: and hope 
 it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of 
 the world. 2 Here comes two of the banished duke's 
 pages. 
 
 Enter two Pages. 
 
 1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 
 Touch. By my troth, well met: Come, sit, sit, 
 
 and a song. 
 
 2 Page. We are for you : sit i' the middle. 
 
 1 Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without 
 hawking, or spitting, or saying we are hoarse; 
 which are the only prologues to a bad voice ? 
 
 2 Page. I'faith, i'faith ; and both in a tune, like 
 two gipsies on a horse. 
 
 SONG. 
 I. 
 
 It was a lover and his lass, 
 
 With a key, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 That o'er the green corn-Jicld did pass, 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty rank time, 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding,- 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 II. 
 Between the acres of the rye, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 These pretty country folks would lie, 
 
 In spring time, $c. 
 
 III. 
 
 This carol they began that hour, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 How that a life was but a flower 
 
 In spring time, &c. 
 IV. 
 And therefore take the present time, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; 
 For love is crowned with the prime 
 
 In spring time, &c. 
 
 Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there 
 was no greater matter in the ditty, yet the note was 
 very untuneable. 
 
 1 Page. You are deceived, sir ; we kept time, we 
 lost not our time. 
 
 Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time 
 lost to hear such a foolish song. God be with you ; 
 and God mend your voices ! — Come, Audrey. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaq.ues, Orlando, 
 Oliver, and Celia. 
 
 Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
 Can do all this that he hath promised ? 
 
 Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do 
 not; 
 As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. 
 Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 
 Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is 
 urg'd — 
 
 » A married woman. 
 
 You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
 
 [To the Duke. 
 You will bestow 'ier on Orlando here ? 
 
 Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give 
 
 with her. 
 
 Ros. And, you say, you will have her when J 
 
 bring her? [To Orlando. 
 
 Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 
 
 Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? 
 
 [To Phebe. 
 Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. 
 Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me, 
 You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ? 
 Phe. So is the bargain. 
 
 Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will ? 
 
 [To Silvius. 
 Sil. Though to have her and death were both 
 
 one thing. 
 Ros. I havepromis'd to make all this matter even. 
 Keep you your word, duke, to give your daugh- 
 ter ; — 
 You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: — 
 Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me ; 
 Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : — 
 Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her, 
 If she refuse me : — and from hence I go, 
 To make these doubts all even. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia 
 Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy 
 Some lively touches of my daughter's favor. 
 
 Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, 
 Methought he was a brother to your daughter ; 
 But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born; 
 And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
 Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
 Whom he reports to be a great magician, 
 Obscured in the circle of this forest. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and 
 these couples are coming to the ark! Here comes a 
 pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are 
 called fools! 
 
 Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 
 
 Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome : This is 
 the motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often 
 met in the forest : he hath been a courtier, he swears. 
 
 Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to 
 my purgation. I have trod a measure ; 3 I have flat- 
 tered a lady ; I have been politic with my friend, 
 smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three 
 tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have 
 fought one. 
 
 Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 
 
 Touch. 'Faith, we met and found the quarrel 
 was upon the seventh cause. 
 
 Jaq. How seventh cause ? — Good my lord, like 
 this fellow. 
 
 Duke S. I like him very well. 
 
 Touch. God 'ild you, sir ; I desire you of the 
 like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the 
 country copulatives, to swear, and to forswear; ac- 
 cording as marriage binds, and blood breaks: — A 
 poor virgin, sir, an ill-favored thing, sir, but mine 
 own ; a poor humor of mine, sir, to take that that 
 no man else will : Rich honesty dwells like a miser, 
 sir, in a poor house; as your pearl, in your fou' 
 oyster. 
 
 Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and seu 
 tentious. 
 
 Touch. According to tne tool's bolt, sir, and such 
 dulcet diseases. 
 
 * A ctately g.-'omn dance. 
 
216 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Acr¥ 
 
 Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you 
 find the quarrel on the seventh cause? 
 
 Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed; — Bear 
 your body more seeming, Audrey: — as thus, sir, 
 I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ; 
 he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, 
 he was in the mind it was: This is called the Retort 
 courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well 
 cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please 
 himself: This is called the Quip modest. If again, 
 it wis not well cut, he disabled my judgment : This 
 is («iil'd the Reply churlish. If again, it was not 
 well cut, he would answer, I spake not true : This 
 is cali'd the Reproof valiant. If again, it was not 
 well tut, he would say, I lie: This is called the 
 Countercheck quarrelsome: and so to the Lie cir- 
 cumstantial, and the Lie direct. 
 
 Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not 
 well cut] 
 
 Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie cir- 
 cumstantial, nor he durs f mot give me the Lie di- 
 rect; and so we measured swords and parted. 
 
 Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the de- 
 grees of the lie? 
 
 Touch. sir, we quarrel in print, by the book ; 
 as you have books for good manners : I will name 
 you the degrees. The first, the Retort courteous ; 
 the second, the Quip modest; the third the Reply 
 churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant ; the fifth, 
 the Countercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie 
 with circumstance; the seventh the Lie direct. 
 All these you may avoid but the lie direct; and 
 you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when 
 seven justices could not take up a quarrel : but when 
 the parties were met themselves, one of them thought 
 but of an If as If you said so, then I said so,- and 
 they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If is 
 the only peace maker ; much virtue in If. 
 
 Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? he's as 
 good at any thing, and yet a fool. 
 
 Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, 
 and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. 
 Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind in womati's 
 clothes,- and Celia. 
 Still Music. 
 Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven, 
 When earthly things made even 
 
 Atone together. 
 Good duke, receive thy daughter, 
 Hymen from heaven brought her, 
 
 Yea, brought her hither,- 
 That thou mightstjoin her hand with his 
 Whose heart within her bosom is. 
 Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [7b Duke S. 
 To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 [7b Orlando. 
 Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my 
 
 daughter. 
 Orl If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosa- 
 lind. 
 Phe. If sight and shape be true, 
 Why then, — my love, adieu ! 
 
 Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he : — 
 
 [To Duke S. 
 il have no husband, if you be not he : — 
 
 [To Orlando. 
 jYor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 
 
 [To Poebe. 
 Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion : 
 'Tis I must make conclusion 
 Of these most strange events: 
 
 Here's eight that must take hands. 
 To join in Hymen's bands, 
 
 If truth holds true contents. 4 
 You and you no cross shall part: 
 
 [To Orlando and Rosalind, 
 You and you are heart in heart: 
 
 [To Oliver and Celia. 
 You [7b Phebe.] to his love must accord, 
 Or have a woman to your lord : — 
 You and you are sure together, 
 
 [To Touchstone and Ausa.'V 
 As the winter to foul weather. 
 Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, 
 Feed yourselves with questioning ; 
 That reason wonder may diminish, 
 How thus we met, and these things finish. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Wedding is great Juno's crown,- 
 blessed bond of board and bed.' 
 
 ' Tis Hymen peoples every town,- 
 High wedlock then be honored: 
 Honor, high honor and renown, 
 To Hymen, god of every town! 
 
 Duke S. my dear niece, welcome thou art to me 
 Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 
 
 Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine 
 Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 
 
 [To Silvius 
 
 Enter Jaq.ues de Bois. 
 
 Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word., or 
 two; 
 I am the second son of old sir Rowland, 
 That bring these tidings to this fair assembly : — 
 Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
 Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
 Address'd a mighty power! which were on foot, 
 In his own conduct, purposely to take 
 His brother here, and put him to the sword : 
 And to the skirts of this wild wood he came; 
 Where, meeting with an old religious man, 
 After some questions with him, was converted 
 Both from his enterprise, and from the world: 
 His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother, 
 And all their lands restor'd to them again 
 That were with him exil'd: This to be true, 
 I do engage my life. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, young man; 
 
 Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding: 
 To one, his lands withheld: and to the other. 
 A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
 First, in this forest, let us do those ends 
 That here were well begun, and well begot : 
 And after, every of this happy number, 
 That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us, 
 Shall share the good of our returned fortune, 
 According to the measure of their states. 
 Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity, 
 And fall into our rustic revelry : — 
 Play, music ; — and you brides and bridegrooms all, 
 With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 
 
 Jaq. Sir, by your patience ; if I heard you rightly. 
 The duke hath put on a religious life, 
 And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 
 
 Jaq. de B. He hath. 
 
 Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites 
 There is much matter to be heard and learn'd.-- 
 You to your former honor I bequeath ; 
 
 [7b Duke 8 
 Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it*- 
 
 * Unless truth fail of veracity. 
 
 I 
 
ScEKE IV. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 •217 
 
 Vou [7b Orlando.] to a love, that your true faith 
 doth merit: — 
 
 Vou [To Oliver.] to your land, and love, and great 
 allies : — 
 
 ifou [To Silvius.] to a long and well deserved 
 bed;— 
 
 And you [To Touchstone.] to wrangling, for thy 
 loving voyage 
 
 Is but for two months victual'd: — So to your plea- 
 sures ; 
 
 I am for other than foi dancing measures. 
 Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 
 Jaq. To see no pastime, I: — what you wouic 
 have 
 I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit 
 Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin these 
 rites, 
 And we do trust they'll end in true delights. 
 
 [A danu 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the 
 epilogue: but it is no more unhandsome, than to 
 soe the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good 
 wine needs no bush, 'tis true, that a good play needs 
 no epilogue: Yet to good wine they do use good 
 bushes; and good plays prove the better by the 
 help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, 
 that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate 
 with you in the behalf of a good play 1 I am not 
 furnished 5 like a beggar, therefore to beg will not 
 become me: my way is. to coniure you; "ind I'll 
 begin with the women. I charge you, '.Truer, 
 • Dhow. 
 
 for the love you bear to men, to like as much >,t 
 this play as pleases them : and so I charge you, O 
 men, for the love you bear to women, (as I perceive 
 by your simpering, none of you hate them,) that 
 between you and the women, the play may p)»3.s'» 
 If I were a woman, I would kiss as many oi you 
 as had beards that pleased me, complexions that 
 liked me: 6 and breaths that I defied not; and. I 
 am sure, as many as have good beards, or good 
 faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when 
 I make curt'sy, bid me farewell. [Exeuif/-. 
 
 • That I liked. 
 
 I 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 PERSONfe REPRESENTED. 
 
 King of Franck. 
 Duke of Florence. 
 
 Bertram, Count of Rousillon. 
 Lafeu, an old Lord. 
 Pabolles, a Follower of Bertram. 
 Several young French Lords, that serve with Ber- 
 tram in the Florentine War. 
 
 Steward, ) Sen . an{s to ^ e Countess of Rousillon. 
 Clown, ) J 
 
 A Page. 
 
 Countess of Rousillon, Mother to Bertram. 
 Helena, ct Gentlewoman protectedby the Countcsi 
 An old Widow of Florence. 
 Diana, Daughter to the Widow. 
 
 ■^ ' > Neighbors and Friends to the Wid< w. 
 
 Lords, attending on the King; Officers, Sollier*. 
 4-c, French and Florentine. 
 
 SCENE, — partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Rousillon. A Room in the Countess's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon, 
 Helena, and Lafeu, in mourning. 
 
 Countess. In delivering my son from me, I bury 
 a second husband. 
 
 Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my 
 father's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's 
 command, to whom I am now in ward, 1 evermore 
 in subjection. 
 
 Laf You shall find of the king a husband, ma- 
 dam; — you, sir, a father: He that so generally is 
 at all times good, must cf necessity hold his virtue 
 to you ; whose worthiness would stir it up where 
 it wanted, rather than lack it where there is such 
 abundance. 
 
 Count. What hope is there of his majesty's 
 amendment] 
 
 Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam; 
 under whose practices he hath persecuted time with 
 hope ; and finds no other advantage in the process 
 but only the losing of hope by time. 
 
 Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, 
 (O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis !) whose skill 
 was almost as great as his honesty ; had it stretched 
 so far, would have made nature immortal, and 
 death should have play for lack of work. 'Would, 
 for the king's sake, he were living! I think, it 
 would be the death of the king's disease. 
 
 Laf. How called you the man you speak of, . 
 madam ] , £. 
 
 Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, andy 
 it was his great right to be so : Gerard de Narbon/ 
 
 Laf He was excellent, indeed, madam ; the king 
 very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourn- 
 ingly ; he was skilful enough to have lived still, if 
 knowledge could be set up against mortality. 
 
 Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- 
 guishes of] 
 
 Laf. A fistula, my lord. 
 
 1 Under his particular care, as my guardian. 
 [218] 
 
 Ber. I heard not of it before. 
 
 Laf I would, it were not notorious. — W as thia 
 gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de Narbon] 
 
 Count. Hrs sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed 
 to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her 
 good, that her education promises : her dispositions 
 she inherits, which make fair gifts feirer ; for where 
 an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there 
 commendations go with pity, they are virtues and 
 traitors too; in her they are the better for their 
 simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieve? 
 her goodness. 
 
 Laf Your commendations, madam, get from he. 
 tears. 
 
 Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season 
 her praise in. The remembrance of her father neviu 
 approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sor- 
 rows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more 
 of this, Helena, go to, no more ; lest it be rather 
 thought you affect a sorrow, than to have. 
 
 Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, bvtt I have it too. 
 
 Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the 
 dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living. 
 
 Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, th* 
 excess makes it soon mortal. 
 
 Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. 
 
 Laf. How understand we that ] 
 
 Count. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed thj 
 father 
 In manners, as in shape ! thy blood, and virtue, 
 Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodness 
 Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few, 
 Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
 Rather in power, than use ; and keep thy friend 
 -Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence, 
 But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, 
 That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, 
 Fall on thy head ! Farewell. — My lord, 
 'Tis an unseason'd courtier ; good my lord, 
 Advise him. 
 
 Laf. He cannot want the best 
 
 That shall attend his love. 
 
 I 
 
Scene I. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 
 
 219 
 
 , 
 
 Count. Heaven bless him ! —Farewell, Bertram. 
 [Exit Countess. 
 
 Ber. The best wishes that can be forged in your 
 thoughts, [7o Helexa.] be servants to you ! Be 
 comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make 
 much of her. 
 
 Laf. Farewell, pretty lady : You must hold the 
 credit of your father. 
 
 [Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu. 
 
 Hel. < ), were that all ! — I think, not on my father ; 
 And these great tears grace his remembrance more 
 Than those I shed for him. What was he like? 
 I have forgot him : my imagination 
 Carries no favor in it, but Bertram's. 
 I am undone ; there is no living, none, 
 If Bertram be away. It were all one, 
 That I should love a bright particular star, 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me : 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself: 
 The hind that would be mated by the lion, 
 Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague, 
 To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
 In our heart's table; heart, too capable 
 Of every line and trick 2 of his sweet favor: 3 
 But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
 Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 One that goes with him : I love him for his sake ; 
 
 And yet I know him a notorious liar, 
 
 Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; 
 
 Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him, 
 
 That they take place, when virtue's steely bones 
 
 Look bleak in the cold wind : withal, full oft we see 
 
 Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 
 
 Par. Save you, fair queen. 
 
 Hel. And you, monarch. 
 
 Par. No. 
 
 Hel. And no. 
 
 Par. Are you meditating on virginity? 
 
 Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; 
 let me ask you a question : Man is enemy to vir- 
 ginity ; how may we barricado it against him ? 
 
 Par. Keep him out. 
 
 Hel. But he assails; and our virginity, though 
 valiant in the defence, } r et is weak : unfold to us 
 some warlike resistance. 
 
 Par. There is none ; man, sitting down before 
 you, will undermine you, and blow you up. 
 
 Hel. Bless our poor virginity from underminers, 
 and blowers up ! — Is there no military policy, how 
 virgins might blow up men? 
 
 Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will 
 quicklier be blown up: marry, in blowing him 
 down again, with the breach yourselves made, you 
 lose your city. It is not politic in the common- 
 wealth of nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of 
 virginity is rational increase; and there was never 
 virgin got, till virginity was first lost. That, you 
 were made of, is metal to make virgins. Virginity, 
 by being once lost, may be ten times found: by 
 being ever kept, it is ever lost: 'tis too cold a com- 
 panion ; away with it. 
 
 Hel. I will stand for't a little, though therefore 
 I die a virgin. 
 
 Par. There's little can be said in't; 'tis against 
 the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- 
 ginity, is to accuse your mothers: which is most 
 infallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is 
 * Peculiarity of feature. •Countenance. 
 
 a virgin : virginity murders itself; and should be 
 buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as 
 a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity 
 breeds mites, much like a cheese ; consumes itself 
 to the very paring, and so dies with feeding his own 
 stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, 
 made of self-love, which is the most inhibited * sin 
 in the canon. Keep it not ; you cannot choose but 
 lose by't; Out with't: within ten years it will make 
 itself ten, which is a goodly increase ; and the prin- 
 cipal itself not much the worse : Away with't. 
 
 Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to her 
 own liking? 
 
 Par. Let me see : Marry, ill, to like him that 
 ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will lose the gloss 
 with lying; the longer kept, the less worth: off 
 with't, while 'tis vendible: answer the time of re- 
 quest. Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her 
 cap out of fashion; richly suited, but unsuitable: 
 just like the brooch and toothpick, which wear not 
 now: Your date 5 is better in your pie and your 
 porridge, than in your cheek: And your virginity, 
 your old virginity, is like one of our French wither- 
 ed pears; it looks ill, it eats dryly; marry, 'tis a 
 withered pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet, 
 'tis a withered pear : Will you any thing with it ? 
 
 Hel. Not my virginity yet. 
 There shall your master have a thousand loves, 
 A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, 
 A phoenix, captain, and an enem^ , 
 A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
 A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ; 
 His humble ambition, proud humility, 
 His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, 
 His faith, his sweet disaster ; with a world 
 Of pretty, fond, adoptious Christendoms, 
 
 That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he 
 
 I know not what he shall ;— God send him well !— 
 The court's a learning place ; — and he is one 
 
 Par. What one, i'faith? 
 
 Hel. That I wish well.— 'Tis pity 
 
 Par. What's pity ? 
 
 Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, 
 Which might be felt: that we, the poorer born, 
 Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, 
 Might with effects of them follow our friends, 
 And show what we alone must think ; which nevei 
 Returns us thanks. 
 
 Enter a Page. 
 
 Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Pa?: Little Helen, farewell : If I can remember 
 thee, I will think of thee at court. 
 
 Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a 
 charitable star. 
 
 Par. Under Mars, I. 
 
 Hel. I especially think, under Mars. 
 
 Par. Why under Mars? 
 
 Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that yon 
 must needs be born under Mars. 
 
 Par. When he was predominant 
 
 Hel. When he was retrograde, 1 think, rather. 
 
 Par. Why think you so ? 
 
 Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight. 
 
 Par. That's for advantage. 
 
 Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the 
 safety: But the composition, that your valor and 
 fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I 
 like the wear well. 
 
 Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer 
 
 * Forbidden. 
 
 » A quibble • n date, which means a,;e, and candied fruit 
 
220 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 thee acutely: I will return perfect courtier; in the 
 which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee, 
 so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and 
 understand what advice shall thrust upon thee ; else 
 thou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine igno- 
 rance makes thee away : farewell. When thou 
 hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, 
 remember thy friends: get thee a good husband, 
 and use him as he uses thee: so farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, 
 Which we asaribe to heaven : the fated sky 
 Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull 
 Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
 What power is it, which mounts my love so high, 
 That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ? 
 The mightiest space in fortune nature brings 
 To join like likes, and kiss like native things, 6 
 Impossible be strange attempts, to those 
 That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose, 
 What hath been cannot be : Who ever strove 
 To show her merit, that did miss her love ? 
 The king's disease — ii ay project may deceive me, 
 But my intents are fix. <f , and will not leave me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Paris. A Room in the King's 
 Falace. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. Enter the King of France 
 with letters,- Lords and others attending. 
 
 King. The Florentines and Scnoys 1 are by the 
 ears; 
 Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
 A braving war. 
 
 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 
 
 King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it 
 A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
 With caution, that the Florentine will move us 
 For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
 Prejudicates the business, and would seem 
 To have us make denial. 
 
 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, 
 Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 
 
 For amplest credence. 
 
 King. He hath arm'd our answer, 
 
 And Florence is denied before he comes: 
 Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see 
 The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
 To stand on either part. 
 
 2 Lord. It may well serve 
 A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 
 For breathing and exploit. 
 
 King. What's he comes here ? 
 
 Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 
 
 1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord, 
 Young Bertram. 
 
 King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ; 
 Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, 
 Hath wellcompos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts 
 Alayst thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. 
 
 Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 
 
 King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, 
 As when thy father, and myself, in friendship 
 First try'd our soldiership! He did look far 
 Into the service of the time, and was 
 Discipled of the bravest: he lasted long; 
 But on us both did haggish age steal on, 
 And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
 To talk of your good father : In his youth 
 He had the wit, which I can well observe 
 
 • Things formed by nature for each other. 
 1 The citizens of the small rd|>ublic of which Sienna is 
 *« capital. 
 
 To-day in our young lords; but they may jest, 
 Till their own scorn return to them unnoted. 
 Ere they can hide their levitv in honor. 
 So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
 Were in his pride or sharpness ; if they were, 
 Hio equal had awak'd them ; and his honor, 
 Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 
 Exception bid him speak, and, at this time, 
 His tongue obey'd his hand : Who were below hie 
 He used as creatures of another place; 
 And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, 
 Making them proud of his humility, 
 In their poor praise he kumbled : Such a man 
 Might be a copy to these younger times ; 
 Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now 
 But goers backward. 
 
 Ber. His good remembrance, sir, 
 
 Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb ; 
 So in approof 8 lives not his epitaph, 
 As in your royal speech. 
 
 King. 'Would, I were with him! He would 
 always say, 
 (Methinks, I hear him now ; his plausive words 
 He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, 
 To grow there, and to beaf.) — Let me not live 
 Thus his good melancholy oft began, 
 On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, 
 When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he, 
 After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff 
 Of younger spirits, ivhose apprehensive senses 
 All but new things disdain,- whose judgments art 
 Mere fathers of their garments,- whose constancies 
 
 Expire before their fashions.- This he wish'd. 
 
 I, after him, do after him wish too, 
 Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home, 
 I quickly were dissolved from my hive, 
 To give some laborers room. 
 
 2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir • 
 
 They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. 
 
 King. I fill a place, I know't. — How long is't ; 
 count, 
 Since the physician at your father's died? 
 He was much fam'd. 
 * Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 
 
 King. If he were living, I would try him yet ; — 
 Lend me an arm ; — the rest have worn me out 
 With several applications : nature and sickness 
 Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count; 
 My son's no dearer. 
 
 Ber. Thank your majesty. 
 
 [Exeunt. Flourish. 
 
 SCENE HI.— Rousillon. A Room in the Coun 
 
 tess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. 
 
 Count. I will now hear : what say you of this 
 gentlewoman? 
 
 Steiv. Madam, the care I have had to even your 
 content, 9 I wish might be found in the calendar of 
 my past endeavors; for then we wound our mo- 
 desty, and make foul the clearness of our deserv 
 ings, when of ourselves we publish them. 
 
 Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, 
 sirrah: The complaints, I have heard of you, I do 
 not all believe : 'tis my slowness, that I do not : 
 for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and 
 have ability enough to make such knaveries yours. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a 
 poor fellow. 
 
 Count. Well, sir. 
 
 Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor, 
 though many of the ricn are damned : But, if I may 
 • Approbation • To act up tc jour desire* 
 
Scene III 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 221 
 
 have your ladyship's good will to go to the world, 1 
 Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar! 
 
 Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. 
 
 Count. Tn what case ? 
 
 Clo. In IsbcPs case, and mine own. Service is 
 no heritage : and, I think, I shall never have the 
 blessing of God, till I have issue of my body; for, 
 they say, beams 2 are blessings. 
 
 Count. Tell me the reason why thou wilt marry. 
 
 Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it: I am 
 driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that 
 the devil drives. 
 
 Count. Ts this all your worship's reason 1 
 
 Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, 
 such as they are. 
 
 Count. May the world know them ? 
 
 Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature ; 
 as you and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed, I 
 do marry, that I may repent. 
 
 Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wicked- 
 ness. 
 
 Clo. I am out of friends, madam ; and I hope to 
 have friends for my wife's sfike. 
 
 Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 
 
 Clo. You are shallow, madam ; e'en great friends; 
 for the knaves come to do (hat for me, which I am 
 a-weary of. Ke, that ears 5 my land, spares my 
 team, and gives me leave to inn the crop: If I be 
 his cuckold, he's my drudge: He, that comforts 
 my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; 
 he, that cherishes my flesh and blood, loves my 
 flesh and blood; he, that loves my flesh and blood, 
 is my friend : ergo* he that kisses my wife, is my 
 friend. If men could be contented to be what they 
 are, there were no fear in marriage; for young 
 Charbon the puritan, and old Poysam the papist, 
 howso'eer their hearts are several in religion, their 
 heads are both one, they may joll horns together, 
 like any deer i' the herd. 
 
 Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed and 
 calumnious knave"? 
 
 Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth 
 the next way: 6 
 
 For 1 the ballad will repeat, 
 
 Which men full true shall find; 
 
 Your marriage comes by destiny, 
 Your cuckoo sings by kind. 
 
 Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you 
 more anon. 
 
 Stew. May it please you, madam, that he bid 
 Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak. 
 
 Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would 
 speak with her; Helen I mean. 
 
 Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 
 
 [Singing. 
 Why the Grecians sacked Troy? 
 Fond done," done fond, 
 
 Was this King Priam's joy? 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 
 And gave this sentence then; 
 
 Among nine bad if one be good, 
 
 AmoJig nine bad if one be good. 
 
 There's yet one good in ten. 
 
 Count. What, one good in ten 1 you corrupt the 
 song, sirrah. 
 
 Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which is 
 u purifying o' the song : 'Would God serve the 
 
 ' To be married. » Children. » Ploughs. 
 
 • Therefore. » The nearest way. « Foolishly done. 
 
 world so all the year! we'd find no fault with the 
 tythe-woman, if I were the parson: One in ten, 
 quoth a' ! an we might have a good woman borr. 
 but every blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould 
 mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart 
 out ere he pluck one. 
 
 Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I 
 command you: 
 
 Clo. That man should be at woman's command, 
 and yet no hurt done ! — Though honesty be no 
 puritan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will wear the 
 surplice of humility over the black gown of a big 
 heart. — I am going, forsooth : the business is for 
 Helen to come hither. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Count. Well, now. 
 
 Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle- 
 woman entirely. 
 
 Count. Indeed, I do ; her father bequeathed her 
 to me ; and she herself, without other advantage, 
 may lawfully make title to as much love as she 
 finds : there is more owing her, than is paid ; and 
 more shall be paid her, than she'll demand. 
 
 Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her 
 than, I think, she wished me : alone she was, and 
 did communicate to herself, her own words to her 
 own ears ; she thought, I dare vow for her, they 
 touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was, 
 she loved your son : Fortune, she said, was no 
 goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their 
 two estates ; Love, no god, that would not extend 
 his might, only where qualities were level : Diana, 
 no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight 
 to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault, 
 or ransome afterwards: This she delivered in the 
 most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er I heard virgin 
 exclaim in : which I held my duty, speedily to 
 acquaint you withal ; sithence, 7 in the loss that may 
 happen, it concerns you something to know it. 
 
 Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep 
 it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of 
 this before, which hung so tottering in the balance, 
 that I could neither believe, nor misdoubt. - Pray 
 you, leave me ; stall this in your bosom, and 1 
 thank you for your honest care : I will speak with 
 you further anon. [Exit Steward. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young: 
 If we are nature's, these are ours : this thorn 
 Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; 
 
 Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; 
 It is the show and seal of nature's truth, 
 Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth/ 
 By our remembrances of days foregone, 
 Such were our faults: — or then we thought them 
 
 none. 
 Her eye is sick on't ; I observe her now. 
 
 Hel. What is your pleasure, madam 1 
 
 Count. You know, Heleh 
 
 I am a mother to you. 
 
 Hel. Mine honorable mistress. 
 
 Count. Nay, a mothei , 
 
 Why not a mother 1 When I said, a mother, 
 Methought you saw a serpent ! What's in mothei. 
 That you start at it] I say, I am your mother; 
 And put you in the catalogue of those 
 That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often seen, 
 Adoption strives with nature; and choice breed* 
 A native slip to us from foreign seeds ■ 
 You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan. 
 Yet I express to you a mother's care : 
 God's mercy, maiden! does it cvrd thy blood, 
 'Since 
 
32fc 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act I 
 
 To say I am thy mother] What's the matter, 
 That this distemper'd messenger of wet, 
 The inany-color'd Iris, rounds thine eye I 
 Why 1 that you are my daughter ] 
 
 Hel. That I am not. 
 
 Count. I say, I am your mother. 
 
 Hel. Pardon, madam ; 
 
 The count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 
 I am from humble, he from honor'd name; 
 No note upon my parents, his all noble : 
 My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
 His servant live, and will his vassal die: 
 He must not be my brother. 
 
 Count. Nor I your mother] 
 
 Hel. You are my mother, madam ; 'Would you 
 were 
 (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) 
 Indeed, my mother! — or were you both our mothers, 
 I care no more for, 8 than I do for heaven, 
 So I were not his sister : Can't no other, 
 But I, your daughter, he must be my brother] 
 
 Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter- 
 in-law ; 
 God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mother 
 So strive' upon your pulse: What, pale again] 
 My fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I see 
 The mystery of your loneliness, and find 
 Your salt tears' head. 1 Now to all sense 'tis gross, 
 You love my son ; invention is asham'd, 
 Against the proclamation of thy passion, 
 To say thou dost not : therefore tell me true ; 
 But tell me then, 'tis so ; — for, look, thy cheeks 
 Confess it, one to the other; and thine eyes 
 See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors, 
 That in their kind they speak it ; only sin 
 And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, 
 That truth should be suspected : Speak, is't so] 
 If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; 
 If it be not, forswear't: howe'er, I charge thee, 
 As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, 
 To tell me truly. 
 
 Hel. Good madam, pardon me! 
 
 Count. Do you love my son : 
 
 Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! 
 
 Count. Love you my son] 
 
 Hel. Do not you love him, madam ] 
 
 Count. Go not about; my love hathin't a bond, 
 Whereof the world takes note : come, come, disclose 
 The state of your affection ; for your passions 
 Have to the full appeach'd. 
 
 Hel. Then I confess, 
 
 Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, 
 That before you, and next unto high heaven, 
 I love your son : — 
 
 My friends were poor, but honest ; so's my love. 
 Be not offended ; for it hurts not him, 
 That he is lov'd of me : I follow him not 
 By any token of presumptuous suit ; 
 Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ; 
 Yet never know how that desert should be. 
 [ know I love in vain, strive against hope ; 
 Yet, in this captious and intcnible sieve, 
 J still pour in the waters of my love, 
 
 « i. e. I care as much for: I wish it equally. 
 
 » Contend. « The source, the cause of your griet ( 
 
 And lack not to lose still : thus, Indian-like, 
 
 Religious m mine error, I adore 
 
 The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, 
 
 But knows of him no more. My dearest madam 
 
 Let not ycur hate encounter with my love. 
 
 For loving where you do: but, if yourself, 
 
 Whose aged honor cites a virtuous youth, 
 
 Did ever, in so true a flame of liking, 
 
 Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian 
 
 Was both herself and love; then, give pity 
 
 To her, whose state is such that cannot choose 
 
 But lend and give, where she is sure to lose; 
 
 That seeks not to find that her search implies, 
 
 But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. 
 
 Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, 
 To go to Paris ] 
 
 Hel. Madam, I had. 
 
 Count. Wherefore 1 tell true 
 
 Hel. I will tell true ; by grace itself, I swear. 
 You know, my father left me some prescriptions 
 Of rare and- prov'd effects, such as his reading, 
 And manifest experience, had collected 
 For general sovereignty ; and that he will'd me 
 In heedfullest reservation to bestow them, 
 As notes, whose faculties inclusive were 
 More than they were in note : 3 amongst the rest, 
 There is a remedy, approv'd, set down, 
 To cure the desperate languishes, whereof 
 The king is render 'd lost. 
 
 Count. This was your moriv 
 
 For Paris, was it] speak. 
 
 Hel. My lord, your son, made me to think of 
 this ; 
 Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, 
 Had, from the conversation of my thoughts, 
 Haply, been absent then. 
 
 Count. But think you, Helen. 
 
 If you should tender your supposed aid, 
 He would receive it ] He and his physicians 
 Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him ; 
 They, that they cannot help : How shall they credit 
 A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
 Embowell'd of their doctrine," have left off 
 The danger to itself] 
 
 Hel. There's something hints, 
 
 More than my father's skill, which was the greatest 
 Of his profession, that his good receipt 
 Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified 
 By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would youi 
 
 honor 
 But give me leave to try success, I'd venture 
 The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure, 
 By such a day and hour. 
 
 Count. Dost thou believe 't 1 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly. 
 
 Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave, 
 and love, 
 Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings 
 To those of mine in court; I'll stay at home, 
 Anc" pray God's blessing into thy attempt: 
 Be gone to-morrcw ; and be sure of this, 
 Wnat I can help thes to, thou shalt not miss. 
 
 [Exeuni 
 
 • Appearance. » Exhausted of their skill 
 
Scene i. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 •2*8 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. --Paris. A Room in the King's Pa/ace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords taking 
 leave for the Florentine war,- Bertram, Parol- 
 les, and Attendants. 
 
 King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike prin- 
 ciples 
 
 T)o not throw from you : — and you, my lord, fare- 
 well : — 
 
 Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain all, 
 
 The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd, 
 
 And is enough for both. 
 
 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir, 
 After well-enter'd soldiers, to return 
 
 And find your grace in health. 
 
 King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart 
 Will not confess he owes the malady 
 That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords; 
 Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
 Of v. orthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy 
 (Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall 
 Of the last monarchy ') see, that you come 
 Not to woo honor, but to wed it ; when 
 The Iravest questant 5 shrinks, find what you seek, 
 That fame may cry you loud: I say, farewell. 
 
 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your 
 
 majesty ! 
 King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them ; 
 They say, our French lack language to deny, 
 If they demand : beware of being captives, 
 Before you serve. 6 
 
 Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 
 
 King. Farewell. — Come hither to me. 
 
 [The King retires to a couch. 
 
 1 Lord. O my sweet lord, that you will stay be- 
 
 hind us ! 
 Par. 'Tis not his fault ; the spark 
 
 2 Lord. O, 'tis brave wars. 
 Par. Most admirable : I have seen those wars. 
 Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil" 
 
 with 
 
 Too young, and the next year, and 'tis too early. 
 Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away 
 
 bravely. 
 Bur. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, 
 Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, 
 Till honor be bought up, and no sword worn, 
 But one to dance with ! By heaven, I'll steal away. 
 
 1 Lord. There's honor in the theft. 
 
 Par. Commit it, count. 
 
 2 Lord. I am your accessary ; and so farewell. 
 Ber. I grow to you, and our parting4s a tortured 
 
 body. 
 
 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 
 
 2 Lord. Sweet monsieur Parolles! 
 
 Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. 
 Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals: — 
 Vou shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one 
 captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, 
 here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very sword 
 entrenched it: say to him, I live; and observe his 
 reports for me. 
 
 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. 
 
 Par. Mars dote on you for his novices! [Exeunt 
 Lords.] What will you do 1 
 
 Ber. Stay: the king [Seeing him rise. 
 
 Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble 
 
 • i. e. The Roman empire. » Seeker, enquirer. 
 
 « Be not captives before you are soldiers. ' In a bustle. 
 
 lords ; you have restrained yourself within the lis* 
 of too cold an adieu; be more expressive to them; 
 for they wear themselves in the cap of the time : * 
 there, do muster true gait, 9 eat, speak, and move, 
 under the influence of the most received star ; and 
 though the devil lead the measure, 1 such are to be 
 followed : after them, and take a more dilated fare- 
 well. 
 
 Ber. And I will do so. 
 
 Par. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most 
 sinewy sword-men. 
 
 [Exeunt Bertram and Parolles. 
 
 Enter Lafetj. 
 
 Laf. Pardon, my lord, [Kneeling.'] for me and 
 for my tidings. 
 
 King. I'll fee thee to stand up. 
 
 Laf. Then here's a man 
 
 Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you 
 Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy ; and 
 That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. 
 
 King. I would I had ; so I Had broke thy pate 
 And ask'd thee mercy for't. 
 
 Laf. Goodfaith, across : a 
 
 But, my good lord, 'tis thus; Will you be cur'd 
 Of your infirmity? 
 
 King. No. 
 
 Laf. O, will you eat 
 
 No grapes, my royal fox ? yes, but you will, 
 My noble grapes, an if my royal fox 
 Could reach them : I have seen a medicine,' 
 That's able to breathe life into a stone; 
 Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary, 4 
 With sprightly fire and motion ; whose simple touch 
 Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay, 
 To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand, 
 And write to her a love-line. 
 
 King. What her is this ? 
 
 Laf. Why, doctor she : My lord, there's one ar- 
 riv'd, 
 If you will see her, — now, by my faith and honor, 
 If seriously I may convey my thoughts 
 In this my light deliverance, I have spoke 
 With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession, 
 Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more 
 Than I dare blame my weakness : Will you see her, 
 (For that is her demand,) and know her business t 
 That done, laugh well at me. 
 
 King. Now, good Lafeu, 
 
 Bring in the admiration; that we with thee 
 May spend our wonder too, or take off thine, 
 By wondering how thou took'st it. 
 
 Laf. Nay I'll fit you 
 
 And not be all day neither. [Exit Lafec 
 
 King. Thus he his special nothing everpiologues. 
 
 Re-enter Lafeu with Helena 
 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways. 
 
 King. This haste hath wings indeed. 
 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways; 
 This is his majesty, say your mind to him: 
 A traitor you do look like : but such tnitors 
 His majesty seldom fears: I am Cressid'e uncle,' 
 That dare leave two together ; fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 > They are the foremost in the fashion. 
 s Have the true military step. » The dance 
 
 a Unskilfully ; a phrase taken from the exercise at • 
 quintain. 
 
 3 A female physician. * A kind of dane*. 
 
 « I am like Pandarus. 
 
Ii84 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 
 
 Act II 
 
 King. Now, fair one, does your business fol- 
 low us 1 ? 
 Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was 
 My father; in what he did profess, well found. 6 
 King. I knew him. 
 
 Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards 
 him; 
 Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death 
 Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one, 
 Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, 
 And of his old experience the only darling, 
 He bade me store up, as a triple eye, 1 
 Safer than mine own two, more dear ; I have so : 
 And hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
 With that malignant cause wherein the honor 
 Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
 I come to tender it, and my appliance, 
 .Vith all bound humbleness. 
 
 King. We thank you, maiden ; 
 
 But may not be so credulous of cure, — 
 When our most learned doctors leave us ; and 
 The congregated college have concluded 
 That laboring art can never ransom nature 
 From her inaidable estate, — I say we must not 
 So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, 
 To prostitute our past-cure malady 
 To empirics; or to dissever so 
 Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
 A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. 
 Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains: 
 I will no more enforce mine office on you ; 
 Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 
 A modest one, to bear me back again. 
 
 King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful: 
 Thou thought'st to help me; and such thanks I 
 
 give, 
 As one near death to those that wish him live: 
 But what at full I know, thou know'st no part; 
 I knowing all my peril, thou no art. 
 
 Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try, 
 Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy: 
 He that of greatest works is finisher, 
 Oft does them by the weakest minister: 
 So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, 
 When judges have been babes. Great floods have 
 
 flown 
 From simple sources ; and great seas have dried, 
 When miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
 Oft expectation fails, and most oft there 
 Where most it promises ; and oft it hits, 
 Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits. 
 King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind 
 maid ; 
 Thy pains not uesd, must by thyself be paid : 
 Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. 
 
 Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : 
 It is not so with him that all things knows, 
 As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows: 
 But, most it is presumption in us, when 
 The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
 Dear sir, to my endeavors give consent; 
 Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
 I am not an impostor, that proclaim 
 Myself against the level of mine aim ; 
 But know, I think, and think I know most sure, 
 My art is not past power, nor you past cure. 
 King. Art thou so confident] Within what 
 space 
 Hop'st thou my cure? 
 
 Hel. The greatest grace lending grace, 
 
 Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
 Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring; 
 
 * Well informed. ' A third eye. 
 
 Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
 Moist Hesperus hath quenched his sleepy lamp; 
 Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
 Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass , 
 What is infirm from the sound part shaft fly, 
 Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. 
 
 King. Upon thy certainty and confidence, 
 What dar'st thou venture ? 
 
 Hel. Tax of impudence,— 
 
 A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, — 
 Traduced by odious ballads; my maiden's name 
 Sear'd otherwise ; no worse of worst extended, 
 With vilest torture let my life be ended. 
 
 King. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth 
 speak ; 
 His powerful sound, within an organ weak' 
 And what impossibility would slay 
 In common sense, sense saves another way. 
 Thy life is dear ; for all, that life can rate 
 Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate; 
 Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all 
 That happiness and prime can happy call : 
 Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate 
 Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. 
 Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try ; 
 That ministers thine own death, if I die. 
 
 Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property 
 Of what I spoke, un pitied let me die; 
 And well deserv'd: Not helping, death's my fee; 
 But if I help, what do you promise me ? 
 
 King. Make thy demand. 
 
 Hel. But will you make it even? 
 
 King. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. 
 
 Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly 
 hand, 
 What husband in thy power I will command: 
 Exempted be from me the arrogance 
 To choose from forth the royal blood of France ; 
 My low and humble name to propagate 
 With any branch or image of thy state : 
 But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know 
 Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 
 
 King. Here is my hand; the premises observ'd. 
 Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd ; 
 So make the choice of thine own time ; for I, 
 Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 
 More should I question thee, and more I must; 
 Though, more to know, could not be more to trust; 
 From whence thou cam'st, how 'tended on, — But 
 
 rest 
 Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. — 
 Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed 
 As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. 
 [Flourish. Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — Rousillon. A Room in the Court 
 tess' Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess and Clown. 
 
 Count. Come on, sir; I shall now put you to 
 the height of your breeding. 
 
 Clo. I will show myself highly fed and lowiy 
 taught: I know my business is but to the court. 
 
 Count. To tho court ! why, what place make yen 
 special, when you put off that with such contempt \ 
 But to the court ! 
 
 Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a m»n 
 any manners, he may easily put it off at court; he 
 that cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his hand, 
 and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor 
 cap ; and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, 
 were not for the court : but, for me, I have an an 
 swer will serve all men. 
 
r.KE III. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 225 
 
 Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer, that 
 4ts all questions. 
 
 Clo. It is like a barber's chair, that fits all but- 
 •ooks; the pm-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the 
 araw n-buttock, o* any buttock. 
 
 Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? 
 
 Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an at- 
 torney, as your French crown for your tafiata punk, 
 as Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger, as a pancake 
 for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the 
 •lail to his hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scold- 
 ing quean to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip 
 to the friar's mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his 
 skin. 
 
 Count. H-ave you, I say, an answer of such fit- 
 ness for all questions'? 
 
 Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your 
 constable, it will fit any question. 
 
 Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
 size, that must fit all demands. 
 
 Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the 
 learned should speak truth of it; here it is, and 
 all that belongs to't: Ask me, if I am a courtier; 
 it shall do you no harm to learn. 
 
 Count. To be young again, if we could: I will 
 be a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by 
 your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? 
 
 Clo. Lord, sir, — There's a simple putting 
 off; — more, more, a hundred of them. 
 
 Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours that 
 loves you. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thick, thick, spare not me. 
 
 Count. I think, sir, you can eat. none of this 
 homely meat. 
 
 Clo. Lord, sir, — Nay, put me to't, I warrant 
 you. 
 
 Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Spare not me. 
 
 Count. Do you cry, Lord, sir, at your whip- 
 ping, and spare not me? Indeed, your O Lord, sir, 
 is very sequent to your whipping; you would an- 
 swer very well to a whipping, if you were but 
 bound to't. 
 
 Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my — 
 Lord, sir: I see, things may serve long, but not 
 serve ever. 
 
 Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, 
 to entertain it so merrily with a fool. 
 
 Clo. Lord, sir, — Why, there't serves well again. 
 
 Count. An end, sir, to your business: Give Helen 
 this, 
 And urge her to a present answer back: 
 Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son; 
 This is not much. 
 
 Clo. Not much commendation to them. 
 
 Count- Not much employment for you: You 
 understand me ? 
 
 Clo. Most fruitfully; I am there before my legs. 
 
 Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE III.— Paris. A Room in the King's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Behtiiam, Lafeu, and Paholles. 
 
 Laf. They say, miracles are past; ana we have 
 our philosophical persons to make modern 8 and 
 familiar things supernatural and causeless. Hence 
 is it, that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing 
 ourselves into seeming knowledge when we should 
 submit ourselves to an unknown fear. 
 
 Far Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, 
 hat haih shot out in our latter times. 
 • Ordinary. 
 
 Ber. And so 'tis. 
 
 Laf. To be relinquished of the artists, 
 
 Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 
 
 Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows,- - 
 
 Par. Right, so I say. 
 
 Laf. That gave him out incurable, — 
 
 Par. Why, there 'tis; so say I too. 
 
 Laf. Not to be helped, — 
 
 Par. Right: as 'twere a man assured of an — 
 
 Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death. 
 
 Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have said 
 
 Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world 
 
 Par. It is, indeed : if you will have it in showing 
 you shall read it in -What do you call there 1— - 
 
 Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly 
 actor. 
 
 Par. That's it I would have said ; the very same. 
 
 Laf Why, your dolphin 9 is not lustier : 'fore me, 
 I speak in respect 
 
 Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is 
 the brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a most 
 facinorous ' spirit, that will not acknowledge it to 
 be the 
 
 Laf. Very hand of heaven. 
 
 Par. Ay, so I say. 
 
 Laf. In a most weak 
 
 Par. And debile minister, great power, great 
 transcendence : which should, indeed, give us a 
 further use to be made, than alone the recovery of 
 the king, as to be 
 
 Laf. Generally thankful. 
 
 Enter Kixg, Helena, and Attendants. 
 
 Par. I would have said it; you say well. Here 
 comes the king. 
 
 Laf. Lustick, 2 as the Dutchman says: I'll like 
 a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head 
 Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. 
 
 Par. Mort du Vinaigre! Is not this Helen? 
 
 Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 
 
 Ki?ig. Go, call before me all the lords in court. — 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
 And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense 
 Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
 The confirmation of my promis'd gift, 
 Which but attends thy naming. 
 
 Enter several Lords. 
 Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful parcel 
 Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, 
 O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice 
 I have to use : thy frank election make ; 
 Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake 
 
 Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress 
 Fall, when love please ! — marry, to each, but one ! 
 
 Laf. I'd give bay Curtal, 3 and his furniture. 
 My mouth no more were broken than these boys', 
 And writ as little beard. 
 
 King. Peruse them well : 
 
 Not one of those but had a noble father. 
 
 Hel. Gentlemen, 
 Heaven hath through me restor'd the king to health 
 
 All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you, 
 
 Hel. I am a simple maid; and tn»r~ ; ^ wealthiest 
 
 That, I protest, I simply am a maid: 
 
 Please it your majesty, I have done dready 
 The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me. 
 We blush, that thou shouldst choose,- but be refund 
 Let the while death sit on thy cheek for eve*, 
 We'll ne'er come there again. 
 
 • The Dauphiu. ' Wiekec* 
 ' Lustigh is the Dutch word for lusiy, cheerful. 
 
 * A docked horse. 
 
ST- 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WEL:. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 King. Make choice; and, see, 
 
 Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. 
 
 Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly : 
 \nd to imperial Love, that god most high, 
 Do my sighs stream. — Sir, will you hear my suit ? 
 
 1 Lord. And grant it. 
 
 Hel. Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. 
 
 Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw 
 ames-ace 8 for my life. 
 
 Hel. The honor, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, 
 Before I speak, too threateningly replies : 
 Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
 Her that so wishes, and her humble love! 
 
 2 Lord. No better, if you please. 
 
 Hel. My wish receive, 
 
 Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave. 
 
 Laf. Do all they deny her ? An they were sons 
 of mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I would s» id 
 them to the Turk, to make eunuchs of. 
 
 Hel. Be not afraid [To a Lord.] that I your hand 
 should take; 
 I'll never do you wrong for your own sake : 
 Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed, 
 Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 
 
 Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none 
 have her: sure, they are bastards to the English; 
 the French ne'er got them. 
 
 Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good, 
 To make yourself a son out of my blood. 
 
 4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 
 
 Laf. There's one grape yet, — I am sure, thy 
 father drank wine. — But if thou be'st not an ass, I 
 am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee already. 
 
 Hel. I dare not say, I take you; [To Bertram.] 
 but I give 
 Me, and my service, ever whilst I live, 
 Into your guiding power. — This is the man. 
 
 King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's 
 thy wife. 
 
 Ber. My wife, my liege] I shall beseech your 
 highness, 
 In such a business give me leave to use 
 The help of mine own eyes. 
 
 King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 
 
 What she has done for me ? 
 
 Ber. Yes, my good lord; 
 
 But never hope to know why I should many her. 
 
 King, Thou know'st she has raised me from my 
 sickly bed. 
 
 Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down 
 Must answer for your raising? I know her well; 
 She had her breeding at my father's charge : 
 A poor physician's daughter my wife ! — Disdain 
 Rather corrupt me evor ! 
 
 King. 'Tis only title 9 thou disdain'st in her, the 
 which 
 I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, 
 Of color, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
 In differences so mighty : If she be 
 All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, 
 A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st 
 Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
 From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, 
 The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
 Where great additions 1 swell, and virtue none, 
 It is a dropsied honor: good alone 
 Is good, without a name ; vileness is so : 
 The property by what it is should go, 
 Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; 
 In these to nature she's immediate heir; 
 
 • Tho lowest chance of the dice. 
 '< e. The w»nt of title 
 
 Titles. 
 
 And these breed honor : that is honor's sconi, 
 
 Which challenges itself as honor's born, 
 
 And is not like the sire: Honors best thrive, 
 
 When rather from our acts we them derive 
 
 Than our fore-goers: the mere word's a slave, 
 
 Debauch'd on every tomb ; on every grave, 
 
 A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb, 
 
 Where dust, and damned oblivion, is the tomb 
 
 Of honor'd bones indeed. What should be said * 
 
 If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
 
 I can create the rest: virtue, and she, 
 
 Is her own dower; honor and wealth from me. 
 
 Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. 
 
 King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst 
 strive to choose. 
 
 Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, Fm 
 glad; 
 Let the rest go. 
 
 King. My honor's at the stake , which to defeat, 
 I must produce my power: Here, take her hand 
 Proud, scornful boy, unworthy this good gift; 
 That dost in vile misprision shackle up 
 My love and her desert; that canst not dream, 
 We, poising us in her defective scale, 
 Shall weigh thee to the beam : that wilt not know, 
 It is in us to plant thine honor, where 
 We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt: 
 Obey our will, which travails in thy good: 
 Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
 Do thine own fortunes that obedient right 
 Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims , 
 Or I will throw thee from my care for ever, 
 Into the staggers, and the careless lapse 
 Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and hate, 
 Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, 
 Without all terms of pity : Speak ; thine answer. 
 
 Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit 
 My fancy to your eyes : When I consider, 
 What great creation, and what dole of honor, 
 Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late 
 Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now 
 The. praised of the king ; who, so ennobled, 
 Is, as 'twere, born so. 
 
 King. Take her by the hand, 
 
 And tell her, she is thine: to whom I promise 
 A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate, 
 A balance more replete. 
 
 Ber. I take her hand. 
 
 King. Good fortune, and the favor of the king, 
 Smile upon this contract ; whose ceremony 
 Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, 
 And be performed to-night: the solemn feast 
 Shall more attend upon the coming space, 
 Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her, 
 Thy love's to me religious ; else, does err. 
 
 [Exeunt King, Behtium, Helena, Lords. 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Laf. Do you hear, monsieur ? a word with you. 
 
 Par. Your pleasure, sir? 
 
 Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his 
 recantation. 
 
 Par. Recantation? — my lord? — my master? 
 
 Laf Ay ; Is it not a language, I speak ? 
 
 Par. A most harsh one ; and not to be understood 
 without bloody succeeding. My master? 
 
 Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon? 
 
 Par. To any count ; to all counts; to what is man. 
 
 Laf. To what is count's man ; count's master it 
 of another style. 
 
 Par. You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you 
 are too old. 
 
 Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; M 
 which title age canuo' bring thee. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 227 
 
 Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do. 
 
 Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, 3 t* be 
 n pretty wise fekow ; thou didst make tolerable vent 
 of thy travel : it might pass : yet the scarfs, and the 
 bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me 
 from believing thee a ^essel of too great a burden. 
 I have now found thee , when I lose thee again, I 
 care not : yet art thou good for nothing but taking 
 up; and that thou art scarce worth. 
 
 Par. Hadsi thou not the privilege of antiquity 
 upon thee, 
 
 Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest 
 thou hasten thy trial ; which if — Lord have mercy 
 on thee for a hen ! So my good window of lattice, 
 ,'aie thee well: thy casement I need not open, for 
 I look through thee. Give me thy hand. 
 
 Par. My lord, you give me most egregious in- 
 dignity. 
 
 Laf. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy 
 of it. 
 
 Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. 
 
 Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I 
 will not bate thee a scruple. 
 
 Par. Well, I shall be wiser. 
 
 Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to 
 pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st 
 bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what 
 it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to 
 hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my 
 knowledge ; that I may say, in the default, 3 he is a 
 man I know. 
 
 Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
 vexation. 
 
 Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and 
 my poor doing eternal: for doing I am past; as I 
 will by thee, in what motion age will give me leave. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Par Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis- 
 grace off me ; scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord ! — 
 Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of 
 authority. I'll beat him by my life, if I can meet 
 him with any convenience, and he were double and 
 double a lord. I'll have no more pity of his age, 
 than I would have of — I'll beat him, an if I could 
 but meet him again. 
 
 Re-enter Lafeu. 
 
 Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married, 
 there s news for you; you have a new mistress. 
 
 Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship 
 to make some reservation of your wrongs : He is 
 my good lord: whom I serve above is my master. 
 
 Laf. Who? God? 
 
 Par. Ay, sir. 
 
 Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost 
 thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion? dost make 
 hose of thy sleeves? do other servants so? Thou 
 wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. 
 By mine honor, if I were but two hours younger, 
 I'd beat thee ; methinks, thou art a general offence, 
 and every man should beat thee. I think, thou 
 wast created for men to breathe' themselves upon 
 thee. 
 
 Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my 
 lord. 
 
 Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for 
 picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; ycu are a 
 vagabond, and no true traveller: you are more 
 saucy with lords, and honorable personages, than 
 the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you com- 
 mission. You are not worth another word, else 
 I'd call you knave. I leave you. [Exit. 
 
 ' i. e. 'While I sat twice with thee at dinner. 
 * A t » need. * Exercise. 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 
 Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. — Good, 
 very good ; let it be concealed a while. 
 
 Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! 
 
 Par. What is the matter, sweetheart? 
 
 Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have 
 sworn, 
 I will not bed her. 
 
 Par. What? what, sweet-heart? 
 
 Ber. O, my Parolles, they have married me : — 
 I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 
 
 Par. France is a dog-hole, and yet no more merits 
 The tread of a man's foot : to the wars ! 
 
 Ber. There's letters from my mother; what the 
 import is, 
 I know not yet. 
 
 Par. Ay, that would be known: To the wais, 
 my boy, to the wars ! 
 He wears his honor in a box unseen, 
 That hugs his kicksy-wicksy, 5 here at home ; 
 Spending his manly marrow in her arms, 
 Which should sustain the bond and high curvet 
 Of Mars's fiery steed : To other regions ! 
 France is a stable; we that dwell in't jades; 
 Therefore, to the war ! 
 
 Ber. It shall be so; I'll send her to my house, 
 Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, 
 And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king 
 That which I dursi not speak: His present gift 
 Shall furnish me U those Italian fields, 
 Where noble fellows strike : War is no strife 
 To the dark house, 6 and the detested wife. 
 
 Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure ? 
 
 Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me 
 I'll send her straight away : To-morrow 
 I'll to the wars, sue to her single sorrow. 
 
 Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise in it. 
 — 'Tis hard; 
 A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd: 
 Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : 
 The king has done you wrong ; but, hush ! 'tis so. 
 
 [L xeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Helena and Clown. 
 
 Hel. My mother greets me kindly : Is she well ? 
 
 Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her health : 
 she's very merry; but yet she is notwell : but thanks 
 be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'the 
 world ; but yet she is not well ! 
 
 Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that 
 she's not very well? 
 
 Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two 
 things. 
 
 Hel. What two things? 
 
 Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither God 
 send her quickly ! the other, that she's in earth, 
 from whence God send her quickly ! 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 
 
 Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will tj have 
 mine own good fortunes. 
 
 Par. You had my prayers to lead them on : and 
 to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave ! 
 How does my old lady ? 
 
 Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her 
 money, I would she did as you say. 
 
 Par. Why, I say nothing. 
 
 Clo. Marry ; you are the wiser man ; for many a 
 man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : Te 
 
 ' A cant t>;rm for a wife. 
 
 • The house made ?loomy by discontent. 
 
F 
 
 228 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act It 
 
 say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to 
 have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; 
 which is within a very little of nothing. 
 
 Par. Away, thou'rt a knave. 
 
 Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave 
 ihou art a knate . that is, before me thou art a 
 knave: this had been truth, sir. 
 
 Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found 
 thee. 
 
 Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir] or were 
 you taught to find me 1 The search, sir, was pro- 
 fitable; and much fool may you find in you, even 
 to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter. 
 
 Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed. — 
 Madam, my lord will go away to-night; 
 A very serious business calls on him. 
 The great prerogative and rite of love, 
 Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- 
 ledge; 
 But puts it off by a compell'd restraint; 
 Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with 
 
 sweets, 
 Which they distil now in the curbed time, 
 To make the coming hour o'erfiow with joy, 
 And pleasure drown the brim. 
 
 Hel. What's his will else ] 
 
 Par. That you will take your instant leave o'the 
 king, 
 And make this haste as your own good proceeding, 
 Strengthen'd with what apology you think 
 May make it probable need. 1 
 
 Hel. What more commands he] 
 
 Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently 
 Attend his further pleasure. 
 
 Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. 
 
 Par. I shall report it so. 
 
 Hel. I pray you. — Come, sirrah. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 
 
 LaJ. But I hope, your lordship thinks not him a 
 soldier. 
 
 Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. 
 
 Laf. You have it from his own deliverance. 
 
 Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 
 
 Laf. Then my dial goes not true; I took this 
 lark for a bunting. 8 
 
 Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great 
 in knowledge, and accordingly valiant. 
 
 Laf. I have then sinned against his experience, 
 and transgressed against his valor; and my state 
 that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in 
 my heart to repent. Here he comes ; I pray you, 
 make us friends, I will pursue the amity. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. These things shall be done, sir. 
 
 [To Bertram. 
 
 Laf. Pray you, sir, who's his tailor] 
 
 Par. Sir] 
 
 Laf. 0, I know him well: Ay, sir; he, sir, is a 
 good workman, a very good tailor. 
 
 Her. Is she gone to the king] 
 
 [Aside to Parolles. 
 
 Par. She is. 
 
 B:r, Will she away to-night] 
 
 Par. As you'll have her. 
 
 Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, 
 Given order K»r our horses; and to-night, 
 
 ' A specious appearance of necessity. 
 » The bunting nearly resembles the sky-lark, but has 
 'ittle or ho song, which gives estimation to the sky-lark. 
 
 When I should take possession of the bride, 
 And, ere I do begin, 
 
 Laf. A good traveller is something a t the latte 
 end of a dinner; but one that lies three thirds, and 
 uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings 
 with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten.- • 
 God save you, captain ! 
 
 Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord 
 and you, monsieur] 
 
 Par. I know not how I have deserved to run 
 into my lord's displeasure. 
 
 Laf You have made shift to run into't, boots 
 and spurs and all, like him that leaped into the 
 custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than 
 suffer question for your residence. 
 
 Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord 
 
 Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him at 
 his prayers. Fare you well, my lord; and believe 
 this of me, there can be no kernel in this light ' ut; 
 the soul of this man is his clothes : trust \\\y not in 
 matter of heavy consequence : I have kept of them 
 tame, and know their natures. — Farewell, mon 
 sieur! I have spoken better of you, than you have 
 or will deserve at my hand ; but we must do good 
 against evil. [Exit 
 
 Par. An idle lo* I swear. 
 
 Ber. I think so 
 
 Par. Why, do jou. not know him] 
 
 Ber. Yes, I do know him well; and common speech 
 Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, 
 Spoke with the king, and have procured his leave 
 For present parting; only, he desires 
 Some private speech with you. 
 
 Ber. I shall obey his will. 
 
 You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
 Which holds not color with the time, nor does 
 The ministration and required office 
 On my particular: prepar'd I was not 
 For such a business ; therefore am I found 
 So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you, 
 That presently you take your way for home ; 
 And rather muse, 9 than ask, why I entreat you: 
 For my respects are better than they seem ; 
 And my appointments have in them a need, 
 Greater than shows itself, at the first view, 
 To you that know them not. This to my mother. 
 
 [Giving a letter. 
 'Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so 
 I leave you to your wisdom. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, 
 
 But that I am your most obedient servant. 
 
 Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 
 
 Hel. And ever shall 
 
 With true observance seek to eke out that, 
 Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
 To equal my great fortune. 
 
 Ber. Let that go : 
 
 My haste is very great: Farewell; hie home. 
 
 Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 
 
 Ber. Well, what would you sav 1 
 
 Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe; 1 
 Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ; 
 But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal 
 What law does vouch mine own. 
 
 Ber. What would you have 1 
 
 Hel. Something ; and scarce so much : — nothing, 
 indeed. — 
 I would not tell you what I would •• my lcid- -'faith, 
 
 yes; — 
 Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not Kisb. 
 8 Woader ' Possess. 
 
Scene Ii. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 2!tti 
 
 Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. 
 
 Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. 
 
 Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur] — 
 
 Farewell [Exit Helena. 
 
 Go thou toward home; where I will never come. 
 Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum :■— 
 Away, and for our flight. 
 
 Par. Bravely, coragio ! [Exeunt. 
 
 4CT III. 
 
 3CENE I.- 
 
 -Florente. A Room in the Duke's 
 Palace. 
 
 flourish. EntertheY)vK'£.ovTi.ouT.'sc%,attended; 
 two French Lords, and others. 
 
 Duke. So that, from point to point, now have 
 you heard 
 The fundamental reasons of this war; 
 Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, 
 And more thirsts after. 
 
 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 
 Upon your grace's part; black and fearful 
 
 On the opposer. 
 
 Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin 
 France 
 Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom 
 Against our borrowing prayers. 
 
 2 Lord. Good my lord, 
 The reasons of our state I cannot yield, 
 
 But like a common and an outward man, 
 That the great figure of a council frames 
 By self-unable motion: therefore dare not 
 Say what I think of it; since I have found 
 Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail 
 As often as I guess'd. 
 
 Duke. Be it his pleasure. 
 
 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature, 
 That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, 
 Come here for physic. 
 
 Duke. Welcome shall they be; 
 
 And all the honors, that can fly from us, 
 Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; 
 When better fall, for your avails they fall : 
 To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Rousillon. A Room in the Coun- 
 tess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess and Clown. 
 
 Count. It hath happened all as I would have had 
 it, save, that he comes not along with her. 
 
 Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a 
 very melancholy man. 
 
 Count. By what observance, I pray you ? 
 
 Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing; 
 mend the ruff, 1 and sing; ask questions, and sing; 
 pick his teeth, and sing; I know a man that had 
 this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a 
 song. 
 
 Count. Let me see what he writes, and when 
 he means to come. [Opening a letter. 
 
 Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at 
 court : our old ling and our Isbels o'the country are 
 nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'the 
 court: the brains of my Cupid's knocked out; and 
 I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with 
 no stomach. 
 
 fount. What have we here ? 
 
 Clo. E'en that you have there; [Exit. 
 
 Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in- 
 law: she hath recovered the king, and undone me. I 
 
 » Hie folding at *he top of the boot 
 
 have wedded her, not bedded her,- and sworn to make 
 the not eternal. You shall hear, lam rim away,- 
 know it, before the report come. If there be breadth 
 enough in the world, 1 will hold a long distance. 
 My duly to you. 
 
 Your unfortunate son, 
 
 Bertram 
 
 Ttys is not well, rash and unbridled boy, 
 To fly the favors of so good a king ; 
 To pluck his indignation on thy head, 
 By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous 
 For the contempt of empire. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. madam, yonder is heavy news within, be- 
 tween two soldiers and my young lady. 
 
 Count. What is the matter 1 
 
 Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news, 
 some comfort ; your son will not be killed so soon 
 as I thought he would. 
 
 Count. Why should he be killed? 
 
 Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear 
 he does : the danger is in standing to't ; that's the 
 loss of men, though it be the getting of children. 
 Here they come, will tell you more : for my part 
 I only hear, your son was run away. 
 
 [Exit Clown. 
 
 Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Save you, good madam. 
 
 Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
 
 2 Gent. Do not say so. 
 
 Count. Think upon patience. — 'Pray you, gen- 
 tlemen, — 
 I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, 
 That the first face of neither, on the start, 
 Can woman me unto 't : — Where is my son, I pray 
 you? 
 2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke oi 
 Florence: 
 We met him thitherward ; from thence we came, 
 And after some despatch in hand at court, 
 Thither we bend again. 
 
 Hel. Look on this letter, madam ; here's my 
 passport. 
 
 [Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my 
 finger, which never shall come off, and show me a 
 child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then 
 call me husband: but in such a then I write a never 
 
 This is a dreadful sentence. 
 
 Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ? 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, madam: 
 And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. 
 
 Count. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer; 
 If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, 
 Thou robb'st me of a mciety : He was my son ; 
 But I do wash his name out of my blood, 
 And thou art all my child. — Towards Florence 
 is he? 
 
 2 Gent. Ay, madam. 
 
 Count. And to be a soldier? 
 
 2 Gent . Such is his noble purpose : and. beheve't* 
 
230 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act III 
 
 The duke will lay upon him all the honor, 
 That good convenience claims. 
 
 Count. Return you thither? 
 
 I Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of 
 speed. 
 
 Hel. [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothing 
 in France. 
 Tis bitter. 
 
 Count. Find you that there 1 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply 
 which 
 His heart was not consenting to. 
 
 Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife! 
 There's nothing here that is too good for him, 
 But only she; and she deserves a lord, 
 That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, 
 And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him ] 
 
 1 Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman 
 Which I have some time known. 
 
 Count. Parolles, was't not ] 
 
 1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. 
 
 Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked- 
 ness. 
 My son corrupts a well-derived nature 
 With his inducement. 
 
 1 Gent. Indeed, good lady, 
 The fellow has a deal of that, too much, 
 Which holds him much to have. 
 
 Count. You are welcome, gentlemen, 
 I will entreat you, when you see my son, 
 To tell him, that his sword can never win 
 The honor that he loses : more Til entreat you 
 Written to bear along. 
 
 2 Gent. We serve you, madam, 
 In that and all your worthiest affairs. 
 
 Count. Not so, but as we change 3 our courtesies. 
 Will you draw near ? 
 
 [Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen. 
 Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in, France. 
 Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 
 Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, 
 Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I 
 That chase thee from thy country, and expose 
 Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
 Of the none-sparing war] and is it I 
 That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou 
 Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
 Of smoky muskets] O you leaden messengers, 
 That ride upon the violent speed of fire, 
 Fly with false aim ; move the still-piercing air, 
 That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord! 
 Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; 
 Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
 I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it ; 
 And though I kill him not, I am the cause 
 His death was so effected : better 'twere 
 I met the ravin * lion when he roar'd 
 With sharp constraint of hunger ; better 'twere 
 That all the miseries, which nature owes, 
 Were mine at once: No, come thou home, Rou- 
 sillon, 
 Whence Ik nor but of danger wins a scar, 
 As oft it los.»s all; I will be gone: 
 My being heio it is that holds thee hence ; 
 Shall I stay here to do't] no, no, although 
 The air of paradise did fan the. house, 
 And angels officed all : I will be gone< 
 That pitiful rumor may report my flight, 
 To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day! 
 For, with the dark, poor thitf, I'll steal away. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ' Exchange. 
 
 * Ravenous. 
 
 SCENE III.— Florence. Before the Duke s 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Duke of Flohenci. Beh 
 tram, Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; and we 
 Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence 
 Upon thy promising fortune. 
 
 Ber. Sir, it is 
 
 A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet 
 We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake, 
 To the extreme edge of hazard. 
 
 Duke. Then go thou forth 
 
 And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, 
 As thy auspicious mistress ! 
 
 Ber. This very day. 
 
 Great Mars, I put myself into thy file : 
 Make me but like my thoughts; and I shall prove 
 A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rousillon. A Room in the 
 Countess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess and Steward. 
 Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of her? 
 Might you not know, she would do as she has done, 
 By sending me a letter 1 Read it again. 
 
 Stew. lam Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone. 
 
 Ambitious love hath so in me offended, 
 That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, 
 
 With sainted vow my faults to have amended. 
 Write, write, that from the bloody course of war, 
 
 My dearest master, your dear son, may hie,- 
 Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far, 
 
 His name with zealous fervor sanctify: 
 His taken labors bid him me forgive,- 
 
 I, his despiteful Juno* sent him forth 
 From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, 
 
 Where death and danger dog theheels of worth: 
 He is too good and fair for death and me,- 
 Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. 
 
 Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest 
 
 words ! 
 
 Rinaldo, you did never lack advice 6 so much, 
 As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her, 
 I could have well diverted her intents, 
 Which thus she hath prevented. 
 
 Stew. Pardon me, madam : 
 
 If I had given you .this at over night, 
 She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she writes, 
 Pursuit would be in vain. 
 
 Count. What angel shall 
 
 Bless this unworthy husband 1 he cannot thrive, 
 Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear, 
 And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath 
 Of greatest justice, — Write, write, Rinaldo, 
 To this unworthy husband of his wife ; 
 Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, 
 That he does weigh too light: my greatest grief, 
 Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. 
 Despatch the most convenient messenger : 
 When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, 
 He will return ; and hope I may, that she. 
 Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, 
 Led hither by pure love : which of them both 
 Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
 To make distinction: — Provide this messenger: — 
 My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak: 
 Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak 
 
 [Exeun, 
 
 4 Alluding to the story of HercuJ<sa. 
 c Discretion or thought. 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 231 
 
 SCENE V.— Without the Walk of Florence. 
 
 A Tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow of Flo- 
 rence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana, ana other 
 Citizens. 
 
 Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the 
 city, we shall lose all the sight. 
 
 Dia. They say, the French count has done most 
 honorable service. 
 
 Wid. It is reported that he has taken their great- 
 est commander ; and that with his own hand he 
 slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labor ; 
 they are gone a contrary way: hark! you may 
 know by their trumpets. 
 
 Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- 
 selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed 
 of this French earl; the honor of a maid is her 
 nune ; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. 
 
 Wid. I have told my neighbor, how you have 
 been solicited by a gentleman, his companion. 
 
 Mar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one Pa- 
 rolles: a filthy officer he is in those suggestions 1 
 for the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana; 
 their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all 
 these engines of lust, are not the things they go 
 under : 8 many a maid hath been seduced by them ; 
 and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows 
 in the wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that 
 dissuade succession, but that they are limed with 
 the twigs that threaten them. I hope, I need not 
 to advise you further ; but, I hope, your own grace 
 will keep you where you are, though there were no 
 further danger known, but the modesty which is 
 so lost. 
 
 Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 
 Enter Helen a, in the dress of a Pilgrim. 
 
 Wid. I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. 
 
 I know she will lie at my house : thither they send 
 
 one another: I'll question her. — 
 
 God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound ? 
 
 Hel. Tc Saint Jaques le grand. 
 Where do the palmers 9 lodge, I do beseech you ] 
 
 Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. 
 
 Hel. Is this the way 1 
 
 Wid. Ay, marry, is it. — Hark you ! 
 
 [J march afar off. 
 They come this way : — If you will tarry, holy pil- 
 grim, 
 But till the troops come by, 
 I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd ; 
 The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess 
 As ample as myself. 
 
 Hel. Is it yourself] 
 
 Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 
 
 Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. 
 
 Wid. You came, I think, from France ? 
 
 Hel. I did so. 
 
 Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours, 
 That has done worthy service. 
 
 Hel. His name, I pray you ? 
 
 Dia. The count Rousillon : Know you such a one? 
 
 Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him : 
 His face I know not. 
 
 Dia. Whatsoe'er he is, 
 
 He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
 As 'tis reported, for 1 the king had married him 
 Against his liking : Think you it is so 1 
 
 Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; I know his lady. 
 
 Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count, 
 Kcnorts but coarsely of her. 
 
 ' Temptations. • Not what their names express. 
 
 • Pilgrims ; so called from a staff or bough of palm they 
 were wont to carry. ' Because. 
 
 Hel. What's his n«me "« 
 
 Dia. Monsieur Parolles. 
 
 Hel. O, I believe with him 
 
 In argument of praise, or to the worth 
 Of the great count himself, she is too mean 
 To have her name repeated ; all her deserving 
 Is a reserved honesty, and that 
 I have not heard exarnin'd. 
 
 Dia. Alas poor lady ! 
 
 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife 
 Of a detesting lord. 
 
 Wid. A right good creature : wheresoe'er she in, 
 Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do 
 
 her 
 A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd. 
 
 Hel. How do you mean ' 
 
 May be, the amorous count solicits her 
 In the unlawful purpose. 
 
 Wid. He does, indeed ; 
 
 And brokes 5 with all that can in such a suit 
 Corrupt the tender honor of a maid : 
 But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard 
 In honestest defence. 
 
 Enter, with Drum and Colors, a Party of the 
 Florentine Army, Bertram, and Parolles. 
 Mar. The gods forbid else ! 
 Wid., So, now they come : — 
 
 That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; 
 That, Escalus. 
 
 Hel. Which is the Frenchman 1 
 
 Dia. He ; 
 
 That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ; 
 I would, lie lov'd his wife ; if he were honester, 
 He were much goodlier: — Is't not a handsome 
 gentleman ? 
 Hel. I like him well. 
 
 Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest : Yond's that 
 same knave, 
 That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, 
 I'd poison that vile rascal. 
 
 Hel. Which is he? 
 
 Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs : Why is he 
 melancholy 1 
 
 Hel. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle. 
 Par. Lose our drum ! well. 
 Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something : Look, 
 he has spied us. 
 
 Wid. Marry, hang you ! 
 
 Mar. And your courtesy, for a ring-carm r ! 
 
 [Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers, 
 and Soldiers. 
 Wid. The troop is past : Come, pilgrim, I will 
 bring you 
 Where you shall host: of enjoin'd penitents 
 There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bou nu, 
 Already at my house. 
 
 Hel. I humbly thank you : 
 
 Please it. this matron, and this gentle maid, 
 To eat with us to-night, the charge, and thank mj,, 
 Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
 I will bestow some precepts on this virgin, 
 Worthy the note. 
 
 Both. We'll take your offer kindly. 
 
 [Exei.mt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Camp before Florence 
 Enter Bertram, and the two French Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't : lee 
 him have his way. 
 
 2 Lord. If your lordship f.nd iim not a hading,' 
 hold me no more in ur respect. 
 
 4 Deals. 4. paltry fellc w, a coward 
 
232 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act III 
 
 1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 
 
 Ber. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him ? 
 
 1 Ijord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct 
 knowledge, without any malice but to speak of him 
 as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an in- 
 finite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, 
 the owner of no one good quality worthy your lord- 
 ship's entertainment. 
 
 2 Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, reposing 
 too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might 
 at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, 
 fail you. 
 
 Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action 
 to try him. 
 
 2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his 
 drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake 
 to do. 
 
 1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sud- 
 denly surprise him ; such I will have, whom, I am 
 sure, he knows not from the enemy : we will bind 
 and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no 
 other but that he is carried into the leaguer 4 of the 
 adversaries, when we bring him to our tents: Be 
 but your lordship present at his examination; if he 
 do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest 
 compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and 
 deliver all the intelligence in his power against you, 
 and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, 
 never trust my judgment in any thing. 
 
 2 Lord. 0, for the love of laughter, let him fetch 
 his drum; he says he has a stratagem for't: when 
 your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't, 
 and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will 
 be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter- 
 tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here 
 he comes. 
 
 Enter Patsolles. 
 
 1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not 
 the humor of his design ; let him fetch off his 
 drum in any hand. 
 
 Ber. How n w, monsieur? this drum sticks 
 sorely in your disposition. 
 
 2 Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; 'tis but a drum. 
 Par. But a drum ! Is't but a drum ? A drum so 
 
 lost ! — There was an excellent command ! to charge 
 in with our h jrse upon our own wings, and to rend 
 our own soldiers. 
 
 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com- 
 mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war that 
 Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had 
 been there to command 
 
 Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
 cess: some dishonor we had in the loss of that 
 drum : but it is Hot to be recovered. 
 
 Par. It might have been recovered. 
 
 Ber. It might, but it is not now. 
 
 Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of 
 service is seldom attributed to the true and exact 
 performer, I would have that drum or another, or 
 f.ic jacet. 1 
 
 Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur, 
 if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring 
 this instrument of honor again into its native 
 quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and go 
 on ; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit ; 
 jf you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak 
 of it, and extend to you what further becomes his 
 greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your wor- 
 •Iiiness. 
 
 Par. By the band of a soldier, I will undertake it. 
 
 Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 
 * The lines, entrenchments. » *'. e. An epitaph. 
 
 Par. I'll about it this evening: and I will pre 
 sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage mysell 
 in my certainty, put myself into my mortal prepa- 
 ration, and, by midnight, look to hear further from 
 me. 
 
 Ber. Ma)' I be bold to acquaint his grace, you 
 are gone about it ? 
 
 Par. I know not what the success will be, my 
 lord ; but the attempt I vow. 
 
 Ber. I know thou art valiant; and, to the pos- 
 sibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Par. I love not many words. [Exit. 
 
 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is 
 not this a strange fellow, my lord] that so confi- 
 dently seems to undertake this business, which he 
 knows is not to be done ; damns himself to do, and 
 dares better be damned than to do't. 
 
 2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we 
 do: certain it is, that he will steal himself into a 
 man's favor, and, for a week, escape a great deal of 
 discoveries; but when you find him out, you have 
 him ever after. 
 
 Ber. Why, do'you think he will make no deed at 
 all of this, that so seriously he does address himself 
 unto? 
 
 1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with an 
 invention, and clap upon you two or three probable 
 lies: but we have almost embossed him ; G you shall 
 see his fall to-night ; for, indeed, he is not for youl 
 lordship's respect. 
 
 2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox, 
 ere we case him. 7 He was first smoked by the old 
 lord Lafcu : when his disguise and he is parted, tell 
 me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you 
 shall see this very night. 
 
 1 Lord. I must go look my twigs; he shall be 
 caught. 
 
 Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 
 
 1 Lord. As't please your lordship : I'll leave you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show 
 you 
 The lass I spoke of. 
 
 2 Lord. But, you say, she's honest. 
 Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once, 
 
 And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, 
 By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind, 
 Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 
 And this is all I have done : She's a fair creature ; 
 Will you go see her? 
 
 2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VII.— Florence. A Room in the 
 
 Widow's House. 
 
 Enter Helena and Widow. 
 
 Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
 
 I know not how I shall assure you further, 
 
 But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. 
 
 Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was wei 
 born, 
 Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; 
 And would not put my reputation now 
 In any staining act. 
 
 Hel. Nor would I wish you. 
 
 First, give me trust, the count he is my husband 
 And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken 
 Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot. 
 By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, 
 Err in bestowing it. 
 
 • To emboss a deer is to enclose him in a w.xxi- 
 ' Before we strip him naked. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 233 
 
 Wid. I should believe you; 
 
 For you have show'd me that, which well ap- 
 proves 
 You are great in fortune. 
 
 Hel. Take this purse of gold, 
 
 And let me buy your friendly help thus far, 
 Which I will over-pay, and pay again, 
 When I have found it. The count he woos your 
 
 daughter, 
 Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 
 Resolves to carry her ; let her, in fine, consent, 
 As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it, 
 Now, his important* blood will nought deny 
 That she'll demand : A ring the county 9 wears, 
 That downward hath succeeded in his house, 
 From son to son, some four or five descents 
 Since the first father wore it: this ring he holls 
 In most rich choice ; yet in his idle fire, 
 To buy his will, it would not seei i too dear, 
 Howe'er repented after. 
 
 Wid. Now I see 
 
 The bottom of your purpose. 
 
 Hel. You see it lawful then : It is no more. 
 But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, 
 Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter , 
 In fine, delivers me to fill the time, 
 Herself most chastely absent : after this, 
 To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns 
 To what is past already. 
 
 Wid. I have yielded: 
 
 Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, 
 That time and place, with this deceit so lawful, 
 May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
 With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd 
 To her unworthiness : It nothing steads us, 
 To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists, 
 As if his life lay on't. 
 
 Hel. Why then to-night 
 
 Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed, 
 Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, 
 And lawful meaning in a lawful act; 
 Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact : 
 But let's about it. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE i.— Without the Florentine Camp. 
 Enter first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in ambush. 
 
 1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this 
 hedge' corner: When you sally upon him, speak 
 what terrible language you will ; though you under- 
 stand it not yourselves, no matter : for we must not 
 seem to understand him ; unless some one among 
 us, whom we must produce for an interpreter. 
 
 1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 
 
 1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him ? knows 
 he not thy voice ? 
 
 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 
 
 1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak 
 to us again ? 
 
 1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me. 
 
 1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers 
 i'the adversary's entertainment. 1 Now he hath a 
 smack of all neighboring languages ; therefore we 
 must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to 
 know what we speak one to another ; so we seem to 
 know, is to know straight our purpose: chough's 5 
 language, gabble enough, and good enough. As 
 for you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. 
 But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two 
 hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the 
 lies he forges. 
 
 Enter Paholles. 
 
 Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill 
 be time enough to go home. What shall I say I 
 have done ? It must be a very plausive invention 
 that carries it: They begin to smoke me; and dis- 
 graces have of late knocked too often at my door. I 
 find, my tongue is too fool-hardy; but my heart 
 hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, 
 not daring the reports of my tongue. 
 
 1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine 
 own tongue was guilty of. [Aside. 
 
 Par. What the tievh snould move me to under- 
 take the recovery of this drum; being not ignorant 
 of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such 
 purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say, 
 I got them in exploit: Yet slight ones will not 
 
 • Importunate. 8 Count. 
 
 • i. e. Foreign troops in the enemy's pay. 
 
 • A bird like a 'ao.tt-daw 
 
 carry it : They will say, Came you off with so little ? 
 and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore ? what's 
 the instance ? 3 Tongue, I must put you into a 
 butter-woman's mouth, and buy another of Baja- 
 zet's mule, if you prattle me into these perils. 
 
 1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he 
 is, and be that he is 1 [Aside. 
 
 Par. I would the cutting of my garments would 
 serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish 
 sword. 
 
 1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. [Aside. 
 
 Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say, it 
 was in stratagem. 
 
 1 Lord. 'Twould not do. [Aside. 
 
 Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was 
 stripped. 
 
 1 Lord. Hardly serve. [Aside. 
 
 Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window 
 of the citadel 
 
 1 Lord. How deep? [Aside. 
 
 Par. Thirty fathom. 
 
 1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make 
 that be believed. [Aside. 
 
 Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemy's; 
 I would swear, I recovered it. 
 
 1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. [Aside. 
 
 Par. A drum now of the enemy's ! 
 
 [Alarum within. 
 
 1 Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo. 
 
 All. Cargo, cargo, villianda pur corbo, cargo. 
 
 Par. ! ransome, ransome : — Do not hide mine 
 eyes. [They seize him, and blindfold him 
 
 1 Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. 
 
 Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment. 
 And I shall lose my life for want of language: 
 If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
 Italian, or French, let him speak to me, 
 I will discover that which shall undo 
 The Florentine. 
 
 1 Sold. Boskos vauvado: 
 
 I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue : 
 
 Kerelybonto: Sir, 
 
 Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 
 Are at thy bosom. 
 
 Par. Oh! 
 
 * The proot 
 
 o. 
 
r 
 
 234 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act TV 
 
 \ Hold. O, pray, pray, pray. 
 
 Manka revania dulche. 
 
 i Lord. Oscorbi dulchos volivorca. 
 
 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet ; 
 And hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on 
 To gather from thee : haply, thou mayst inform 
 Something to save thy life. 
 
 Par. 0, let me live, 
 
 And all the secrets of our camp I'll show, 
 Their force, their purposes : nay, I'll speak that 
 Which you will wonder at. 
 
 1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully] 
 
 Par. If I do not, damn me. 
 
 1 Sold. Acordo lint a. — ^ 
 
 Come on, thou art granted space. 
 
 [Exit, with Pahollks guarded. 
 
 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and myt 
 
 brother, ) 
 
 We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him\ 
 
 muffled, 
 Till we do hear from them. 
 
 2 Sold. Captain, I will. 
 
 1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves ; — 
 Inform 'em that. 
 
 2 Sold, So I will, sir. 
 
 1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely 
 lock'd. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Bertram and Diana. 
 
 Ber. They told me, that your name was Fontibell. 
 
 Dia No, my good lord, Diana. 
 
 Ber. Titled goddess; 
 
 And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul, 
 In your line frame hath love no quality] 
 If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, 
 You are no maiden, but a monument: 
 When you are dead, you should be such a one 
 As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; 
 And now you should be as your mother was, 
 When your sweet self was got. 
 
 Dia. She then was honest. 
 
 Ber. So should you be. 
 
 Dia. No • 
 
 My mother did but duty ; such, my lord, 
 As you owe to your wife. 
 
 Ber. No more of that! 
 
 I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows: 
 I was compell'd to her ; but I love thee 
 By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
 Do thee all rights of service. 
 
 Dia. Ay, so you serve us, 
 
 Till we serve you : but when you have our roses, 
 You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, 
 \nd mock us with our bareness. 
 
 Ber. How have I sworn? 
 
 Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; 
 But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. 
 What is not holy, that we swear not by, 
 But take the Highest to witness: Then, pray you, 
 
 tell me, 
 ff I should swear by Jove's great attributes, 
 I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, 
 When I did love you ill ? this has no holding, 
 To swear by him whom I protest to love, 
 That I will work against him: Therefore, your oaths, 
 Are words and poor conditions; but unseal 'd ; 
 At least, in my opinion. 
 
 Ber. Change it, change it; 
 
 .'Je not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; 
 And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts, 
 That you do "harge ^en with : Stand no more off, 
 
 But give thyself unto rry sick desires, 
 
 Who then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever 
 
 My love, as it begins, shall so persever. 
 
 Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs, 
 That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 
 
 Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no 
 power 
 To give it from me. 
 
 Dia. Will you not, my lord? 
 
 Ber. It is an honor 'longing to our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world 
 In me to lose. 
 
 Dia. Mine honor's such a ring : 
 
 My chastity's the jewel of our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world 
 In me to lose : Thus your own proper wisdom 
 Brings in the champion honor on my part, 
 Against your vain assault. 
 
 Be?: Here, take my ring : 
 
 My house, mine honor, yea, my life be thine, 
 And I'll be bid by thee. 
 
 Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham- 
 ber window ; 
 I'll order take, my mother shall not hear. 
 Now will I charge you in the band of truth, 
 When you have conqucr'd my yet maiden bed, 
 Remain there but an hour nor speak to me : 
 My reasons are most strong; and you shall know 
 
 them, 
 When back again this ring shall be delivel 'd: 
 And on your linger, in the night I'll put 
 Another ring; that, what in time proceeds, 
 May token to the future our past deeds. 
 Adieu, till then ; then fail not : You have won 
 A wife of me, though there my hope be done. 
 
 Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing 
 thee. [Exit. 
 
 Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven 
 and me ! 
 
 You may so in the end. 
 
 My mother told me just how he would woo, 
 As if she sat in his heart ; she says, all mm 
 Have the like oaths: he had sworn to many me, 
 When his wife's dead; therefore I'll lie with him, 
 When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid,' 
 Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid : 
 Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin 
 To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Florentine Camp. 
 
 Enter the two French Lords, and two or three 
 Soldiers. 
 
 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's 
 letter? 
 
 2 Lord, I have delivered it an hour since: there 
 is something in't that stings his nature : for, on the 
 reading it, he changed almost into another man. 
 
 1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon 
 him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet 
 a lady. 
 
 2 Lord, Especially he hath incurred the everlast- 
 ing displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his 
 bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you 
 a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. 
 
 1 Lord, When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and 
 I am the grave of it. 
 
 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman 
 here in Florence, of a most chaste renown ; and this 
 night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honor 
 
 4 Crafty, deceitful. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 235 
 
 he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks 
 himself made in the unchaste composition". 
 
 1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion; as we 
 ire ourselves, what things are wc ! 
 
 2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the 
 common course of all treasons, we still see them 
 reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred 
 ends ; so he, that in this action contrives against his 
 own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. 
 
 1 Lord. Is it not meant damnable 6 in us, to be 
 trumpeters of our unlawful intents? We shall not 
 I hen have his company to-night? 
 
 2 Lord. Not till after midnight; for he is dieted 
 lo his hour. 
 
 1 Lord. That approaches apace : I would gladly 
 have him see his company 6 anatomised; that he 
 might take a measure of his own judgments, where- 
 in so curiously he had set this counterfeit. 
 
 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till he 
 come: for his presence must be the whip of the 
 other. 
 
 1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of 
 these wars? 
 
 2 Lord. I hear, there is an overture of peace. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 
 
 2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then? 
 will he travel higher, or return again into France? 
 
 1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not 
 altogether of his council. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ! so should I be a 
 great deal of his act. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since 
 fled from his house; her pretence is a pilgrimage 
 to Saint Jaques le grand; which holy undertaking, 
 with most austere sanctimony, she accomplished: 
 and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature 
 became as a prey to her grief: in fine made a groan 
 of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. 
 
 2 Lord. How is this justified? 
 
 1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own 
 letter which makes her story true, even to the point 
 of her death ; her death itself, which could not be 
 her office to say, is come, was faithfully confirmed 
 by the rector of the place. 
 
 2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence ? 
 
 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations, 
 point from point to the full arming of the verity. 
 
 2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad 
 of this. 
 
 1 Lord. How mightily sometimes we make us 
 comforts of our losses! 
 
 2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times, 
 we drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, 
 that his valor hath here acquired for him, shall at 
 home be encountered with a shame as ample. 
 
 1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 
 good and ill together : our virtues would be proud, 
 if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes 
 would despair, if they were not cherished by our 
 virtues. — 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 How now? where 's your master? 
 
 Serv. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 
 he hath taken a solemn leave; his lordship will 
 next morning for France. The duke hafb. offered 
 am letters of commendations to the king. 
 
 2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful 
 .here, if they wero more than they can commend 
 
 Enter Bertram. 
 
 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's 
 
 * Here, as elsewhere, used adverbially. 
 
 • j?w companion. 
 
 tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, 
 my lord, is't not after midnight ? 
 
 Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen busi- 
 nesses, a month's length a-picce, by an abstract of 
 success: I have conge' d with the duke, done my 
 adieu with his nearest ; buried a wife, mourned for 
 her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; en- 
 tertained my convoy; and, between these main 
 parcels of despatch, effected many nicer needs; the 
 last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. 
 
 2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and 
 this morning your departure hence, it requires haste 
 of your lordship. 
 
 Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing 
 to hear of it hereafter : But shall we have leis dia- 
 logue between the fool and the soldier ? Come, 
 
 bring forth this counterfeit module;" he has de- 
 ceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier. 
 
 2 Lord. Bring him forth: [Exeunt Soldiers.] He 
 has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 
 
 Ber. No matter; his heels have deserved it, ii: 
 usurping his spurs 8 so long. How does he carry 
 himself? 
 
 1 Lord. I have told your lordship already; the 
 stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would 
 be understood; he weeps, like a wench that had 
 shed her milk: he hath confessed himself to Mor- 
 gan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time 
 of his remembrance, to this very instant disaster of 
 his sitting i'the stocks: And what think you he 
 hath confessed? 
 
 Ber. Nothing of me, has he ? 
 
 2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be 
 read to his face: if your lordship be in't, as I be- 
 lieve you are, you must have the patience to hear it, 
 
 Re-enter Soldiers, with Parollt.s. 
 
 Ber. A plague upon him! muffled! he can sa> 
 nothing of me ; hush ! hush ! 
 
 1 Lord. Hoodman comes! — Porto tartarossa. 
 
 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you 
 say without 'em? 
 
 Par. I will confess what I know without con 
 straint; if he pinch me like a pasty, I can say nc 
 more. 
 
 1 Sold. Bos/io chimurcho. 
 
 2 Lord. Bohlihindo chiciirmurcho. 
 
 1 Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our gene- 
 ral bids you answer to what I shall ask you out 
 of a note. 
 
 Par. And truly, as I hope to live. 
 
 1 Sold. First, demand of him how many horse 
 the duke is strong. What say you to that? 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand; but very weak and 
 unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, and the 
 commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation 
 and credit, and as I hope to live. 
 
 1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so ? 
 
 Par. Do ; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and 
 which way you will. 
 
 Ber. All's one to him. What a j.ast-saving 
 slave is this ! 
 
 1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord; this is mon- 
 sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his 
 own phrase,) that had the whole theorick of war in 
 the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape 8 
 of his dagger. 
 
 2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keep- 
 ing his sword clean; nor believe he can have every 
 thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 1 Model, pattern. 
 
 • An allusion to the degradation of a knight by hack 
 ing off his spurs 9 The point of the scaobard 
 
iS6 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act I\ 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will 
 say true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll speak 
 Iruth. 
 
 1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this. 
 
 Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the na- 
 ture he delivers it. 
 
 Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a truth, 
 the rogues are marvellous poor. 
 
 1 Sold. Demand of him of what strength they 
 are a-foot. What say you to that? 
 
 Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this 
 present hour, I will tell true. Let me see : Spurio 
 a hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus 
 so many, Jaques so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lo- 
 dowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each ; mine 
 own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two 
 hundred and fifty each: so that the muster-file, 
 rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to 
 fifteen thousand poll; half of which dare not shake 
 the snow from off their cassocks,' lest they shake 
 themselves to pieces. 
 
 Ber. What shall be done to him? 
 
 1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- 
 mand of him my conditions, 11 and what credit I have 
 with the duke. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall demand 
 of him whether one captain Dumain be c the camp, 
 a Frenchman,- what his reputation is with the duke, 
 what his valor, honesty, andexpertness in wars; or 
 whether he thinks it were not possible, with well- 
 weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to a revolt. 
 What say you to this? what do you know of it? 
 
 Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the par- 
 ticular of the interrogatories: Demand them singly. 
 
 1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain ? 
 
 Par. I know him : he was a botcher's 'prentice in 
 Paris, from whence he was whipped for getting the 
 sheriff's fool with child; a dumb innocent, 3 that 
 could not say him, nay. 
 
 [Dumain lifts up his hand in anger. 
 
 Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; 
 though I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile 
 that falls. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Flo- 
 rence's camp? 
 
 Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall 
 hear of your lordship anon. 
 
 1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke? 
 
 Par. The duke knows him for no other but a 
 poor officer of mine; and writ to me the other day, 
 to turn him out o'the band : I think I have his letter 
 in my pocket. 
 
 1 Sold. Marry, we'll search. 
 
 Par. In good sadness, I do not know : either it 
 is there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other 
 letters, in my tent. 
 
 1 Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper. Shall I read 
 it to you ? 
 
 ar. I do not know if it be it or no. 
 
 Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 
 
 1 Lord. Excellently. 
 
 1 Sold. Dian. The counts a fool, and full of gold, 
 
 Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that is an 
 advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one 
 Diana, to take heed of the allurements of one count 
 Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very 
 Tittish: I pray you, sir, put it up again. 
 
 1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favor. 
 
 1 Cassock then signified a horseman's loose coat. 
 *X)ispt«4 ! .cn and character. » A natural fool. 
 
 Half 
 
 Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very hones4 
 in the behalf of the maid; fcr I knew the young 
 count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy ; who 
 is a whale to virginity, and devours up all the frj 
 it finds. 
 
 Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue ! 
 
 1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop 
 
 gold, and take it; 
 After he scores he never pays the score: 
 iff won, is match well made,- match, and well 
 
 make it; 
 
 He ne'er pays after debts, take it before; 
 And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this, 
 Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss: 
 For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, 
 Who pays oefore, but not when he does owe it. 
 
 Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, 
 Parolles. 
 Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, 
 with this rhyme in his forehead. 
 
 2 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the 
 manifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. 
 
 Ber. I could endure any thing before but a cat, 
 and now he's a cat to me. 
 
 1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we 
 shall be fain to hang you. 
 
 Par. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am 
 afraid to die : but that, my offences being many, I 
 would repent out the remainder of nature: let me 
 live, sir, in a dungeon, i'the stocks, or any where, 
 so I may live. 
 
 1 Sold. We'll see what may be done, so you con- 
 fess freely; therefore, once more to this captain 
 Dumain : You have answered to his reputation with 
 the duke, and to his valor : What is his honesty ? 
 
 Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister, 
 for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. 4 
 He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking 
 them, he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, 
 sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth 
 were a fool : drunkenness is his best virtue ; for he 
 will be swine-drunk ; and in his sleep he does little 
 harm, save to his bed-clothes about him ; but they 
 know his conditions, and lay him in straw. I have 
 but little more to say, sir, of his honesty : he has 
 every thing that an honest man should not have; 
 what an honest man should have, he has nothing. 
 
 1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. 
 
 Ber. For this description of thine honesty ? A 
 pox upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 
 
 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war ? 
 
 Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the 
 English tragedians, — to belie him, I will not, — and 
 more of his soldiership I know not; except, in that 
 country he had the honor to be the officer at a place 
 there called Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling 
 of files : I would do the man what honor I can, 
 but of this I am not certain. 
 
 1 Lord. He hath out-villanied villany so far, tha 
 the rarity redeems him. 
 
 Ber. A pox on him ! he's a cat still. 
 
 I Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I 
 need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt. 
 
 Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu 1 he will sell the fee- 
 simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it; and 
 cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual 
 succession for it perpetually. 
 
 1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain 
 Dumain? 
 
 2 Isrd. Why does he ask him of me? 
 1 Sold. What's he? 
 
 * The Centaur killed hy Hercules. 
 
 * The fourth Dart of the smaller French crown. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL 
 
 2.T7 
 
 Par. E'en a crow of the same ne.-"i; not altogether 
 bo grea' as the first in goodness, but greater a great 
 deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward, 
 yet. his brother is reputed one of the best that is: 
 In a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in 
 conn ng on he has the cramp. 
 
 1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you under- 
 take to betray the Florentine ? 
 
 Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count 
 Rousillon. 
 
 1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know 
 his pleasure. 
 
 Pur. I'll no more drumming; a plague of all 
 drums! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile 
 the supposition 6 of that lascivious young boy, the 
 count, have I to run into this danger: Yet who 
 would have suspected an ambush where I was taken! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 1 Sold, There is no remedy, sir, but you must die: 
 the general says, you that have so traitorously dis- 
 covered the secrets of your army, and made such 
 pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can 
 serve the world for no honest use; therefore you 
 must dii!. Come, headsman, off with his head. 
 
 Par. Lord, sir ; let me live, or let me see my 
 death. 
 
 1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of 
 all your friends. [Un muffling him. 
 So, look about you ; Know you any here ? 
 
 Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 
 
 2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles. 
 
 1 Lord. God save you, noble captain. 
 
 2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my 
 lord Lafeu? I am for France. 
 
 1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy 
 of the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the 
 count Rousillon ? an I were not a very coward, I'd 
 compel it of you ; but fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Bertram, Lords, c$-c. 
 
 1 Sold. You are undone, captain : all but your 
 scarf, that has a knot on't yet. 
 
 Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 
 
 1 Sold. If you could find out a country where 
 out women were that had received so much shame, 
 you might begin an impudent nation. Fare you 
 well, sir; I am for France too; we shall speak of 
 you there. [Exit. 
 
 Par. Yet am I thankful: if my heart were great, 
 'Twould burst at this : Captain I'll be no more ; 
 But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
 As captain shall: simply the thing I am 
 Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, 
 Let him fear this; for it will come to pass, 
 That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
 Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, Parolles, live 
 Safest in shame! being fool'd, by foolery thrive! 
 There's place, and means, for every man alive. 
 I'll after then*. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Florence. A Room in the Widow's 
 House. 
 Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana. 
 Hel. That you may well perceive I have not 
 wrong'd you, 
 One of the grsatest in the Christian world 
 Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needful, 
 Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel : 
 Time was I did him a desired office, 
 Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude 
 Through flinty Tartar's bus^m would peep forth, 
 And answer thanks: I duly am inform'd 
 Hi'< grace is at Marseilles; to whicl* place 
 • To deceive the opinion. 
 
 We have convenient convoy. You must know, 
 I am supposed dead : the army breaking, 
 My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding, 
 And by the leave of my good lord the king, 
 We'll be, before our welcome. 
 
 Wid. Gentle madam, 
 
 You never had a servant, to whose trust 
 Your business was more welcome. 
 
 Hel. Nor you, mistress, 
 
 Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labor 
 To recompense your love; doubt not, but heaven 
 Hath brought me up to be your daughters dower, 
 As it hath fated her to be my motive 
 And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! 
 That can such sweet use make of what they hate, 
 When saucy 1 trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 
 Defiles the pitchy night ! so lust doth play 
 With what it loaths, for that which is away : 
 
 But more of this hereafter: You, Diana, 
 
 Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 
 Something in my behalf. 
 
 Dia. Let death and honesty 
 
 Go with your impositions, 8 1 am yours, 
 Upon your will to suffer. 
 
 Hel. Yet, I pray you, 
 
 But with the word, the time will bring on summer, 
 When briers shall have leaves as well as thon s, 
 And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ; 
 Our waggon is prepared, and time revives us : 
 All's well that ends well: still the fine's 9 the crown; 
 Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Rousillon. A Room in the 
 
 Countess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 
 
 Luf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt- 
 taffata fellow there; whose villanous saffron' would 
 have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a 
 nation in his color : your daughter-in-law had been 
 alive at this hour ; and your son here at home, more 
 advanced by the king, than by that red-tailed hum- 
 ble-bee I speak of. 
 
 Count. I would, I had not known him ! it was 
 the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that 
 ever nature had praise for creating : if she had par- 
 taken of my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans 
 of a mother, I could not have owed her a more 
 rooted love. 
 
 Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we 
 may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such 
 another herb. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of 
 the salad, or, rather, the herb of grace. 2 
 
 Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they 
 are nose-herbs. 
 
 Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have 
 not much skill in grass. 
 
 Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself; a knave 
 or a fool? 
 
 Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a 
 knave at a man's. 
 
 Laf. Your distinction? 
 
 Clo. 1 would cozen the man of his wife, and dc 
 his service. 
 
 Laf. So you were a knave at his service, indeed 
 
 Cio. And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, 
 to do her service. 
 
 Laf. I will subscribe for thee; thou art both 
 knave and fool. 
 
 ' Lascivious. • Commands. • En<5. 
 
 ' There was a fashion of using yellow starch for ban i* 
 and ruffles, to which Lafeu alluaVs. * 1. 1. Jtue. 
 
J3S 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 
 
 Act V, 
 
 Clo. At your service. 
 
 Laf. No, no, no. 
 
 Clo. Why. sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve 
 as great a prince as you are. 
 
 Laf. Who's that? a Frenchman"? 
 
 Clo. Faith, sir, he has an English name: but 
 his phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. 
 
 Laf. What prince is that 1 
 
 Clo. The black prince, sir ; alias, the prince of 
 darkness; alias, the devil. 
 
 Laf Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee 
 not this to suggest 3 thee from thy master thou 
 talkest of; serve him still. 
 
 Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always 
 loved a great fire; and the master I speak of, ever 
 keeps a good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of 
 the world, let his nobility remain in his court. I 
 am for the house with the narrow gate, which I 
 take to be too little for pomp to enter : some, that 
 humble themselves, may ; but the many will be too 
 chill and tender; and they'll be for the flowery way, 
 that leads to the broad gate, and the great fire. 
 
 Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee, 
 and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall 
 out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be 
 well looked to, without any tricks. 
 
 Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall 
 be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the 
 law of nature. [Exit. 
 
 Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. 1 
 
 Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made 
 himself much sport out of him : by his authority he 
 remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his 
 sauciness ; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs 
 where he will. 
 
 Laf. I like him well ; 'tis not amiss : and I was 
 about to tell you. Since I heard of the good lady's 
 death, and that my lord your son was upon his re- 
 
 turn home, I moved the king my master, to speak 
 in the behalf of my daughter: which in the mino- 
 rity of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracioiia 
 remembrance, did first propose : his highness hath 
 promised me to do it: and, to stop up the displea- 
 sure he hath conceived against your son, there is no 
 fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? 
 
 Count. With very much content, my lord, and 
 I wish it happily effected. 
 
 Laf His highness comes post from Marseilles, ot 
 as able body as when he numbered thirty; he will 
 be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that 
 in such intelligence hath seldom failed. 
 
 Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him 
 ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here 
 to-night: I shall beseech your lordship, to remain 
 with me till they meet together. 
 
 Laf. Madam, I was thinking, with what manners 
 I might safely be admitted. 
 
 Count. You need but plead your honorable pri- 
 vilege. 
 
 Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter: 
 but, I thank mf God, it holds yet. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. madam, yonder's my lord your son with 
 a patch of velvet on's face : whether there be a scar 
 under it, or no, the velvet knows : but 'tis a goodly 
 patch of velvet: his left cheek is a cheek of two 
 pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. 
 
 Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
 livery of honor ! so, belike, is that. 
 
 Clo. But it is your carbonadoed 6 face. 
 
 Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I long 
 to talk with the young noble soldier. 
 
 Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate 
 fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow 
 the head, and nod at every man. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Marseilles. A Street. 
 
 Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two 
 Attendants. 
 
 Het. But this exceeding posting, day and night, 
 Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ; 
 But since you have made the days and nights as one, 
 To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, 
 Be bold, you do so grow in my requital, 
 As nothing can unroot you. In happy time; 
 
 Enter a ge?itle Astringer.* 
 This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
 If he would spend his power. — God save you, sir. 
 
 Gent. And you. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of Fiance. 
 
 Gent. I have been sometimes there. 
 
 Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen 
 From the report that goes upon your goodness ; 
 And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, 
 Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
 The use of your own virtues, for the which 
 I shall continue thankful. 
 
 Gent. What's your will 1 
 
 Hel. Thai it will please you 
 To give this poor petition to the king ; 
 And aid me with that store of power you have, 
 I'o come into his presence. 
 
 * Seduce. * Mischievously unhappy, waggish. 
 
 • K gentleman falconer. 
 
 Gent. The king's not here. 
 
 Hel. Not here, sir 1 
 
 Gent. Not, indeed: 
 
 He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
 Than is his use. 
 
 Wid. Lord, how we lose our pains ' 
 
 Hel. All's well that ends well, yet; 
 Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. — 
 I do beseech you, whither is he gone] 
 
 Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ; 
 Whither I am going. 
 
 Hel. I do beseech you, sir, 
 
 Since you are like to see the king before me, 
 Commend the paper to his gracious hand ; 
 Which, I presume, shall render you no blame, 
 But rather make you thank your pains for it: 
 I will come after you, with what good speed 
 Our means will make us means. 
 
 Gent. This I'll do for you. 
 
 Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well 
 thank'd, 
 Whate'er falls more. — We must to horse again;— 
 Go, go, provide. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Rousillon. The inner Court of tht 
 
 Countess's Pa/ace. 
 
 Enter Clown and Paroli.es. 
 
 Par. Good monsieur Lavateh, give my lord Lafeu 
 
 this letter: I have, ere now, sir, been better knows 
 
 « Scored like a piece of meat for the rridiron. 
 
CENE III. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 230 
 
 to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher I 
 clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's 
 moat, aim smell somewhat strong of her strong dis- 
 plrasuri 
 
 C/o. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, 
 if it smell so strong as thou speakest of: I will 
 henceforth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. — 
 Pr'ythee, allow the wind. 
 
 Par. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir; I 
 spake but by a metaphor. 
 
 C/o. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will 
 stop my nose; or against any man's metaphor. — 
 Pr'ythee, get thee further. 
 
 Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 
 
 Clo. Foh, pr'ythee, stand away ; A paper from 
 fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman! Ljok, 
 here he comes himself. 
 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat, 
 (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean 
 fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is mud- 
 died withal : Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may ; 
 for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, 
 rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles 
 of comfort, and leave him to your lordship. 
 
 [Exit Clown. 
 
 Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath 
 cruelly scratched. 
 
 Laf. And what would you have me to do ? 'tis too 
 late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played 
 the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you, 
 who of herself is a good lady, and would not have 
 knaves thrive long under her 1 There's a quart d'ecu 
 for you : Let the justices make you and fortune 
 friends : I am for other business. 
 
 Par. I beseech your honor, to hear me one sin- 
 gle word. 
 
 Laf. You beg a single penny more: come, you 
 shall ha't ; save your word. 
 
 Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. 
 
 Laf. You beg more than one word, then. — Cox' 
 my passion ! give me your hand : — How does your 
 drum 1 
 
 Par. my good lord, you were the first that 
 found me. 
 
 Laf. Was I, in sooth 1 and I was the first that 
 lost thee. 
 
 Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some 
 grace, for you did bring me out. 
 
 Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon 
 me at once both the office of God and the devil? 
 one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee 
 out. [Trumpets sound.] The king's coming, I know 
 by his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further after me ; 
 I had talk of you last night: though you are a fool 
 and a knave, you shall eat ; go to, follow. 
 
 Par. I praise God for you. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in the Countess's Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, 
 Gentlemen, Guards, <^-c. 
 
 King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem 1 
 Was made much poorer by it : but your son, 
 As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
 Her estimation home.' 
 
 Count. 'Tis past, my liege: 
 
 And I beseech your majesty to make it 
 Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth; 
 When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
 O'erbears it, and burns on. 
 
 King. My honor'd lady, 
 
 • Eeckoning or estimate. • Completely, in its full extent. 
 
 I have forgiven and forgotten all; 
 
 Though my revenges were high bent upon him, 
 
 And watch'd the time to shoot. 
 
 Laf. This I must say, 
 
 But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord 
 Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, 
 Offence of mighty note ; but to himself 
 The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife, 
 Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
 Of richest eyes ; whose words ah ears took captive % 
 Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to seive, 
 Humbly call'd mistress. 
 
 King. Praising what is lost. 
 
 Makes the remembrance dear. — Well, call him 
 
 hither ; 
 
 We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill 
 All repetition; 9 — Let him not ask our pardon; 
 The nature of his great offence is dead, 
 And deeper than oblivion do we bury 
 The incensing relics of it : let him approach, 
 A stranger, no offender ; and inform him, 
 So 'tis our will he should. 
 
 Gent. I shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 King. What says he to your daughter 1 have you 
 spoke 1 
 
 Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness 
 
 King. Then shall we have a match. I have let- 
 ters sent me, 
 That set him high in fame. 
 
 • Enter Bertham. 
 
 Laf. He looks well on't 
 
 King. I am not a day of season, 1 
 For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail 
 In me at once : But to the brightest beams 
 Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth, 
 The time is fair again. 
 
 Ber. My high repented blames 
 
 Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 
 
 King. All is whole; 
 
 Not one word more of the consumed time. 
 Let's take the instant by the forward top ; 
 For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 
 The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
 Steals ere we can effect them : You remember 
 The daughter of this lord 1 
 
 Ber. Admiringly, my liege: at first 
 I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongb.s . 
 Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 Which warp'd the line of every other favor ; 
 Scorn'd a fair color, or express'd it stol'n ; 
 Extended or contracted all proportions, 
 To a most hideous object: Thence it came, 
 That she, whom all menprais'd, and whom myself, 
 Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
 The dust that did offend it. 
 
 King. Well excus'd: 
 
 That thou didst love her, strikes some scores awaj 
 From the great compt : But love, that comes too late, 
 Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, 
 To the great sender turns a sour offence, 
 Crying, That's good that's gone : our rash fan 
 Make trivial price of serious things we have, 
 Not knowing them, until we know their grav 
 Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 
 Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: 
 Our own love waking cries to see what's done, 
 While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. 
 Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget. t,a 
 s Recollection. ' i. e. Of uninterrupted lain 
 
240 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Aci V 
 
 Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin: 
 The main consents are had ; and here we'll stay 
 To see our widower's second marriage-day. 
 
 Count- Which better than the first, O dear heaven, 
 bless ! 
 Or, ere they meet, in me, nature, cease ! 
 
 Laf Come on, my son, in whom my house's 
 name 
 Must be digested, give a favor from you, 
 To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, 
 That she may quickly come. — By my old beard, 
 And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead, 
 Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this, 
 The last that e'er I took her leave at court, 
 I saw upon her finger. 
 
 Ber. Hers it was not. 
 
 King. Now, pray you. let me see it ; for mine eye, 
 While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. — 
 This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, 
 I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
 Necessitied to help, that by this token 
 I would relieve her : Had you that craft, to reave her 
 Of what should stead her most 1 
 
 Ber. My gracious sovereign, 
 
 Howe'er it pleases you to take it so, 
 The ring was never hers. 
 
 Count. Son, on my life, 
 
 I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it 
 At her life's rate. 
 
 Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it. 
 
 Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it : 
 In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
 Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
 Of her that threw it : noble she was, and thought 
 I stood ingag'd:* but when I had subscrib'd 
 To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, 
 I could not answer in that course of honor 
 As she had made the overture, she ceas'd, 
 In heavy satisfaction, and would never 
 Receive the ring again. 
 
 King. Plutus himself, 
 
 That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine," 
 Hath not in nature's mystery more science, 
 Than I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, 
 Whoever gave it you : Then, if you know, 
 That you are well acquainted with yourself, 
 Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement 
 You got it from her : she call'd the saints to surety, 
 That she would never put it from her finger, 
 Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 
 (Where you have never come,) or sent it us 
 Upon her great disaster. 
 
 Ber. She never saw it. 
 
 King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine 
 honor; 
 And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me 
 Which I would fain shut out : If it should prove 
 That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so; — 
 And yet I know not : — thou didst hate her deadly, 
 And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
 Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, 
 More than to see this ring. — Take him away. — 
 
 [Guards seize Bertram. 
 My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, 
 Shall tax my fears of little vanity, 
 Having vainly fear'd too little. — Away with him ; — 
 We'll sift this matter further. 
 
 Ber. If you shall prove 
 
 This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
 Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
 Where vet she never was. 
 
 [Exit Bertram, guarded. 
 fn the seiw of i-neneaeed. » The philosopher's stone. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings 
 
 Gent. Gracious sovereign 
 
 Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not 
 Here's a petition f om a Florentine, 
 Who hath for frur or five removes,* come short 
 To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
 Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speecn 
 Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, 
 Is here attending: her business looks in her 
 With an important visage ; and she told me, 
 In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
 Your highness with kerself. 
 
 King. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations U 
 marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say 
 it, he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a 
 widower,- his vows are forfeited to me, and my 
 honor's paid to him. He stole from Florence, taking 
 no leave, and I follow him to his country for jus- 
 tice: Grant it me, king ,• in you it best lies ; 
 otherwise a seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is 
 undone. Diana Capujcet. 
 
 Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and 
 toll him : 5 for this, I'll none of him. 
 
 King. The heavens have thought well on thee^, 
 Lafeu, 
 To bring forth this discovery. — Seek these suitors: — 
 Go, speedily, and bring again the count. 
 
 [Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. 
 I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, 
 Was foully snatch'd. 
 
 Comit. Now, justice on the doers' 
 
 Enter Bertram, guarded. 
 King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to 
 you, 
 And that you fly them as you swear them lordship 
 Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that 1 
 
 Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and Diana. 
 
 Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
 Derived from the ancient Capulet; 
 My suit, as I do understand, you know, 
 And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
 
 Wid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honoi 
 Both suffer under this complaint we bring, 
 And both shall cease, 6 without your remedy. 
 
 King. Come hither, count: Do you know these 
 women 1 
 
 Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny 
 But that I know them : Do they charge me further 1 
 
 Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your 
 wife? 
 
 Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. 
 
 Dia. If you shall marry, 
 
 You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 
 You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ; 
 You give away myself, which is known mine ; 
 For I by vow am so embodied yours, 
 That she, which marries you, must marry me, 
 Either both or none. 
 
 Laf. Your reputation [To Bertram.] comes too 
 short for my daughter ; you are no husband for her. 
 
 Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate crea- 
 ture, 
 Whom sometime I have laugh'd with: let youi 
 
 highness 
 Lay a more noble thought upon mine honor, 
 Than for to. think that I would sink it here. 
 
 King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill t« 
 friend, 
 
 * Post-stages, 
 o D^ceajap. die 
 
 » Pay toll for him. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 £11 ! 
 
 Till your deeds gain them: Fairer prove your 
 
 honor, 
 Than in my thought it lies ! 
 
 Dia. Good ray lord, 
 
 Ask him up >n his oath, if he does think 
 He had not iny virginity. 
 
 King. What say'st thou to her? 
 Bcr. She's impudent, my lord; 
 
 And was a common gamester to the camp.' 
 
 Dia. He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so, 
 He might have bought me at a common price : 
 Do not believe him : O, behold this ring, 
 Whose high respect, and rich validity, 
 Did lack a parallel; yet, for all that, 
 He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, 
 If I be one. 
 
 Count. He blushes, and 'tis it: 
 Of six preceding ancestors, that gem 
 Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, 
 Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife ; 
 That ring's a thousand proofs. 
 
 King. Mcthought, you said, 
 
 You saw one here in court could witness it. 
 
 Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
 So bad an instrument; his name's Parolles. 
 
 Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 
 
 King. Find him, and bring him hither. 
 
 Ber. What of him? 
 
 He's quoted 8 for a most perfidious slave, 
 With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd; 9 
 Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth: 
 Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter, 
 That will speak any thing ? 
 
 King. She hath that ring of yours. 
 
 Ber. I think she has : certain it is, I liked her, 
 And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth: 
 She knew her distance, and did angle for me, 
 Madding my eagerness with her restraint, 
 As all impediments in fancy's ' course 
 Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine, 
 Her insuit coming with her modern grace, 3 
 Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring; 
 And I had that, which any inferior might 
 nt market price have bought. 
 
 Dia. I must be patient ; 
 
 You that turn'd off a first so noble wife, 
 May justly diet me. I pray you yet, 
 (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,) 
 Send for your ring, I will return it home. 
 And give me mine again 
 
 Ber. I have it not. 
 
 King. What ring was yours, I pray you ! 
 
 Dia. Sir, much like 
 
 The same upon your finger. 
 
 King. Know you this ring? this rin& was his 
 of late. 
 
 Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed. 
 
 King. The story then goes false, you threw it him, 
 Out of a casement. 
 
 Dia. I have spoke the truth. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Bcr. My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers. 
 King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts 
 
 you. 
 Is this the man you speak of? 
 
 Dia. Ay, my lord. 
 
 King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge 
 
 you, 
 
 ' Gamester, when applied to a female, then meant a 
 common woman. 
 
 • Noted. • Debauch'd. ' Love. 
 
 1 Her solicitation concurring with her appearance of 
 o«ing common. 
 
 Not fearing the displeasure of your master, 
 (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,) 
 By him, and by this woman here, what know you 1 
 Par. So please your majesty, my master hath 
 been an honorable gentleman ; tricks he hath had 
 in him, which gentlemen have. 
 
 King. Come, come, to the purpose : Did he love 
 this woman? 
 
 Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how? 
 King. How, I pray you? 
 Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman love* 
 a woman. 
 
 King. How is that? 
 
 Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not. 
 King. As thou art a knave, and no knave:— 
 What an equivocal companion is this ? 
 
 Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
 command. 
 
 Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
 orator. 
 
 Dia. Do you know, he promised me marriage? 
 Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak. 
 King. But wilt thou not speak all th^u know'st? 
 Par. Yes, so please your majesty; I did go be- 
 tween them, as I said; but more than that, he 
 loved her, — for indeed he was mad for her, and 
 talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I 
 know not what : yet I was in that credit with them 
 at that time, that I knew of their going to bed ; 
 and of other motions, as promising her marriage, 
 and things that would derive me ill will to speak of. 
 therefore 1 will not speak what I know. 
 
 King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou 
 canst say they are married: But thou art too fine 
 in thy evidence : therefore stand aside — 
 This ring, you say, was yours? 
 
 Dia. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Where di J you buy it? or who gave it you? 
 Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 
 King. Who lent it you ? 
 
 Dia. It was not lent me neithei. 
 
 King. Where did you find it then ? 
 Dia. I found it not 
 
 King. If it were yours by none of all these ways, 
 How could you give it him ? 
 
 Dia. I never gave it him. 
 
 Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; she 
 goes off and on at pleasure. 
 
 King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. 
 Dia. It might be yours or hers for aught I know 
 King. Take her away, I do not like her now; 
 To prison with her, and away with him. — 
 Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring 
 Thou diest within this hour. 
 
 Dia. I'H never tell you. 
 
 King. Take her away. 
 
 Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege 
 
 King. I think thee now some common customer 
 Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. 
 King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this 
 
 while ? 
 Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty ; 
 He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't. 
 I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
 Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
 I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 
 
 [Pointing to Lafeu. 
 King. She does abuse our ears; to prison with her. 
 Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.— Stay, royal 
 sir; [Exit Widow 
 
 The jeweller, that owes 3 the ring, is sent for, 
 And he shall surety me. But for this lord, 
 > Own*. 
 
242 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself, 
 Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him : 
 He knows himself, my bed he hath defil'd ; 
 And at that time he got his wife with child: 
 Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick: 
 So there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick: 
 And now behold the meaning. 
 
 Re-enter Widow, with Helena. 
 
 King. Is there no exorcist 
 
 Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes] 
 Is't real, that I see 1 
 
 Hel. No, my good lord; 
 
 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, 
 The name, and not the thing. 
 
 Ber. Both, both; O, pardon ! 
 
 Hel. 0, my good lord, when I was like this maid, 
 I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, 
 And, look you, here's your letter ; This it says, 
 When from my finger you can get this ring, 
 And are by me with child, &c. — This is done : 
 Will you be mine, now you are doubly won 1 
 
 Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know this 
 clearly, 
 I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 
 
 Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, 
 Deadly divorce step between mo and you! — 
 O, ray dear mother, do I see you living] 
 
 Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anoj : 
 — Good Tom Drum, [To Parulles.] lend me a 
 handkerchief: So, I thank thee : wait on me home, 
 I'll make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies akne. 
 they are scurvy ones. 
 
 King. Let us from point to point this story kr. jw, 
 To make the even truth in pleasure flow : — 
 If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower, 
 
 [To Diana. 
 Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dover: 
 For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid, 
 Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. — 
 Of that, and all the progress, more and less, 
 Resolvedly more leisure shali express: 
 All yet seems well ; and if it end so meet, 
 The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. 
 
 [Flourish, 
 
 Advancing. 
 
 The king's a beggar, now the play is done: 
 All is well ended, if this suit be won, 
 That you express content; which we will vay, 
 With strife to please you day exceeding day.- 
 Ours be your patience, then, and yours our parts; 
 Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts. 
 
 [Exeunl 
 
 *i.€. Take our parte, support and defend u» 
 
TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Servants to Lucentio. 
 Servants to Petruchio. 
 
 A Loud 
 
 Christopher SLY,fl,d;u«A:e/i Tinker. ~i Personsin 
 Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen and > the Indue- 
 other Servants attending on Me Lord. ) tion 
 
 Baptista, a rich Gentleman of Padua. 
 Vincentio, an old Gentleman q/'Pisa. 
 Lucentio, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca. 
 Petruchio, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor to 
 
 Katharina. 
 Gremio, ) s . fo Bianca# 
 
 HORTENSIO, 5 
 
 SCENE, sometimes in Padua: and sometimes in Petruchio' s House in the Country. 
 
 Tranio, 
 
 BlONDELLO, 
 
 Ghcmio, 
 
 Curtis, 
 
 Pedant, an old Fellow, set up to pers.maie Via 
 centio. 
 
 Katharin.*, the Shrew, 
 Bianca, her Sister, 
 Widow. 
 
 Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on 
 Baptista and Petruchio. 
 
 > Daughters to Baptista. 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 SCENE I. — Before an Alehouse on a Heath. 
 Enter Hostess and Sly. 
 
 Sly. I'll pheese ' you, in faith. 
 
 Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue ! 
 
 Sly. Y'are a baggage ; the Slies are no rogues : 
 Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard 
 Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris^ let the 
 world slide: Sessa/ 3 
 
 Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have 
 '•urst? 
 
 Sly. No, not a denier : Go by, says Jeronimy ; — 
 Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 4 
 
 Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the 
 thirdborough. 5 [Exit. 
 
 Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll an- 
 swer him by law : I'll not budge an inch, boy ; let 
 him come, and kindly. 
 
 [Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep. 
 
 Wind Horns. Enter a Lord from hunting, with 
 Huntsmen and Servants. 
 
 Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my 
 hounds: 
 Brach 6 Merriman, — the poor cur is emboss'd,' — 
 And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. 
 Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
 At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault 1 
 T would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 
 
 1 Hunt. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; 
 He cried upon it at the merest loss, 
 And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: 
 Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 
 
 « Beat or knock. l Few words. * Be quiet. 
 
 4 This line and scrap of Spanish is used in burlesque from 
 aa old play called Hieronymo, or the Spanish Tragedy. 
 * An officer whose authority equals that of a constable. 
 « Mitch. ' Strained. 
 
 [843] 
 
 Lord. Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet, 
 I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
 But sup them well, and look unto them all; 
 To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 
 
 1 Hunt. I will, my lord. 
 
 Lord. What's here ? one dead, or drunk ? See, 
 doth he breathe 1 
 
 2 Hunt. He breathes, my lord: Were he not 
 
 warm'd with ale, 
 This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 
 Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine he 
 
 lies! 
 Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image ! 
 
 Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
 
 What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
 Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, 
 A most delicious banquet by his bed, 
 And brave attendants near him when he wakes, 
 Would not the beggar then forget himself? 
 
 1 Hunt. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 
 
 2 Hunt. It would seem strange unto him when 
 
 he wak'd. 
 Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless 
 
 fancy. 
 Then take him up, and manage well the jest : — 
 Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, 
 And hang it round with all my wanton pictures ■ 
 Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters, 
 And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet 
 Procure me music ready when he wakes, 
 To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
 And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, 
 And, with a low submissive reverence, 
 Say, — What is it your honor will command? 
 Let one attend him with a silver bason, 
 Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowen 
 Another bear the ewer, the third a iVajwr 
 
•-M4 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. Induction. Scene II. 
 
 And say, — Will 't please your lordship cool your 
 
 hands? 
 Some one be ready with a costly suit, 
 And ask him what apparel he will wear; 
 Another tell him of his hounds and horse, 
 And that his lady mourns at his disease: 
 Persuade him that he hath been lunatic; 
 And, when he says he is, — say that he dreams, 
 For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 
 This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; 
 It will be pastime passing excellent, 
 If it be husbanded with modesty. 8 
 
 1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part, 
 As he shall think, by our true diligence, 
 He is no less than what we say he is. 
 
 Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him ; 
 And each one to his office when he wakes. — 
 
 [Some bear out Slt. A trumpet sounds. 
 Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Belike, some noble gentleman ; that means, 
 Travelling some journey, to repose him here. — 
 
 Re-enter a Servant. 
 How now? who is it? 
 
 Serv. An it please your honor, 
 
 Players that offer service to your lordship. 
 Lord. Bid them come near : — 
 Enter Players. 
 Now, fellows, you are welcome. 
 
 1 Play. We thank your honor. 
 
 Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 
 
 2 Play. So please your lordship to accept our duty. 
 Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow I re- 
 member, 
 
 Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ; — 
 'Tvvas where you woo'dthe gentlewoman so well: 
 I have forgot your name; but sure that part 
 Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. 
 
 1 Play. I think, 'twas Soto that your honor means. 
 
 Lord. 'Tis very true; — thou didst it excellent. 
 Well, you aie come to me in happy time: 
 The rather, for I have some sport in hand, 
 Wherein your cunning can assist me much. 
 There is a lord will hear you play to-night : 
 But I am doubtful of your modesties; 
 Lest, over-eying of his odd behavior, 
 (For yet his honor never heard a play,) 
 You break into some merry passion, 
 And so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs, 
 If you should smile, he grows impatient. 
 
 1 Play. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain our- 
 selves, 
 Were he the veriest antic in the world. 
 
 Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, 
 And give them friendly welcome every one : 
 Let them want nothing that my house affords. — 
 
 [Exeunt Servant and Players. 
 Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew, my page, 
 
 [To a Servant. 
 And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady : 
 That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber, 
 And call him — madam, do him obeisance, 
 Tell him from me, (as he will win my love,) 
 He bear himself with honorable action, 
 Such as he hath observed in noble ladies 
 Unto their lords, by them accomplished : 
 Such duty to the drunkard let him do, 
 With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy; 
 And say — What.is't your honor will command, 
 Wherein your lady, and your humble wife, 
 Way show her duty, and make known her love? 
 • Moderation. 
 
 And then — with kind embracements, tempting 
 
 And with declining head into his bosom, — 
 
 Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
 
 To see her noble lord restor'd to health, 
 
 Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed hhn 
 
 No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : 
 
 And if the boy have not a woman's gift, 
 
 To rain a shower of commanded tears, 
 
 An onion will do well for such a shift; 
 
 Which in a napkin being close convey'd, 
 
 Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
 
 Sec this despatch 'd with all the haste thou canst. 
 
 Anon I'll give thee more instructions. 
 
 [Exit Servant 
 I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, 
 Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman : 
 I long to hear him ca'll the drunkard, husband ; 
 And how my men will stay themselves from laugh- 
 ter, 
 When they do homage to this simple peasant. 
 I'll in to counsel them : haply my presence 
 May well abate the over merry spleen, 
 Which otherwise would go into extremes. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. 
 Slt is discovered in a rich night-gown, with Attend 
 
 ants; some with apparel, others with bason, 
 
 ewer, and other appurtenances. Enter Lord, 
 
 dressed like a Servant. 
 
 Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 
 
 1 Serv. Will 't please your lordship drink a cup 
 
 of sack ? 
 
 2 Serv. Will 't please your honor taste of these 
 
 conserves ? 
 
 3 Serv. What raimentwill your honor wearto-day? 
 
 Sly. I am Christopher Sly; call not me — honor, 
 nor lordship : I never drank sack in my life ; and if 
 you give me any conserves, give me conserves of 
 beef: Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear ; for I 
 have no more doublets than backs, no more stock- 
 ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, 
 sometimes, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as 
 my toes look through the over-leather. 
 
 Lord. Heaven cease this idle humor in your 
 honor ! 
 O, that a mighty man of such descent, 
 Of such possessions, and so high esteem, 
 Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! 
 
 Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not 
 I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath; 
 by birth a pedlar, by education a caid-maker, by 
 transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present 
 profession a tinker ? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat 
 ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say 
 I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, 
 score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. 
 What, I am not bestraught; 9 Here's 
 
 1 Serv. 0, this it is that makes your lady mourn. 
 
 2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants 
 
 droop. 
 Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun 
 your house, 
 As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 
 0, noble lord, bethink thei. of thy birth; 
 Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, 
 And banish hence these abject lowly dreams: 
 Look how thy servants do attend on thee, 
 Each in his office ready at thy beck. 
 Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, 
 
 [Music 
 • Distracted. 
 
Act 1. Scene T. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 34* 
 
 And twenty caged nightingales do sing: 
 
 Or wilt thou sleep] we'll have thee to a couch, 
 
 Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 
 
 • >n purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
 
 Say, thou wilt walk ; we will bestrew the ground : 
 
 Or wilt thou ridel thy horses shall be trapp'd, 
 
 Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
 
 Dost thou love hawking ] thou hast hawks will soar 
 
 Above the morning lark : Or wilt thou hunt ] 
 
 Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them, 
 
 And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
 
 1 Scrv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds 
 
 are as swift 
 As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 
 
 2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures] we will fetch 
 
 thee straight 
 Adonis, painted by a running brook : 
 And ^ytherea all in sedges hid; 
 Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
 Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
 
 Lord. We'll show thee lo, as she was a maid ; 
 And how she was beguiled and surpris'd, 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. 
 
 3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny 
 
 wood ; 
 Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds : 
 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, 
 So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 
 
 Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord : 
 Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
 Than any woman in this waning age. 
 
 1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for 
 
 thee, 
 Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face, 
 She was the fairest creature in the world ; 
 And yet she is inferior to none. 
 
 Sly. Am I a lord ] and have I such a lady ] 
 Or do I dream 1 or have I dream'd till now] 
 I do not sleep ; I see, I hear, I speak ; 
 I smell sweet savors, and I feel soft things: — 
 Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ; 
 And not a tinker, nor Chvistophero Sly. — 
 Well, bring our lady hither to our sight: 
 And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 
 
 2 Serv. Will 't please your mightiness to wash 
 
 your hands ] 
 
 [Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin. 
 0, how we joy to see your wit restor'd! 
 O, that once more you knew but what you are ! 
 These fifteen years, you have been in a dream ; 
 Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 
 
 Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nap. 
 But did I never speak of all that time] 
 
 1 Serv. O, yes, my lord; but very idle words: — 
 For' though you lay here in this goodly chamber, 
 Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of doors; 
 And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
 And say, you would present her at the leet,' 
 Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts : 
 Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 
 
 Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 
 
 3 .Serf. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no 
 
 such maid 
 
 Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up, — 
 As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece 
 And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell ; 
 And twenty more such names and men as these, 
 Which never were, nor no man ever saw. 
 
 Slu. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends 1 . 
 
 All. Amen. 
 
 Sly. I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it. 
 
 Enter the Page, as a Lady, ivith Attendants. 
 
 Page. How fares my noble lord 1 
 
 Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enough. 
 Where is my wife ] 
 
 Page. Here, noble lord; What is thy will with her! 
 
 Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me — 
 husband ? 
 My men should call me — lord ; I am your goodman. 
 
 Page. My husband and my lord, my lord ano 1 
 husband ; 
 I am your wife in all obedience. 
 
 Sly. I know it well : — What must I call her 1 
 
 Lord. Madam. 
 
 Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam] 
 
 Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call 
 ladies. 
 
 Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd, 
 and slept 
 Above some fifteen year and more. 
 
 Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me : 
 Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. 
 
 Sly. 'Tis much; Servants, leave me and her 
 
 alone. 
 
 Madam, undress you, and come now to bed. 
 
 Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you, 
 To pardon me yet for a night or two; 
 Or, if not so, until the sun be set: 
 For your physicians have expressly charged, 
 In peril to incur your former malady, 
 That I should yet absent me from your bed : 
 T hope, this reason stands for my excuse. 
 
 Sly. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so 
 long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams 
 again ; I will therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh 
 and the blood. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Your honor's players, hearing youi amend- 
 ment, 
 Are come to play a pleasant comedy : 
 For so your doctors hold it very meet ; 
 Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'dyour blood. 
 And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy, 
 Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play, 
 And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, 
 Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. 
 
 Sly. Marry, I will ; let them play it : Is not a 
 commonty* a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling- 
 trick ] 
 
 Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing stufl. 
 
 Sly. What, household stuff! 
 
 Page. It is a kind of history. 
 
 Sly. Well, we'll see't: Come, madam wife, sit 
 by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'ei 
 be younger. [^ £ ,V *u aown 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Padua. A public Place. 
 Enter Ltjcejttio and Tranio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, since — for the great desire I had 
 I'o see fair Padua, nursery of arts, — 
 « Cnurt-leet. 
 
 I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombaidy, 
 The pleasant garden of great Italy : 
 And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd 
 With his good will, and thy good company. 
 Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all 
 * J< r /Omedy. 
 
^46 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Here let us breathe, and happily institute 
 A course of learning, and ingenious 3 studies. 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, 
 Gave me my being, and my father first, 
 A merchant of great traffic through the world, 
 Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. 
 Vincentio, his son, brought up in Florence, 
 It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd, 
 To deck his foitunc with his virtuous deeds: 
 And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, 
 Virtue, and that part of philosophy 
 Will I apply, that treats of happiness 
 By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. 
 Tell me thy mind : for I have Pisa left, 
 And am to Padua come: as he that leaves 
 A shallow plash, 4 to plunge him in the deep, 
 And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 
 
 Tra. Mi perdonate? gentle master mine, 
 I am in all affected as yourself; 
 Glad that you thus continue your resolve, 
 To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
 Only, good master, while we do admire 
 This virtue, and this moral discipline, 
 Let's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray ; 
 Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, 6 
 As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd: 
 Talk logic with acquaintance that you have, 
 And practise rhetoric in your common talk: 
 Music and poesy use to quicken you ; 
 The mathematics and the metaphysics, 
 Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you : 
 No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en; — 
 In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 
 
 Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. 
 If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, 
 We could at once put us in readiness : 
 And take a lodging fit to entertain 
 Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget. 
 But stay a while: What company is this] 
 
 Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town. 
 
 Enter Baptista, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, 
 and Hortensio. Lucentio and Tranio 
 stand aside. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no further, 
 For how I firmly am resolv'd you know; 
 That is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter, 
 Before I have a husband for the elder: 
 If either of you both love Katharina, 
 Because T know you well, and love you well, 
 Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. 
 
 Gre. To cart her rather: She's too rough for me: — 
 There, there, Hortcnsio, will you any wife! 
 
 Kath. I pray you, sir, [To Bap.] is it your will 
 To make a stale of me amongst these mates! 
 
 Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ! no mates 
 for you, 
 Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. 
 
 Kath. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear; 
 T wis," it is not half way to her heart : 
 But, if it were, doubt not her care should be 
 To comb your noddle with a thrce-legg'd stool, 
 And paint your face, and use you like a fool. 
 
 Hor. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us ! 
 
 Gre. And me too, good Lord ! 
 
 Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pastime 
 toward ; 
 That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. 
 
 Luc. But in the other's silence I do see 
 Maid's mild behavior and sobriety. 
 Peace, Tranic 
 
 •Ingenuous 4 Small piece of water. 
 
 • Pardon nifc • Harsh r lies. ' Think. 
 
 Tra. Well said, master; mum! and gaze voui 
 fill. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
 What I have said, — Bianca, get you in: 
 And let it not displease thee, good Biaaca : 
 For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. 
 
 Kath. A pretty peat! 8 'tis best 
 Put finger in the eye, — an she knew why. 
 
 Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. — 
 Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe ; 
 My books, and instruments, shall be my company: 
 On them to look, and practise by myself. 
 
 Luc. Hark, Tranio ! thou mayst hear Minerva 
 speak. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange! 
 Sorry am I, that our good will effects 
 Bianca's grief. 
 
 Gre. Why will you mew 3 her up, 
 
 Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, 
 And make her bear the penance of her tongue! — 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resejv'd: — 
 Go in, Bianca. [Exit Biamca. 
 
 And for I know, she taketh most delight 
 In music, instruments, and poetry, 
 Schoolmasters will I keep within my house 
 Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortcnsio, 
 Or signior Gremio, you, — know any such, 
 Prefer them hither; for to cunning men 
 I will be very kind, and liberal 
 To mine own children in good bringing up ; 
 And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay; 
 For I have more to commune with Bianca. [Exit. 
 
 Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too; May I 
 not! 
 What, shall I be appointed hours ; as though, belike, 
 I knew not what to take, and what to leave ! [Exit. 
 
 Gre. You may go to the devil's dam ; your gifts 1 
 are so good, here is none will hold you. Our love 
 is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails 
 together, and fast it fairly out ; our cake's dough on 
 both sides. Farewell : — Yet, for the love I bear 
 my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a 
 fit man, to teach her that wherein she delights, I 
 will wish him to her father. 
 
 Hor. So will I, signior Gremio: But a word, 1 
 pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never 
 brook'd parle, know now, upon advice, 3 it toucheth 
 us both, — that we may yet again have access to 
 our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's 
 love, — to labor and effect one thing 'specially. 
 
 Gre. What's that, I pray! 
 
 Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 
 
 Gre. A husband ! a devil. 
 
 Hor. I say, a husband. 
 
 Gre. I say, a devil : Think'st thou, Hortensio, 
 though her father be very rich, any man is so very 
 a fool to be married to her ! 
 
 Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience, 
 and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man. 
 there be good fellows in jhe world, an a man could 
 light on them, would take her with all faults, and 
 money enough. 
 
 Gre. I cannot tell: but I had as lief take her 
 dowry with this condition, — to be whipped at the 
 high-cross, every morning. 
 
 Hor. 'Faith as you say, there's small choice in 
 rotten apples. But, come; since this bar in law 
 makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly 
 maintained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest 
 daughter to a husband, we set his youngest free 
 for a husband, and then have to't afresh. — Sweet 
 
 »Pet 
 
 9 Shut. 
 
 3 Consideration. 
 
 1 Endowments. 
 
Scene 1 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW 
 
 n: 
 
 Bianca! — Happy man be his dole! 3 How say you, 
 signior Gremio T 
 
 Gre. I am agreed : and 'would I had given him 
 the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that 
 wojld thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, 
 and rid the house of her. Come on. 
 
 [Exeunt Gkkmio and Hortensio. 
 
 Tra. [Advancing.] I pray, sir, tell me, — Is it 
 possible 
 That love should of a sudden take such holdl 
 
 Luc. Tranio, till I found it to be true, 
 I never thought it possible, or likely ; 
 But see ! while idly I stood looking on, 
 I found the effect of love in idleness: 
 And now in plainness do confess to thee, — 
 That art to me as secret, and as dear, 
 As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, — 
 Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, 
 If I achieve not this young modest girl : 
 Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst; 
 Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 
 
 Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now ; 
 Affection is not rated 1 from the heart: 
 If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — 
 Redi/ne te capfum quani queas minima. 
 
 Luc. Gramcrcies, lad ; go forward : this contents ; 
 The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. 
 
 Tra. Master, you look'd so longly 5 on the maid, 
 Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. 
 
 Luc. yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, 
 Such as the daughter of Agenor 6 had, 
 That made great Jove to humble him to her hand, 
 When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 
 
 Tra. Saw you no more ] mark'd you not, how her 
 sister 
 Began to scold; and raise up such a storm, 
 That mortal ears might hardly endure the din ? 
 
 Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move, 
 And with her breath she did perfume the air; 
 Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. 
 
 Tra. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his 
 trance. 
 I pray, awake, sir; If you love the maid, 
 Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it 
 
 stands: — 
 Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd, 
 That, till the father rid his hands of her, 
 Master, your love must live a maid at home ; 
 And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, 
 Because she shall not be annoy'd with suitors. 
 
 Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he ! 
 Bui art thou not advised, he took some care 
 To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her 1 
 
 Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir ; and now 'tis plotted. 
 
 Luc. I have it, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. Master, for my hand, 
 
 Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 
 
 Luc . Tell me thine first. 
 
 Tra. You will be schoolmaster, 
 
 And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
 That's your device. 
 
 Luc. It is : May it be done ? 
 
 Tra. Not possible; For who shall bear your part, 
 Vnd be in Padua here Vincentio's son 1 
 Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends ; 
 Visit his countrymen, and banquet them ? 
 
 Luc. Basta; 1 content thee ; for I have it full. 
 We have not yet been seen in any ho.use; 
 N or can we be distinguished by our faces, 
 For man, or master : then it follows thus ; — 
 Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, 
 
 3 Gain or lot. 
 » Longingly. 
 
 4 Driven ou-t by chiding. 
 • Europa. ' 'Tis enough. 
 
 Kuep house, and port, 8 and servants, as I should ■ 
 
 I will some other be; some Florentine, 
 
 Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa. 
 
 'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so: — Tranio, at onw 
 
 Uncase thee ; take my color'd hat and cloak : 
 
 When Biondeilo comes, he waits on thee, 
 
 But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. 
 
 Tra. So had you need. [They exchange habili 
 In brief then, sir, sith* it your pleasure is, 
 And I am tied to be obedient; 
 (For so your father charg'd me at our parting; 
 Be serviceable to my son, quoth he, 
 Although, I think, 'twas in another sense;) 
 I am content to be Lucentio, 
 Because so well I love Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: 
 And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid 
 Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where have you 
 
 been? 
 
 Bion. Where have I been ? Nay, how now, where 
 
 are you 1 
 
 Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes 1 
 
 Or you stol'n his 1 or both 1 pray, what's the news ? 
 
 Luc. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest, 
 And therefore frame your manners to the time 
 Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, 
 Puts my apparel and my countenance on, 
 And I for my escape have put on his; 
 For in a quarrel, since I came ashore, 
 I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried: 
 Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, 
 While I make way from hence to save my life : 
 You understand me 1 
 
 Bion. I, sir ? ne'er a whit. 
 
 Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth; 
 Tranio is changed into Lucentio. 
 
 Bion. The better for him ; 'Would I were so too ! 
 Tra. So would I, boy, to have the next wish 
 after, — 
 That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest 
 
 daughter. 
 But, sirrah, — not for my sake, but your master's — 
 
 I advise 
 You use your manners discreetly in all kind of 
 
 companies: 
 When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ; 
 But in all places else, your master Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, let's go : — 
 One thing more rests, that thyself execute; — 
 To make one among these wooers : If thou ask me 
 
 why, — 
 Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 1 Serv. My lord, you nod: you do not mind the 
 
 play. 
 Sly. Yes, by saint Anne, do I. A good matter, 
 surely,- Comes there any more of it? 
 Page. My lord, 'tis but begun. 
 Sly. ' Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam 
 lady,- ' Would 7 were done.' 
 
 SCENE II.— Before Hortensio's House. 
 
 Enter Petruchio and Grumto. 
 
 Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave, 
 To see my friends in Padua; but, of all, 
 My best beloved and approved friend, 
 Hortensio; and, I trow, this is his bouse:— 
 Here, sirrah Grumio: knock I say 
 
 8 Show, appearance. • Sin** 
 
248 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act I, 
 
 Gru. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock ? is there 
 any man has rebused your worship ? 
 
 Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. 
 
 Gru. Knock you here, sir? why, sir, what am I, 
 sir, that I should knock you here, sir ? 
 
 Ptt. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate, 
 And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. 
 
 Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome: I should 
 knock you first, 
 And then I know after who comes by the worst. 
 
 Pet. Will it not be? 
 'Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll wring it ; 
 I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 
 
 [/7e wrings Giiumio by the gars. 
 
 Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 
 
 Pet. Now, knock when I bid you : sirrah ! villain ! 
 
 Enter Hortensio. 
 
 Hor. How now? what's the matter? — My old 
 friend Grumio ! and my good friend Petruchio ! — 
 How do you all at Verona? 
 
 Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the 
 fray ? Con tutto il core bene trovato, may I say. 
 
 Hor. Alia nostra casa bene venuto, 
 Molto honorato signor mio Petruchio. 
 Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will compound this quarrel. 
 
 Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, what he 'leges 3 in Latin. 
 — If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his 
 service, — Look you, sir, — he bid me knock him, 
 and rap him soundly, sir : Well, was it fit for a ser- 
 vant to use his master so ; being, perhaps, (for aught 
 I see,) two-and-thirty, — a pip out? 
 Whom, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first, 
 Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 
 
 Pet. A senseless villain — Good Hortensio, 
 I bade the rascal knock upon your gate, 
 And could not get him for my heart to do it. 
 
 Gru. Knock at the gate? — heavens! 
 Spake you not these words plain — Sirrah, k?iock 
 
 me here, 
 Rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly? 
 And come you now with — knocking at the gate? 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge: 
 Why, this is a heavy chance 'twixt him and you; 
 Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. 
 And tell me now, sweet friend, — what happy gale 
 Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona? 
 
 Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through 
 the world, 
 To seek their fortunes further than at home, 
 Where small experience grows. But, in a few, 
 Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: — 
 Antonio, my father, is deceased: 
 And I have thrust myself into this maze, 
 Ha;-ly to wive, and thrive, as best I may : 
 Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, 
 And so am come abroad to see the world. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee, 
 And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favored wife? 
 Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel: 
 And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich, 
 And very rich : — but thou'rt too much my friend, 
 And I'll not wish thee to her. 
 
 Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we, 
 Few wards suffice : and therefore, if thou know 
 One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, 
 (As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance,) 
 Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, 3 
 As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd 
 As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse, 
 
 * Alleges. 
 * Bee the story, No. 39, of "^1 T/wusand Notable Things." 
 
 She moves me not, or not removes, at least, 
 Affection's edge in me ; were she as rough 
 As are the swelling Adriatic seas: 
 I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; 
 If wealthily, then happily in Padua. 
 
 Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what 
 his mind is : Why, give him gold enough and marry 
 him to a puppet, or an aglet baby; 4 or an old trot 
 with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as 
 many diseases as two and fifty horses: why noth- 
 ing comes amiss, so money comes withal. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus far ; n, 
 I will continue that I broach'd in jest. 
 I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife 
 With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous 
 Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman: 
 Her only fault (and that is fault enough) 
 Is, — that she is intolerably curst, 
 And shrewd, and rroward; so beyond all measure 
 That, were my state far worser than it is. 
 I would not wed her for a mine of gold. 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, peace; thou know'st not gold's 
 effect : — 
 Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough; 
 For I will board her, though she chide as lourf 
 As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. 
 
 Hor. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
 An affable and courteous gentleman : 
 Her name is Katharina Minola, 
 Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. 
 
 Pet. I know her father, though I know not her 
 And he knew my deceased father well : — 
 I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; 
 And therefore let me be thus bold with you, 
 To give you over at this first encounter, 
 Unless you will accompany me thither. 
 
 Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humor 
 lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I 
 do, she would think scolding would do little good 
 upon him : She may, perhaps, call him half a score 
 knaves, or so: why, that's nothing; an he begin 
 once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. 5 I'll tell you what, 
 sir, — an she stand him but a little, he will throw a 
 figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it, that 
 she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat: 
 You know him not, sir. 
 
 Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee ; 
 For in Baptista's keep my treasure is: 
 He hath the jewel of my life in hold, 
 His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca; 
 And her withholds from me, and other more 
 Suitors to her, and rivals in my love: 
 Supposing it a thing impossible, 
 (For those defects I have before rehcars'd,) 
 That ever Katharina will be woo'd ; 
 Therefore this order 6 hath Baptista ta'en - — 
 That none shall have access unto Bianca, 
 Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. 
 
 Gru. Katharine the curst! 
 A title for a maid, of all titles the worst. 
 
 Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace J 
 And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes, 
 To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 
 Well seen 1 in music, to instruct Bianca: 
 That so I may by this device, at least, 
 Have leave and leisure to make love to her, 
 And, unsuspected, court her by herself. 
 
 Enter Gremio; with him Lucentio, disguised, 
 with books imder his arm. 
 
 Gru. Here's no knavery! See; to beguile the 
 
 * A small image on the tag of a lace. 
 » Abusive language. * These measures. ' Versed 
 
S( »NK II 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 24ft 
 
 old folks, how the young tblks lay their heads to- 
 gether! Master, master, look about you: Who 
 goes there? ha! 
 
 Hor. Peace, Grumio ; 'tis the rival of my love : — 
 Petruchio, stand by a while. 
 
 Gru. A proper stripling, and an amoroviS ! 
 
 [Thty retire. 
 
 Gre. O, very well ; I have perused the note. 
 Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound: 
 All books of love, see that at any hand ; 
 And see you read no other lectures to her; 
 You understand me : — over and beside 
 Signior Baptista's liberality, 
 
 I'll mend it with a largess: — Take your papers too, 
 And let me have them very well perfum'd ; 
 •For she is sweeter than perfume itself, 
 To whom they go. What will you read to her? 
 
 Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you, 
 As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,) • 
 As firmly as yourself were still in place; 
 Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful words 
 Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. 
 
 Gre. O this learning ! what a thing it is ! 
 
 Gru. O this woodcock ! what an ass it is ! 
 
 Pet. Peace, sirrah. 
 
 Hor. Grumio, mum! — God save you, signior 
 Gremio ! 
 
 Gre. And you're well' met, signior Hortensio. 
 Trow you, 
 Whither I am going? — To Baptista Minola. 
 I promis'd to enquire carefully 
 About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca: 
 And, by good fortune, I have lighted well 
 On this young man : for learning, and behavior, 
 Fit for her turn ; well read in poetry, 
 And other books, — good ones, I warrant you. 
 
 Hor. 'Tis well : and I have met a gentleman, 
 Hath promis'd me to help me to another, 
 A fine musician, to instruct our mistress; 
 So shall I no whit be behind in duty 
 To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. 
 
 Gre. Belov'd of me, — and that my deeds shall 
 prove. 
 
 Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love : 
 Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, 
 I'll tell you news indifferent good for cither. 
 Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met, 
 Upon agreement from us to his liking, 
 Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ; 
 Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. 
 
 Gre. So said, so done, is well: 
 Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? 
 
 Pet. I know ; she is an irksome brawling scold ; 
 If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. 
 
 Gre. No, say'st me so, friend? What country- 
 man ? 
 
 Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son: 
 My father dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
 And I do hope good days, and long, to see. 
 
 Ore. 0, sir, such a life, with such a wife, were 
 strange : 
 But, if you have a stomach, to't, o' God's name ; 
 You shall have me assisting you in all. 
 3ut will you woo this wild-cat? 
 
 Pet. Will Hive? 
 
 Gru. Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang. her. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent ? 
 Think you, a little din can daunt mine cars? 
 Have I not in my time heard lions roar ? 
 Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds, 
 Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat ? 
 
 Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, 
 And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? 
 Have I not in a pitched battle heard 
 Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang * 
 And do you tell me of a woman's tongue ; 
 That gives not half so great a blow to the ear, 
 As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire ? 
 Tush ! tush ' fear boys with bugs. 8 
 
 Gru. For he fears none. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Gre. Hortensio, hark! 
 This gentleman is happily arriv'd, 
 My mind presumes, for his own good, arid ours. 
 
 Hor. I promis'd we would be contributors, 
 And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 
 
 Gre. And so we will ; provided, that he win her. 
 
 Gru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Enter Thanio, bravely apparell'd ,- and 
 
 BlONDELLO. 
 
 Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I may be bold, 
 Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
 To the house of signior Baptista Minola! 
 
 Gre. He that has the two fair daughters : — is't 
 [Aside to Tranio.] he you mean? 
 
 Tra. Even he. Biondello ! 
 
 Gre. Hark you, sir; You mean not her to 
 
 Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir; 'What have you 
 to do? 
 
 Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. 
 
 Tra. I love no chiders, sir: — Biondello, let's 
 away. 
 
 Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; — ■ 
 Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no? 
 
 Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any offence ? 
 
 Gre. No; if without more words, you will get 
 you hence. 
 
 Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free 
 For me, as for you? 
 
 Gre. But so is not she. 
 
 Tra. For what reason, I beseech you ? 
 
 Gre. For this reason, if you'll know, 
 
 That she's the choice love of signior Gremio. 
 
 Hor. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio 
 
 Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentlemen 
 Do me this right, — hear me with patience. 
 Baptista is a noble gentleman, 
 To whom my father is not all unknown : 
 And, were his daughter fairer than she is, 
 She may more suitors have, and me for one. 
 Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; 
 Then well one more may fair Bianca have : 
 And so she shall ; Lucentio shall make one, 
 Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. 
 
 Gre. What! this gentleman will out-talk us all 
 
 Luc. Sir, give him head ; I know he'll prove a 
 jade. 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words? 
 
 Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you, 
 Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? 
 
 Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do, that he hath two . 
 The one as famous for a scolding tongue, 
 As is the other for beauteous modesty. 
 
 Pet. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. 
 
 Gre. Yea, leave that labor to great Hercules; 
 And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 
 
 Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth;- ■ 
 The youngest daughter, whom you hearken foi. 
 Her father keeps from all access of suitors, 
 And will not promise her to any man, 
 
 ' Fright boys with bugbear* 
 
 R 
 
n 
 
 'Z60 
 
 I AMINO OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act H 
 
 Until the elder sister first be wed : 
 
 The younger then is free, and not before. 
 
 Tra. It it be so, sir, that you are the man 
 Must stead us all, and me among the rest; 
 An if you break the ice, and do this feat, — 
 Achieve the elder, set the younger free 
 For our access, — whose hap shall be to have her, 
 Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate. 
 
 Hnr. Sir, you say well, and well you do con- 
 ceive ; 
 And since you do profess to be a suitor, 
 
 You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
 To whom we all rest generally beholden. 
 
 Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign whereo* 
 Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, 
 And quaff carouses to our mistress' health ; 
 And do as adversaries do in law, — 
 Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. 
 
 Gru. Bion. O excellent motion ! Fellows, 3 let's 
 be gone. 
 
 Hor. The motion's good indeed, and be it so ;■ - 
 Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Baptista's House. 
 Enter Kathahina and Bianca. 
 
 Bian Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong 
 yourself, 
 To make a bondmaid and a slave of me : 
 That I diedain ; but for these other gawds, 9 
 Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, 
 Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; 
 Or, what you will command me, will I do, 
 So well I know my duty to my elders. 
 
 Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell 
 Whom thou lov'st best: see thou dissemble not. 
 
 Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive 
 I never yet beheld that special face, 
 Which I could fancy more than any other. 
 
 Kath. Minion, thou liest; Is't not Hortensio? 
 
 Bian. If you affect' him, sister, here I swear, 
 I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him. 
 
 Kath. then, belike, you fancy riches more ; 
 You will have Gremio to keep you 'fair. 
 
 Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so 1 ? 
 Nay, then you jest; and now I well perceive, 
 You have but jested with me all this while : 
 I pr'ythee, 6ister Kate, untie my hands. 
 
 Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. 
 
 [Strikes her. 
 Enter Baptista. 
 
 Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows this 
 
 insolence ? 
 
 Bianca, stand aside; — poor girl ! she weeps; — 
 Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. — 
 For shame, thou lidding 2 of a devilish spirit, 
 Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee? 
 When did she cross thee with a bitter word ? 
 
 Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd. 
 [Flies after Bianca. 
 
 Bap. What, in my sight? — Bianca, get thee in. 
 [Exit Bianca. 
 
 Kath. Will you not, suffer me? Nay, now I see, 
 She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
 I must dance barefoot on her wedding-day, 
 And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. 
 Talk not to me ; I will go sit and weep, 
 Till I can find occasion of revenge. 
 
 [Exit Kathahina. 
 
 Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I ? 
 But who comes here? 
 
 Enter Gremio, with Lucentio in the habit of a 
 mean man; Petiiuchio,w«7/j Hortensio as a 
 musician; and Tranio, with Biondello bear- 
 ing a lute and boohs. 
 Gre. Good-morrow, neighbor Baptista. 
 Bap. Good-morrow, neighbor Gremio : God save 
 
 vou, gentlemen! 
 * Trifling ornaments 'Love. » A worthless woman. 
 
 Pet. And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a 
 daughter 
 Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous? 
 
 Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. 
 
 Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. 
 
 Pet. You wrong me, signior Gremio ; give aie 
 leave. — 
 J am a gentleman of Verona, sir, 
 That, — hearing of her beauty, and her wit, 
 Her affability, and bashful modesty, 
 Her wondrous qualities, and mild behavior,— 
 Am bold to show myself a forward guest 
 Within your house, to make mine eye the witness 
 Of that report which I so oft have heard. 
 And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
 I do present you with a man of mine, 
 
 [Presenting HonTENsro. 
 Cunning in music, and the mathematics, 
 To instruct her fully in those sciences, 
 Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant: 
 Accept of him, or else you do me wrong; 
 His name is Licio, born in Mantua. 
 
 Bap. You're welcome, sir ; and he, for your good 
 sake: 
 But for my daughter Katharine, — this I know, 
 She is not for your turn, the more my grief. 
 
 Pet. I see you do not mean to part with her, 
 Or else you like not of my company. 
 
 Bap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find. 
 Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name? 
 
 Pet. Petruchio is my name; Antonio's son, 
 A man well known throughout all Italy. 
 
 Bap. I know him w r ell : you are welcome for his 
 sake. 
 
 Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, 
 Let us that are poor petitioners, speak too : 
 Baccare! 4 you arc marvellous forward. 
 
 Pet. 0, pardon me, signior Gremio ; I would fain 
 be doing. 
 
 Gre. I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your 
 
 wooing. 
 
 Neighbor, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of 
 it. To express the like kindness myself, that have 
 been more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely 
 give unto you this young scholar [Prese7iting Lu 
 centio.] that hath been long studying at Rheims 
 as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, 
 as the other in music and mathematics: his name 
 is Cambio; pray, accept his service. 
 
 Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio. wel- 
 come, good Cambio. — But, gentle sir, [To Tha 
 nio.] methinks you walk like a stranger; May 1 
 be so bold to know the cause of your coming? 
 
 Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine i>vm, 
 That, bcii g a stranger in this city here, 
 Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, 
 " Companions. * A proverbial exclamation then in um> 
 
SCEKE I 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 251 
 
 Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous. 
 
 Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, 
 
 In the preferment of the eldest sister: 
 
 This liberty is all that I request, — 
 
 Thac, upon knowledge of my parentage, 
 
 1 may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, 
 
 ^nd free access and favor as the rest 
 
 And, toward the education of your daughters, 
 
 I here bestow a simple instrument, 
 
 And this small packet of Greek and Lathi books: 
 
 If you accept them, then their worth is great. 
 
 Bap. Lucentio is your name! of whence, I pray] 
 Tra. Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. 
 
 Bap. A mighty man of Pisa; by report 
 I know him well: you are very welcome, sir. — 
 Take you [To Hor.] the lute, and you [To Luc] 
 
 the set of books, 
 You shall go see your pupils presently. 
 Holla! within! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Sirrah, lead 
 
 These gentlemen to my daughters; and tell them both 
 These are their tutors ; bid them use them well. 
 [Exit Servant, loith Hortejtsio, Lucentio, 
 and Biojtdello. 
 We will go walk a little in the orchard, 
 And then to dinner : You are passing welcome, 
 And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 
 
 Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, 
 And every day I cannot come to woo. 
 You knew my father well ; and in him, me, 
 Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, 
 Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd: 
 Then tell me, — if I get your daughter's love, 
 What dowry shall I have with her to wife? 
 
 Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands : 
 And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns. 
 
 Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of 
 Her widowhood, — be it that she survive me, — 
 In all my lands and leases whatsoever: 
 Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, 
 That covenants may be kept on either hand. 
 
 Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, 
 This is, — her love ; for that is all in all. 
 
 Pit. Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father, 
 I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; 
 And where two raging fires meet together, 
 They do consume the thing that feeds their fury : 
 Though little fire grows great with little wind, 
 Yet ( xtreme gusts will blow out fire and all : 
 So I to her, and so she yields to me ; 
 For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. 
 
 Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy 
 speed ! 
 But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 
 
 Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for 
 winds, 
 That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 
 
 Re-enter Hohtensio, with his head broken. 
 
 Bap. How now, my friend! why dost thou look 
 so pale? 
 
 Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. 
 
 Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mu- 
 sician 7 
 
 Hor. I think she'll sooner prove a soldier ; 
 Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 
 
 Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the 
 lute'! 
 
 Hur. Why. no ; for she hath broke the lute to me. 
 I dii but tell her, she mistook her frets,* 
 
 » A fret in music is the atop which causes or regulates 
 the vibmtion of the string. 
 
 And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering; 
 When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 
 Frets, call you these? quoth she: I'll fume with 
 
 them: 
 And, with that word, she struck me on the head, 
 And through the instrument my pate made way; 
 And there I stood amazed for a while, 
 As on a pillory, looking through the lute 
 While she did call me — rascal fiddler, 
 And — twangling Jack ; with twenty such vile terms, 
 As she had studied to misuse me so. 
 
 Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ; 
 I love her ten times more than e'er I did : 
 O, how I long to have some chat with her ! 
 
 Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discorc 
 filed: 
 Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; 
 She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. — 
 Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ; 
 Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? 
 
 Pet. I pray you do; I will attend her hsre, — 
 
 [Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranig, 
 and Hortensio. 
 And woo her with some spirit when she comes. 
 Say, that she rail : Why, then I'll tell her plain. 
 She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : 
 Say, that she frown : I'll say, she looks as clear 
 As morning roses newly wash'd with dew : 
 Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word ; 
 Then I'll commend her volubility, 
 And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence : 
 If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, 
 As though she bid me stay by her a week ; 
 If she deny tc wed, I'll crave the day 
 When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. — 
 But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, speak. 
 
 Enter Katharina. 
 
 Good-morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear. 
 
 Kath. Well have you heard, but something hard 
 of hearing ; 
 They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me. 
 
 Pet. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plain 
 Kate, 
 And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; 
 But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
 Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 
 For dainties are all cates; and therefore, Kate, 
 Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; — 
 Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, 
 Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
 (Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs.) 
 Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife. 
 
 Kath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him that mov'd 
 you hither, 
 Remove you hence : i Knew you at the first, 
 You were a moveable. 
 
 Pet. W' what's a moveable 1 
 
 Kath. A joint-stool. 
 
 Pet. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me. 
 
 Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 
 
 Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are 
 you. 
 
 Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. 
 
 Pet. Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee " 
 For, knowing thee to be but young and light,— 
 
 Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch,' 
 And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 
 
 Pet. Should be 1 should buz. 
 
 Kaih. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. 
 
 Pet. O, slow-winged turtle ! shall a buzzard take 
 thee'' 
 
 Kath. Ay, for a turtle; as he takej} a bizzard. 
 
252 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act IJ 
 
 Pet. Con e, come, you wasp ; i' faith, you are too 
 angry. 
 
 Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 
 
 Pel. My remedy is then to pluck it out. 
 
 Kath. Ay. if the fool couid find it where it lies. 
 
 Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear 
 his sting ' 
 tn his tail. 
 
 Kath. In his tongue. 
 
 Pet. Whose tongue ? 
 
 Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails ; and so farewell. 
 
 Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail 1 nay, 
 come again, 
 Good Kate; I am a gentleman. 
 
 Kath. That I'll try. 
 
 [Striking him. 
 
 Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. 
 
 Kath. So may you lose your arms: 
 II you strike me, you are no gentleman ; 
 And if no gentleman, why, then no arms. 
 
 Pet. A herald, Kate ? 0, put me in thy books. 
 
 Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ? 
 
 Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. 
 
 Kath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a 
 craven* 
 
 Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not look 
 so sour. 
 
 Kath. It. is my fashion, when I see a crab. 
 
 Pet. Why here's no crab : and therefore look not 
 sour. 
 
 Kath. There is, there is. 
 
 Pet. Then show it me. 
 
 Kath. Had I a glass, I would. 
 
 Pet. What, you mean my face ? 
 
 Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. 
 
 Pet. Now, by Saint George,! am too young for 
 you. 
 
 Kath. Yet you are wither'd. 
 
 Pet. 'Tis with cares. 
 
 Kath. I care not. 
 
 Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth, you 'scape 
 not so. 
 
 Kath. I chafe you, if I tarry ; let me go. 
 
 Pet. No, not a whit ; I find you passing gentle. 
 "I was told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen, 
 Ai.d now I find report a very liar; 
 For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous; 
 But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers : 
 Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, 
 Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ; 
 Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk; 
 But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers; 
 With gentle conference, soft and affable. 
 Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp ? 
 O slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazle-twig, 
 Is straight and slender; and as brown in hue 
 As hazle-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels. 
 0, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt. 
 
 Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. 
 
 Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove, 
 As Kate this chamber with her princely gait ? 
 0, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; 
 A nd then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful ! 
 
 Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech! 
 
 Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. 
 
 Kath. A witty mother: witless else her son. 
 
 Pet. Am I not wise? 
 
 Kath. Yes; keep you warm. 
 
 Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy 
 bed: 
 And therefore, setting all this chat aside, 
 Thus in nlain terms: — Your father hath consented i 
 • A degenerate cock. 
 
 That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed on 
 And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. 
 Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ; 
 For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty. 
 (Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,) 
 Thou must be married to no man but me : 
 Fori am he, am born to tame you, Kate; 
 And bring you from a wild-cat tp a Kate 
 Conformable, as other household Kates. 
 Here comes your father; never make denial; 
 I must and will have Katharine to my wife. 
 
 Re-enter Baptista, GnEMio, and Tbanio. 
 
 Bap. New, 
 Signior Petruchio : How speed you with 
 My daughter ? 
 
 Pet. How but well, sir ? how but well ! 
 
 It were impossible I should speed amiss. 
 
 Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in 
 your dumps? 
 
 Kath. Call you me, daughter ? now I promise you, 
 You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, 
 To wish me wed to one half lunatic; 
 A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack, 
 That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 
 
 Pet. Father, 'tis thus, — yourself and all the world, 
 That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her ; 
 If she be curst, it is for policy : 
 For she's not froward, but modest as the dove; 
 She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; 
 For patience she will prove a second Gnssel ; 
 And Roman Lucrece for her chastity 
 And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together, 
 That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 
 
 Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 
 
 Gre. Hark, Petruchio! she says, she'll see thee 
 hang'd first. 
 
 Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good 
 night our part ! 
 
 Pet. Be patient, gentlemen! I choose her for 
 myself; 
 If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you ? 
 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, 
 That she shall still be curst in company. 
 I tell you 'tis incredible to believe 
 How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate! 
 She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss 
 She vied 7 so fast, protesting oath on oath, 
 That in a twink she won me to her love. 
 O, you are novices ! 'tis a world to see, 8 
 How tame, when men and women are alone, 
 A meacock 9 wretch can make the curstest shrew. 
 Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice, 
 To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day : — 
 Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; 
 I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine. 
 
 Bap. I know not what to say ; give me your 
 hands ; 
 God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match. 
 
 Gre. Tra. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses. 
 
 Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu ; 
 I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace : 
 We will have rings, and things, and fine array; 
 And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday. 
 [Exeunt Petiiuciiio and Katiiarina, severally. 
 
 Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly ? 
 
 Bap. 'Faith, gentlemen,, now I play a merchant's 
 part, 
 And venture madly on a desperate mart. 
 
 Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you: 
 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 
 
 1 To vye and revye were terms at cards, now suptrsedetf 
 ■by the word brag. 
 
 • It is weii worth seeing. » A dastardly creature 
 
Act III. Scene I. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 253 
 
 bap. The gain I seek is — quiet in the match. 
 
 Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. 
 But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter; — 
 Now is the day we long have looked for; 
 I am your neighbor, and was suitor first. 
 
 Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more 
 Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. 
 
 Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear as I. 
 
 Tra. Grey-beard ! thy love doth freeze. 
 
 Gre. But thine doth fry. 
 
 Skipper, stand back; 'tis age that nourisheth. 
 
 Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that nourisheth. 
 
 Bap. Content you, gentlemen; I'll compound 
 this strife: 
 'Tis deeds must win the prize ; and he, of both, 
 That can assnre my daughter greatest dower 
 Shall have Bianca's love. — 
 Say, signior Gremio, what can you assure her? 
 
 Gre. First, asyou know, my house within the city 
 Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; 
 Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands; 
 My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry : 
 In ivory coffers I have stuff d my crowns ; 
 In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints/ 
 Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, 
 Fine linen, Turkey cushions, boss'd with pearl, 
 Valance of Venice gold in needle-work, 
 Pewter and brass, and all things that belong 
 T" house, or housekeeping: then, at my farm, 
 1 nave a hundred -lilch-kine to the pail, 
 Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls, 
 And all .hings answerable to this portion. 
 Myself am struck in years, I must confess; 
 And, if I lie to- aor-ow, this is hers, 
 If whilst I live, she will be only mine. 
 
 Tra. That only came well in Sir, list to me ; 
 
 I am my father's heir, and only son: 
 
 If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
 
 I'll leave her houses three or four as good, 
 
 Within rich Pisa walls, as any one 
 
 Old signior Gremio has in Padua; 
 
 Besides two thousand ducats by the year, 
 
 Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. — 
 
 Vv hat, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio ? 
 
 Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land . 
 My land amounts not to so much in all: 
 That she shall have; besides an argosy,* 
 
 That now is lying in Marseilles' road: 
 
 What, have I chok'd you with an argosy ! 
 
 Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no les* 
 Than three great argosies ; besides two galliasses,' 
 And twelve tight gallics: these I will assure her, 
 And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next. 
 
 Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more; 
 And she can have no more than all I have; 
 If you like me, she shall have me and mine. 
 
 Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the 
 world, 
 By your firm promise ; Gremio is out- vied. 
 
 Bap. I must confess, your offer is the best: 
 And, let your father make her the assurance, 
 She is your own ; else, you must pardon me : 
 If you should die before him, where's her dower? 
 
 Tra. That's but a cavil ; he is old, I young. 
 
 Gre. And may not young men die nt well as old? 
 
 Bap. Well, gentlemen, 
 I am thus resolv'd: — On Sunday next you know, 
 My daughter Katharine is to be married : 
 Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
 Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; 
 If not, to signior Gremio : 
 And so I take my leave, and thank you both. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Gre. Adieu, good neighbor. — Now I fear thee 
 not; 
 Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool 
 To give thee all, and in his waning age, 
 Set foot under thy table : Tut ! a toy ! 
 An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [Exit 
 
 Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide 
 Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.' 
 'Tis in my head to do my master good: 
 I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio 
 Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio; 
 And that's a wonder: fathers, commonly, 
 Do get their children ; but, in this case of woe ing, 
 A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of mv cunning. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Baptista's House. 
 Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. 
 
 Luc. Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too forward, sir : 
 Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
 Hei sister Katharine welcom'd you withal? 
 
 Hor. But, wiancrling pedant, this is 
 The patroness of heavenly harmony ; 
 Then give me leave to have prerogative; 
 And when in music we have spent an hour, 
 Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 
 
 Luc. Preposterous ass! that never read so far 
 To know the cause why music was ordain'd ! 
 vVas it not, to refresh th,e mind of man, 
 After his studies, or his usual pain ? 
 Then give me leave to read philosophy, 
 And while I pau *, serve in your harmony. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah, I .vill not bear these braves of thine. 
 
 bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, 
 fn strive for that which resteth in my choice: 
 f am no breeching scholar 2 in the schools; 
 .1 not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times, 
 
 ' Coverings ft r beds ; now called counterpanes. 
 Nc ichoolboy, Uabli to be whipprl 
 
 But learn my lessons as I please myself. 
 And to cut off all strife, here sit we down : — ■ 
 Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; 
 His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd. 
 
 Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? 
 [To Bianca. — Hortensio retires. 
 
 Luc. That will be never; tune your instrument. 
 
 Bian. Where left we last? 
 
 Luc. Here, madam: 
 
 Hac ibat Simois,- hie est Sigeia tellus: 
 Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis 
 
 Bian. Construe them. 
 
 Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, — Simois, I 
 am Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of 
 Pisa, — Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get youi 
 love; —Hie steterat, and that Lucentio that comes 
 a wooing, — Priami, is my man Tranio, — regia, 
 bearing my port, — celsa senis, that we might be- 
 guile the old pantaloon. 6 
 
 Hor. Madam, my instrument's m tune. 
 
 [Returning 
 
 * A large merchant-ship. 
 
 * A vessel of burthen worked both ->>itb wills »nd n*rf. 
 » The highest card. 
 
 * The old cully in Italian farces. 
 
554 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHRE^V 
 
 Act HI 
 
 [Hortensio plays. 
 
 Bian. L»t's hear; 
 
 fye ! the treble jars. 
 Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 
 Bian Now let me see if I can construe it : Hac 
 
 ibat Simois, I know you not; hie est Sigeia tellus, 
 
 1 trust you not; — Hie steterat I'riami, take heed 
 he hear us not; — regia, presume not ; — celsa • sen is, 
 despair not. 
 
 Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. 
 Luc. All but the base. 
 
 Hor. The base is right ; 'tis the base knave that 
 jars. 
 How fiery and forward our pedant is ! 
 Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: 
 Pedascu/e,'' I'll watch you better yet. 
 
 Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 
 Luc. Mistrust it not; for sure, JEaeides 
 Was Ajax, — call'd so from his grandfather. 
 
 Bian. I must believe my master ; else I promise 
 you, 
 I should be arguing still upon that doubt: 
 But let it rest. — Now, Licio, to you: — 
 Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
 That I have been thus pleasant with you both. 
 Hor. You may go walk, [To Lucentio.] and 
 give me leave awhile : 
 My lessons make no music in three parts. 
 
 Luc. Are you so formal, sir] well, I must wait, 
 And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd, 
 Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, 
 To learn the order of my fingering, 
 I must begin the rudiments of art ; 
 To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, 
 More pleasant, pithy, and effectual, 
 Than hath been taught by any of my trade : 
 And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 
 Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. 
 Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 
 Bian. [Reads.'] Gamut I am, the ground of all 
 accord, 
 A re, to plead Hortensio's passion,- 
 B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord, 
 C faut, that loves with all affection,- 
 D sol re, one cliff, two notes have 1,- 
 E la mi, shoiv pity, or I die. 
 Call you this — gamut? tut! I like it not: 
 Old fashions please me best; I am not so nice, 
 1 c change true rules for odd inventions. 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 &erv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your 
 books, 
 And help to dress your sister's chamber up; 
 You know, to-morrow is the wedding day. 
 
 Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both ; I must be 
 gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant. 
 Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to 
 stay. [Exit. 
 
 Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant; 
 Methinks, he looks as though he were in love: — 
 Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble, 
 To cast thy -vand'ring eyes on every stale, 8 
 Seize thee, t.at list: If once I find thee ranging, 
 Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Before Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Baftista, Ghemio, Tranio, Katharina, 
 Bianca, Lucentio, and Attendants. 
 3ap. Signior Lucentio, [To Tranio.] this is 
 the 'pointed day 
 
 Pedant 
 
 • Bait, decoy. 
 
 That Katharine and Petruchio should be married, 
 And yet we hear not of our son-in-law: 
 What will be said ? what mockery will it be, 
 To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends 
 To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage? 
 What says Lucentio to this shame of ours? 
 
 Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, bo 
 forced 
 To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, 
 Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen: 9 
 Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure 
 I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, 
 Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior: 
 And, to be noted for a merry man, 
 He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage^ 
 Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns 
 Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
 Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
 And say, — Lo, there is mad Petruchiu's wife, 
 If it would please him come and marry her. 
 
 Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista,tou 
 Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, 
 Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
 Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; 
 Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. 
 
 Kath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him 
 though ! 
 [Exit,ioeeping, followed by Bianca, and others. 
 
 Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep ; 
 For such an injury would vex a saint, 
 Much more a shrew of thy impatient humor 
 
 Enter Bionhello. 
 
 Bion. Master, master ! news, old news, and such 
 news as you never heard of! 
 
 Bap. Is it new and old too? how may that be? 
 
 Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruch'3'a 
 coming ? 
 
 Bap. Is he come 1 
 
 Bion. Why, no, sir. 
 
 Bap. What then 1 
 
 Bion. He is coming. 
 
 Bap. When will he be here? 
 
 Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you 
 there. 
 
 Tra. But, say, what: — To thine old news. 
 
 Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat 
 and an old jerkim; a pair of old breeches, thrice 
 turned, a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, 
 one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword 
 ta'en out of the town armory, with a broken hilt, 
 and chapeless ; with two broken points : His horse 
 hipped with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no 
 kindred: besides, possessed with the glanders, and 
 like to mose in the chine ; troubled with the lampass, 
 infected with the fashions,' full of wind-galls, sped 
 with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of 
 the fives, 2 stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn 
 with the bots; swayed in the back, and shoulder- 
 shotlen ; ne'er-legg'd before, and with a half-check'd 
 bit, and a head-stall of sheep's leather ; which, being 
 restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been 
 often burst, and now repaired with knots: one girt 
 six times pieced, and a woman's crupper of velure, 3 
 which hath two letters for her name, fairly set 
 down in studs, and here and there pieced with 
 packthread. 
 
 Bap. Who comes with him ? 
 
 Bian. 0, sir, his lackey, for all the world capa- 
 risoned like the horse; with a linen stock 4 on one 
 
 • Caprice, inconstancy. ' Farcy. 
 
 a Vivos ; a distemper in horses, little differing from tin 
 strangles. 
 
 3 Velvet. 4 Stocking. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 255 
 
 leg, and a kersey boot -hose on the other, gartered 
 with a red and blue list; an old hat, and The humor 
 of forty fancies prick'd in't for a feather: a monster, 
 a very monster in apparel ; and not like a Christian 
 footlioy, or a gentleman's lackey. 
 
 Tra, 'Tis some odd humor pricks him to this 
 fashion ; 
 Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. 
 
 Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes. 
 
 Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 
 
 Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes! 
 
 BLvn. Who! that Petruchio came? 
 
 Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. 
 
 Dion. No, sir; I say, his horse comes with him 
 on his back. 
 
 Bap. Why, that's all one. 
 
 Bion. Nay, by saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, 
 A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not 
 many. 
 
 Enter Petruchio and Grumio. 
 
 Pet. Come, where be these gallants! who is at 
 home ? 
 
 Bap. You are welcome, sir. 
 
 Pet. And yet I come not well. 
 
 Bap. And yet you halt not. 
 
 Tra. Not so well apparell'd 
 
 As I wish you were. 
 
 Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus. 
 But where is Kate! where is my lovely bride! — 
 How does my father! — Gentles, methinks you 
 
 frown : 
 And wherefore gaze this goodly company ; 
 As if they saw some wondrous monument, 
 Some comet, or unusual prodigy! 
 
 Bap. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: 
 First were we sad, fearing you would not come ; 
 Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 
 Fye! doff this habit, shame to your estate, 
 An eye-sore to our solemn festival. 
 
 Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import 
 Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, 
 And sent you hither so unlike yourself! 
 
 Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: 
 Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word, 
 Though in some part enforced to digress; 
 Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse 
 As you shall well be satisfied withal. 
 But, where is Kate! I stay too long from her; 
 The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. 
 
 Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes: 
 Go to ray chamber, put on clothes of mine. 
 
 Pet. Not I, believe me ; thus I'll visit her. 
 
 Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. 
 
 Pet. Good sooth, even thus ; therefore have done 
 with words; 
 To me she's married, not unto my clothes: 
 Could I repair what she will wear in me, 
 As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
 'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. 
 But what a fool am I, to chat with you, 
 When I should bid good-morrow to my bride, 
 And seal the title with a lovely kiss ! 
 [Exeunt Petruchio, Gbumio, ^r/BioxDELLo. 
 
 Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire: 
 We will persuade him, be it possible, 
 To put on better ere he go to church. 
 
 Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to add 
 Her father's liking : Which to bring to pass, 
 As I before imparted to your worship 
 I am to get a man, — whate'er he h* 
 
 It skills 5 not much; we'll fit him tc our turn, — 
 
 And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa; 
 
 And make assurance, here in Padua, 
 
 Of greater sums than I have promised. 
 
 So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, 
 
 And marry sweet Bianca with consent. 
 
 Luc. Were it not that my fellow-school maste* 
 Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 
 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage ; 
 Which once perform'd, let all the world say, — no, 
 I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world. 
 
 Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into, 
 And watch our vantage in this business: 
 We'll over-reach the grey-beard, Gremio; 
 The narrow-prying father, Minola; 
 The quaint 6 musician, amorous Licio; 
 All for my master's sake, Lucentio. — 
 
 Re-enter Gremio. 
 Signior Gremio, came you from the church ? 
 
 Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school. 
 
 Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming 
 home ! 
 
 Gre. A bridegroom say you! 'tis a groom, indeed, 
 A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 
 
 Tra. Curster than she! why, 'tis impossible. 
 
 Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 
 
 Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam 
 
 Gre. Tut! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him. 
 I'll tell you, sir Lucentio: When the priest 
 Should ask — if Katharine should be his wife, 
 Ay, by gogs-wouns, quoth he; and swore so loud, 
 That, all amazed, the priest let fall the book: 
 And, as he stoop'd again to take it up, 
 The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a c.ff 
 That down fell priest and book, and book and tries' . 
 Now take them up, quoth he, if any list. 
 
 Tra. What said the wench, when he arose ag\in '• 
 
 Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp'd, 
 and swore, 
 As if the vicar meant to cozen him. 
 But after many ceremonies done. 
 He calls for wine : — A health, quoth he ; as if 
 He had been aboard carousing to his mates 
 After a storm : — Quaff 'd off the muscadeJ, 1 
 And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
 Having no other reason, — 
 But that his beard grew thin and hungerly, 
 And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. 
 This done, he took the bride about ' e neck; 
 And kiss'd her lips with such a clan orous smack. 
 That, at the parting, all the church id echo. 
 I, seeing this, came thence for ver _hame ; 
 And, after me, I know the route i: coming; 
 Such a mad marriage never was before : 
 Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. [Music- 
 Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Bianca, Bap- 
 tista, Hortensio, Grumio, and Train. 
 
 Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for 
 your pains: 
 I know, you think to dine with me to-day, 
 And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer; 
 But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 
 And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 
 
 Bap. Is't possible, you will away to-night! 
 
 Pet. I must away to-day, before night come*— 
 Make it no wonder ; if you knew my business, 
 You would entreat me rather go than stay, 
 And, honest company, T thank you all, 
 That have beheld me give away myseh 
 
 » Matters. * Strango. 
 
 ' It was the custom for the company present to drink 
 wine immediately after the marriage ceremony. 
 
2R6 
 
 TAMINC OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife : 
 Dine with my father, drink a health to me ; 
 'or I must hence: and farewell to you all. 
 
 Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 
 
 Pet. It may not be. 
 
 Gre. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Pet. It cannot be. 
 
 Kath. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Pet. I am content. 
 
 Kath. Are you content to stay ? 
 
 Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay : 
 But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 
 
 Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. 
 
 Pet. Grumio, my horses. 
 
 Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready ; the oats have eaten 
 the horses. 
 
 Rath. Nay, then, 
 Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; 
 No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
 The door is open, sir, there lies your way, 
 You may be jogging, whiles your boots are green ; 
 For me, I'll not be gone, till I please myself: — 
 'Tis like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom, 
 That take it on you at the first so roundly. 
 
 Pet. O, Kate, content thee ; pr'y thee be not angry. 
 
 Kath. I will be angry : What hast thou to do ? 
 Father, be quiet : he shall stay my leisure. 
 
 Gre. Ay, marry, sir: now it begins to work. 
 
 Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: — 
 I see, a woman may be made a fool, 
 If she had not a spirit to resist. 
 
 Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy com- 
 mand : — 
 Obey the bride, you that attend on her : 
 Go to the feast, revel and domineer, 
 
 Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, 
 
 Be mad and merry, — or go hang yourselves; 
 
 But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. 
 
 Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret 
 
 I will be master of what is mine own : 
 
 She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, 
 
 My household stuff, my field, my barn, 
 
 My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing; 
 
 And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; 
 
 I'll bring my action on the proudest he 
 
 That stops my way in Padua. — Grumio, 
 
 Draw forth thy weapon; we're beset with thieves; 
 
 Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : — 
 
 Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, 
 
 Kate: 
 I'll buckler thee against a million. 
 
 [Exeunt Pethuchio, Kathaiuna, and 
 GnuMio. 
 
 Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
 
 Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with 
 laughing. 
 
 Tra. Oi ail ;^:a'l matches, never was the like ! 
 
 Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? 
 
 Bian. That being mad herself, she's madly mated. 
 
 Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. 
 
 Bap. Neighbors and friends, though bride and 
 bridegroom wants 
 For to supply the places at the table, 
 You know, there wants no junkets 9 at the feast; — 
 Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place; 
 And let Bianca take her sister's room. 
 
 Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? 
 
 Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen, 
 let's go. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Hall in Petruchio's Country Houje. 
 
 Enter Grumio. 
 
 Gru. Fye, fye, on all tired jades, on all mad 
 masters, and all foul ways ! Was ever man so 
 beaten ? was ever man so rayed? 3 was ever man so 
 weary ? I am sent before to make a fire, and they 
 are coming after to warm them. Now, were I not 
 9 little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze 
 to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, 
 my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire 
 to thaw me : — But, I, with blowing the fire, shall 
 warm myself: for, considering the weather, a taller 
 man than I will take cold. Holla, hoa! Curtis! 
 
 Enter Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Who is that, calls so coldly ? 
 
 Gru. A piece of ice : If thou doubt it, thou mayst 
 slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater 
 a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good 
 Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? 
 
 Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, fire; 
 cast on no water. 
 
 Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported ? 
 
 Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost; 
 Hut, thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and 
 beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my 
 new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am no beast. 
 
 Gru. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a 
 
 « Striped. 
 
 foot ; and so long am I, at the least. But wilt thou 
 make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mis- 
 tress, whose hand (she being now at hand) thou 
 shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow 
 in thy hot office? 
 
 Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, How 
 goes the world ? 
 
 Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but 
 thine; and, therefore, fire: Do thy'duty, and have 
 thy duty ; for my master and mistress are almost 
 frozen to death. 
 
 Curt. There's fire ready : And therefore, good 
 Grumio, the news ? 
 
 Gru. Why, Jack boy! ho boy! and as much news 
 as thou wilt. 
 
 Curt. Come, you are so full of conycatching : — 
 
 Gru. Why, therefore, fire ; for I have caught ex- 
 treme cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, 
 the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; 
 the serving men in their new fustian, their white 
 stocKings, and every officer his wedding-garment 
 on? Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, 
 the carpets laid, and every thing in order ? 
 
 Curt. All ready ; and therefore, I pray thee, news? 
 
 Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master 
 and mistress fallen out. 
 
 Curt. How? 
 
 Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt ; And 
 thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. 
 
 Gru. Lend thine ear. 
 
 • Delicacies 
 
"Scene II. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 257 
 
 Curt. Ilcie. 
 
 Gru. There. [Striking him. 
 
 "Hurt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 
 
 Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensihie tale : 
 and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and 
 beseech listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we 
 came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my 
 mistress : — 
 
 Curt. Both on one horse 1 
 
 Gru. What's that to thee 1 
 
 Curt. Why, a horse. 
 
 Gru. Tell thou the tale: But hadst thou not 
 
 crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse 
 fell, and she under her horse; thou shouldst have 
 heard in how miry a place : how she was bemoiled ;' 
 how he left her with the horse upon her; how he 
 beat me because her horse stumbled ; how she waded 
 through the dirt to pluck him off me. ; how he swore ; 
 how she prayed — that never prayed before ; how 
 I cried ; how the horses ran away ; how her bridle 
 was burst; how I lost my crupper; — with many 
 things of worthy memory ; which now shall die in 
 oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to thy grave. 
 
 Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than 
 she. 
 
 Gru. Ay; and that, thou and the proudest of 
 you all shall find, when he comes home. But what 
 talk I of this? — call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, 
 Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest ; 
 let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats 
 brushed, and their garters of an indifferent 3 knit: 
 let them curtsey with their left legs ; and not pre- 
 sume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, till 
 they kiss their hands. Are they all ready] 
 
 Curt. They are. 
 
 Gru. Call them forth. 
 
 Curt. Do you hear, ho! you must meet my 
 master, to countenance my mistress. 
 
 Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 
 
 Curt. Who knows not that] 
 
 Gru. Thou, it seems; that callest for company 
 to countenance her. 
 
 Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 
 
 Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. 
 
 Enter several Servants. 
 
 Nath. Welcome home, Grumio. 
 
 Phil. How now, Grumio ] 
 
 Jos. What, Grumio! 
 
 Nich. Fellow Grumio ! 
 
 Nath. How now, old lad ] 
 
 Gru. Welcome, you; — how now, you; — what, 
 you; — fellow, you — and thus much for greeting. 
 Now, my spruce companions, is all ready and all 
 things neat] 
 
 Nath. All things are ready : How near is our 
 master ] 
 
 Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and there- 
 fore be not Cock's passion, silence ! 1 hear 
 
 my master. 
 
 Enter Petiujchio and Kathahina. 
 
 Pet. Where be these knaves] What, no man at 
 door. 
 To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse ! 
 Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip] 
 
 All Serv. Here, here, sir; here, sir. 
 
 Pet. Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! — 
 You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms ! 
 What, no attendance] no regard] no duty] — 
 Where is the foolish knave I sent before ? 
 
 Gru. I If re, sir; as foolish as I was before. 
 
 Bemiroi 
 
 '• Not different one from the r**her. 
 
 Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson ma • 
 horse drudge! 
 Did I not bid thee meet me in the park. 
 And bring along these rascal knaves with thee! 
 
 Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not Cully made, 
 And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel, 
 There was no link 3 to color Peter's hat, 
 And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing* 
 There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gre- 
 gory ; 
 The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; 
 Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. 
 
 Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. — 
 
 [Exeunt, some of the Servants. 
 
 Where is the life that late I led — [Sings. 
 
 Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome. 
 
 Soud, soud, soud ! ' 
 
 Re-enter Servants with Supper. 
 
 Why, when, I say 1 — Nay, good sweet Kate, be 
 
 merry. 
 Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains ; 
 When ] 
 
 It was the friar of orders gray, [Sings. 
 
 As he forth walked on his way — 
 Out, out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry: 
 Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. — 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 Be merry, Kate : — Some water, here ; what, ho ! — 
 Where's my spaniel Troilus] — Sirrah, get you 
 
 hence, 
 And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: — 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted 
 
 with. — 
 Where are my slippers 1 — Shall I have some waterl 
 [A bason is presented to him. 
 Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily : — 
 
 [Servant lets the ewer fall. 
 You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall 1 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 Kath. Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault un- 
 willing. 
 Pet. A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! 
 Come, Kate; sit down ; I know you have a stomach. 
 Will you give thanks, sweet Kate ; oi else shall I] — 
 What is this] mutton] 
 1 Serv. Ay. 
 
 Pet. Who brought it 1 
 
 1 Serv. I. 
 
 Pet. 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat; 
 What dogs are these] — Where is the rascal cook] 
 How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser. 
 And serve it thus to me that love it not] 
 There, take it to you, trenchers, cups and all : 
 
 [Throws the meat, 4r. about the stage. 
 You heedless joltheads, and unmanner'd slaves ! 
 W T hat, do you grumble ] I'll be with you straight. 
 Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet ; 
 The meat was well, if you were so contented. 
 
 Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away ; 
 And I expressly am forbid to touch it, 
 For it engenders choler, plantcth anger; 
 And better 'twere, that both of us did fast, 
 Since of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, — 
 Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. 
 Be patient; to-morrow it shall be mended, 
 And, for this night, we U last for company 
 Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 
 [Exeunt Pktrttchio, Kathaiu'a, and Ovktib 
 
 3 A torch of pitch. 
 
 4 A word coined by Shakspeare to express Mas ac\m 
 made ry a person heated and fatigued- 
 
*58 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHn^tV. 
 
 Act I\ 
 
 Nath. [Advancing.] Peter, didst ever see the like? 
 
 Peter. Hi kills her in her own humor. 
 Re-enter Curtis. 
 
 (Iru. Where is he ! 
 
 Curt. In her chamber, 
 Making a sermon of contineney to her: 
 And rails, and swears, and rates: that she. poor soul. 
 Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak ; 
 And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
 Away, away! for he is coming hither. [Ej.tunt. 
 Re-enter Pktkichio. 
 
 Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, 
 And 'tis my hope to end successfully : 
 My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty ; 
 And till she stoop, she must not be fall-gorged, 
 For then she never looks upon her lure. 5 
 Vnother way have I to man my haggard. 6 
 To make her come, and know her keeper's eall. 
 That is. — to watch her. as we watch these kites, 
 That bate.' and beat, and will not be obedient. 
 She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ; 
 Last night she slept not. nor to-night she shall not: 
 As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
 I'll find about the making ot' the bed; 
 And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster. 
 This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : — 
 Ay. and amid this hurly. I intend* 
 That all is done in reverend care of her; 
 And. in conclusion, she shall watch all night: 
 And, if she chance to nod. I'll rail and brawl. 
 And with the clamor keep her still awake. 
 This is the way to kill a wife with kindness ; 
 And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong hu- 
 mor : — 
 He that knows better how to tame a shrew. 
 Now let him speak; 'tis charity to shew. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Padua. Before Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Traxio and Hortexsio. 
 Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianea 
 Doth fancy any other but Lucentio • 
 I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 
 
 Hot: Sir. to satisfy you in what I have said. 
 Stand by, and mark the manner of his teaching. 
 [They stand aside. 
 Enter Biaxca and Lccextio. 
 Luc. Now. mistress, profit you in what you read ? 
 Bian. What, master, read you ! first resolve me 
 
 that. 
 Luc. I read that I profess, the art of love. 
 Bian. And may you prove, sir. master of your 
 
 art ! 
 Lite. While you. sweet dear, prove mistress of 
 my heart. [They retire. 
 
 11 \ Quick proceeders, marry ! Now. tell me. I 
 pray. 
 Vou thai durst swear that your mistress Bianea 
 Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. 
 Tra. despiteful love! unconstant woman- 
 kind j — 
 I tell thee. Licio. this is wonderful. 
 
 Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
 Nor a musician as I seem to be; 
 But one that scorn to live in this disguise, 
 For such a one as leaves a gentleman, 
 And makes a go.', of such a cullion: 9 
 Know. sir. that I am eall'd — Hortensio. 
 
 » A thine Muffed to look like the game which the hawk 
 
 • To tame my wild hawk. 
 
 ' FluiuT • Pretend. 
 
 Tra. Signior Hortensio, I hav* often heard 
 Of your entire affection to Bianea: 
 And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness 
 I will with you. — if you be so contented, — 
 Forswear Bianea and her love for ever. 
 
 Hor. See. how they kiss and court' — Signioi 
 Lucentio, 
 Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow — 
 Never to woo her more ; but to forswear her, 
 As one unworthy all the former favors 
 That I have fondly flattered her withal. 
 
 Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, — 
 Ne'er to marry with her though she would entreat: 
 Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court him. 
 
 Hor. 'Would all the world, but he. had quite 
 forsworn ! 
 For me. that I may surely keep mine oath, 
 I will be married to a wealthy widow. 
 Ere three days pass; which hath as long lov'd me, 
 As I haw lov'd this proud disdainful haggard: 
 And so farewell, signior Lucentio. — 
 Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, 
 Shall win my love — and so I take my leave. 
 In resolution as I swore before. 
 
 [Exit Hortexsio. — Lccextio and Biaxca 
 advance. 
 
 Tra. Mistress Bianea. bless you with such grace 
 As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case ! 
 Nay. I have ta'en you napping, gentle love; 
 And have forsworn you with Hortensio. 
 
 Bian. Tranio. you jest : But have you both for 
 sworn me ! 
 
 Tra. Mistress, we have. 
 
 Luc. Then we are rid of Licio 
 
 Tra. I'faith. he'll have a lusty widow now, 
 That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 
 
 Bian. Hod give him joy ! 
 
 Tra. Ay. and he'll tame her. 
 
 Bian. He says so, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. 
 
 Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such a 
 place ! 
 
 Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruehio is the master ; 
 That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long. — 
 To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue. 
 
 Enter Bioxdello, running. 
 
 Bion. O master, master. T have watch'd so long 
 That I'm dog-weary ; but at last I spied 
 An ancient angel : coming down the hill. 
 Will serve the turn. 
 
 Tra. What is he. Biondello! 
 
 Bion. Master, a mereatante. or a pedant.' 
 I know not what; but formal in apparel. 
 In gait and countenance surely like a father. 
 
 Luc. And what of him. Tranio ! 
 
 Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale, 
 I'll make him glad to seem Vinccntio ; 
 And give assurance to Baptists Minola. 
 As if he were the right Yincentio. 
 Take in your love, and then let me alone. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucentio and Biaxca 
 
 Enter a Pedant. 
 
 Ped. God save you. sir ! 
 
 Tra. And you. sir ! you are welconn 
 
 Travel you for on. or are you at the furthest ? 
 
 Ped. Sir. at the furthest for a week or two: 
 But then up further: and as far as Rome ; 
 And so to Tripoly, if God lend me life. 
 
 Tra. What countryman. I pray? 
 
 » DeepicaUe fellow. 
 
 *A merchant or a schoolmaster. 
 
 Messenger- 
 
ScEXF III. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 m 
 
 Ped. Of Mantua. 
 
 Tra. Of Munrtia, sir? — marry, God forbid ! 
 And come to Padua, careless of your life ? 
 
 Fed. My life, sir ! how, I pray ? for that goes hard. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua 
 To come to Padua ; Know you not the cause ? 
 Your ships are staid at Venice; and the duke 
 (For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him) 
 Hath publish'*] and proclaim'd it openly: 
 'Tis marvel ; but that you're but newly come, 
 You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 
 
 Fed. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so; 
 For I have bills for money by exchange 
 From Florence, and must here deliver them. 
 
 Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, 
 This will I do, and this will I advise you; — 
 First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa! 
 
 Ped. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been; 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
 
 Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio? 
 
 Ped. I know him not, but I have heard of him ; 
 A merchant of incomparable wealth. 
 
 Tra. He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, 
 In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 
 
 Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and 
 all one. [Aside. 
 
 Tra. To save your life in this extremity, 
 This favor will I do you for his sake ; 
 And think it not the worst of all your fortunes, 
 That you are like to sir Vincentio. 
 His name and credit shall you undertake, 
 And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd; — 
 Look, that you take upon you as you should ; 
 You understand me, sir; — so shall you stay 
 Till you have done your business in the city: 
 If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 
 
 Ptd. O, sir, I do; and will repute you ever 
 The patron of my life and liberty. 
 
 Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good. 
 This, by the way, I let you understand ; 
 My father is here look'd for'every day, 
 To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : 
 In all these circumstances I'll instruct you : 
 Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in Petruchio's House. 
 
 Enter Katharixa and Ghumto. 
 
 Gru. No, no, forsooth : I dare not for my life. 
 
 Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite 
 appears : 
 What, did he marry me to famish me ? 
 Beggars, that come unto my father's door, 
 Upon entreaty, have a present alms; 
 If not, elsewhere they meet with charity : 
 But I, — who never knew how to entreat, 
 Nor never needed that I should entreat, — 
 Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep; 
 With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed : 
 And that which spites me more than all these wants, 
 He does it under name of perfect love ; 
 As who should say, — If I should sleep, or eat, 
 'Twere deadly sickness, or else present death. — 
 I pr'ythee go, and get me some repast; 
 I care not what, so it be wholesome food. 
 
 Gru. What say you to a neat's foot? 
 
 Kath. 'Tis passing good ; I pr'ythee let me have it. 
 
 Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat: — 
 How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd? 
 
 Kath. 1 like it well; good Grumio, fetch it me. 
 
 Gru. I canno* tell ; I fear 'tis choleric. 
 What sav you to a piece of beef, and mustard? 
 
 Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. 
 
 Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 
 
 Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest 
 
 Gru. Nay, then I will not ; you shall have the 
 mustard, 
 Or else you get no beef of Gru mio. 
 
 Kath. Then both or one, or any thing thou wilt 
 
 Gru. Why then the mustard without the beef. 
 
 Kath. Go, get thee gor.e. thou false deluding 
 slave, [Beats him 
 
 That feed'st me with the veiy name of meat: 
 Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you, 
 That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
 Go, get thee gone, I say. 
 
 Enter Petuuchio with a dish of meat,- and 
 Hortensio. 
 
 Pet. How fares my Kate ? What, sweeting, all 
 amort ? 3 
 
 Hor. Mistress, what cheer? 
 
 Kath. 'Faith, as cold as can be 
 
 Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me 
 Here, love; thou seest how diligent I am, 
 To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee ; 
 
 [Sets the dish on a table 
 I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks 
 What, not a word ? Nay then, thou lov'st it not ; 
 And all my pains is sorted to no proof: — 
 Here, take away this dish. 
 
 Kath. 'Pray you, let it stand 
 
 Pet. The poorest service is repaid with thanks , 
 And so shall mine before you touch the meat. 
 
 Kath. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Hor. Signor Petruchio, fye ! you are to blame ! 
 Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. 
 
 Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me. — 
 
 [Aside. 
 Much good do it unto thy gentle heart! 
 Kate, eat apace: — And now, my honey love, 
 Will we return unto thy father's house ; 
 And revel it as bravely as the best, 
 With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, 
 With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things ; 
 With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, 
 With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. 
 What, hast thou dined ? The tailor stays thy leisure, 
 To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. 
 
 Enter Tailor. 
 Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; 
 
 Enter Haberdasher. 
 Lay forth the gown. — What news with you, sir ? 
 
 Hah. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak- 
 
 Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer? 
 A velvet dish; fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy! 
 Why. 'tis »«ockle, or a walnut shell, 
 A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap; 
 Away with it, come, let me have a bigger. 
 
 Kath. I'll have no bigger; this doth fit the time, 
 And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 
 
 Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, 
 And not till then. 
 
 Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside. 
 
 Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak; 
 And speak I will ; I am no child, no babe ; 
 Your betters have endured me say my mind ; 
 And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
 My tongue will tell the anger of my heart; 
 Or else my heart, concealing it, will break; 
 And rather than it shall, I will be free 
 Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 
 
 Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; it is a paltry cap 
 
 1 Dispirited ; a Gallicism. 
 
 1 Finer> 
 
260 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act IT 
 
 A custard-coffin,' a bauble, a silken pie: 
 I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. 
 
 Kalh. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap; 
 And it I will Iwive, or I will have none. 
 
 Pei,. Thy gown"? why, ay : — Come, tailor, let us 
 cee't. 
 
 mercy, God! what masking stuff is here? 
 What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon : 
 What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart ? 
 Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash, 
 Like to a censer 6 in a barber's shop: — ■ 
 
 Why, what, o'devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? 
 
 Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap nor 
 gown. [Aside. 
 
 Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, 
 According to the fashion, and the time. 
 
 Pet. Marry and did; but if you be remember'd, 
 
 1 did not bid you mar it to the time. 
 Go, hop me over every kennel home, 
 
 For you shall hop without my custom, sir: 
 I'll none of it; hence, make your best of it. 
 
 Kath. I never saw a bettcr-fashion'd gown, 
 More quaint, 1 more pleasing.nor more commendable; 
 Belike, you mean to make a puppet of me. 
 
 Pet. Why, true; he means to make a puppet of 
 thee. 
 
 Tai. She says, your worship means to make a 
 puppet of her. 
 
 Pet. O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou 
 thread, 
 Thou thimble, 
 
 Thou yard, three quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, 
 Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou: — 
 Bnivcd in mine own house with a skein of thread ! 
 Away thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant: 
 Or I shall so be-mete" thee with thy yard, 
 As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou liv'st! 
 I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. 
 
 Tai. Your worship isdeceiv'd ; the gown is made 
 Just as my master had direction: 
 Gruinio gave order how it should be done. 
 
 Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff. 
 
 Tai. But how did you desire it should be made? 
 
 Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 
 
 Tai. But did you not request to have it cut? 
 
 Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 
 
 Tai. I have. 
 
 Gru. Face not me: thou hast braved many men; 
 brave not me : I will neither be faced nor braved. 
 I say unto thee, — I bid thy master cut out the 
 gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, 
 thou liest. 
 
 Tai. Whv,here is the note of the fashion to testify. 
 
 Pet. Read it. 
 
 Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he says I said so. 
 
 Tai. Imprint is, a louse-bodied gow^, 
 
 Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, 
 sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with 
 a bottom of brown thread: I said, a gown. 
 
 Pet. Proceed. 
 
 Tai. With a small compassed cape,- 
 
 Gru. I confess the cape. 
 
 Tai. With a trunk sleeve; 
 
 Gru. I confess two sleeves. 
 
 Tai. The sleeves curiously cut. 
 
 Pet. Ay, there's the villany. 
 
 Gru. Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill. I com- 
 manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed 
 ap again ; and that I'll prove upon thee, though 
 hy littlf finger be armed in a thimble. 
 
 • A coftiii ~%s the culinary term for raised cruet. 
 
 « These ,cnsers resembled our brasiers in shape. 
 
 'Nriour • Be-measure. 
 
 Tai. This is true, that I say : an I had thee ii; 
 place where, thou shouldst know it. 
 
 Gru. I am for thee straight ; take tnou the bill 
 give me thy rm te-yard, s and spare not me. 
 
 Hor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ! then he shall have 
 no odds. 
 
 Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 
 
 Gru. You are i'the right, sir ; 'tis for my mistress. 
 
 Pet. Go take it up unto thy master's use. 
 
 Gru. Villain, not for thy life: Take up my mis- 
 tress' gown for thy master's use ! 
 
 Pet. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? 
 
 Gru. 0, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think 
 for: 
 Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! 
 O, fie, fie, fie ! 
 
 Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor 
 paid : — [Aside. 
 
 Go, take it hence; be gone, and say no more. 
 
 Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow. 
 Take no unkindncss of his hasty words : 
 Away, I say; commend me to thy master. 
 
 [Exit Tailor. 
 
 Pet. Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your 
 father's, 
 Even in these honest mean habiliments; 
 Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor* 
 For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; 
 And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds 
 So honor peereth in the meanest habit. 
 What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
 Because his feathers are more beautiful? 
 Or is the adder better than the eel, 
 Because his painted skin contents the eye? 
 0, no, good Kate ; neither art thou the worse 
 For this poor furniture, and mean array. 
 Tf thou account'st it shame, lay it on me : 
 And therefore frolic; we will hence forthwith, 
 To feast and sport us at thy father's house. 
 Go, call my men, and let us straight to him; 
 And bring our horses unto Long-lane end, 
 There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. — 
 Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock, 
 And well we may come there by dinner-time. 
 
 Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; 
 And 'twill be supper time, ere you come there. 
 
 Pei. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse : 
 Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, 
 You are still crossing it. — Sirs, lct't alone: 
 I v. ill not go to-day; and ere I do, 
 It shall be what o'clock I say it is. 
 
 Hor. Why, so ! this gallant will command the 
 sun. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Padua. Before Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like 
 Vincentio. 
 
 Tra. Sir, this is the house : Please it you, that I 
 call? 
 
 Ped. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, 
 Signior Baptista may remember me, 
 Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where 
 We were lodgers at the Pegasus. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis well ; 
 
 And hold your own, in any case, with such 
 Austerity as 'longcth to a father. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 Ped. I warrant you: But, sir, herf tomes yom 
 boy ; 
 'Twere good, he were school'd. 
 
 Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello, 
 8 Measuring yard. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 261 
 
 Now do your duty thoroughly, [ advise you; 
 Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. 
 
 Bion. Tut! fear not me. 
 
 Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? 
 
 Bion. I told him, that your lather was at Venice ; 
 And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 
 
 Tra. Thou'rt a tall' fellow; hold thee that to 
 drink. 
 Here comes Baptista : — set your countenance, sir. — 
 
 Enter Baptista and Lucentio. 
 Signior Baptista, you are happily met: — 
 Sir, [To the Pedant.] 
 This is the gentleman I told you of; 
 I pray you, stand good father to me now, 
 Give me Bianca for my patrimony. 
 
 Ped. Soft, son !— 
 Sir, by your leave ; having come to Padua 
 To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
 Made me acquainted with a weighty cause 
 Of love between your daughter and himself: 
 And, — for the good report I hear of you , 
 And for the love he beareth to your daughter, 
 And she to him — to stay him not too long, 
 I am content, in a good father's care, 
 To have him match'd ; and, — if you please to like 
 No worse than I, sir, — upon some agreement, 
 Me shall you find most ready and most willing 
 With one consent to have her so bestowed ; 
 For curious- I cannot be with you, 
 Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 
 
 Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say; — 
 Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well. 
 Right true it is, your son, Lucentio here, 
 Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him, 
 Or both dissemble deeply their affections : 
 And therefore, if you say no more than this, 
 That like a father you will deal with him, 
 And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, 
 The match is fully made, and all is done : 
 Your son shall have my daughter with consent. 
 
 Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know 
 best, 
 We be affied; 4 and such assurance ta'en, 
 As shall with either part's agreement stand? 
 
 Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio ; for you k .yff, 
 Pitchers have cars, and I have many servants: 
 Besides, old Gremio is hcark'ning still; 
 And, happily, 5 we might be interrupted. 
 
 Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, sir : 
 There doth my father lie ; and there, this night, 
 We'll pass the business privately and well : 
 Send for your daughter by your servant here, 
 My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
 The worst is this, — that, at so slender warning, 
 You're like to have a thin and slender pittance. 
 
 Bap. It likes me well ; — Cambio, hie you home, 
 And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
 And, if you will, tell what hath happened: — 
 Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, 
 And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. 
 
 Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart ! 
 
 Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. 
 Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way! 
 Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer: 
 Come, sir ; we'll better it in Pisa. 
 
 Bap. I follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt Tiianio, Pedant, and Baptista. 
 
 Bion. Cambio, — 
 
 Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello ? 
 
 Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon 
 you] 
 
 1 Brave. ' Scrupulous. * Assure or convey. 
 
 « Betrothed. * Haply, perhaps. 
 
 Luc. Biondello, what of that? 
 
 Bion. 'Faith nothing; but he has left me hen» 
 behind, to expound the meaning or moral of hia 
 signs and tokens. 
 
 Luc. I pray thee, moralize them. 
 
 Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with 
 the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 
 
 Luc. And what of him ? 
 
 Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to 
 the supper. 
 
 Luc. And then? 
 
 Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is 
 at your command at all hours. 
 
 Luc. And what of all this ? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tell ; except they are busied about 
 a counterfeit assurance : Take you assurance of her, 
 cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum.- to the 
 church ; — take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient 
 honest witnesses: 
 If this be not what you look for, I have no more to 
 
 say, 
 But, bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. 
 
 [Going. 
 
 Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tarry : I knew a wench married in 
 an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley 
 to stuff a rabbit ; and so may you, sir ; and so adieu, 
 sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint 
 Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against 
 you come with your appendix. [Exit. 
 
 Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
 She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt ? 
 Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her. 
 It shall go hard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V.— A public Road. 
 Enter Pjkthuchio, Katuarina^/u/Hoiitensio. 
 
 Pet. Come on, o' God's name; once more toward 
 our father's, 
 Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon ! 
 
 Kath. The moon ! the sun ; ft is not moonlight 
 now. 
 
 Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright 
 
 Kath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright. 
 
 Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's my- 
 self, 
 It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, 
 Or ere I journey to your father's house : 
 Go on. and fetch our horses back again. — 
 Evermore cross'd, and cross'd ; nothingbut cross'd ! 
 
 Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 
 
 Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far. 
 And be it moon, or sun, or what you please: 
 And if you please to call it a rush candle, 
 Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 
 
 Pet. I say, it is the moon. 
 
 Kath. I know it is. 
 
 Pet. Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun. 
 
 Kath. Then, God be blessed, it is the blessed sum- 
 But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; 
 And the moon changes, even as your mind. 
 What you will have it named, even that it is; 
 And so it shall be so, for Katharine. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won. 
 
 Pet. Well, forward, forward : thus the bow! 
 should run, 
 And not unluckily against the bias — 
 But soft; what company is coming here? 
 
 Enter Vincentio, in a travelling dress. 
 
 Good morrow, gentle mistress : Where away! — 
 
 f7o VlWCjrVTTO 
 
265 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Tell mc, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, 
 riast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? 
 Such vt'ar of white and red within her cheeks ! 
 What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, 
 As those two eyes become that heavenly face] — 
 Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee: — 
 Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. 
 
 Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a 
 woman of him. 
 
 Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, 
 and sweet, 
 Whither away ; or where is thy abode? 
 Happy the parents of so fair a child; 
 Happier the man, whom favorable stars 
 Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, Kate ! I hope thou art not 
 mad: 
 This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd; 
 And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 
 
 Kath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, 
 That have been so bedazzled with the sun, 
 That every thing I look on seemeth green : 
 Now I perceive, thou art a reverend father ; 
 Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. 
 
 Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and, withal, make 
 known 
 Which way thou travellest : if along with us, 
 We shall be joyful of thy company. 
 
 Vin. Fail sir,- -and you, my merry mistress, — 
 That with your strange encounter muchamaz'd me; 
 
 My name is call'd — Vincentio ; my dwelling— Pisa; 
 And bound I am to Padua ; there to visit 
 A son of mine, which long I have not seen 
 
 Pet. What is his name? 
 
 Vin. Lucentio, gentle eu 
 
 Pet. Happily met; the happier for thy son 
 And now by law, as well as reverend age, 
 I may entitle thee — my loving father; 
 The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, 
 Thy son by this hath married: Wonder not, 
 Nor be not griev'd; she is of good esteem, 
 Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ; 
 Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
 The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
 Let me embrace with old Vincentio : 
 And wander we to see thy honest son, 
 Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 
 
 Vin. But is this true ? or is it else your pleasure 
 Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
 Upon the company you overtake? 
 
 Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 
 
 Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof 1 
 For our first merriment hath made me jealous. 
 
 [Exeunt Petruchio, Katuarina, and 
 Vincentio. 
 
 Hor. Well, Petiuchio, this hath put me in heart. 
 Have to my widow ; and if she be froward, 
 Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Padua, before Lucentio's House. 
 
 Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio, and 
 Bianca ; Gremio walking on the other side. 
 
 Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir ; for the priest is ready. 
 
 Luc. I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to 
 ueed thee at home, therefore leave us. 
 
 Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back ; 
 and then come back to my master as soon as I can. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello. 
 
 Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, Katuarina, Vincentio, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Pet. Sir, here's the dooi, this is Lucentio's house, 
 My father's bears more toward the market place ; 
 Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 
 
 Vm. You shall not choose but drink before you go ; 
 [ think, I shall command your welcome here, 
 \nd by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. 
 
 [Knocks. 
 
 Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock 
 louder. 
 
 Enter Pedant above, at a window. 
 
 Fed. What's he, that knocks as he would beat 
 down the gate? 
 
 Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, sir? 
 
 Fed. He's within, sir, but notto be spoken withal. 
 
 Vin What if a man bring him a hundred pound 
 or two, to make merry withal. 
 
 Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he 
 shall need none, so long as I live. 
 
 Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in 
 Padua. — Do you hear, sir? — to leave frivolous 
 i ireumstances, — I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, 
 that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the 
 iooi *.o sjieok with him. 
 
 Ped, Thou liest ; his father is come from Pisa 
 and here looking out at the window. 
 
 Vin. Art thou his father? 
 
 Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may be- 
 lieve her. 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, gentleman ! [7b Vincejt. 
 why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another 
 man's name. 
 
 Ped. Lay hands on the villain ; I believe 'a means 
 to cozen somebody in this city under my counte- 
 nance. 
 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 
 Bion. I have seen them in the church together • 
 But who is here ? mine old master, Vincentio? now 
 we are undone, and brought to nothing. 
 
 Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. 
 
 [Seeing Biondello. 
 
 Bion. I hope, I may choose, sir. 
 
 Vin. Come hither, you rogue: What, have you 
 forgot me ? 
 
 Bion. Forget you? no, sir: I could no' forget 
 you, for I never saw you before in all my ".ifc. 
 
 Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou 
 never see thy master's father, Vincentio ? 
 
 Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master ? yes, 
 marry, sir; see where he looks out of the window. 
 
 Vin. Is't so, indeed? [Beats Biondello. 
 
 Bion. Help, help, help! here's a madman will 
 murder me. [Exit. 
 
 Ped. Help, son! help, signior Baptista! 
 
 [Exit from the window. 
 
 Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see 
 the end of this controversy. [They re/ire. 
 
 Re-enter Pedant belov;,- Baptista, Tranio, ana 
 Servants. 
 
 Tra. Sir, what are you, that effer to bent my 
 servant? 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 263 
 
 Vin. What am \, sir ? nay what are you, sir? — 
 U immortal gods ' O finp villain ! A silken doublet ! 
 a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! andacopatainhat! 6 
 — O, I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play 
 the good husband at home, my son and my servant 
 spend all at the university. 
 
 Tra. How now! what's the matter] 
 
 Bap What, is the man lunatic? 
 
 Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman 
 by your habit, but your words show you a madman : 
 Why, sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl and 
 gold? I thank my good father, I am able to main- 
 tain it. 
 
 Vin. Thy father? 0, villain ! he is a sail-maker 
 in Bergamo. 
 
 Bap. You mistake, sir; you mistake, sir: Pray, 
 what do you think is his name ? 
 
 Vin. His name? as if I knew not his name: I 
 have brought him up ever since he was three years 
 old, and his name is — Tranio. 
 
 Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Lucen- 
 tio ; and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands 
 of me, signior Vincentio. 
 
 Vin. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his master : 
 — Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's 
 name : — 0, my son, my son ! — tell me, thou villain, 
 where is my son Lucentio? 
 
 Tra. Call forth an officer : — [Enter one with an 
 Officer.] Carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father 
 Baptista, I charge you, see that he be forthcoming. 
 
 Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! 
 
 Gre. Stay, officer ; he shall not go to prison. 
 
 Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio ; I say lie shall 
 go to prison. 
 
 Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you be 
 cheated in this business ; I dare swear, this is the 
 right Vincentio. 
 
 Ped. Swear, if thou darest. 
 
 Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. 
 
 Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not 
 Lucentio. 
 
 Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. 
 
 Bap. Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with him. 
 
 Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abused : — ! 
 O monstrous villain ! 
 
 Re-enter 'BioxvEii.OfWitk Lucentio <mc? Bianca. 
 
 Bion. O, we are spoiled, and — Yonder he is; 
 deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 
 
 Luc. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling. 
 
 Vin. Lives my sweetest son ? 
 
 [Biondkllo, Tiianio, and Pedant run out. 
 
 Bian. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling. 
 
 Bap. How hast thou offended? — 
 
 Where is Lucentio? 
 
 Lite. Here's Lucentio, 
 
 Right son unto the right Vincentio; 
 That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, 
 While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne. 1 
 
 Gre. Here's packing, 8 with a witness, to deceive 
 us all ! 
 
 Vin. Where is that damned villain Tranio, 
 That faced and braved me in this matter so? 
 
 Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? 
 
 Bian. Cambio is changed into Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love 
 Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
 While he did bear my countenance in the town; 
 And happily I have arrived at last 
 \7nto the wished haven of my bliss : — 
 
 • A hat with a conical crown. 
 ' Deceived thine eyes. 
 Tr i «kin*. underhand contrivances. 
 
 What Tranio did, myself enforced him to ; 
 Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 
 
 Vim I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have 
 sent me to the gaol. 
 
 Bap. But do you hear, sir? [To Lucentio.] 
 Have you married my daughter without asking my 
 good-will ? 
 
 Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; we will content you, go 
 to: But I will in, to be revenged for this villany. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Luc. Look not pave, Bianca; thy father will not 
 
 frown. [Exeunt Luc, and Bian. 
 
 Gre. My cake is dough: 8 But I'll in among the 
 
 rest: 
 
 Out of hope of all, — 'but my share of the feast. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Pethuchio and Kathaiuna advance. 
 Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of 
 
 this ado. 
 Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 
 Kath. What, in the midst of the street? 
 Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me? 
 Kath. No, sir : God forbid : —but ashamed to 
 
 kiss. 
 Pet. Why, then let's home again : — Come, sirrah, 
 
 let's away. 
 Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray 
 
 thee, love, stay. 
 Pet. Is not this well? — Come, my sweet Kate; 
 Better once than never, for never too late. [Ex't. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room i?i Lucentio's House. 
 
 A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio 
 
 Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Pe 
 
 thuchio, KATiiAniNA, Hortensio, and Wi 
 
 dow; Tiianio, Biondello, Grumio, and others, 
 
 attending. 
 
 Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree. 
 And time it is, when raging war is done, 
 To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. — ■ 
 My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, 
 While I with self-same kindness welcome thine : — 
 Brother Petruchio, — sister Katharina, — 
 And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, 
 Feast with the best, and welcome to my house; 
 My banquet is to close our stomachs up, 
 After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down, 
 For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. 
 
 [They sit at table. 
 
 Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat ! 
 
 Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. 
 
 Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind. 
 
 Hor. For both our sakes, I would that word were 
 true. 
 
 Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow 
 
 Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. 
 
 Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my 
 sense; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. 
 
 Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns 
 round. 
 
 Pet. Roundly replied. 
 
 Kath. Mistress, how mean you that 1 
 
 Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 
 
 Pet. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio 
 that ? 
 
 Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her ta'e. 
 
 Pet. Very well mended : Kiss him for that, good 
 widow. 
 
 » A proverbial expression, repeated after a disappoint 
 meat. 
 
404 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW 
 
 Act V 
 
 Kath. He that is giddy, thinks the world turne 
 
 round : 
 
 I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 
 
 Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, 
 "tleasures my husband's sorrow by his woe : 
 And now you know my meaning. 
 Kath \ very mean meaning. 
 Wia. Right, I mean you. 
 
 Kath. And I am mean, indeed", respecting you. 
 Pet. To her, Kate ! 
 Hor. To her, widow! 
 Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her 
 
 down. 
 Hor. That's my office. 
 Pet. Spoke like an officer : — Ha, to thee, lad. 
 
 [Drinks to Hortensio. 
 Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks ? 
 Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 
 Bian. Head, and butt ? a hasty-witted body 
 Would say, your head and butt were head and horn. 
 Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you? 
 Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll 
 
 sleep again. 
 Pet. Nay, that you shall not ; since you have begun, 
 Have at you for a bitter jest or two. 
 
 Bian. Am I your bird ? I mean to shift my bush, 
 And then pursue me as you draw your bow : — 
 You are welcome all. 
 
 [Exeunt Bianca, Katharina, and Widow. 
 Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, signior 
 Tranio, 
 This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; 
 Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. 
 Tra. O sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his grey- 
 hound, 
 Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 
 Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish. 
 Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself; 
 'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. 
 Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. 
 Luc. I thank thee for that gird, 1 good Tranio. 
 Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here? 
 Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess; 
 And as the jest did glance away from me, 
 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 
 
 Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
 I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 
 
 Pet. Well, I say — no: and therefore, for as- 
 surance, 
 Let's each one send unto his wife ; 
 And he, whose wife is most obedient 
 To come at first when he doth send for her, 
 Shall win the wager which we will propose. 
 Hor. Content: — What is the wager? 
 Luc. Twenty crowns. 
 
 Pet. Twenty crowns! 
 I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound, 
 But twenty times so much upon my wife. 
 Luc. A hundred then. 
 Hor. Content. 
 
 Pet. A match; 'tis done. 
 
 Hor. Who shall begin? 
 Luc. That will I. Go, 
 
 Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 
 
 Bion. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. 
 Luc. I'll have no halves: I'll bear it all myself. 
 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 
 Hew now ! what news ? 
 
 Stkn Sir, my mistress sends you word 
 
 That she i» busy, and she cannot come. 
 
 Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come . 
 Is that an answer? 
 
 Gre. Ay, and a kind one too: 
 
 Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 
 Pet. I hope, better. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife 
 To come to me forthwith. [Exit Biondello. 
 
 Pet. ho ! entreat her . 
 
 Nay, then she must needs come. 
 
 Hor. I am afraid, sir, 
 
 Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 
 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 Now, where's my wife? 
 
 Bim. She says, you have some goodly jest it 
 hand; 
 She will not come; she bids you come to her. 
 
 Pet. Worse, and worse; she will not come ! vil», 
 Intolerable, not to be endured! 
 Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress; 
 Say, I command her come to me. [Exit Grumio, 
 Hor. I know her answer. 
 Pet. What? 
 
 Hor. She will not come 
 
 Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end 
 
 Enter Katharina. 
 Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Ka 
 
 tharina ! 
 Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me? 
 Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife': 
 Kath. They sit conferring by the parlor fire. 
 Pet. Go fetch them hither ; if they deny to come, 
 Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands. 
 Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 
 
 [Exit Katharina. 
 
 Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wondei. 
 
 Hor. And so it is; I wonder what it bodes. 
 
 Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, 
 
 An awful rule, and right supremacy; 
 
 And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. 
 
 Bap. Now,, fair befal thee, good Petruchio ! 
 The wager thou hast won ; and I will add 
 Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; 
 Another dowry to another daughter, 
 For she is changed, as she had never been. 
 
 Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet; 
 And show more sign of her obedience, 
 Her new-built virtue and obedience. 
 Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and Widow. 
 See, where she comes; and brings your froward 
 
 wives 
 As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. — 
 Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not , 
 Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. 
 
 [Katharina pulls off her cap, and throivi 
 it down. 
 Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, 
 Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 
 
 Bian. Fye! what a foolish duty call you this? 
 Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too: 
 The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
 Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. 
 Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. 
 Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head- 
 strong women 
 What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 
 Wid. Come, come, you're mocking; we will have 
 
 no telling. 
 Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with her. 
 Wid. She shall not. 
 
 Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with hei 
 Kath. Fye, fye ! unknit that threat'-ung unkind 
 brow ; 
 
Scene II 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 2G5 
 
 And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
 
 To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor ; 
 
 It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads ; 
 
 Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds, 
 
 And in no sense is meet, or amiable. 
 
 A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled, 
 
 Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; 
 
 And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty 
 
 Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. 
 
 Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
 
 Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee, 
 
 And for thy maintenance : commits Ins body 
 
 To painful labor, both by sea and land ; 
 
 To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 
 
 While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ; 
 
 And craves no other tribute at thy hands, 
 
 But love, fair looks, and true obedience; — 
 
 Too little payment for so great a debt. 
 
 Such duty as the subject owes the prince, 
 
 Even such, a woman oweth to her husband: 
 
 And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, 
 
 And not obedient to his honest will, 
 
 What is she, but a foul contending rebel, 
 
 And graceless traitor to her loving lord? 
 
 I am ashamed, that women are so simple 
 
 To offer war, where they should kneel for peace : 
 
 Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway, 
 
 When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 
 
 Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, 
 
 Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ; 
 
 "Jut that our soft conditions' and our hearts, 
 
 • Oentl* temper*. 
 
 Should well agree with our external parts? 
 Come, come, you froward and unable worms! 
 My mind hath been as big as one of yours, 
 My heart as great ; my reason, haply more 
 To bandy word for word, and frown for frown : 
 But now, I see our lances are but straws; 
 Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, — 
 That seeming to be most, which we least are. 
 Then vail your stomachs, 3 for it is no boot ; 
 And place your hands below your husband's foo'/ : 
 In token of which duty, if he please, 
 My hand is ready, may it do him ease. 
 
 Pet. Why, there's a wench ! — Come on, and kiss 
 
 me, Kate. 
 Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou shalt 
 
 ha't. 
 Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are to- 
 ward. 
 Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are fro- 
 ward. 
 
 Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed : 
 
 We three are married, but you two are sped. 
 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white- 
 st; Lcceutio 
 And, being a winner, God give you good night ! 
 [Exeunt Petruchio mid Kath. 
 Hot. Now go thy ways, thou hast tamed a curst 
 
 shrew. 
 Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, sSe will be 
 tamed so. l t Ex:u*U 
 
 > Abat* yom spirit*. 
 
WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Leontes, King of Sicilia 
 Mamillius, his Son. 
 Camillo, 
 
 AnTIGONUS, 1 e . .,- t _ 7 
 
 ^ ' > Sicilian Lords. 
 
 Oleomenes, j 
 
 Dion, J 
 
 Another Sicilian Lord. 
 
 Rogero, a Sicilian Gentleman. 
 
 An Attendant on the young Prince Mamillius. 
 
 Officers of a Court of Judicature. 
 
 Polixenes, King of Bohemia. 
 
 Florizel, his Son. 
 
 Archidamus, a Bohemian Lord. 
 
 A Mariner. 
 
 Gaoler. 
 
 An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita. 
 
 SCENE, sometimes in 
 
 Clown, his Son. 
 Servant to the old Shepherd. 
 Autolycus, a Rogue. 
 Time, as Chorus. 
 
 Hermione, Queen to Leontes. 
 
 Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermume. 
 
 Paulina, Wife to Antigonus. 
 
 Emilia a Lady, ) atfendi the Queen , 
 
 Iwo other Ladies, ) ' 
 
 Mopsa, 
 
 Dorcas, ^ 
 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants,- Saty?s for o 
 Dance; Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, 4/c, 
 
 { Shepherdesses. 
 
 Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE 1, 
 
 -Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes' 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 
 
 Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bo- 
 hemia, on the like occasion whereon my services 
 are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great 
 difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. 
 
 Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of 
 Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which 
 he justly owes him. 
 
 Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame 
 us, we will be justified in our loves : for, indeed, — 
 
 Cam. 'Beseech you, 
 
 Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my 
 knowledge : we cannot with such magnificence — 
 
 in so rare — I know not what to say. We will 
 
 give you sleepy drinks : that your senses, unintel- 
 ligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot 
 praise us, as little accuse us. 
 
 Cam. You pay a great deal too dear, for what's 
 given freely. 
 
 Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding 
 instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. 
 
 Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to 
 Bohemia. They were trained together in their 
 childhoods; a ad there looted betwixt them then 
 such an affection, which cannot choose but branch 
 now. Since their more mature dignities, and royal 
 neccssi'ies. made separation of their society, their 
 T26G] 
 
 encounters, though not personal, have been royally 
 attornied, 1 with interchange of gifts, letters, loving 
 embassies; that they have seemed to be together, 
 though absent ; shook hands, as over a vast ; a and 
 embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed 
 winds. The heavens continue their loves ! 
 
 Arch. I think, there is not in the world either 
 malice, or matter, to alter it. You havra an un- 
 speakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius ; 
 it is a gentleman of the greatest promise, that ever 
 came into - my note. 
 
 Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of 
 him: it is a gallant child; one that, indeed, phy- 
 sics the subject, 3 makes old hearts fresh: they, that 
 went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet theii 
 life, to see him a man. 
 
 Arch. Would they else be content to die 1 
 
 Cam. Yes : if there were no other excuse why 
 they should desire to live. 
 
 Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire 
 to live on crutches till he had one. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamil- 
 lius, Camillo, and Attendants. 
 
 Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been 
 The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne 
 
 1 Supplied by substitution of embassies 
 
 2 Wide waste of country. 
 
 1 Affords a cordial to the state 
 
Scene II 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 20-3 
 
 Without a burden : time as long again 
 
 Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks ; 
 
 And yet we should, for perpetuity, 
 
 Go hence in debt: And therefore, like a cipher, 
 
 Yet standing in rich place, I multiply, 
 
 With one. we-thank-yuu, many thousands more 
 
 That go before it. 
 
 Leon. Stay your thanks awhile; 
 
 And pay them when you part. 
 
 Pol. Sir, that's to-morrow. 
 
 I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance, 
 Or breed upon our absence : That may blow 
 No sneaping ' winds at home, to make us say, 
 This is put forth too truly! Besides, I have stay'd 
 To tire your royalty. 
 
 Leon. We are tougher, brother, 
 
 Than you can put us to't. 
 
 Pol. No longer stay. 
 
 Leon. One seven-night longer. 
 
 Pol. Very sooth, to-morrow. 
 
 Leon. We'll part the time between's then: and 
 in that 
 I'll no gain-saying. 
 
 Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you so: 
 
 There is no tongue that moves, none, none i'the 
 
 world, 
 So soon as yours, could win me : so it should now, 
 Were there necessity in your request, although 
 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs 
 Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder, 
 Were, in your love, a whip to me ; my stay, 
 To you a charge, and trouble : to save both, 
 Farewell, our brother. 
 
 Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen ? speak you. 
 
 Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, 
 until 
 You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, 
 
 sir, 
 Charge him too coldly: Tell him, you are sure, 
 All in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction 
 The by-gone day proclaim'd : say this to him, 
 He's beat from his best ward. 
 
 Leon. Well said, Hermione. 
 
 Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong; 
 But let him say so then, and let him go; 
 But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, 
 We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. — 
 Vet of your royal presence [To Polixenes.] I'll 
 
 adventure 
 The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia 
 You take my lord, I'll give him my commission, 
 To let him there a month, behind the gest s 
 Prefixed for his parting: yet, good deed, 6 Leontes, 
 I love thee not a jar o'the clock behind 
 What lady she her lord. — You'll stay ? 
 
 Pol. No, madam. 
 
 Her. Nay, but you will. 
 
 Pol. I may not, verily. 
 
 Her. Verily! 
 You put me off with limber vows: But I, 
 though you would seek to unsphere the stars with 
 
 oaths, 
 Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily, 
 You shall not go ; a lady's verily is 
 As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? 
 Force me to keep you as a prisoner, 
 Not like a guest ; so you shall pay your tees, 
 When you depart, and save your thanks. How 
 say you? 
 
 4 Nipping. 
 
 • Qests were the names of the stages where the king ap- 
 pointed to lie, during a royal progress. 
 In4e«i 
 
 My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread verily, 
 One of them you shall be. 
 
 Pol. Your guest then, madam 
 
 To be your prisoner, should import offending ; 
 Which is for me less easy to commit, 
 Than you to punish. 
 
 Her. Not your gaoler then, 
 
 But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you 
 Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys: 
 You were pretty lordlings 1 then. 
 
 Pol. We vtern, fair queen, 
 
 Two lads, that thought there was nr more behind, 
 But such a day to-morrow as to-day, 
 And to be boy eternal. 
 
 Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o'the two ? 
 
 Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' 
 the sun, 
 And bleat the one at the other: what we changed. 
 Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not 
 The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd 
 That any did: Had we pursued that life, 
 And our weak spirits ne'er been higher reared 
 With stronger blood, we should have answer'd 
 
 heaven 
 Boldly, Not Guilty: the imposition clear'd, 
 Hereditary ours. 
 
 Her. By this we gather, 
 
 You have tripp'd since. 
 
 Pol. O my most sacred lady, 
 
 Temptations have since then been borne to us : foi 
 In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ; 
 Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes 
 Of my young play-fellow. 
 
 Her. Grace to boot ! 
 
 Of this make no conclusion ; lest you say, 
 Your queen and I are devils: Yet, go on; 
 The offences we have made you do, we'll answer ; 
 If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us 
 You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
 With any but with us. 
 
 Leon. Is he won yet? 
 
 Her. He'll stay, my lord. 
 
 Leon. At my request, he would not. 
 
 Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st 
 To better purpose. 
 
 Her. Never? 
 
 Leon. Never, but once. 
 
 Her. What ! have I twice said well ? when 
 was't before ? 
 I pr'y thee, tell me: Cram us with praise, and make us 
 As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying 
 
 tongueless, 
 Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. 
 Our praises are our wages: You may ride us, 
 With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere 
 With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ;- 
 My last good deed was, to entreat his stay ; 
 What was my first ? it has an elder sister, 
 Or I mistake you : O, would her name were Grace ! 
 But once before I spoke to the .purpose: When? 
 Nay, let me have't, I long. 
 
 Leon. Why, that tv^s when 
 
 Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to 
 
 death 
 Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, 
 And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, 
 I am yours for ever. 
 
 Her. It is Grace, indeed. — 
 
 Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice 
 The one for ever earned ;. royal husband; 
 The other, for some while, a friend. 
 
 [Giving her hand to Polixewbi 
 ' A diminutive of lords. 
 
zm 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act ).. 
 
 Lti ti Too hot, too hot : [Aside. 
 
 To mingle friendship fai, is mingling bloods. 
 I iiave tremor cordis on me : — my heart dances ; 
 But not *br joy, — not joy. — This entertainment 
 May a free face put on : derive a liberty 
 From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, 
 And well become the agent: it may, I grant: 
 But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers, 
 As now they are; and making practis'd smiles, 
 As in a looking-glass ; — and then to sigh, as 'twere 
 The mort o' the deer; 9 0, that is entertainment 
 My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — Mamillius, 
 Art thou my boy ? 
 
 Mam. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Leon. I'fecks ? 
 
 Why that's my bawcock.' What, hast smutch'd 
 
 thy noseT — 
 They say it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain, 
 We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: 
 And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, 
 Are all call'd, neat. — Still virginalling 2 
 
 [Observing Polixenes and HEitMioNE. 
 Upon his palm ? — How now, you wanton calf! 
 Art thou my calf? 
 
 Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots 
 that I have, 3 
 To be full like me : — yet, they say we are 
 Almost as like as eggs; women say so, 
 That will say any thing: but were they false 
 As o'er-died blacks, as wind, as waters ; false 
 As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes 
 No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true 
 To say this boy were like me. — Come, sir page, 
 Look on me with your welkin 1 eye : Sweet villain ! 
 Most dear'st ! my collop ! — 'Can thy dam ? — may't 
 
 be? 
 Affection ! thy intention stabs the centre 
 Thou dost make possible, things not so held, 
 Communicat'st with dreams; — (How can this 
 
 be?) 
 With what's unreal thou co-active art, 
 And fellow'st nothing: Then, 'tis very credent, 6 
 Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost: 
 (And that beyond commission; and I find it:) 
 And that to the infection of my brains, 
 And hardening of my brows. 
 
 Pol. What means Sicilia? 
 
 Her. He something seems unsettled. 
 
 Pol. How, my lord? 
 
 What cheer? how is't with you, best brother? 
 
 Her. You look, 
 
 As if you held a brow of much distraction: 
 Are you moved, my lord? 
 
 Leon. No, in good earnest. — 
 
 How sometimes nature will betray its folly, 
 [ts tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
 To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines 
 Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil 
 Twenty-three years: and saw myself unbreech'd, 
 In my green velvet coat ; my dagger muzzled, 
 Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, 
 As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. 
 How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, 
 T'his squash, 6 this gentleman : — Mine honest friend, 
 Will you take eggs for money?' 1 
 
 Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight. 
 
 •Trembling of the heart 
 
 » The tune played at the death of the deer. 
 
 » Hearty fellow. 
 
 « i. e. Playing with her fingers, as if on a spinet. 
 
 'Thou wantest a rough head, and the budding horns 
 that I have. 
 
 * Blue, like the sky. » Credible. 
 
 • l'es-ood. ' Will you he cajoled f 
 
 Leon, ifou will? why, happy man be his dole'' 
 — My brother, 
 Are you so fond of your young prince, as we 
 Do seem to be of ours? 
 
 Pel. If at home, sir, 
 
 He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter: 
 Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy ; 
 My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all : 
 He makes a July's day short as December ; 
 And, with his varying childness, cures in me 
 Thoughts that would thick my blood. 
 
 Leon. So stands this squire 
 
 Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord, 
 And leave you to your graver steps. — Hermionc, 
 How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome; 
 Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap : 
 Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's 
 Apparent 9 to my heart. 
 
 Her. If you would seek us, 
 
 We are your's i' the garden : Shall's attend you 
 there ? 
 
 Leon. To your own bents dispose you: you'll 
 be found, 
 Be you beneath the sky : — I am angling now, 
 Though you perceive me not how I give line. 
 Go to, go to ! 
 
 [Aside. Observing Polixenes and Hehmione. 
 How she holds up the neb, 1 the bill to him ! 
 And arms her with the boldness of a wife 
 To her allowing 5 husband! Gone already, 
 Inch-thick, knee-deep ; o'er head and ears a fork'd 
 one. 1 
 [Exeunt Polixenes, Hehmione, and 
 Attendants. 
 Go, play, boy, play ; — thy mother plays, and I 
 Play too ; but so disgraced a part, whose issue 
 Will hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamor 
 Will be my knell. — Go, play, boy, play ; — There 
 
 have been, 
 Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now; 
 And many a man there is, even at this present, 
 Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, 
 That little thinks she has been sluiced in his absence, 
 And his pond fish'd by his next neighbor, by 
 Sir Smile, his neighbor: nay, there's comfort in't, 
 Whiles other men have gates; and those gates 
 
 open'd, 
 As mine, against their will : Should all despair, 
 That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
 Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none ; 
 It is a bawdy planet, that will strike 
 Where 'tis predominant ; and 'tis powerful, think it, 
 From east, west, north, and south: Beit concluded, 
 No barricado for a belly; know it; 
 It will let in and out the enemy, 
 With bag and baggage : many a thousand of us 
 Have the disease, and feel't not. — How now, boy ? 
 
 Mam. I am like you, they say. 
 
 Leon. Why, that's some comfort. — 
 
 What! Camillo there? 
 
 Cam. Ay. my good lord. 
 
 Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an nonest 
 man. — [Exit Mamillius. 
 
 Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. 
 
 Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold* 
 When you cast out, it still came home. 
 
 Leon. Didst note it? 
 
 Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; mad* 
 His business more material. 
 
 Leon. Didst perceive it? — 
 
 s May his lot in life be a happy one I 
 » Heir apparent, next claimant. 
 > Mouth. * Approving 
 
 * A horned one, a cuckold. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 WINTER'S L'ALE. 
 
 269 
 
 They're here with me already ; whispering, round- 
 ing 4 
 Sicilia is a so-forth: 'Tis far gone, 
 When I shall gust' it last. — How came't, Camillo, 
 That he did stay ? 
 
 Cam. At the good queen's entreaty. 
 
 Leon. At the queen's be't: good should be per- 
 tinent; 
 But so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
 By any understanding pate but thine' 1 
 For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
 More than the common blocks : — Not noted, is't, 
 But of the finer natures'! by some severals, 
 Of head-piece extraordinary ? lower messes, 6 
 Perchance, are to this business purblind : say. 
 
 Cam. Business, my lord! I think, most under- 
 stand 
 Bohemia stays here longer. 
 
 Leon. Ha ? 
 
 Cam. Stays here longer. 
 
 Leon. Ay, but why ? 
 
 Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties 
 Of our most gracious mistress. 
 
 Leon. Satisfy 
 
 The entreaties of your mistress? satisfy? 
 
 Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, 
 With all the nearest things to my heart, as well 
 My chamber-councils : wherein, priest-like, thou 
 Hast cleans'd my bosom ; I from thee departed 
 Thy penitent reform 'd : but we have been 
 Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd 
 In that which seems so. 
 
 Cam. Be it forbid, my lord! 
 
 Leon. To bide upon't ; — Thou art not honest : or, 
 If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward; 
 Which hexes 1 honesty behind, restraining 
 From course required : Or else thou must be counted 
 A servant, grafted in my serious trust, 
 And therein negligent; or else a fool, 
 That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake 
 
 drawn, 
 And tak'st it all for jest. 
 
 Cam. My gracious lord, 
 
 I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful ; 
 In every one of these no man is free, . 
 But that his negligence, his folly, fear, 
 Amongst the infinite doings of the world, 
 Sometime puts forth: In your affairs, my lord, 
 If ever I were wilful-negligent, 
 It was my folly ; if industriously 
 I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, 
 Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful 
 To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, 
 Whereof the execution did cry out 
 Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear 
 Which oft affects the wisest: these, my lord., 
 Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty 
 Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace, 
 Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass 
 By its own visage: if I then deny it, 
 'Tis none of mine. 
 
 Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, 
 
 (But that's past doubt : you have ; or your eye-glass 
 Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,) or heard, 
 (For, to a vision so apparent, rumor 
 Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation 
 Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) 
 My wife is slippery ? If thou wilt confess, 
 (Or else be impudently negative, 
 To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say, 
 My wife's a hobby-horse : deserves a name 
 
 * To round in the car was to tell secretly. » Taste. 
 
 • Inferiors in rank. ' To hox is to hamstring. 
 
 As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to 
 Before her troth-plight: say it, and justify it. 
 
 Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear 
 My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
 My present vengeance taken : 'Shrew my heart, 
 You never spoke what did become you less 
 Than this: which to reiterate, were sin 
 As deep as that, though true. 
 
 Leon. Is whispering nothing 
 
 Is leaning cheek to cheek ? is meeting noses ? 
 Kissing with inside lip 7 stopping the career 
 Of laughter with a sigh ? (a note infallible 
 Of breaking honesty :) horsing foot on foot ? 
 Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? 
 Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes blinc 
 With the pin and web, 8 but theirs, theirs only, 
 That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing? 
 Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing ; 
 The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; 
 My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these nothings, 
 If this be nothing. 
 
 Cam. Good my lord, be cured 
 
 Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ; 
 For 'tis most dangerous. 
 
 Leon. Say, it be ; 'tis true. 
 
 Cam. No, no, my lord. 
 
 Leon. It is; you lie, you lie 
 
 I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee ; 
 Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave : 
 Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
 Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, 
 Inclining to them both - Were my wife's liver 
 Infected as her life, she would not live 
 The running of one glass. 
 
 Cam. Who does infect her? 
 
 Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, 
 hanging 
 About his neck, Bohemia: Who — if I 
 Had servants true about me, that bare eyes 
 To see alike mine honor as their profits, 
 Their own particular thrifts, — they would do that 
 Which should undo more doing: Ay, and thou, 
 His cupbearer, — whom I from meaner form 
 Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who may's; 
 
 see 
 Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven 
 How I am galled, — thou mightst bespice a cup, 
 To give mine enemy a lasting wink; 
 Which draught to me were cordial. 
 
 Cam. Sir, my lord, 
 
 I could do this: and that with no rash'' potion, 
 But with a ling'ring dram, that should not worl 
 Maliciously like poison : But I cannot 
 Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
 So sovereignly being honorable. 
 I have lov'd thee, 
 
 Leon. Make't thy question, and go r -. • 
 
 Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, 
 To appoint myself in this vexation ? sully 
 The purity and whiteness of my sheets, 
 Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted. 
 Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps ? 
 Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son 
 Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine; 
 Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this? 
 Could man so blench? 1 
 
 Cam. I must believe you, sir 
 
 I do: and will fetch off Bohemia for't: 
 Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness 
 Will take again your queen, as yours at first; 
 Even for your son's sake: and, thereby, for sealing 
 
 * Disorders of the eye. » Hasty. 
 
 1 i. e. Could anv man bo start off from propriety ? 
 
270 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 
 Act I 
 
 7'be injury of tongue .■>, in courts and kingdoms 
 Known and allied to yours. 
 
 Leon. Thou dost advise me, 
 
 Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
 I'll give no blemish to her honor, none. 
 
 Cam. My lord, 
 Go then; and with a countenance as clear 
 As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia, 
 And with your queen: I am his cupbearer; 
 If from me he have wholesome beverage, 
 Account me not your servant. 
 
 Leon. This is all ; 
 
 Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart ; 
 Do't not, thou split'st thine own. 
 
 Cam. I'll do't, my lord. 
 
 Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd 
 me. [Exit. 
 
 Cam. O miserable lady ! — But, for me, 
 What case stand I in ? I must be the poisoner 
 Of good Polixenes : and my ground to do't 
 Is the obedience to a master; one, 
 Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 
 All that are his, so too. — To do this deed, 
 Promotion follows : If I could find example 
 Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings, 
 And fiourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since 
 Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, 
 Let villany itself forswcar't. I must 
 Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain 
 To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now ! 
 Here comes Bohemia. 
 
 Enter Polixenes. 
 
 Pol. This is strange, methinks, 
 
 My favor here begins to warp. Not speak? 
 
 Good-day, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Hail, most royal sir! 
 
 Pol. What is the news i' the court? 
 
 Cam. None rare, my lord. 
 
 Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, 
 As he had lost some province, and a region, 
 Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him 
 With customary compliment; when he, 
 Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling 
 A lip of much contempt, speeds from me : and 
 So leaves me, to consider what is breeding, 
 That changes thus his manners. 
 
 Cam. I dare not know, my lord. 
 
 Pol. How ! dare not ? do not. Do you know, and 
 dare not 
 Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts; 
 For, to yourself, what you do know, you must; 
 And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, 
 Your changed complexions are to me a mirror, 
 Which shows me mine changed to: for I must be 
 A party in this alteration, finding 
 Myself thus alter'd with it. 
 
 Cam. There is a sickness 
 
 Which puts some of us in distemper; but 
 I cannot name the disease; and it is caught 
 Of you that yet are well. 
 
 Pol. How ? caught of me ? 
 
 Make me not sighted like the basilisk ! 
 I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the 
 better 
 
 By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo, 
 
 As you are certainly a gentleman ; thereto 
 Clerk-like, experienced, which no less adorns 
 Our gentry, than our parents' noble names, 
 In whose success' we arc gentle, 3 — I beseech you, 
 
 5 For succession. 
 
 1 GiMitta was opposed to simple ; well born. 
 
 If you know aught which does behove my know- 
 ledge 
 Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not 
 In ignorant concealment. 
 
 Cam. I may not answer. 
 
 Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well ! 
 I must be answered* — Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
 I conjure thee, by all the parts of man, 
 Which honor does acknowledge, — whereof th« 
 
 least 
 Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare 
 What incidency thou dost guess of harm 
 Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near ; 
 Which way to be prevented, if to be; 
 If not, how best to bear it. 
 
 Cam. Sir, I'll tell you ; 
 
 Since I am charged in honor, and by him 
 That I think honorable: Therefore, mark my 
 
 counsel ; 
 Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, as 
 I mean to utter it ; or both yourself and me 
 Cry, lost, and so good night. 
 
 Pol. On, good Camillo. 
 
 Cam. I am appointed him 4 to murder you. 
 Pol. By whom, Camillo ? 
 Cam,. By the king. 
 
 Pol. For what ! 
 
 Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence ha 
 swears, 
 As he had seen't, or been an instrument 
 To vice s you to't, — that you have touch'd his queen 
 Forbiddenly. 
 
 Pol. O, then my best blood turn 
 
 To an infected jelly ; and my name 
 Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best ! 
 Turn then my freshest reputation to 
 A savor that may strike the dullest, nostril 
 W'here I arrive ; and my approach be shunn'd, 
 Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection 
 That e'er was heard, or read ! 
 
 Cam. Swear his thought over 
 
 By each particular star in heaven, and 
 By all their influences, you may as well 
 Forbid the sea for to obey the moon, 
 As or by oajh, remove, or counsel, shake 
 The fabric of his folly ; whose foundation 
 Is piled upon his faith, and will continue 
 The standing of his body. 
 
 Pol. How should this grow? 
 
 Cam. I know not : but, I am sure, 'tis safer to 
 Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born. 
 If therefore you dare trust my honesty, — 
 That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you 
 Shall bear along impawn'd, — away to-night. 
 Your followers I will whisper to the business ; 
 And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns, 
 Clear them o' the city : For myself, I'll put 
 My fortunes to your service, which are here 
 By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; 
 For, by the honor of my parents, I 
 Have utter'd truth : which if you seek to prove, 
 I dare not stand by ; nor shall you be safer 
 Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, 
 
 thereon 
 His execution sworn. 
 
 Pol. I do believe thee : 
 
 I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand ; 
 Be pilot to me, and thy places shall 
 Still neighbor mine; My ships are ready, and 
 My people did expect my hence departure 
 
 Two days ago. This jealousy 
 
 Is for a precious creature : as she's i are, 
 
 4 i. e. The person 
 
 'Draw 
 
Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 27i 
 
 Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty, 
 
 Must it be violent; and as he does conceive 
 
 He is dishonored by a man which ever 
 
 Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
 
 fn that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me. 
 
 Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
 
 The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing 
 
 Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo, 
 
 I will respect thee as a father, if 
 
 Thou bear'st my life off hence: Let us avoid. 
 
 Cam. It is in mine authority to command 
 The keys of all the posterns: Please your highnesa 
 To take the urgent hour : come, sir, away. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 Enter Heumioxe , Mamillitjs, and Ladies. 
 
 Her. Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, 
 Tis past enduring. 
 
 1 Lady. Come, my gracious lord, 
 
 Shall I be your play-fellow ] 
 
 Mam. No, I'll none of you. 
 
 1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord] 
 
 Mam. You'll kiss me hard ; and speak to me as if 
 I were a baby still. — I love you better. 
 
 2 Lady. And why so, my good lord? 
 
 Mam. Not for because 
 
 Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say, 
 Become some women best; so that there be not 
 Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle, 
 Or half-moon made with a pen. 
 
 2 Lady. Who taught you this] 
 
 Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. — Pray 
 now, 
 What color are your eye-brows ? 
 
 1 Lady. Blue, my lord. 
 Mam. Nay, that's a mock; I have seen a lady's 
 
 nose 
 That has been blue, but not her eye-brows. 
 
 2 Lady. Hark ye ; 
 The queen, your mother, rounds apace: we shall 
 Present our services to a fine new prince, 
 
 One of these days ; and then you'd wanton with us 
 If we would have you. 
 
 1 Lady. She is spread of late 
 
 Into a goodly bulk : Good time encounter her ! 
 
 Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you] Come, 
 sir, now 
 I am for you again: Pray you, sit by us, 
 And tell's a tale. 
 
 Mam. Merry, or sad, shall't be ] 
 
 Her. As merry as you will. 
 
 Mam. A sad tale's best for winter: 
 
 I have one of sprites and goblins. 
 
 Her. Let's have that, sir. 
 
 Come on, sit down: — Come on, and do your 
 
 best 
 To fright me with your sprites: you're powerful 
 at it. 
 
 Mam. There was a man, 
 
 Her. Nay, come, sit down ; then on. 
 
 Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard; — I will tell it 
 softly ; 
 Yon crickets shall not hear it. 
 
 Her. Come on, then, 
 
 Anc 1 give't me in mine ear. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Autigonus, Lords, and others. 
 Leon. Was he met there ] his train ] Camillo 
 
 with him ] 
 1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them ; 
 never 
 Saw I men scour so on their way : I ey'd them 
 Even to their ships. 
 
 Leon. How bless'd am I, 
 
 In my just censure] 8 in my true opinion] — 
 Alack, for lesser knowledge ! How accurs'd, 
 In being so blest! — There may be in the cup 
 A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, 
 And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
 Is not infected : but if one present 
 The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known 
 How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides 
 With violent hefts : ' — I have drank, and seen the 
 
 spider. 
 Camillo was his help in this, his pander : — 
 There is a plot against my life, my crown; 
 All's true that is mistrusted: — that false villain, 
 Whom I employed, was pre-employ'd by him : 
 He has discover'd my design, and I 
 Remain a pinch'd thing ; 8 yea, a very trick 
 For them to play at will : — How came the posterns 
 So easily open] 
 
 1 Lord. By his great authority ; 
 
 Which often hath no less prevailed than so, 
 On your command. 
 
 Leon. I know't too well. 
 
 Give me the boy ; I am glad, you did not nurse him : 
 Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
 Have too much blood in him. 
 
 Her. What is this] sport] 
 
 Leon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not come 
 about her; 
 Away with him : — and let her sport herself 
 With that she's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes 
 Has made thee swell thus. 
 
 Her. But I'd say, he had not. 
 
 And, 1 11 be sworn, you would believe my saying, 
 Howe'er you lean to the nayward. 
 
 Leon. You, my lords 
 
 Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 
 To say, she is a goodly lady, and 
 The justice of your hearts will thereto add 
 'Tis pity she's not honest, honorable: 
 Praise her but for this her without-door form 
 (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and 
 
 straight 
 The shrug, the hum, or ha; these petty brands, 
 That calumny doth use: — 0, 1 am out, 
 That mercy does; for calumny will sear 9 
 Virtue itself: — These shrugs, these hums, and ha's, 
 When you have said, she's goodly, come between, 
 Ere you can say she's honest: But be it known, 
 From him that has most cause to grieve it should 1 <e. 
 She's an adultress. 
 
 Her. Should a villain say so, 
 
 The most replenish'd villain in the world, 
 He were as much more villain : you, my lord, 
 Do but mistake. 
 
 Leon. You have mistook, my lady, 
 
 Polixenes for Leontes : thou thing, 
 Which I'll not call a creature of thy place, 
 Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, 
 
 • Judgment. ' Heaving* 
 
 • A thing pinched out of clouts, a puppet. 
 
 • Brand os infamous. 
 
272 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act II, 
 
 Should a like language use to all degrees, 
 
 A.nd mannerly distinguishment leave out 
 
 Betwixt the prince and beggar ! — I have said, 
 
 She's Hn adultress; I have said with whom: 
 
 More, i._v's a traitor; and Camillo is 
 
 A federary ' with her ; and one that knows 
 
 What she should shame to know herself, 
 
 But 2 with her most vile principal, that she's 
 
 A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
 
 That vulgars give bold titles; ay, and privy 
 
 To this their late escape. 
 
 Her. No, by my life, 
 
 Privy to none of this: How will this grieve you, 
 When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
 You thus have publish'd me ? Gentle my lord, 
 You scarce can right me throughly then, to say 
 You did mistake. 
 
 Leon. No, no; if I mistake 
 
 In those foundations which I build upon, 
 The centre is not big enough to bear 
 A school-boy's top. — Away with her to prison : 
 He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty, 3 
 But that he speaks. 4 
 
 Her. There's some ill planet reigns: 
 
 I must be patient, till the heavens look 
 With an aspect more favorable. Good my lords, 
 I am not prone to weeping, as our sex 
 Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew, 
 Perchance, shall dry your pities: but T have 
 That honorable grief lodg'd here, which burns 
 Worse than tears drown: 'Beseech you all, my 
 
 lords, 
 With thoughts so qualified as your charities 
 Shall best instruct you, measure me ; — and so 
 The king's will be perform'd ! 
 
 Leon. Shall I be heard ? 
 
 [To the Guards. 
 
 Her. W r ho is't that goes with me? — 'Beseech 
 your nighness, 
 My women may be with me ; for, you see, 
 My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ; 
 There is no cause: when you shall know your 
 
 mistress 
 Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears, 
 As I come out: this action, I now go on, 
 Is for my better grace. — Adieu, my lord : 
 I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now, 
 
 I trust, I shall. My women, come; you have 
 
 leave. 
 
 Leon. Go do our bidding; hence. 
 
 [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 
 
 i Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen 
 again. 
 
 Ant. Be certain what you do, sir; lest your justice 
 Prove violence ; in the which three great ones suffer, 
 Yourself, your queen, your son. 
 
 1 Lord. For her, my lord, — 
 
 f dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir, 
 Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless 
 I'the eyes of heaven, and to you; I mean, 
 In this which you accuse her. 
 
 Ant. If it prove 
 
 She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 
 I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; 
 Than when I feel, and see her, no further trust her; 
 For every inch of woman in the world, 
 Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false, 
 If she be. 
 
 Leon. Hold your peaces. 
 
 1 Lord. Good my lord, — 
 
 Ant. It ia for you we speak, not for ourselves 
 
 Jonfederate. a Only. 
 
 ' Remotely guilty * In merely speaking. 
 
 You are abused, and by some putter on, 
 That will be damn'd for't ; 'would I knew the villain, 
 I would land-damn him : Be she honor-flaw d, — 
 I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven; 
 The second, and the third, nine, and some five ; 
 If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine honor, 
 I'll geld them all; fourteen they shall not see, 
 To bring false generations : they are co-heirs ; 
 And I had rather glib myself, than they 
 Should not produce fair issue. 
 
 Leon. Cease; no more 
 
 You smell this business with a sense as cold 
 As is a dead man's nose : I see't and feel't, 
 As you feel doing thus; and see withal 
 The instruments that feel. 
 
 Ant. If "it be so, 
 
 We need no grave to bury honesty; 
 There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten 
 Of the whole dungy earth. 
 
 Leon. ■ What! lack I credit 1 
 
 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord, 
 Upon this ground : and more it would content mu 
 To have her honor true, than your suspicion; 
 Be blamed for't how you might. 
 
 Leon. Why, what need we 
 
 Commune with you of this? but rather follow 
 Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative 
 Calls not your councils; but our natural goodness 
 Imparts this: which, — if you (or stupified, 
 Or seeming so in skill) cannot, or will not, 
 Kelish as truth, like us; inform yourselves, 
 We need no more of your advice : the matter, 
 The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all 
 Properly ours. 
 
 Ant. And I wish, my liege, 
 
 You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
 Without more overture. 
 
 Leon. How could that be? 
 
 Either thou art most ignorant by age, 
 Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, 
 Added to their familiarity, 
 
 (Which was as gross as ever touched conjecture, 
 That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation, 5 
 But only seeing, all other circumstances 
 Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceeding: 
 Yet, for a greater confirmation, 
 (For, in an act of this importance, 'twere 
 Most piteous to be wild,) I have despatch'd in post, 
 To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
 Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
 Of stuff'd sufficiency: 6 Now, from the oracle 
 They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had, 
 Shall stop or spur me. HaveT done well? 
 
 1 Lord. Well done, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more 
 Than what I know, yet shall the oracle 
 Give rest to the minds of others; such as he, 
 Whose ignorant credulity will not 
 Come up to the truth : So have we thought it good, 
 From our free person she should be confined; 
 Lest that the treachery of the two, fled heme, 
 Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; 
 We are to speak in public: for this business 
 Will raise us all. 
 
 Ant. [Aside.'] To laughter, as I take it, 
 If the good truth were known [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.-— The outer Room of a P^'son 
 
 Enter Paulina and Attendants. 
 Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ;— 
 [Exit an Attendant 
 
 s Proof. • Of abilities more than sufficient. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 '473 
 
 Let him have knowledge who I am. — Good lady! 
 
 No court in Europe is too good for thee, 
 
 What dost thou then in prison 1 — 'Now, good sir, 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper. 
 You know me, do you not 7 
 
 Keep. For a worthy lady, 
 
 And one whom much I honor. 
 
 Paul. Pray you, then, 
 
 Conduct me to the queen. 
 
 Keep. I may not, madam ; to the contrary 
 [ have express commandment. 
 
 Paul. Here's ado, 
 
 To lock up honesty and honor from 
 
 The access of gentle visitors! Is jt lawful, 
 
 Pray you, to see her women 1 any of them ? 
 Emilia 1 ! 
 
 Keep. So please you, madam, to put 
 Apart these your attendants, I shall bring 
 Emilia forth. 
 
 Paul. I pray now, call her. 
 
 Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend. 
 
 Keep. And, madam, 
 
 I must be present at your conference. 
 
 Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. [Exit Keeper. 
 Here's such ado to make no stain a stain, 
 As passes coloring. 
 
 Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia. 
 
 Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady? 
 
 Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn, 
 May hold together : On her frights and griefs, 
 (Which never tender lady hath borne greater,) 
 She is, something before her time, deliver'd. 
 
 Paul. A boy 1 
 
 Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe, 
 
 Lusty, and like to live: the queen receives 
 Much comfort in 't: says, My poor prisoner, 
 I am innocent as you. 
 
 Paul. I dare be sworn : — 
 
 These dangerous unsafe lunes 1 o'the king! beshrew 
 
 them ! 
 He must be told on't, and he shall : the office 
 Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me: 
 If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister; 
 A.nd never to my red-look'd anger be 
 The trumpet any more: Pray you, Emilia, 
 Commend my best obedience to the queen; 
 if she dares trust me with her little babe, 
 ['11 shovv't the king, and undertake to be 
 Heradvocate to th' loudest: We do not know 
 How he may soften at the sight o' the child; 
 The silence often of pure innocence 
 Persuades, when speaking fails. 
 
 Emil. Most worthy madam, 
 
 Y"our honor, and your goodness, is so evident, 
 That your free undertaking cannot miss 
 A thriving issue; there is no lady living 
 So meet for this great errand : Please your ladyship 
 To visit the next room, I'll presently 
 Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; 
 Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design; 
 But durst not tempt a minister of honor, 
 Lest she should be denied. 
 
 Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 
 
 I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from it, 
 As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted 
 I shall do good. 
 
 Emil. Now, be you blest, for it! 
 
 I'll to the queen: Please you, come something 
 nearer. 
 
 * Lunacies, fits of madaess. 
 
 Keep. Madam, if 't please the queen to send thj 
 babe, 
 I know not what I shall incur, to pass it, 
 Having no warrant. 
 
 Paul. You need not fear it, sir: 
 
 The child was prisoner to the womb ; and is, 
 By law and process of great nature, thence 
 Freed and enfranchis'd : not a party to 
 The anger of the king; nor guilty of, 
 If any be, the trespass of the queen. 
 
 Keep. I do believe it. 
 
 Paul. Do not you fear: upon 
 
 Mine honor, I will stand 'twixt you and danger. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE HI.— A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is but 
 weakness 
 To bear the matter thus ; mere weakness, if 
 The cause were not in being ; — part o'the cause, 
 She, the adultress ^ — for the harlot king 
 Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
 And level of my brain, plot-proof: but she 
 I can hook to me : Say, that she were gone 
 Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
 Might come to me again. Who's there 1 
 
 1 Atten. ' My lord? 
 
 [Advancing. 
 
 Leon. How does the boy ? 
 
 1 Atten. He took good rest to-night: 
 
 'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharged. 
 
 Leon. To see 
 
 His nobleness ! 
 
 Conceiving the dishonor of his mother, 
 He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply; 
 Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself; 
 Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, 
 And downright languish'd. — Leave me solely: 8 — go 
 See how he fares. [Exit Attend.] — Fye, fye! no 
 
 thought of him ; 
 The very thought of my revenges that way 
 Recoil upon me ; in himself too mighty ; 
 And in his parties, his alliance, — Let him be, 
 Until a time may serve: for present vengeance, 
 Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
 Laugh at me ; make their pastime at my sorrow: 
 They should not laugh if I could reach them ; nor 
 Shall she, within my power. 
 
 Enter Paulina, with a Child. 
 
 1 Lord. You must not enter. 
 
 Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to 
 me: 
 Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, 
 Than the queen's life'? a gracious innocent soul; 
 More free, than he is jealous. 
 
 Ant. That's enough. 
 
 1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night 
 commanded 
 None should come at him. 
 
 Paul. Not so hot, good sir; 
 
 I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, — 
 That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
 At each his needless heaving, — such as you 
 Nourish the cause of his awaking: I 
 Do come with words as med'cinal as true ; 
 Honest, as either ; to purge him of that humor, 
 That presses him from sleep. 
 
 Leon. What ncise thers ho' 
 
274 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference, 
 About some gossips for your highness. 
 
 Leon. How? 
 
 Away with that audacious lady : Antigonus, 
 
 [ charged thee, that she should not come about me ; 
 
 I knew, she would. 
 
 Ant. I told her so, my lord, 
 
 On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, 
 8he should not visit you. 
 
 Leon. What, canst not rule her ? 
 
 Paul. From all dishonesty, he can ; in this 
 (Unless he take the course that you have done, 
 Commit me, for committing honor.) trust it, 
 lie shall not rule me. 
 
 Ant. Lo you now; you hear! 
 
 When she will take the rein, I let her run; 
 But she'll not stumble. 
 
 Paul. Good my liege, I come, — 
 
 And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess 
 Myself your loyal servant, your physician, 
 Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare 
 Less appear so, in comforting your evils," 
 Than such as most seem yours: — I say, I come 
 From your good queen. • 
 
 Leon. Good queen! 
 
 Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say 
 good queen; 
 And would by combat make her good, so were I 
 A man, the worst 1 about you. 
 
 Leon. Force her hence. 
 
 Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes, 
 First hand me: on mine own accord, I'll off; 
 But first. I'll do my errand. — The good queen, 
 For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; 
 Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. 
 
 [Laying down the Child. 
 
 Leon. Out ! 
 
 A very mankind 1 witch ! Hence with her, out o' door : 
 A most intelligencing bawd ! 
 
 Paul. Not so: 
 
 I am as ignorant in that as you 
 In so entitling me: and no less honest 
 Than you are mad : which is enough, I'll warrant, 
 As this world goes, to pass for honest. 
 
 Leon. Traitors ! 
 
 Will you not push her out ? Give her the bastard : — 
 Thou, dotard, [To Aivtigonus.] thou art woman- 
 tired, 3 unroosted 
 By thy dame Partlet here, — take up the bastard ; 
 Take't up, I say ; give't to thy crone. 4 
 
 Puul. For ever 
 
 TTnvencrable be thy hands, if thou 
 Tak'st up the princess, by that forced E baseness 
 Which he has put upon't! 
 
 Leon. He dreads his wife. 
 
 Paul. So, I would, you did : then, 'twere past 
 all doubt, 
 You'd call your children yours. 
 
 Leon. A nest of traitors ! 
 
 Ant. I am none, by this good light. 
 
 Puul. Nor I; nor any, 
 
 But one, that's here; and that's himself: for he 
 The sacred honor of himself, his queen's, 
 His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, 
 Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and will 
 
 not 
 (For as the case now stands, it is a curse 
 lie cannot be compell'd to't) once remove 
 
 ' Abetting your ill courses . • Lowest. 
 
 * Masculine. 
 
 " Pecked by a woman ; hon-pecked. 
 
 4 Worn out old woman. 
 
 » Forced is false ; uttered with violence to truti. 
 
 The root of his opinion, which is ictten, 
 As ever oak, or stone, was sound. 
 
 Leon. A callat,' 
 
 Of boundless tongue; who late hath beat hei 
 
 husband, 
 And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine ; 
 It is the issue of Polixenes: 
 Hence with it ; and, together with the dam, 
 Commit them to the fire. 
 
 Paul. It is yours ; 
 
 And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge 
 So like you, 'tis the worse. — Behold, my lords, 
 Although the print be little, the whole matter 
 And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip, 
 The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley, 
 The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his 
 
 smiles ; 
 The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: — ■ 
 And thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it 
 So like to. him that got it, if thou hast 
 The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colors 
 No yellow 1 in't ; lest she suspect as he does, 
 Her children not her husband's ! 
 
 Leon. A gross hag .' — 
 
 And, lozel, 9 thou art worthy to be hang'd, 
 That wilt not stay her tongue. 
 
 Ant. Hang all the husbands 
 
 That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 
 Hardly one subject. 
 
 Leon. Once more, take her hence. 
 
 Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord 
 Can do no more. 
 
 Leon. I'll have thee bum'd. 
 
 Paul. I care not 
 
 It is an heretic, that makes the fire, 
 Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant , 
 But this most cruel usage of your queen 
 (Not able to produce more accusation 
 Than your own weak-hinged fancy) something 
 
 savors 
 Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, 
 Yea, scandalous to the world. 
 
 Leon. On your allegiance. 
 
 Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant. 
 Where were her life ? she durst not call me so, 
 If she did know me one. Away with her. 
 
 Paul. I pray you, do not push me ; I'll be gone. 
 Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours : Jove send 
 
 her 
 A better guiding spirit! — What need these hands'? — 
 You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, 
 Will never do him good, not one of you. 
 So, so : — Farewell ; we are gone. [Exit. 
 
 Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. — 
 My child? away with't! even thou, that hast 
 A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, 
 And see it instantly consumed with fire; 
 Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight 
 Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, 
 (And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life, 
 With what thou else call'st thine: If thou refuse. 
 And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; 
 The bastard brains with these my proper hands 
 Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; 
 For thou sett'st on thy wife. 
 
 Ant. I did not, sir : 
 
 These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, 
 Can clear me in't. 
 
 1 Lord. We can ; my royal liege. 
 
 He is not guilty of her coming hither. 
 Leon. You are liars all. 
 
 « Trull. ' The color of jealousy. • Worthless felww 
 
4.CT III. Scene II. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 275 
 
 i Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better 
 credii 
 We nave alwajs truly serv'd you; and beseech 
 So to esteem of us : And on our knees we beg, 
 (As recompense of our dear services, 
 Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose; 
 Which being so horrible, so bloody, must 
 Lead on to some foul issue: We all kneel. 
 
 Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows : — 
 Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel 
 And call me father? Better burn it now, 
 Than curse it then. But, be it; let it live: 
 It shall not neither. — You, sir, come you hither ; 
 
 [To Antigonus. 
 You, that have been so tenderly officious 
 With lady Margery, your midwife, there, 
 To save this bastard's life : — for 'tis a bastard, 
 So sure as this beard's grey, — what will you ad- 
 venture 
 To save this brat's life? 
 
 Ant. Any thing, my lord, 
 
 That my ability may undergo, 
 And nobleness impose : at least thus much ; 
 I'll pawn the little blood which I hr.v°. left, 
 To save the innocent: any thing possible. 
 
 Leon. It shall be possible : swear by this sword, s 
 Thou wilt perform my bidding. 
 
 Ant. I will, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Mark, and perform it; (seest thou?) for 
 the fail 
 Of any point in't shall not only be 
 Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongued wife ; 
 Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee, 
 As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry 
 This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it 
 To some remote and desert place, quite out 
 
 Of our dominions ; and that there thou leave it, 
 Without more mercy, to its own protection, 
 And favor of the climate. As by strange fortune 
 It came to us, I do hi justice charge thee, — 
 On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture, — 
 That thou commend it strangely to some place, 1 
 Where chance may nurse, or end it : Take it up. 
 
 Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
 Had been more merciful. — Come on, poor babe : 
 Some powerful spirit instruct the kite* and ravens, 
 To be thy nurses ! Wolves and bears, they say, 
 Casting their savageness aside, have done 
 Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous 
 In more than this deed doth require ! and blessing, 
 Against this cruelty, fight on thy side. 
 Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! [Exit with the Child 
 
 Leon. No, I'll not rear 
 
 Another's issue. 
 
 1 Atten. Please your highness, posts, 
 
 From those you sent to the oracle, are come 
 An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
 Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, 
 Hasting to the court. 
 
 1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed 
 
 Hath been beyond account. 
 
 LeorT. Twenty-three days 
 
 They have been absent: 'Tis good speed; foretells, 
 The great Apollo suddenly will have 
 The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; 
 Summon a session, that we may arraign 
 Our most disloyal lady : for as she hath 
 Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
 A just and open trial. While she lives, 
 My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me 
 And think upon my bidding [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Street in some Town. 
 Enter Cleomexes and Dion. 
 
 Cleo. The climate's delicate; the air most sweet; 
 Fertile the isle; the temple much surpassing 
 The common praise it bears. 
 
 Dion. I shall report, 
 
 For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
 (Methinks, I should so term them,) and the reve- 
 rence 
 Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice ! 
 How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
 It was i' the offering ! 
 
 Cleo. But, of all, the burst 
 
 And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle. 
 Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense, 
 That I was nothing. 
 
 Dion. If the event o' the journey 
 
 Prove as successful to the queen, — O, be't so! — 
 ■\s it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy, 
 The time is worth the use on't. 
 
 Clto. Great Apollo, 
 
 Turn all to the best! These proclamations, 
 So forcing faults upon Hermione, 
 . little like. 
 
 Dion. The violent carriage of it 
 
 Will clear, oi end, the business: When the oracle, 
 •^Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,) 
 
 » It was anciently a piactice t) swear by the cross at the 
 hilt of the sword. 
 
 Shall the contents discover, something rare, 
 
 Even then, will rush to knowledge. Go, — fresh 
 
 horses ; — 
 And gracious be the issue ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— yl Court of Justice. 
 
 Leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear properly 
 seated. 
 
 Leon. This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- 
 nounce) 
 Even pushes 'gainst our heart: The party tried, 
 The daughter of a king; our wife; and one 
 Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd 
 Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
 Proceed in justice; which shall have due course, 
 
 Even 5 to the guilt, or the purgation. 
 
 Produce the prisoner. 
 
 Offi. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen 
 Appear in person here in court. — Silence ! 
 
 Hehmion e is brought in, guarded; Paulina and 
 Ladies attending. 
 
 Leon. Read the indictment. 
 
 OJJi. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, 
 king o/Sicilia, thou art he, e accused and arraigned 
 of high treason, in commdting adultery with Pc- 
 lixenes, king of Bohemia; and conspiring with 
 
 1 i. e. Commit it to some place aa a strangnr. 
 a Equal. 
 
! £76 
 
 WINTERS TALE. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Oamillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord 
 '.lie king, thy royal husband; the pretence 3 whereof 
 being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, 
 Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a 
 true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their 
 better safety, to fly away by night. 
 
 Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that 
 vVhich contradicts my accusation ; and 
 The testimony on my part, no other 
 But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me 
 To say, Not guilty: mine integrity, 
 Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, 
 Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers divine 
 Behold our human actions, (as they do,) 
 I doubt not then, but innocence shall make 
 False accusation blush, and tyranny 
 Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know, 
 (Who least will seem to do so,) my past life 
 Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
 As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
 Than history can pattern, though devis'd, 
 And play'd to take spectators : For behold me, — 
 A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 4 
 A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 
 The mother to a hopeful prince, — here standing 
 To prate and talk for life, and honor, 'fore 
 Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it, 
 As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honor, 
 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, 
 And only that I stand for. I appeal 
 To your conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
 Came to your court, how I was in your grace, 
 How merited to be so ; since he came, 
 With what encounter so uncurrent I 
 Have strain'd to appear thus : if one jot beyond 
 The bound of honor; or, in act, or will, 
 That way inclining ; harden'd be the hearts 
 Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin 
 Cry, Fye upon my grave ! 
 
 Leon. I ne'er heard yet, 
 
 That any of these bolder vices wanted 
 Less impudence to gainsay what they did, 
 Than to perforin it first. 
 
 Her. That's true enough; 
 
 Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. 
 
 Leon. You will not own it. 
 
 Her. More than mistress of, 
 
 Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
 At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
 (With whom I am accused,) I do confess, 
 I lov'd him, as in honor he required; 
 With such a kind of love, as might become 
 A lady like me ; with a love, even such, 
 So, and no other, as yourself commanded : 
 Which not to have done, I think, had been in me 
 Both disobedience and ingratitude, 
 To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had 
 
 spoke, 
 Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely, 
 That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
 I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd 
 For me to try how : all I know of it 
 Is, that Camillo was an honest man; 
 And, why he left your court, the gods themselves, 
 Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. 
 
 Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
 What you have underta'en to do in his absence. 
 
 Her. Sir, 
 You speak a language that I understand not : 
 My life stands in the level' of your dreams, 
 Which I'll lay down. 
 
 'Scheme laid. 
 
 • i» within the reach. 
 
 1 Own, poosess. 
 
 Leon. Your actions are my dreams 
 
 You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
 And I but dream'd it: — As you were past all sham© 
 (Those o r your fact 6 are so,) so past all truth: 
 Which tc eny, concerns more than avails: 
 For as 
 
 Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, 
 No father owning it, (which is, indeed, 
 More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou 
 Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage, 
 Look for no less than death. 
 
 Her. Sir, spare your threats 
 
 The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek 
 To me can life be no commodity: 
 The crown and comfort of my life, your favor, 
 I do give lost; for I do feel it gone, 
 But know not how it went: My second joy, 
 And first fruits of my body, from his presence, 
 I am barr'd like one infectious: My third comfort, 
 Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, 
 The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, 
 Haled out to murder: Myself on every post 
 Proclaim'd a strumpet ; With immodest hatred, 
 The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
 To women of all fashion: — Lastly, hurried 
 Here to this place, i' the open ah, before 
 I have got strength of limit. 1 Now, my liege, 
 Tell me what blessings I have here alive, 
 That I should fear to die 1 Therefore, proceed. 
 
 But yet, hear this; mistake me not; No! life, 
 
 I prize it not a straw : — but for mine honor, 
 (Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd 
 Upon surmises; all proofs sleeping else, 
 But what your jealousies awake; I tell you, 
 'Tis rigor, and not law. — Your honors all, 
 I do refer me to the oracle; 
 Apollo be my judge. 
 
 1 Lord. This your request 
 
 Is altogether just: therefore, bring forth, 
 And in Apollo's name, his oracle. 
 
 [Exeunt certain Officera 
 
 Her. The emperor of Russia was my father : 
 0, that he were alive, and here beholding 
 His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
 The flatness of my misery ; yet with eyes 
 Of pity, not revenge ! 
 
 Re-enter Officers with Cleomenes and Dion. 
 
 Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword 
 of justice, 
 That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
 Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought 
 This seal'd up oracle, by the hand deliver'd 
 Of great Apollo's priest : and that, since then, 
 You have not dared to break the holy seal, 
 Nor read the secrets in't. 
 
 Cleo. Dion. All this we swear. 
 
 Leon. Break up the seals and read. 
 
 Offi. [Reads.'] Hermione is chaste, Polixenes 
 blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jeal- 
 ous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and 
 the king shall live without an heir, if that, wltich 
 is lost, be not found. 
 
 Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo! 
 
 Her. Praised 
 
 Leon. Hast thou read truth? 
 
 Offi. Ay, my lord; even so 
 
 As it is here set down. 
 
 Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle 
 The sessions shall proceed ; this is mere falsehood. 
 
 • They who have clone like you. 
 
 ' i. e. The degree of strength which it is customary \e 
 acquire before women are suffered to go abroad after :iild 
 hearing. 
 
 . 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 277 
 
 Enter a Servant, hastily. 
 
 Serv. My lord the king, the king ! 
 
 Leon. What is the business ! 
 
 Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: 
 The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
 Of the queen's speed, 8 is gone. 
 
 Leon. How ! gone ? 
 
 Serv. Is dead. 
 
 Leon. Apollo's angry: and the heavens themselves 
 Do strike at my injustice. [Hktiiiioxk faints.] How 
 now there 1 
 
 Paul. This news is mortal to the queen : — Look 
 down, 
 And see what death is doing. 
 
 Leon. Take her hence : 
 
 Her heart is but o'ercharged ; she will recover. — 
 I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion : — 
 'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
 Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon 
 
 [Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Hehm. 
 My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! — 
 I'll reconcile me to Polixenes; 
 New woo my queen; recall the good Camillo; 
 Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy: 
 For, being transported by my jealousies 
 To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose 
 Camillo for the minister, to poison 
 My friend Polixenes : which had been done, 
 But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
 My swill command, though I with death, and with 
 Reward, did threaten and encourage him, 
 Not doing it, and being done : he, most humane, 
 And fill'd with honor, to my kingly guest 
 Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here, 
 Which you knew great; and to the certain hazard 
 Of all incertainties himself commended, 
 No richer than his honor: — How he glisters 
 Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
 Does my deeds make the blacker! 
 
 Re-enter Paulina. 
 
 Paul. Woe the while ! 
 
 O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it, 
 Break too! 
 
 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady? 
 
 Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? 
 What wheels] racks 1 fires 1 What flaying 7 boiling, 
 In leads, or oils ? what old, or newer torture 
 Must I receive; whose every word deserves 
 To taste of thy most w orst ? Thy tyranny 
 Together working with thy jealousies. — 
 Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
 For girls of nine ! — 0, think, what they have done, 
 And then run mad, indeed; stark mad! for all 
 Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
 That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; 
 That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, 
 And damnable ungrateful: nor was't much, 
 Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honor, 
 To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses, 
 More monstrous standing by : whereof I reckon 
 The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter, 
 To be or none, or little; though a devil 
 Would have shed water out of fire, s ere done't; 
 Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death 
 Of the young prince, whose honorable thoughts 
 (Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart 
 That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire 
 Bjemish'd his gracious dam : this is not, no, 
 Laid to thy answer: But the last, — 0, lords, 
 
 • Of the event of the queen's trial. 
 ' t. «. A devil would have shed tear's of pity, ere he 
 mnld hare perpetrated such an action. 
 
 When I have said, cry, woe ! — the queen, the queen m 
 The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead; and ven- 
 geance for't 
 Not dropp'd down yet 
 
 1 Lord. The higher powers foibid! 
 
 Paul. I say, she's dead ; I'll swear't : if word, 
 nor oath, 
 Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring 
 Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye, 
 Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you 
 As I would do the gods. — But, O thou tyrant! 
 Do not repent these things; for they are heavier 
 Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee 
 To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
 Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
 Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
 In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
 To look that way thou wert. 
 
 Leon. Go on, go on : 
 
 Thou canst not speak too much: I have deserv'd 
 All tongues to talk their bitterest. 
 
 1 Lord. Say no more; 
 
 Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
 I'the boldness of your speech. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry for't; 
 
 All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
 I do repent: Alas, I have show'd too much 
 The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd 
 To the noble heart. — What's gone, and what's past 
 
 help, 
 Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction 
 At my petition, I beseech you ; rather 
 Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
 Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege, 
 Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman : 
 The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool again ! — 
 I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children ; 
 I'll not remember you of my own lord, 
 Who is lost too : Take your patience to you, 
 And I'll say nothing. 
 
 Leon. Thou didst speak but well, 
 
 When most the truth ; which I receive much better 
 Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me 
 To the dead bodies of my queen and son : 
 One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall 
 The causes of their death appear, unto 
 Our shame perpetual : Once a day I'll visit 
 The chapel where they lie ; and tears shed there, 
 Shall be my recreation : So long as 
 Nature will bear up with this exercise, 
 So long I daily vow to use it. Come, 
 And lead me to these sorrows. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Bohemia. A desert Country near 
 the Sea. 
 
 Enter Antigonus, with the Child; anda Mariner. 
 
 Ant. Thou art perfect 1 then, our ship hath 
 touch'd upon 
 The deserts of Bohemia 1 
 
 Mar. Ay, my lord, and fear 
 
 We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly, 
 And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, 
 The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, 
 And frown upon us. 
 
 Ant. Their sacred wills be done! — Go, get aboard 
 Look to thy bark ; I'll not be long, before 
 I call upon thee. 
 
 Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not 
 Too far i'the land: 'tis like to be loud weather* 
 Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
 Of prey, that keep upon t. 
 
 1 Well-assured. 
 
278 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Ant. Go thou away : 
 
 I'll follow instantly. 
 
 Mar. I am glad at heart 
 
 fo be so rid o'the business. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Come, poor babe : 
 
 I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the 
 
 dead 
 May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 
 Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream 
 So like a waking. To me comes a creature, 
 Sometimes her head on one side, some another; 
 I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 
 So fill'd, and so becoming : in pure white robes, 
 Like very sanctity, she did approach 
 My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me; 
 And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes 
 Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 
 Did this break from her; Good Antigonus, 
 Since fate, against thy better disposition, 
 Hath made thy person for the thrower-out 
 Of my puor babe, according to thine oath, — 
 Places remote enough are in Bohemia, 
 There weep, and leave it crying,- and, for the babe 
 Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, 
 I pr'ythee, callt; for this ungentle business, 
 Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see 
 Thy wife Paulina more: — and so, with shrieks, 
 She melted into air. Affrighted much, 
 I did in time collect myself; and thought 
 This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys : 
 Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, 
 I will be squared by this. I do believe, 
 Hermione hath suffer'd death ; and that 
 Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
 Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid, 
 Either for lifc, or death, upon the earth 
 Of its right father. — Blossom, speed thee well! 
 
 [Laying down the Child. 
 There lie; and there thy character •? there these; 
 
 [Laying down a bundle. 
 Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, 
 
 And still rest thine. The storm begins : — Poor 
 
 vs retch, 
 That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd 
 To loss, and what may follow ! — Weep 1 cannot, 
 But my heart bleeds : and most accurs'd am I, 
 To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell ! 
 The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have 
 A lullaby too rough: I never saw 
 The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamor ? — 
 Well may I get aboard ! — This is the chase ; 
 I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a Bear. 
 Enter an old Shepherd. 
 
 Shep. I would there were no age between ten 
 and three and twenty ; or that youth would sleep 
 out the rest : for there is nothing in the between 
 but getting wenches with child, wronging the an- 
 cientry, stealing, fighting. Hark you now ! — 
 
 Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and 
 two and twenty, hunt this weather ? They have 
 scared away two of my best sheep ; which, I fear, 
 the wolf will sooner find, than the master: if any 
 where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing 
 on ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will ! what have we 
 nere ? [Taking up the Child.] Mercy on's, a barne f 
 a very pretty barne ! A boy, or a child, 4 I wonder ? 
 A pretty one ; a very pretty one : Sure, some scape : 
 though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting- 
 gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some 
 
 ^ The writing afterward discovered with Perdita. 
 1 Chi.a. 4 Female infant. 
 
 stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door- 
 work : they were warmer that got this, than the 
 poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity : Yet I'll 
 tarry till my son come ; he hollaed but even ncm 
 Whoa, ho hoa! 
 
 Enter Glown. 
 
 Clo. Hilloa, loa ! 
 
 Shep. What, art so near ? if thou'lt see a thing 
 to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come 
 hither. What ailest thou, man ? 
 
 Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by 
 land; — but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is 
 now the sky ; betwixt the firmament and it, you 
 cannot thrust a bodkin's point. 
 
 Shep. Why, boy, how is it? 
 
 Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how 
 it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that's not 
 to the point: 0, the most piteous cry of the poor 
 souls ! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em : 
 now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast; 
 and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd 
 thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the 
 land service. — To see how the bear tore out his 
 shoulder-bone ; how he cried to me for help, and 
 said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman : — But 
 to make an end of the ship : — to see how the sea 
 flap-dragoned s it : — but, first, how the poor souls 
 roared, and the sea mocked them; — and how the 
 poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, 
 both roaring louder than the sea or weather. 
 
 Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy ? 
 
 Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I saw 
 these sights : the men are not yet cold under water, 
 nor the bear half dined on the gentleman : he's at 
 it now. 
 
 Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the 
 old man! 
 
 Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to 
 have helped her; there your charity would have 
 lacked footing. [Aside. 
 
 Shep. Heavy matters ! heavy matters ! but look 
 thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st 
 with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's 
 a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth 6 for a 
 squire's child ! Look thee here : take up, take up, 
 boy ; open't. So, let's see : It was told me, I should 
 be rich by the fairies: this is some changeling: — 
 open't: What's within, boy? 
 
 Clo. You're a made old man : if the sins of your 
 youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold ' 
 all gold! 
 
 Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so : 
 up with it, keep it close; home, home, the next 
 way. We are lucky, boy ; and to be so still, re- 
 quires nothing but secrecy. — Let my sheep go: — 
 Come, good boy, the next way home. 
 
 Clo. Go you the next way with your findings; 
 I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman 
 and how much he hath eaten : they are never curst, 
 but when they are hungry : if there be any of him 
 left, I'll bury it. 
 
 Shep. That's a good deed: If thou mayst dis- 
 cern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch 
 me to the sight of him. 
 
 Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put him 
 i'the gro':nd. 
 
 Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy ; and we'll do good 
 deeds on't. [Exeunt 
 
 s Swallowed. 
 
 * The mantis in which a child was carried to be tapuied 
 
act IV. Scene I. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 27 1 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 Enter Time, as Chorus. 
 Time. I, — that please some, try all; both joy 
 
 and terror, 
 Of good and bad ; that make, and unfold error, — 
 Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 
 To use my wings. Impute it not a crime, 
 To me, or my swift passage, that I slide 
 O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
 Of that wide gap : since it is in my power 
 To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour 
 To plant and o'erwhelm custom : Let me pass 
 The same I am, ere ancient'st order was, 
 Or what is now received : I witness to 
 The times that brought them in ; so shall I do 
 To the freshest things now reigning; and make stale 
 The glistering of this present, as my tale 
 Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
 I turn my glass ; and give my scene such growing, 
 As you had slept between. Leontes leaving 
 The effects of his fond jealousies ; so grieving, 
 That he shuts up himself; imagine me, 
 Gentle spectators, that I now may be 
 In fair Bohemia ; and remember well, 
 I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel 
 I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 
 To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
 Equal with wond'ring: What of her ensues, 
 I list not prophecy ; but let Time's news 
 Be known, when 'tis brought forth : — a shepherd's 
 
 daughter, 
 And what to her adheres which follows after, 
 Is the argument 1 of time: Of this allow, 
 If ever you have spent time worse ere now; 
 [f never yet, that Time himself doth say, 
 He wishes earnestly, you never may. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. — Bohemia. A Room in the Palace 
 
 of Polixenes. 
 
 Enter Polixenes and Camillo. 
 
 Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- 
 portunate: 'tis a sickness, denying thee anything; 
 a death, to grant this. 
 
 Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country : 
 though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, 
 I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni- 
 tent king, my master, hath sent for me: to whose 
 feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'er- 
 ween 8 to think so; which is another spur to my 
 departure. 
 
 Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out 
 the rest of thy services, by leaving me now: the 
 need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made; 
 better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee : 
 thou, having made the businesses, which none, with- 
 out thee, can sufficiently manage, must either stay 
 to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the 
 very services thou hast done : which if I have not 
 enough considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be 
 more thankful to thee, shall be my study; and my 
 profit therein, the heaping friendships. Of that 
 fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more: 
 whose very naming punishes me with the remem- 
 brance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and 
 reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most 
 precious queen, and children, are even now to be 
 afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the 
 prince Florizel, my son ] Kings are no less unhappy, 
 
 1 rtubjec ■„ e Think too highly of myself. 
 
 their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing 
 them, when they have approved their virtues. 
 
 Cam. Sir, it is three days, since I saw the prince 
 What his happier affairs may be, are to me un 
 known : but I have, missingly, noted, 9 he is of late 
 much retired from court ; and is less frequent to hi* 
 princely exercises, than formerly he hath appeared. 
 
 Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo; and 
 with some care ; so far, that I have eyes under my 
 service, which look upon his removedness; from 
 whom I have this intelligence : That he is seldom 
 from the house of a most homely shepnerd ; a man, 
 they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the 
 imagination of his neighbors, is grown into an un- 
 speakable estate. 
 
 Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath 
 a daughter of most rare note : the report of her is 
 extended more, than can be thought to begin from 
 such a cottage. 
 
 Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence. But, 
 I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou 
 shalt accompany us to the place : where we will, 
 not appearing what we are, have some question 
 with the shepherd ; from whose simplicity, I think 
 it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort 
 thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this 
 business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. 
 
 Cam. I willingly obey your command. 
 
 Pol. My best Camillo ! — We must disguise our- 
 selves. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— A Roadnearthe Shepherd's Cottage 
 
 Enter Autolycus, singing. 
 When daffodils begin to peer, — 
 
 With heigh.' the doxy over the dale, — 
 Why then comes in the sweet oHhe year; 
 
 For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 
 
 The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, — 
 With, hey.' the sweet birds, how they sing! 
 
 Doth set my pugging tooth on edge,- 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, — 
 
 With, hey! with hey! the thrush and the jay: 
 Are summers' songs forme and my aunts, 
 
 While we lie tumbling in live hay. 
 
 I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, 
 wore three-pile ; ' but now I am out of service : 
 
 But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? [Sings. 
 
 The pale moon shmes by night.- 
 And when I wander here and there, 
 
 I then do most go right. 
 
 If tinkers may have leave to live, 
 
 And bear the sow-skin budget; 
 Then my account I well may give, 
 
 And in the stocks avouch it. 
 
 My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to 
 lesser linen. My father named me, Autolycus; 
 who, being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was 
 likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles: With 
 die, and drab, I purchased this caparison; and aiy 
 revenue is the siily cheat: 5 Ga.lovvs, and knock, 
 are too powerful on the highway; beating and 
 hanging, are terrors to me; tor the life to come, 1 
 sleep out the thought of it. — A prize! a prize! 
 • Observed at intervals. ' Rich velvet. • Picking pocks ti 
 
2*i.» 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. Let me see: — Every 'leven wether — tods: 
 every tod yields — pound and odd shilling: fifteen 
 mndred shorn, — What comes the wool to? 
 
 Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Clo. I cannot do't without counters. — Let me 
 see ; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast 7 
 Three pound of sugar,- Jive pound of currants; rice 
 
 What will this sister of mine do with rice ? But 
 
 my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and 
 she lays it on. She hath made me four-and-twenty 
 nosegays for the shearers: three-man song-men 3 
 all, and very good ones; but they are most of 
 them means 4 and bases: but one Puritan amongst 
 them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must 
 have saffron, to color the warden pies;' mace, — 
 dates, — none; that's out of my note: nutmegs, 
 ievcii; a race, or two, of ginger,- but that I may 
 beg; — -four pound of prunes, and as many of 
 -aisins o' the sun. 
 
 Aut. O, that ever I was born! 
 
 [Grovelling on the growid. 
 
 Clo. l'the name of me, 
 
 Aut. O help me, help me ! pluck but off these 
 rags; and then, death, death! 
 
 Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more 
 rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. 
 
 Aut. 0, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends 
 me more than the stripes I have received ; which 
 are mighty ones and millions. 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may 
 come to a great matter. 
 
 Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money 
 and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable 
 things put upon me. 
 
 Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man ? 
 
 Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, afoot-man. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the 
 garments he hath left with thee ; if this be a horse- 
 man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend 
 me thy hand, I'll help thee : come, lend me thy 
 hand. [Helping him up. 
 
 Aut. ! good sir, tenderly, oh ! 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor soul. 
 
 Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my 
 shoulder-blade is out. 
 
 Clo. How now ? canst stand ? 
 
 Aut. Softly, dear sir ; [Picks his pocket.'] good 
 sir, softly ; you ha' done me a charitable office. 
 
 Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little money 
 for thee 
 
 Aut No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: 
 I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile 
 hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have 
 money, or any thing I want; Offer me no money, 
 I pray you ; that kills my heart. 
 
 Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed 
 you? 
 
 Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go 
 about with trol-my-dames : B I knew him once a 
 servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for 
 which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly 
 whipped out of the court. 
 
 Clo. His vices, you would say ; there's no virtue 
 whipped out of the court : they cherish it, to make 
 it stay there ; and yet it will no more but abide. 
 
 Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man 
 well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a 
 proces*-serTer, a bailiff; then he compassed a mo- 
 
 » Singers of latches in three parts. * Tenors. 
 
 » Pies made of a species of pears. 
 
 * The machine used in the game of pyjeon-holes. 
 
 tion 1 of the prodigal son, and married a tinkci's 
 wife within a mile where my land and living lies ; 
 and, having flown over many knavish profession* 
 he settled only in rogue : some call him Autolycus 
 
 Clo. Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig: he 
 haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. 
 
 Aut. Very true, sir ; he, sir, he ; that's the rogue, 
 that put me into this apparel. 
 
 Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia ; 
 if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd 
 have run. 
 
 Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: 
 I am false of heart that way ; and that he knew, J 
 warrant him. 
 
 Clo. How do you now ? 
 
 Aut. Sweet sir, much better than I was ; I can 
 stand, and walk: I will even take my leave of you, 
 and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 
 
 Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way? 
 
 Aut. No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. 
 
 Clo. Then fare thee well ; I must go buy spices 
 for our sheep-shearing. 
 
 Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! — [Exit Clown.] 
 Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice 
 I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too : If I 
 make not this cheat bring out another, and the 
 shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my 
 name put in the book of virtue ! 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, 
 
 And merrily hent* the stile-a: 
 A merry heart goes all the day, 
 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit 
 
 SCENE III. — ^1 Shepherd's Cottage. 
 Enter Florizel and Pebdita. 
 
 Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you 
 Do give a life: no shepherdess; but Flora, 
 Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing 
 Is as a meeting of the petty gods, 
 And you the queen on't. 
 
 Per. Sir, my gracious lord, 
 
 To chide at your extremes," it not becomes me; 
 0, pardon, that I name them : your high self, 
 The gracious mark* o'the land, you have obscwed 
 With a swain's wearing ; and me, poor lowly maid, 
 Most goddess-like prank'd 3 up : But that our feasts 
 In every mess have folly, and the feeders 
 Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
 To see you so attired; sworn, I think, 
 To show myself a glass. 
 
 Flo. I bless the time, 
 
 When my good falcon made her flight across- 
 Thy father's ground. 
 
 Per. Now Jove afford you cause! 
 
 To me the difference 3 forges dread ; your greatness 
 Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble 
 To think, your father, by some accident, 
 Should pass this way, as you did: 0, the fates ! 
 How would he loek, to see his work, so noble, 
 Vilely bound up? What would he say ? Or how 
 Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behoiii 
 The sternness of his presence? 
 
 Flo. Apprehend 
 
 Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, 
 Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
 The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter 
 Became a bull, and bellow'd ; the green Neptune 
 A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, 
 Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 
 
 ' Puppet-show. ' Take hold of. » Excesses. 
 
 1 Object of all men's notice. » Dressed with ostentation 
 • >'. e. Of station. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 281 
 
 As T seem now: Their transformations 
 VVeie .iever for a piece of beauty rarer; 
 Nor in a way so chaste: since my desires 
 Run not before mine honor; nor my lusts 
 Burn hotter than my faith. 
 
 Per. O but, dear sir, 
 
 Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
 Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king: 
 One of these two must be necessities, 
 Which then will speak; that you must change this 
 
 purpose, 
 Or I my life. 
 
 r'lo. Thou dearest Perdita, 
 
 With these forced thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not 
 The mirth o'the feast : Or I'll be thine, my fair, 
 Or not my father's: for I cannot be 
 Mine own, nor any thing to any, if 
 I be not thine : to this I am most constant, 
 Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle ; 
 Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing 
 That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: 
 Lift up your countenance: as it were the day 
 Of celebration of that nuptial, which 
 We two have sworn shall come. 
 
 Per. lady fortune, 
 
 Stand you auspicious ! 
 
 Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo, 
 disguised; Clown, Mopsa, Dokcas, and others. 
 
 Flo. See your guests approach : 
 
 Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, 
 And let's be red with mirth. 
 
 Shep. Fye, daughter ! when my old wife liv'd, 
 upon 
 This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook; 
 Both dame and servant : welcom'd all ; serv'd all : 
 Would singher song, and dance her turn : now here, 
 At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle; 
 On his shoulder, and his : her face o'fire 
 With labor; and the thing, she took to quench it, 
 She would to each one sip : You are retired, 
 As if you were a feasted one, and not 
 The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid 
 These unknown friends to us welcome : for it is 
 A way to make us better friends, more known. 
 Comfe, quench your blushes; and present yourself 
 That which you are, mistress o'the feast: Come on, 
 And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
 As your good flock shall prosper. 
 
 Per. Welcome, sir! [To Pol. 
 
 It is my father's will, I should take on me 
 The hostess-ship o'the day : — You're welcome, sir ! 
 
 [To Camillo. 
 Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. — Reverend 
 
 sirs, 
 For you there's rosemary, and rue ; these keep 
 Seeming, and savor, 4 all the winter long : 
 Grace, and remembrance, be to you both, 
 And welcome to our shearing ! 
 
 Pol. Shepherdess, 
 
 ^A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages 
 With flowers of winter. 
 
 Per. Sir, the year growing ai.cient, — 
 
 Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
 Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o'the 
 
 season 
 Arc our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers, 
 Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
 Our rustic garden's barren ; and I care not 
 To get slips of them. 
 
 Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden, 
 
 Do you neglect them ? 
 
 * Likeness and smell. 
 
 Per. For 8 I have heard it said, 
 
 There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Pol. Say, there be; 
 
 Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
 But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art, 
 Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
 That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
 A gentle scion to the wildest stock ; 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 By bud of nobler race ; This is an art 
 Which does mend nature, — change it rather : but 
 The art itself is nature. 
 
 Per. So it is. 
 
 Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers, 
 And do not call them bastards. 
 
 Per. I'll not put 
 
 The dibble in earth to set one elip of them : 
 No more than, were I painted, I would wish 
 This youth should say, 'twere well; and only there- 
 fore 
 Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you ; 
 Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; 
 The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, 
 And with him rises weeping; these are flowers 
 Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given 
 To men of middle age : You are very welcome. 
 
 Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, 
 And only live by gazing. 
 
 Per. Out, alas ! 
 
 You'd be so lean, that blasts of January 
 Would blow you through and through. — Now, my 
 
 fairest friend, 
 I would, I had some flowers o'the spring, that migh* 
 Become your time of day; and yours, and yours; 
 That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
 Your maidenheads growing: — Proserpina, 
 For the flowers now, that flighted, thou let'st fall 
 From Dis's G waggon ! daffodils, 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim, 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, 
 Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, 
 That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
 Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady 
 Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and 
 The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds, 
 The flower-de-luce being one ! 0, these, I lack, 
 To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend, 
 To strew him o'er and o'er. 
 
 Flo. What"! like a corse 1 
 
 Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on ; 
 Not like a corse : or if, — not to be buried, 
 But quick, 1 and in mine arms. Come, take your 
 
 flowers : 
 Methinks, I play as I have seen them do. 
 In Whitsun' pastorals : sure, this robe of mine 
 Does change my disposition. 
 
 Flo. What you do, 
 
 Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
 I'd have you do it ever : when you sing, 
 I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; 
 Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs, 
 To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you 
 A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do 
 Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
 No other function : Each your doing, 
 So singular in each particular, 
 Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, 
 That all your acts are queens. 
 
 Per.. Doricles, 
 
 Your praises are too large: but that your youth, 
 » Because that. « Pluto. ' Living. 
 
2tfc 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it, 
 Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd; 
 With wisdom I might fear, my Doriclcs, 
 You woo'd me the false way. 
 
 Flo. I think, you have 
 
 As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
 To put you to't. — But, come ; our dance, I pray : 
 Your hand, my Perdita : so turtles pair, 
 That never mean to part. 
 
 Per. I'll swear for 'em. 
 
 Pol. This is th<~ picttiest low-born lass, that ever 
 Kan on the gretn-sward : nothing she does, or seems, 
 Hut smacks of something greater than herself; 
 Too noble for this place. 
 
 Cam. He tells her something, 
 That makes her blood look-out: Good sooth, she is 
 The queen of curds and cream. 
 
 Clo. Come on, strike up. 
 
 Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress : marry, garlic, 
 To mend her kissing with. — ■ 
 
 Mop. Now, in giood time! 
 
 Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our 
 manners. — 
 Come, strike up. [Music. 
 
 Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses. 
 
 Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what 
 Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter? 
 
 Shep. They call him Doricles; and he boasts 
 himself 
 To have a worthy feeding: 9 but I have it 
 Upon his own report, and I believe it ; 
 He looks like sooth: 9 He says, he loves my 
 
 daughter ; 
 I think so too ; for never gazed the moon 
 Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, 
 As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain, 
 I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, 
 Who loves another best. 
 
 Pol. She dances featly.' 
 
 Shep. So she does anything; though I report it, 
 That should be silent: if young Doricles 
 Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
 Which he not dreams of. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. master, if you did but hear the pedler at 
 the door, you would never dance again after a tabor 
 and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he 
 sings several tunes, fustcr than you'll tell money ; 
 he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all 
 men's ears grew to his tunes. 
 
 Clo. He could never come better : he shall come 
 in : I love a ballad but even too well : if it be 
 doleful matter, merrily set down ; or a very pleasant 
 thing indeed, and sung lamentably. 
 
 Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all 
 sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with 
 gloves : he has the prettiest love songs for maids ; 
 so without bawdry, which is strange ; with such de- 
 licate burr'ens of dildos and fadings,- jump her 
 and. thurnp her,- and where some stretch-mouth'd 
 rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break 
 a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to 
 answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts 
 him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm, 
 good man. 
 
 Pol. This is a brave fellow. 
 
 C/o. Believe me, thou talkcst of an admirable 
 conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? 2 
 
 Serv. He hath ribands of all the colors i'the 
 rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in Bo- 
 
 • A valuable tract cf pasturage. 
 Neatly 
 
 » Truth. 
 
 * Plain goods. 
 
 hernia can learnedly handle, though they ccme t« 
 him' by the gross; inkles, caddisses, 3 cambrics, 
 lawns: why, he sings them over, as they were gods 
 or goddesses; you would think a smock were a 
 she angel ; he so chants to the sleeve-hand, 4 and 
 the work about the square on't. s 
 
 Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in ; and let him ap- 
 proach singing. 
 
 Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous 
 words in his tunes. 
 
 Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more 
 in 'em than you'd think, sister. 
 
 Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to thirk. 
 Enter Autoltcus, singing. 
 Lawn, as white as driven snow,- 
 Cyprus, black as e'er was crow; 
 Gloves, as sweet as damask roses,- 
 Masks for faces, and for noses,- 
 Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, 
 Perfume for a lady's chamber.- 
 Golden quoifs, and stomachers, 
 For my lads to give their dears,- 
 Pins and poking-sticks of steel, 
 What maids lack from head to heel: 
 Come, buy of me, come,- come buy, come buy,- 
 Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry,- 
 Come, buy, SfC. 
 Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 
 shouldst take no money of me ; but being enthralled 
 as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands 
 and gloves. 
 
 Mop. I was promised them against the least ; but 
 they come not too late now. 
 
 Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or 
 there be liars. 
 
 Mop. He hath paid you all he promised you : 
 may be he hath paid you more ; which will shame 
 you to give him again. 
 
 Clo. Is there no manners left among maids ? will 
 they wear their plackets, where they should bear 
 their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you 
 are going to-bed, or kiln-hole, 6 to whistle off these 
 secrets; but you must be tittle-tattling before all 
 our guests? 'Tis well they are whispering: Cla- 
 mor your tongues, 1 and not a word more. 
 
 Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a 
 tawdry lace, 8 and a pair of sweet gloves. 
 
 Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by 
 the way, and lost all my money ? 
 
 Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad ; 
 therefore it behoves men to be wary. 
 
 Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lost nothing 
 here. 
 
 Aut. I hope so, sir : for I have about me many 
 parcels of charge. 
 
 Clo. What hast here ! ballads? 
 Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in 
 print, a'-life; for then we are sure they are true. 
 
 Aut. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a 
 usurer's wife was brought io-hed of twenty money 
 bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat ad- 
 ders' heads, and toads carbonadoed. 
 Mop. Is it true, think you ? 
 Aut. Very true ; and but a month old. 
 Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer! 
 Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mis- 
 tress Taleporter; and five or six honest wives' that 
 were present : Why should I carry lies abroad ? 
 
 » A kind of tape. ' The cuffs. 
 
 s The work about the bosom. 
 
 • Fire-place for drying malt; still a noted gossip-'ng-pJao* 
 
 ' Ring a dumb peal. 
 
 8 A lace to wear about the head or waist 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 283 
 
 Mop. Pray you now, buy it. 
 
 Clo. Come on, lay it by : And let's first see more 
 ."•.illads; we'll buy tbe otber things anon. 
 
 Aut. Here's another ballad, of a fish, that ap- 
 peared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore 
 of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and 
 sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: 
 it was thought, she was a woman, and was turned 
 into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh 
 with one that loved her : The ballad is verv pitiful, 
 mil as true. 
 
 Dor. Is it true, think you ? 
 
 Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, 
 note than my pack will hold. 
 
 Clo. Lay it by: Another. 
 
 Aut. This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one. 
 
 Mop. Let's have some merry one. 
 
 Aut. Why this is a passing merry one; and goes 
 10 the tune of, Two maids wooing a man: there's 
 scarce a maid westward, but she sings it ; 'tis in 
 request, I can tell you. 
 
 ■ Mop. We can both sing it ; if thou'lt bear a part, 
 thou shait hear; 'tis in three parts. 
 
 Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. 
 
 Aut. I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis 
 my occupation : have at it with you. 
 
 SONG. 
 A. Get you hence, for I must go, • 
 Where, it Jits not you to know. 
 
 D. Whither? M. 0, whither? D. Whither? 
 M. It becomes thy oath full well, 
 Thou to me thy secrets tell; 
 
 D. Me too, let me go thither. 
 
 M. Or thou gd'st to the grange, or mill: 
 D. If to either, thou dost ill. 
 
 A. Neither. D. What, neither? A. Neither. 
 D. Thou hast sworn my love to be,- 
 M. Thou hast sworn it more to me: 
 
 Then, whither go'st? say, whither? 
 
 Clo. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; 
 My father and the gentlemen are in sad' talk, and 
 we'll not trouble them : Come, bring away thy pack 
 after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both : — Pedler, 
 let's have the first choice. — Follow me, girls. 
 Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. [Aside. 
 Will you buy any tape, 
 Or lace for your cape, 
 My dainty duck, my dear-a? 
 Any silk, any thread, 
 Any toys for your head, 
 Of the new'st, and fin''st,Jin , st wear-a? 
 Come to the pedler,- 
 Money's a medler, 
 That doth utter 1 all men's wear-a. 
 
 [Exeunt Clown, Autoltcus, Dohcas, 
 and Mopsa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
 ntrds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have 
 made themselves all men of hair; 5 they call them- 
 selves saltiers : 3 and they have a dance which the 
 wenches say is a gallimaufry 4 of gambols, because 
 thry are not in't; but they themselves are o'the mind, 
 (if it be not too rough for some, that know little 
 but bowling,) it will please plentifully. 
 
 Shep. Away ! we'll none on't ; here has been too 
 much humble foolery already: — I know, sir, we 
 weary you. 
 
 o Serious. » Sell. 
 
 a Dressed themselves in habits imitating hair. 
 3 Satyrs < Medley. 
 
 Pol. You weary those that refresh us : Pray, let's 
 see these four threes of herdsmen. 
 
 Serv. One three of them, by their own report, 
 sir, hath danced before the king ; and not the worst 
 of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by 
 the squire.' 
 
 Shep. Leave your prating ; since these good men 
 are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly now. 
 
 Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics habited like 
 Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt. 
 
 Pol. 0, father, you'll know more of that here- 
 after. — 
 Is it not too far gone! — 'Tis time to part them. — 
 He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.'] — How now, 
 
 fair shepherd? 
 Your heart is full of something, that does take 
 Your mind from feasting. 'Sooth,when I was young, 
 And handed love, as you do, I was wont 
 To load my she with knacks: I would have ran- 
 
 sack'd 
 The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
 To her acceptance ; you have let him go, 
 And nothing mailed ' with him: if your lass 
 Interpretation should abuse; and call this 
 Your lack of love, or bounty: you were straited 
 For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
 Of happy holding her. 
 
 Flo. Old sir, I know 
 
 She prizes not such trifles as these are : 
 The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd 
 Up in my heart; which I have given already, 
 But hot deliver'd. — O, hear me breathe my lift 
 Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, 
 Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand, this hand, 
 As soft as dove's down, and as white as it ; 
 Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow, 
 That's bolted 1 by the northern blasts twice o'er. 
 
 Pol. What follows this?— 
 How prettily the young swain seems to wash 
 The hand, was fair before ! — I have put you out : — 
 But to your protestation ; let me hear 
 What you profess. 
 
 Flo. Do, and be witness lo't. 
 
 Pol. And this my neighbor too? 
 Flo. And he, and more 
 
 Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all : 
 That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, 
 Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth 
 That ever made eye swerve; had force, and know 
 
 ledge, 
 More than was ever man's, — I would not prize them 
 Without her love; for her, employ them all; 
 Commend them, and condemn them, to her service 
 Or to their own perdition. 
 
 Pol. Fairly offer'd 
 
 Cam. This shows a sound affection. 
 Shep. But, my daughter 
 
 Say you the like to him ? 
 
 Per. I cannot speak 
 
 So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: 
 By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
 The purity of his. 
 
 Shep. Take hands, a bargain: 
 
 And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't 
 I give my daughter to him, and will make 
 Her portion equal his. 
 
 Flo. O, that must be 
 
 Fthe virtue of your daughter: one being dead, 
 
 » Square, foot-rule. • Bought, trafficked. 
 
 ' The sieve used to separate flour from bran is called f 
 bolting-cloth. 
 
284 
 
 WINTERS TALE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
 Enough then for your wonder: But, come on, 
 Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 
 
 Shep. Come, your hand ; 
 
 And, daughter, yours. 
 
 Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you: 
 
 Have you a father ? 
 
 Flo. I have: But what of him"? 
 
 Pol. Knows he of this? 
 
 Flo. He neither does, nor shall. 
 
 Pol. Methinks, a father 
 Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest 
 That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ; 
 Is not your father grown incapable 
 Of reasonable affairs'? is he not stupid 
 With age and altering rheums? Can he speak? hear? 
 Know man from man? dispute his own estate? 8 
 Lies he not bed-rid ? and again dpes nothing, 
 But what he did being childish? 
 
 Flo. No, good sir ; 
 
 He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed, 
 Than most have of his age. 
 
 Pol. By my white beard, 
 
 You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
 Something unfilial : Reason, my son 
 Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason, 
 The father (all whose joy is nothing else 
 But fair posterity) should hold some counsel 
 In such a business. 
 
 Flo. I yield all this; 
 
 But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, 
 Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint 
 My father of tkis business. 
 
 Pol. Let him know't. 
 
 Flo. He shall not. 
 
 Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. 
 
 Flo. No, he must not. 
 
 Shep. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve 
 At knowing of thy choice. 
 
 Flo. Come, come, he must not : — 
 
 Mark our contract. 
 
 Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir, 
 [Discovering himself. 
 Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
 To be acknowledg'd : Thou a sceptre's heir, 
 That thus affect'st a sheep-hook ! — Thou old traitor, 
 I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but 
 Shorten thy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece 
 Of excellent witchcraft; who, of force must know 
 The royal fool thou cop'st with; 
 
 Shep. 0, my heart! 
 
 Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, 
 and made 
 More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy, — 
 If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh, 
 That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never 
 I mean thou shalt,) we'll liar thee from succession; 
 Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin; 
 Far" than Deucalion off: — Mark thou my words; 
 Follow us to the court. — Thou churl, for this time, 
 Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
 From the dread blow of it. — And you, enchant- 
 ment, — 
 Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too, 
 That makes himself, but for our hoi/or therein, 
 Unworthy thee, — if ever, henceforth, thou 
 These rural latches to his entrance open, 
 Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
 I will devise a death as cruel for thee, 
 As thou art tender to't. [Exit. 
 
 Per. E* en nere undone ! 
 
 1 was not much afeard: faptsce or twice, 
 
 • Talk over his affairs. 
 
 » Further. 
 
 I was about to speak; and tell him plainly, 
 The self-same sun, that shines upon his court, 
 Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
 Looks on alike. — Wilt please you, sir, begone? 
 
 [To Flohizei, 
 I told you, what would come of this : 'Beseech you, 
 Of your own state take care : this dream of mine,— 
 Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further, 
 But milk my ewes, and weep. 
 
 Cam. Why, how now, father 
 
 Speak, ere thou diest. 
 
 Shep. I cannot speak, nor think 
 
 Nor dare to know that which I know. — O, sir, 
 
 [To FioniZEt 
 You have undone a man of fourscore three, 
 That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea, 
 To die upon the bed my father died, 
 To lie close by his honest bones: but now 
 Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me 
 Where no priest shovels-in dust. — O cursed wretch ! 
 
 [To Pehdita 
 That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst ad • 
 
 venture 
 To mingle faith with him. — Undone ! undone ! 
 If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
 To die when I desire. [Exit. 
 
 Flo. Why look you so upon me ? 
 
 I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, 
 But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am; 
 More straining on, for plucking back ; not following 
 My leash' unwillingly. 
 
 Cam. Gracious my lord, 
 
 You know your father's temper: at this time 
 He will allow no speech, — which, I do guess, 
 You do not purpose to him ; — and as hardly 
 Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: 
 Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
 Come not before him. 
 
 Flo. I not purpose it. 
 
 I think, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Even he, my lord. 
 
 Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus ' 
 How often said my dignity would last 
 But till 'twere known? 
 
 Flo. It cannot fail, but by 
 
 The violation of my faith ; and then 
 Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together, 
 And mar the seeds within ! — Lift up thy looks :- 
 From my succession wipe me, father ! I 
 Am heir to my affection. 
 
 Cam. Be advised. 
 
 Flo. I am ; and by my fancy : a if my reason 
 Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; 
 If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, 
 Do bid it welcome. 
 
 Cam. This is desperate, sir. 
 
 Flo. So call it : but it does fulfil my vow ; 
 I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, 
 Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 
 Be thereat glean'd ; for all the sun sees, or 
 The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hid* 
 In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath 
 To this my fair belov'd : Therefore, I pray you, 
 As you have ever been my father's friend, 
 When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not 
 To see him any more,) cast your good counsels 
 Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune, 
 Tug for the time to come. This you may know, 
 And so deliver, — I am put to sea 
 With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore , 
 And, most opportune to our need, I have 
 A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared 
 
 » A leading-string. • liote 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 285 
 
 For this design. What course I mean to hold, 
 Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
 Concerns me the reporting. 
 
 Cam. O, my lord, 
 
 I would your spirit were easier for advice, 
 Or stronger for your need. 
 
 Flo. Hark Perdita. [Takes her aside. 
 
 I'll hear you by and by. [To Camillo. 
 
 Cam. He's irremovable, 
 
 Resolv'd for flight : Now were I happy, if 
 His going I could frame to serve my turn; 
 Save him from danger, do him love and honor ; 
 Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, 
 And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
 I so much thirst to see. 
 
 Flo. Now, good Camillo, 
 
 I am so fraught with curious business, that 
 I leave out ceremony. [Going. 
 
 Cam. Sir, I think, 
 
 You have heard of my poor services, i'the love 
 That I have borne your father] 
 
 Flo. Very nobly 
 
 Have you deserv'd: it is my father's music, 
 To speak your deeds : not little of his care 
 To have them recompens'd as thought on. 
 
 Cam. Well, my lord, 
 
 If you may please to think I love the king; 
 And through him, what is nearest to him, which is 
 Your gracious self; embrace but my direction, 
 (If your more ponderous and settled project 
 May suffer alteration,) on mine honor 
 I'll point you where you shall have such receiving 
 As shall become your highness ; where you may 
 Enjoy your mistress; (from the whom, I see, 
 There's no disjunction to be made, but by, 
 As heavens forefend ! your ruin ;) marry her; 
 And (with my best endeavors, in your absence) 
 Your discontenting 3 father strive to qualify, 
 And bring him up to liking. 
 
 Flo. • How, Camillo, 
 
 May this, almost a miracle, be done ] 
 That I may call thee something more than man, 
 And, after that, trust to thee. 
 
 Cam. Have you thought on 
 
 A place, whereto you'll go ] • 
 
 Flo. Not any yet:- 
 
 But as the unthought-on accident* is guilty 
 To what we wildly do; so we profess 
 Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies 
 Of every wind that blows. 
 
 Cam. Then list to me: 
 
 This follows, — if you will not change your purpose, 
 But undergo this flight: — Make for Sicilia; 
 And there present yourself, and your fair princess, 
 (For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes ; 
 She shall be habited, as it becomes 
 The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see 
 Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping 
 His welcomes forth : asks thee, the son, forgiveness, 
 As 'twere i'the father's person : kisses the hands 
 Of your fresh princess: o'er and o'er divides him 
 'Twixt his unkindness and his khn'iess; the one 
 He chides to hell, and bids the othtr grow, 
 Faster than thought, or time. 
 
 Flo. Worthy Camillo, 
 
 What color for my visitation shall I 
 Hold up before him ] 
 
 Cam. Sent by the king your father 
 
 To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, 
 The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
 What you, as from your father, shall deliver, 
 
 3 For discontented. 
 
 * The unexpected discovery made by Polixenes. 
 
 Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down: 
 The which shall point you forth at every sitting 
 What you must say ; that he shall not perceive, 
 But that you have your father's bosom there, 
 And speak his very heart 
 
 Flo. I am boun 1 to you : 
 
 There is some sap in this. 
 
 Cam. A course more promising 
 
 Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
 To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores; most certain 
 To miseries enough: no hope to help you; 
 But, as you shake off one, to take another: 
 Nothing so certain as your anchors: who 
 Do their best office, if they can but stay you 
 Where you'll be loath to be: Besides, you know, 
 Prosperity's the very bond of love; 
 Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together 
 Affliction alters. 
 
 Per. One of these is true: 
 
 I think, affliction may subdue the cheek, 
 But not take in ' the mind. 
 
 Cam. Yea, say you so ] 
 
 There shall not, at your father's house, these seven 
 
 years, 
 Be born another such. 
 
 Flo. My good Camillo, 
 
 She is as forward of her breeding, as 
 I'the rear of birth. 
 
 Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity 
 
 She lacks instructions; for she seems a mistress 
 To most that teach. 
 
 Per. Your pardon, sir, for this ; 
 
 I'll blush you thanks. 
 
 Flo. My prettiest Perdita. 
 
 But, 0, the thorns we stand upon ! — Camillo, — 
 Preserver of my father, now of me: 
 The medicin of our house! — how shall we do] 
 We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son ; 
 Nor shall appear in Sicily 
 
 Cam. My lord, 
 
 Fear none of this : I think, you know, my fortunes 
 Do all lie there : it shall be so my care 
 To have you royally appointed, as if 
 The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir 
 That you may know you shall not want, — one word 
 [They talk aside 
 
 Enter ArjTOLYCUs. 
 Aut. Ha, ha! what a fool honesty is! and trust, 
 his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman ! I have 
 sold all my trumpery ; not a counterfeit stone, not 
 a riband, glass, pomander, 1 brooch, table-book, 
 ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn- 
 ring, to keep my pack from fasting; they throng 
 who should buy first; as if my trinkets had been 
 hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer ' 
 by which means I saw whose purse was best in 
 picture ; and, what I saw, to my good use, I remem- 
 bered. My clown (who wants but something to be 
 a reasonable man) grew so in love with the wenches' 
 song, that he would not stir his pettitoes, till he 
 had both tune and words; which so drew the rest 
 of the herd to me, that all their other senses stuck 
 in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it was 
 senseless; 'twas nothing, to geld a cod-piece of a 
 purse ; I would have filed keys off, that hung in 
 chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, 
 and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this 
 time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their fes- 
 tival purses : and had not the old man come >n 
 with a whoobub against his daughter and the king'* 
 
 » Conquer. • Physician 
 
 ' A little ball made of perfumes, and worn *o 'jreve*.' 
 infection in times of plague. 
 
280 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 .•<oij, and scared my chc\ ghs 8 from the chaff, I had 
 aot left a nurse alive in the whole army. 
 
 [Camillo, Floiuzel, and Peudita, come 
 forward. 
 
 Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being there 
 So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 
 
 Flo. And those that you'll procure from king 
 Leontes, 
 
 Cam. Shall satisfy your father. 
 
 Per. Happy be you ! 
 
 All, that you speak, shows fair. 
 
 Cam. Who have we here? 
 
 [Seeing Autolycus. 
 We'll make an instrument of this; omit 
 Nothing, may give us aid. 
 
 Aut. If they have overheard me now, why, 
 
 hanging. [Aside. 
 
 Cam. How now, good fellow] Why shakest thou 
 so ? Fear not, man ; here's no harm intended to 
 thee. 
 
 Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir. 
 
 Cam. Why, be so still ; here's nobody will steal 
 that from thee : Yet, for the outside of thy poverty, 
 we must make an exchange: therefore, disease thee 
 instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in't,) 
 and change garments with this gentleman: Though 
 the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold 
 thee, there's some boot. 9 
 
 Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir : — I know ye well 
 enough. [Aside. 
 
 Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch : the gentleman is 
 half flayed already. 
 
 Aut. Are you in earnest, sir? — I smell the thick 
 of it — [Aside. 
 
 Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Aut. Indeed I have had earnest; but I cannot 
 with conscience take it. 
 
 Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. — 
 
 [Flo. and Autol. exchange garments. 
 Fortunate mistress, — let my prophesy 
 Come home to you — you must retire yourself 
 Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat, 
 And pluck it o'er your brows; muffle your face ; 
 Dismantle you: and as you can, disliken 
 The truth of your own seeming ; that you may 
 (For I do fear eyes over you) to shipboard 
 Get undescried. 
 
 Per. I see, the play so lies, 
 
 That I must bear a part. 
 
 Cam. No remedy. — 
 
 Have you done there? 
 
 Flo. Should I now meet my father, 
 
 He would not call me son. 
 
 Cam. Nay, you shall have 
 
 No hat : — Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend. 
 
 Aut. Adieu, sir. 
 
 Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot ? 
 Pray you, a word. [They converse apart. 
 
 Cam. What I do next, shall be, to tell the king 
 
 [Aside. 
 Of this escape, and whither they are bound; 
 Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail, 
 To force him after : in whose company 
 I shill review Sicilia; for whose sight 
 I have a woman's longing. 
 
 Flo. Fortune speed us ! — 
 
 Thus we set on. Camillo, to the sea-side. 
 
 Cam. The swifter speed, the better. 
 [Exeunt, Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo. 
 
 Aut. I understand the business, I hear it : To 
 !iave an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is 
 
 • A bird resembling a jackdaw. 
 
 • Something over and above. 
 
 necessary for a cut-purse : a good nose is requisite 
 also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see. 
 this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. 
 What an exchange had this been, without boot? 
 what a boot is here, with this exchange? Sure, the 
 gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any 
 thing extempore. The prince himself is about a 
 piece of iniquity ; stealing away from his father, 
 with his clog at his heels : If I thought it were no, v 
 a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, 1 
 would do't : I hold it the more knavery to conceal 
 it ; and therein am I constant to my profession. 
 
 Enter Clown and Shepherd. 
 
 Aside, aside ; — here is more matter for a hot brain : 
 Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- 
 ing, yields a careful man work. 
 
 Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! there 
 is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change- 
 ling, and none of your flesh and blood 
 
 Shep. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Clo. Nay, but hear me. 
 
 Shep. Go to, then. 
 
 Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood, 
 your flesh and blood lias not offended the king ; 
 and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punished 
 by him. Show those things you found about her; 
 those secret things, all but what she has with her: 
 This being done, let the law go whistle ; I warrant 
 you. 
 
 Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea, 
 and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no 
 honest man neither to his father, nor to me. to go 
 about to make me the king's brother-in-law. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off 
 you could have been to him ; and then your blood 
 had been the dearer, by I know how much an ounce. 
 
 Aut. Very wisely; puppies! [Aside. 
 
 Shep. Well ; let us to the king : there is that in 
 this fardel,' will make him scratch his beard. 
 
 Aut. I know not what impediment this complaint 
 may be to the flight of my master. 
 
 Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. 
 
 Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so 
 sometimes by chance : — Let me pocket up my ped- 
 ler's excrement. — [Takes off his false beard.'] How 
 now, rustics? whither are you bound? 
 
 Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 
 
 Aut. Your affairs there ? what? with whom? the 
 condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, 
 your names, your ages, of what having, 2 breeding, 
 and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. 
 
 Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 
 
 Aut. A lie ; you are rough and hairy : Let, me 
 have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, 
 and they often give us soldiers the lie : but we pay 
 them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel ; 
 therefore they do not give us the lie. 
 
 Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, 
 if you had not taken yourself with the manner. 3 
 
 Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? 
 
 Aut. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. 
 Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfold- 
 ings? hath not my gait in it, the measure of the 
 court? receives not thy nose court-odor from me? 
 reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt? — 
 Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, or toze 4 from 
 thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am 
 courtier cap-a-pe; and one that will either push 
 on, or pluck back thy business there : whereupon /. 
 command thee to open thj affair. 
 
 1 Bundle parcel. 
 * In the act. 
 
 » Estate, property. 
 • I cajole or ft.rc* 
 
.\CT V. ScjBNE 1. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 287 
 
 Shcp. My business, sir, is to the king. 
 
 Aut. What advocate hast thou to him? 
 
 Shcp. I know not, an't like you. 
 
 n lo. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; 
 say, you have none. 
 
 Shcp. None, sir ; I have no pheasant, cock, nor hen. 
 
 Aut. How bless'd are we, that are not simple men! 
 Yet nature might have made me as these are, 
 Therefore I'll not disdain. 
 
 Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 
 
 Shcp. His garments are rich, but he wears them 
 not handsomely. 
 
 Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being 
 ran Mistical; a great man, I'll warrant; I know, by 
 the picking on's teeth. 
 
 'Aut. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? 
 Wherefore that box ? 
 
 Shcp. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel, 
 and box, which none must know but the king; 
 and which he shall know within this hour, if I may 
 ;ome to the speech of him. 
 
 Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labor. 
 
 Shep. Why, sir? 
 
 Aut. The king is not at the palace; he is gone 
 aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air 
 himself: For if thou be'st capable of things serious, 
 thou must know, the king is full of grief. 
 
 Shep. So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should 
 have married a shepherd's daughter. 
 
 Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let 
 him fly ; the curses he shall have, the tortures he 
 shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of 
 monster. 
 
 Clo. Think you so, sir? 
 
 Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make 
 heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are 
 germane 5 to him though removed fifty times, shall 
 all come under the hangman: which though it be 
 great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep- 
 whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his 
 daughter come into grace! Some say, he shall 
 be stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I: 
 Draw our throne into a sheep-cote ! all deaths are 
 loo few, the sharpest too easy. 
 
 Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you 
 hear, an't like you, sir? 
 
 Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; 
 then, 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a 
 wasp's nest; then stand till he be three-quarters 
 and :i dram dead : then recovered again with aqua- 
 vitae, or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, 
 and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, 6 
 shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking 
 with a southward eye upon him ; where he is to be- 
 
 hold him, with flies blown to death. But what talk 
 we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to 
 be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell 
 me, (for you seem to be honest plain men,) what 
 you have to the king: being something gently con- 
 sidered, 1 I'll bring you where he is aboard, tende: 
 your persons to his presence, whisper him in your 
 behalfs ; and, if it be in man, besides the king, to 
 effect your suits, here is the man shall do it. 
 
 Clo. He seems to be of great authority : close 
 with him, give him gold; and though authority be 
 a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with 
 gold : show the inside of your purse to the outside 
 of his hand, and no more ado: Remember stoned, 
 and flayed alive. 
 
 Shep. An't please you, sir, to undertake the bu- 
 siness for us, here is that gold I have : I'll make it 
 as much more ; and leave this young man in pawn, 
 till I bring it you. 
 
 Aut. After I have done w»Lat I promised? 
 
 Shep. Ay, sir. 
 
 Aut. Well, give me the moiety : — Are you a 
 party in this business? 
 
 Clo. In some sort, sir ; but though my case be a 
 pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 
 
 Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son : — 
 Hang him, he'll be made an example. 
 
 Clo. Comfort, good comfort; we must to the 
 king, and show our strange sights ; he must know, 
 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are 
 gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old 
 man does, when the business is performed ; and re- 
 main, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you. 
 
 Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the 
 sea side; go on the right hand; I will but look 
 upon the hedge, and follow you. 
 
 Clo. We are blessed in this man, as I may say ; 
 even blessed. 
 
 Shep. Let's before, as he bids us: he was pro- 
 vided to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown. 
 
 Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune 
 would not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth. 
 I am courted now with a double occasion ; gold, 
 and a means to do the prince my master good , 
 which, who knows how that may turn back to my 
 advancement ? I will bring these two moles, these 
 blind ones, aboard him : if he think it fit to shore 
 them again, and that the complaint they have to the 
 king concerns him nothing, let him call me, rogue, 
 for being so far officious; for I am proof against 
 that title, and what shame else belongs to't : To 
 him will I present them, there may be matter in it. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I. — Sicilia. A Room in the Palace of 
 Leontes. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Cleomexes, Diojt, Paulina, 
 
 and others. 
 
 Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have per- 
 form'd 
 A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make, 
 Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down 
 More penitence than done trespass: At the last, 
 Do, as the heavens have done; forget your evil; 
 With them, forgive yourself. 
 
 Leon. Whih't I remember 
 
 • Related. • The hottest day foretold in the almanack. 
 
 Her and her virtues, I cannot forget 
 My blemishes in them ; and so still think of 
 The wrong I did myself: which was so much, 
 That heirless it hath made my kingdom; and 
 Destroy'd the sweet'st companion, that e'er man 
 Bred his hopes out of. 
 
 Paul. True, too true, my IokI 
 
 If, one by one, you wedded all the world, 
 Or, from the all that are, took something good, 
 To make a perfect woman ; she you kill'd. 
 Would be unparallel'd. 
 
 Leon. I think so. Kill'd ! 
 
 She I kill'd ? I did so : but thou strik'st me 
 1 Being handsomely bribed. 
 
<?88 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Sorely to say I did ; it is as bitter 
 
 Upon thy tongue, as in my thought: Now, good 
 
 now, 
 Say so but seldom. 
 
 Cleo. Not at all, good lady : 
 
 You might have spoken a thousand things that 
 
 would 
 Have done the time more benefit, and graced 
 Your kindness better. 
 
 Paul. You are one of those, 
 
 Would have him wed again. 
 
 Dion. If you would not so, 
 
 You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
 Of his most sovereign dame; consider little, 
 What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, 
 May drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
 Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy, 
 Than to rejoice, the former queen is well? 
 What holier, thaF, — for royalty's repair, 
 For present comfort, and for future good, — 
 To bless the bed of majesty again 
 With a sweet fellow to't? 
 
 Paul. There is none worthy, 
 
 Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods 
 Will have fulfilled their secret purposes: 
 For has not the divine Apollo said, 
 Is't not the tenor of his oracle, 
 That king Leontes shall not have an heir, 
 Till his lost child be found ? which, that it shall, 
 Is all as monstrous to our human reason, 
 As my Antigonus to break his grave, 
 And come again to me; who, on my life, 
 Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel, 
 My lord should to the heavens be contrary, 
 Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue; 
 
 [To Leontes. 
 The crown will find an heir : Great Alexander 
 Left his to the worthiest; so his successor 
 Was like to be the best. 
 
 Leon. Good Paulina, — 
 Who hast the memory of Hermione, 
 I know in honor, — O, that ever I 
 Had squared me to thy counsel ! — then, even now, 
 I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes; 
 Have taken treasure from her lips, 
 
 Paul. And left them 
 
 More rich, for what they yielded. 
 
 Leon - Thou speak'st truth. 
 
 No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one worse, 
 And better used, would make her sainted spirit 
 Again possess her corpse; and, on this stage, 
 (Where we offenders now appear,) soul-vex'd, 
 Begin, And tohy to me? 
 
 Paul. Had she such power, 
 
 She had just cause. 
 
 Leon. She had: and would incense me 
 
 To murder her I married. 
 
 Paul. I should so : 
 
 Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark 
 Her eye ; and tell me, for what dull part in't 
 You chose her: then I'd shriek that even your ears 
 Should rift 8 to hear me ; and the words that follow'd 
 ShoclJ be, Remember mine. 
 
 Leon. Stars, very stars, 
 
 And all eyes else dead coals! — fear thou no wife, 
 I'll have no wife, Paulina. 
 
 Paul. Will you swear 
 
 Never to marry, but by my free leave? 
 
 Leon. Never, Paulina ; so be bless'd my spirit ! 
 
 Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his 
 oath. 
 
 Clen. Yon tempt him over-much. 
 » Split. 
 
 Paul. Unless anothei, 
 
 As like Hermione as is her picture, 
 Affront 3 his eye. 
 
 Cleo. Good madam, 
 
 Paul. I have done. 
 
 Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir, 
 No remedy but you will ; give me the office 
 To choose you a queen : she shall not be so young 
 As was your former ; but she shall be such, 
 As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy 
 To see her in your arms. 
 
 Leon. My true Paulina, 
 
 We shall not marry, till thou bid'st us. 
 
 Paul. That 
 
 Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath; 
 Never till then. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel, 
 Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she 
 The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access 
 To your high presence. 
 
 Leon. What with him ? he comes not 
 
 Like to his father's greatness : his approach, 
 So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 
 'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced 
 By need, and accident. What train? 
 
 Gent. But few, 
 
 And those but mean. 
 
 Leon. His princess, say you, with him ? 
 
 Gent. Ay ; the most peerless piece of earth, I 
 think, 
 That e'er the sun shone bright on. 
 
 Paul. Hermione, 
 
 As every present time doth boast itself 
 Above a better, gone ; so must thy grave 
 Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself 
 Have said, and writ so, (but your writing now 
 Is colder than that theme,) She had not been 
 Nor was not to be equalld ; — thus your verse 
 Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, 
 To say, you have seen a better. 
 
 Gent. Pardon, madam: 
 
 The one I have almost forgot ; (your pardon ;) 
 The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, 
 Will have your tongue too. This is such a crea- 
 ture, 
 Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
 Of all professors else ; make proselytes 
 Of who she but bid follow. 
 
 Paul. How? not women? 
 
 Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman 
 More worth than any man ; men, that she is 
 The rarest of all women. 
 
 Leon. Go, Cleomenes; 
 
 Yourself, assisted with your honor'd friends, 
 Bring them to our embracement. — 'Still, 'tis strange, 
 [Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentleman. 
 He thus should steal upon us. 
 
 Paul. Had our prince, 
 
 (Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd 
 Well with this lord; there was not full a month 
 Between their births. 
 
 Leon. Pr'y thee, no more ; thou know'st, 
 
 He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure, 
 When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
 Will bring me to consider that, which may 
 Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come. 
 Re-enter Ceeomenes, ivith FLoniZEi, Pehbita. 
 
 and Attendants. 
 Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; 
 For she did print your royal father eff, 
 ♦Meet 
 
Scene II. 
 
 ^ :nter's tale. 
 
 28i» 
 
 *"~l 
 
 Conceiving you : Were I but twenty-oni •, 
 Vour father's image is so hit in you, 
 His very air, that I should call you brother, 
 As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly 
 By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome ! 
 And your fair princess, goddess ! — O, alas ! 
 I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
 Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as 
 You, gracious couple, do ! and then I lost 
 (All mine own folly) the society, 
 Amity too, of your brave father; whom, 
 Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
 Once more to look upon. 
 
 Flo. By his command 
 
 Have I here touch'd Sicilia: and from him 
 Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend, 
 Can send his brother: and, but infirmity 
 (Which waits upon worn times) hath something 
 
 seiz'd 
 His wish'd ability, he had himself 
 The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
 Measur'd, to look upon you : whom he loves 
 (He bade me say so) more than all the sceptres, 
 A nd those that bear them, living. 
 
 Leon. O, my brother, 
 
 ((ifood'gentletnan,) the wrongs I have done thee, stir 
 Afresh within me; and these thy offices, 
 So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
 Of my behind-hand slackness ! — Welcome hither, 
 As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too 
 Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage 
 (At least, ungentle) of the dreadful Neptune, 
 To greet a man, not worth her pains; much less 
 The adventure of her person ? 
 
 Flo. Good my lord, 
 
 She came from Libya. 
 
 Leon. Where the warlike Smalus, 
 
 Thot noble honor'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'dl 
 
 Flo. Most royal sir, from thence : from him, 
 whose daughter 
 His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her : thenee 
 (A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we havecross'd, 
 To execute the charge my father gave me, 
 For visiting your highness : My best train 
 I have from your Sicilian shores dismissal; 
 Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 
 Not only my success in Libya, sir, 
 But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety 
 Here, where we are. 
 
 Leon. The blessed gods 
 
 Purge all infection from our air, whilst you 
 Do climate here ! You have a holy father, 
 A graceful gentleman ; against whose person, 
 So sacred as it is, I have done sin : 
 For which the heavens, taking angry note, 
 Have left me issueless; and your father's bless'd 
 (As he from heaven merits it) with you, 
 Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, 
 Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, 
 Such goodly things as you 1 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. Most noble sir, 
 
 That which I shall report, will bear no credit, 
 Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, 
 Bohemia greets you from himself, by me; 
 Desires you to attach ' his son ; who has 
 (His dignity and duty both cast off) 
 Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with 
 K shepherd'* daughter. 
 
 Leon. Where's Bohemia'? speak. 
 
 F-wd. Here in the city : I now came from him ; 
 1 Sfize, arrest. 
 
 I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
 
 My marvel, and my message. To your court 
 
 Whiles he was hast'ning, (in the chase, it seems, 
 
 Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way 
 
 The father of this seeming lady, and 
 
 Her brother, having both their country quitted 
 
 With this young prince. 
 
 Flo. Camillo has betray'd me 
 
 Whose honor, and whose honesty, till nc w, 
 Endured all weathers. 
 
 Lord. Lay't so, to his charge ; 
 
 He's with the king your father. 
 
 Leon. Who? Camillo] 
 
 Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with him ; who now 
 Has these poor men in question. 2 Never saw I 
 Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the earth ; 
 Forswear themselves as often as they speak : 
 Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them 
 With divers deaths in death. 
 
 Per. 0, my poor father! — 
 
 The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
 Our contract celebrated. 
 
 Leon. You are married? 
 
 Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
 The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: 
 The odds for high and low's alike." 
 
 Leon. My lord, 
 
 Is this the daughter of a king 1 
 
 Flo. She is, 
 
 When once she is my wife. 
 
 Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's speed, 
 Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, 
 Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, 
 Where you were tied in duty : and as sorry, 
 Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, 
 That you might well enjoy her. 
 
 Flo. Dear, look up: 
 
 Though fortune, visible an enemy, 
 Should chase us, with my father; power no jot 
 Hath she, to change our loves. — 'Beseech you, sir 
 Remember since you ow'd no more to time 
 Than I do now : with thought of such affections, 
 Step forth mine advocate ; at your request, 
 My father will grant precious things, as trifles. 
 
 Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your preciou 
 mistress, 
 Which he counts but a trifle. 
 
 Paul. Sir, my liege, 
 
 Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month 
 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such 
 
 gazes, 
 Than what you look on now. 
 
 Leon. I thought of her, 
 
 Even in these looks I made. — But your petition 
 
 [To Flokizel 
 Is yet unanswer'd : I will to your father ; 
 Your honor not o'erthrown by your desires, 
 I am a friend to them, and you : upon which errand 
 I now go toward him ; therefore, follow me, 
 And mark what way I make : Come, good my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— Before the Palace. 
 Enter Autoltcus and a Gentleman. 
 
 Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this 
 relation 1 
 
 1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, 
 heard the old shepherd deliver the manner, how he 
 found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, w 
 wore all commanded out of the chamber; only this 
 mcthought I heard the shepherd say, he found the 
 child. 
 » Conversal ion. * A quibble on the false dice so sailed 
 
'290 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Act. V. 
 
 Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 
 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business : 
 -But the changes I perceived in the king, and 
 Camillo, were very notes of admiration : they seemed 
 almost, with staring on one another, to tear the 
 oases of their eyes ; there was speech in their dumb- 
 ness, language in their very gesture ; they looked, 
 as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one de- 
 stroyed: A notable passion of wonder appeared in 
 Ahem : but the wisest beholder, that knew no more 
 but seeing, could not say, if the importance 4 were 
 joy, or sorrow: but in the extremity of the one, it 
 must needs be. 
 
 Enter another Gentleman. 
 
 Here comes a gentleman, that happily, knows more: 
 The news, Rogero ! 
 
 2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires : The oracle is ful- 
 filled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal 
 of wonder is broken out within this hour, that bal- 
 lad-makers cannot be able to express it. 
 
 Enter a third Gentleman. 
 
 Here comes the lady Paulina's steward; he can de- 
 liver you more. — How goes it now, sir 1 this news, 
 which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the 
 verity of it is in strong suspicion : Has the king 
 found his heir] 
 
 3 Gent. Most true ; if ever truth were pregnant 
 by circumstance ; that which you hear, you'll 
 swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. 
 The mantle of queen Hermione : — her jewel about 
 the neck of it: — the letters of Antigonus, found 
 with it, which they know to be his character: — 
 the majesty of the creature, in resemblance of the 
 mother ; — the affection 5 of nobleness, which nature 
 shows above her breeding, — and many other evi- 
 dences, proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the 
 king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the 
 two kings] 
 
 2 Gent. No. 
 
 3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was 
 to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you 
 have beheld one joy crown another ; so, and in such 
 manner, that it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave 
 of them ; for their joy waded in tears. There was 
 casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with 
 countenance of such distraction, that they were to 
 be known by garment, not by favor. s Our king, 
 being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his 
 found daughter; as if that joy were now become a 
 loss, cries, 0, thy mother, thy mother ! then asks 
 Bohemia forgiveness ; then embraces his son-in-law; 
 then again worries he his daughter, with clipping 1 
 her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands 
 by, like a weather-beaten conduit of many kings' 
 reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, 
 which lames report to follow it, and undoes de- 
 scription to do it. 
 
 2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, 
 that carried hence the child] 
 
 3 Gent. Like an old tale still ; which will have 
 matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not 
 an ear open: He was torn to pieces with a bear. 
 this avouches the shepherd's son ; who has not only 
 his innocence (which seems much) to justify him, 
 but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina 
 knows. 
 
 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his fol- 
 lowers ] 
 
 3 Gent. Wreck'd, the same instant of their mas- 
 
 ' The thing imported. 
 Countenance, features. 
 
 » Disposition or quality. 
 ' tembraeina. 
 
 ter's death ; and in the view of the shepherd . so thai 
 all the instruments, which aided to expose .he child, 
 were even then lost, when it was found. But, 0, 
 the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow, was 
 fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined for 
 the loss of her husband ; another elevated that the 
 oracle was fulfilled: She lifted the princess from 
 the earth : and so lo ks her in embracing, as if she 
 would pin her to hei heart, tbat she might no more 
 be in danger of losing. 
 
 1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the 
 audience of kings and princes; for by such was it 
 acted. 
 
 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, anffi 
 that which angled for mine eyes, (caught the water 
 though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of 
 the queen's death, with the manner how she came 
 to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,) 
 how attentiveness wounded his daughter: till, from 
 one sign of dolor to another, she did, with an a as! 
 I would fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure, my 
 heart wept blood. Who was most marble there, 
 changed color ; some swooned, all sorrowed : if 
 all the world could have seen it, the woe had been 
 universal. 
 
 1 Gent. Are they returned to the court] 
 
 3 Gent. No: the princess hearing of her mother's 
 statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — a piece 
 many years in doing, and now newly performed by 
 that rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had 
 he himself eternity, and could put breath into his 
 work, would beguile nature of her custom, so per- 
 fectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath 
 done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to 
 her, and stand in hope of answer: thither with all 
 greediness of affection, are they gone; and there 
 they intend to sup. 
 
 2 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter 
 there in hand; for, she hath privately, twice or 
 thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, 
 visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and 
 with our company piece the rejoicing] 
 
 1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the be- 
 nefit of access] every wink of an eye, some new 
 grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty 
 to our knowledge. Let's along. 
 
 [Exeunt Gentlemen. 
 
 Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life 
 in me, would preferment drop on my head. I 
 brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; 
 told him I heard him talk of a fardel, and I know 
 not what: but he at that time, over-fond of the 
 shepherd's daughter, (so he then took her to be,) 
 who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little 
 better, extremity of weather continuing, this mys- 
 tery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to 
 me : for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it 
 would not have relished among my other discredits. 
 
 Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
 
 Here come those I have done good to against my 
 will, and already appearing in the blossoms of then- 
 fortune. 
 
 Shcp. Come, boy; I am past more children; but 
 thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born 
 
 Clo. You are well met, sir; You denied to fight 
 with me this other day, because I was no gentleman 
 born: See you these clothes ? say, you see them 
 not, and think me still no gentleman born: you 
 were best say, these robes are not gentlemen born 
 Give me the lie; do; and try whether I am nol 
 now a gentleman born. 
 
 Aut. I know you are now, sir agentler.tin born 
 
Scene III. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 291 
 
 Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four 
 nours. 
 
 Shep. And so have I, boy. 
 
 Clo. So you have : — but I was a gentleman born 
 DC fore my father: for the king's son took me by the 
 hand, and called me, brother: and then the two 
 kings called my father, brother; and then the 
 prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, 
 called my father, father; and so we wept: and 
 there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever 
 we sheu 
 
 Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. 
 
 Clo. Ay , or else 'twere hard luck, being in so 
 preposterous estate as we are. 
 
 Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all 
 the faults I have committed to your worship, and 
 to give me your good report to the prince my 
 master. 
 
 Shep. Pr'y thee, son, do ; for we must be gentle, 
 now we are gentlemen. 
 
 Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life ? 
 
 Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand: I will swear to the 
 prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in 
 Bohemia. 
 
 Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 
 
 Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman ] Let 
 boors and franklins 8 say it, I'll swear it. 
 
 Shep. How if it be false, son 1 
 
 Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may 
 swear it in the behalf of his friend: — 'And I'll 
 swear to the prince, thou art a tall 9 fellow of thy 
 hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I 
 know, thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that 
 thou wilt be drunk; but I'll swear it: and I would, 
 thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. 
 
 Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 
 
 Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow : if I 
 do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be 
 drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. — Hark ! 
 the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going 
 to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us : we'll 
 be thy go3d masters. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in Paulina's House. 
 
 Enter Leontes,Polixenes,Florizel, Perdita, 
 Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Leon. grave and good Paulina, the great com- 
 fort 
 That I have had of thee ! 
 
 Paul. What, sovereign sir, 
 
 I did not well, I meant well : All my services, 
 You have paid home : but that you have vouchsafed 
 With your crown'd brother, and these your con- 
 tracted 
 Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, 
 It is a surplus of your grace which never 
 My life may last to answer. 
 
 Leon. O Paulina, 
 
 We honor you with trouble: But we came 
 To see the statue of our queen : your gallery 
 Have we passed through, not without much content 
 In many singularities; but we saw not 
 That which my daughter came to look upon, 
 The statue of her mother. 
 
 Paul. As she liv'd peerless, 
 
 So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
 Excels whatever yet you Iook'd upon, 
 Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
 Lonely, apart: But here it is: prepare 
 To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever 
 
 • Yeomen. ° Stout. 
 
 Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 'tis welL 
 
 [Paulina undraws a Curtain, and discovers a 
 Statue. 
 I like your silence, it the more shows off 
 Your wonder : but yet speak , — first, you, m> 
 
 liege, 
 Comes it not something near? 
 
 Leon. Her natural posture !- 
 
 Chide me, dear stone ; that I may say, indeed, 
 Thou art Hermione: or, rather, thou art she 
 In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender, 
 As infancy and grace. — But yet, Paulina, 
 Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing 
 So aged, as this seems. 
 
 Pol. O, not by much. 
 
 Paul. So much the more our carver's excel- 
 lence ; 
 Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makt « 
 
 her 
 As she liv'd now. 
 
 Leon. As now she might have done, 
 
 So much to my good comfort, as it is 
 Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, 
 Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, 
 As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her ! 
 I am ashamed : Does not the stone rebuke me, 
 For being more stone than it? — O, royal piece 
 There's magic in thy majesty; which has 
 My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and 
 From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
 Standing like stone with thee ! 
 
 Per. And give me leave 
 
 And do not say 'tis superstition, that 
 I kneel, and then implore her blessing. — Lady, 
 Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
 Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. 
 
 Paul. 0, patience; 
 
 The statue is but newly fix'd, the colors 
 Not dry. 
 
 Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on : 
 Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, 
 So many summers, dry: scarce any joy 
 Did ever so long live ; no sorrow, 
 But kill'd itself much sooner. 
 
 Pol. Dear my brother, 
 
 Let him, that was the cause of this, have power 
 To take off so much grief from you, as he 
 Will piece up in himself. 
 
 Paul. Indeed, my lard, 
 
 Tf I had thought the sight of my poor image 
 Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone if 
 
 mine,) 
 I'd not have show'd it. 
 
 Leon. Do not draw the curtain 
 
 Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest you/ 
 fancy 
 May think anon, it moves. 
 
 Leon. Let be, let be. 
 
 Would I were dead, but that, methinks already — 
 What was he, that did make it T — Sec, my lord, 
 Would you not deem, it breath'dl and that thos« 
 
 veins 
 Did verily bear blood? 
 
 Pol. Masterly done: 
 
 The very lifc seems warm upon her lip. 
 
 Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't 
 As 1 we are mock'd with art. 
 
 Paul. I'll draw the curtain 
 
 My lord's almost so far transported, that 
 He'll think anon, it lives. 
 
 Leon. C, sweet Paulina, 
 
 Make me to think so twenty years together 
 » As if. 
 
292 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 ActV. 
 
 No settled senses of the world can match 
 The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you : 
 but 
 I could afflict you further. 
 
 Leun. Do, Paulina; 
 
 For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
 As any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks, 
 There is an air comes from her : What fine chisel 
 Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock 
 
 me, 
 For I will kiss her. 
 
 Paul. Good my lord, forbear: 
 
 The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; 
 You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own 
 With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain? 
 
 Leon. No, not these twenty years. 
 
 Per. So long could I 
 
 Stand by, a looker-on. 
 
 Paul. Either forbear, 
 
 Quit presently the chapel ; or resolve you 
 For more amazement : If you can behold it, 
 I'll make the statue move indeed ; descend, 
 And take you by the hand : but then you'll think, 
 (Which I protest against,) I am assisted 
 By wicked powers. 
 
 Leon. What you can make her do, 
 
 I a"m content to look on : what to speak 
 I am content to hear: for 'tis as easy 
 To make her speak, as move. 
 
 Paul. It is required 
 
 You do awake your faith : Then, all stand still; 
 Or those, that think it is unlawful business 
 I am about, let them depart. 
 
 Leon. Proceed ; 
 
 No foot shall stir. 
 
 Paul. Music; awake her: strike. — 
 
 [Music. 
 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more: approach: 
 Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come : 
 I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away; 
 Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him 
 Dear life redeems you. — You perceive she stirs: 
 
 [Hermionk comes down from the Pedestal. 
 Start not: her actions shall be holy, as, 
 You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her, 
 Until you sec her die again ; for then 
 You kill her double: Nay, present your hand: 
 When she was young, you woo'd her ; now, in age, 
 Is she become the suitor. 
 
 Leon. 0, she's warm ! [Embracing her. 
 
 If this be magic, let it be an art 
 Lawful as eating. 
 
 Pol. She embraces him. 
 
 Cam. She hangs about his neck; 
 f ibe peitnin to life, let her speak too. 
 
 Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has 
 liv'd, 
 Or, how stolen from the dead. 
 
 Paul. That she is living, 
 
 Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
 Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives 
 Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. — 
 Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel, 
 And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good 
 
 lady; 
 Our Perdita is found. 
 
 [Presenting Pkrdita, who kneels to 
 Heiimione. 
 
 Her. You gods, look down, 
 
 And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
 Upon my daughter's head ! — Tell me, mine own, 
 Where hast thou been prcserv'd? where liv'd? how 
 
 found 
 Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that I, — 
 Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle 
 Gave hope thou wast in being, — have preserv'd 
 Myself to see the issue. 
 
 Paul. There's time enough for that, 
 
 Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble 
 Your joys with like relation. — Go together, 
 You precious winners all ; your exultation 
 Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, 
 Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there 
 My mate, that's never to be found again, 
 Lament till I am lost. 
 
 Leon. O peace, Paulina; 
 
 Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, 
 As, I by thine, a wife : this is a match, 
 And made bctween's by vows. Thou hast found 
 
 mine ; 
 But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her, 
 As I thought, dead ; and have, in vain, said many 
 A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far 
 (For him, I partly know his mind) to find thee 
 An honorable husband: — Come, Camillo, 
 And take her by the hand: whose worth, and 
 
 honesty, 
 Is richly noted; and here justified 
 By us, a pair of kings. — Let's from this place. — 
 What! — Look upon my brother: — both youi 
 
 pardons, 
 That e'er I put between your holy looks 
 My ill suspicion. — This your son-in-law, 
 And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing.) 
 Is troth-plight to your daughter. — Good Paulina, 
 Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely 
 Each one demand, and answer to his part 
 Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first 
 We were dissever'd : Hastily kad away. 
 
 [ Exeunt 
 

COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Solixus, Duke of Ephesus. 
 ..Ebeox, a Merchant of Syracuse. 
 
 f Twin Brothers, and 
 Antipholus o/Ephesus,] Sons to ^Egeon and 
 Antipholus of Syracuse, j ^Emilia, but unknown 
 
 yto each other. 
 
 t\ e t* 1 ( Twin Brothers, and At- 
 
 Dromio of Ephesus, > . _, . ., ' . . 
 
 > o \ tendants on trie two An- 
 
 Dromio of Syracuse. J .- , , , 
 
 J J ' ( tipholus s. 
 
 Balthazar, a Merchant. 
 
 SCENE, 
 
 Axgelo, a Goldsmith. 
 
 A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuse- 
 
 Pinch, a Schoolmaster, and a. Conjurer. 
 
 ^Emilia, Wife to iEgeon, an Abbess ctfEpheeus 
 Adriana, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. 
 Luciaxa, her Sister. 
 Luce, her Servant. 
 A Courtezan. 
 
 Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants 
 Ephesus. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE l.—A Hall in the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke, JEgeox, Gaoler, Officers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 Mge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, 
 And by the doom of death, end woes and all. 
 
 Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more; 
 I am not partial to infringe our laws : 
 The enmity and discord, which of late 
 Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke 
 To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, — ■ 
 Who, wanting gilders' to redeem their lives, 
 Have seal'd his rig'rous statutes with their bloods, — 
 Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks, 
 For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, 
 It hath in solemn synods been decreed, 
 Both by the Syracusans and ourselves, 
 To admit no traffic to our adverse towns : 
 Nay, more, 
 
 If any born at Ephesus, be seen 
 At any Syracusan marts and fairs; 
 Again, If any Syracusan born, 
 Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, 
 His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose; 
 Unless a thousand marks be levied, 
 To quit the penalty, and to ransome him. 
 Thy substance valued at the highest rate, 
 Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; 
 Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die. 
 
 Mge. Yet this my comfort; when your words 
 are done, 
 My woes end likewise with the evening sun. 
 
 Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause 
 Why thou departedst from thy native home; 
 And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus. 
 
 Mge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd 
 Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable : 
 Yet, that the world may witness, that my end 
 
 • Name of a coin. 
 [293] 
 
 Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, 
 
 I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 
 
 In Syracusa was I born ; and wed 
 
 Unto a woman, happy but for me, 
 
 And by me too, had not our hap been bad. 
 
 With her I liv'd in joy ; our wealth increas'd, 
 
 By prosperous voyages I often made 
 
 To Epidamnum, till my factor's death; 
 
 And he (great care of goods at random left) 
 
 Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse. 
 
 From whom my absence was not six months old, 
 
 Before herself (almost at fainting under 
 
 The pleasing punishment that women bear) 
 
 Had made provision for her following me, 
 
 And soon, and safe, arrived where I was. 
 
 There she had not been long, but she became 
 
 A joyful mother of two goodly sons; 
 
 And which was strange, the one so like the other 
 
 As could not be distinguish'd but by names. 
 
 That very hour, and in the self-same inn, 
 
 A poor mean woman was delivered 
 
 Of such a burden, male twins, both alike : 
 
 Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 
 
 I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 
 
 My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 
 
 Made daily motions for our home return ■ 
 
 Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon. 
 
 We came aboard: 
 
 A league from Epidamnum had we sailed, 
 
 Before the always-wind-obeying deep 
 
 Gave any tragic instance of our harm : 
 
 But longer did we not retain much hope; 
 
 For what obscured light the heavens did grant 
 
 Did but convey unto our fearful minds 
 
 A doubtful warrant of immediate death ; 
 
 Which, though myself would gladly have embraced 
 
 Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 
 
 Weeping before for what she saw must come, 
 
 And piteous plainings of the pretty babe*. 
 
 That mourn'd for fashion, ignerant what t» fear 
 
294 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Aer i. 
 
 For oei me to seek delays for them and me, 
 And this it was, — for other means was none. — 
 The sailors sought for safety by our boat, 
 And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us : 
 My wife, more careful for the elder born, 
 Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast, 
 & uch as sea-faring men provide for storms ; 
 To him one of the other twins was bound, 
 Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. 
 The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, 
 Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 
 Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 
 And floating straight, obedient to the stream, 
 Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 
 At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 
 Dispers'd those vapors that offended us; 
 And, by the benefit of his wish'd light, 
 The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 
 Two ships from far making amain to us, 
 Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this: 
 But ere they came, — O, let me say no more ! 
 Gather the sequel by that went before. 
 
 Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so ; 
 For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 
 
 2Ege. O, had the gods done so, I had not now 
 Worthily tenn'd them merciless to us ! 
 For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, 
 We were encounter'd by a mighty rock ; 
 Which being violently borne upon, 
 Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst, 
 So that, in this unjust divorce of us, 
 Fortune had left to both of us alike 
 What to delight in, what to sorrow for. 
 Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 
 With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe, 
 Was carried with more speed before the wind ; 
 And in our 6ight they three were taken up 
 By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
 At length, another ship had seiz'd on us ; 
 And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, 
 Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests ; 
 And would have reft 1 the fishers of their prey, 
 Had not their bark been very slow of sail, 
 And therefore homeward did they bend their 
 
 course. — 
 Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss ; 
 That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, 
 To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 
 
 Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest 
 for, 
 Do me the favor to dilate at full 
 What hath bcfall'n of them, and thee, till now. 
 
 JEge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, 
 A t eighteen years became inquisitive 
 / fter his brother ; and importun'd me, 
 That his attendant (for his case was like, 
 Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name) 
 Might bear him company in the quest of him : 
 Whom whilst I labor'd of a love to see 
 I. hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd. 
 Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece, 
 Roaming clean 3 through the bounds of Asia, 
 And, coasting homeward, came to Ephosus; 
 Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought, 
 Or that, or any place that harbors men. 
 But here must end the story of my life; 
 And happy were I in my timely death, 
 Could all my travels warrant me they live. 
 
 Duke. Hapless .Egeon. whom the fates have 
 mark'd 
 To bear the extremity of dire mishap! 
 Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
 » Bereft, deprired. * Clear, completely. 
 
 Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, 
 Which princes, would they, may not disannul 
 My soul should sue as advocate for thee. 
 But, though thou art adjudged to the death, 
 And passed sentence may not be recall'd, 
 But, to our honor's great disparagement, 
 Yet will I favor thee in what I can : 
 Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day 
 To seek thy help by beneficial help : 
 Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus ; 
 Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, 
 And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die - 
 Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 
 
 Gaol. I will, my lord. 
 
 JEge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth ^Egeon wend 
 But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— ,4 public Place. 
 
 Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse, and 
 a Merchant. 
 
 Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum, 
 Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
 This very day, a Syracusan merchant 
 Is apprehended for arrival here; 
 And, not being able to buy out his life, 
 According to the statute of the town, 
 Dies ere the weary sun set in the west, 
 There is your money that I had to keep. 
 
 Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, 
 And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. 
 Within this hour it will be dinner-time : 
 Till that I'll view the manners of the town, 
 Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, 
 And then return, and sleep within mine inn; 
 For with long travel I am stiff and weary. 
 Get thee away. 
 
 Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word, 
 And go indeed, having so good a mean. 
 
 [Exit Dro. S. 
 
 Ant. S. A trusty villain, 5 sir; that very oft, 
 When I am dull with care and melancholy, 
 Lightens my humor with his merry jests. 
 What, will you walk with me about the town, 
 And then go to my inn. and dine with me? 
 
 Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, 
 Of whom I hope to make much benefit; 
 I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock, 
 Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart, 
 And afterwards consort you till bed-time ; 
 My present business calls me from you now. 
 
 Ant. S, Farewell till then : I will go lose myself. 
 And wander up and down, to view the city. 
 
 Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. 
 [Exit Merchant 
 
 Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own con 
 tent, 
 Commends me to the thing I cannot get. 
 I to the world am like a drop of water, 
 That in the ocean seeks another drop ; 
 Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, 
 Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: 
 So I, to find a mother, and a brother. 
 In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 
 Enter Dromio of Ephesus. 
 Here comes the almanac of my true date, — 
 What now! How chance, thou art retum'd so soonl 
 
 Dro. E. Retum'd so sunn ' rather approach'd too 
 late: 
 The capoi, burns, the pig falls from Uic spit; 
 The clock has strucken twelve upon the bell, 
 My mistress made it one upon my cheek : 
 
 4 Go. « t. e. Servant 
 
A.ct If. Scene (. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 W5 
 
 She is so hot, because the meat is cold ; 
 The meat is cold, because you come not home; 
 You come not home, because you have no stomach; 
 You have no stomach, having- broke your fast; 
 But we, that know what 'tis to last and pray, 
 Are penitent for your default to-day. 
 
 Ant. <S'. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I 
 pray; 
 Where have you left the money that I gave you 7 
 
 Dro. E. 0, — sixpence, that I had o'Wednesday 
 last, 
 To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper; — 
 The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. 
 
 Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humor now: 
 Tell me, and dally not, where is the money 7 
 We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust 
 So great a charge from thine own custody 7 
 
 Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner : 
 I from my mistress come to you in post; 
 If I return, I shall be post indeed ; 
 For she will score your fault upon my pate. 
 Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your 
 
 clock, 
 And strike you home without a messenger. 
 
 Ant.S. Come, Diomio, come, these jests are out 
 of season ; 
 Reserve them till a merrier hour than this : 
 Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? 
 
 Dro. E. To me, sir ! why you gave no gold to me. 
 
 Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your fool- 
 ishness, 
 And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. 
 
 Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the 
 mart 
 Pot 1 to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; 
 * t distress, and her sister, stay for you. 
 
 Ant. S. Now, as I am a christian, answer me, 
 In what safe place you have bcstow'd my money ; 
 Or I shall break that merry sconce 6 of yours, 
 That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd: 
 Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ■ 
 
 Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my 
 pate, 
 Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, 
 But not a thousand marks between you both. — 
 If I should pay your worship those again, 
 Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. 
 
 Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks! what mistress, slave, 
 hast thou] 
 
 Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
 Phoenix : 
 She that Joth fast, till you come home to dinner, 
 And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner 
 
 Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my 
 face, 
 Being forbid 7 There, take you that, sir knave. 
 
 Dro. E. What mean you, sir? for heaven's sake, 
 hold your hands ; 
 Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. 
 
 [Exit Dro. E. 
 
 Ant. S. Upon my life, by some device or other, 
 The villain is o'er-raughf of all my money. 
 They say, this town is full of cozenage; 
 As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, 
 Dark-working sorcerers, that change the maul, 
 Soul-killing witches, that deform the body ; 
 Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
 And many such like liberties of sin; 
 If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 
 I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave ; 
 I greatly fear my money is not safe. ^Exit 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A public Place. 
 Enter Adrxana and Luciajja. 
 
 Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd, 
 That in such haste I sent to seek his master ! 
 Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 
 
 Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him, 
 And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. 
 Good sister, let us dine, and never fret: 
 A man is master of his liberty : 
 Time is their master ; and, when they see time, 
 They'll go, or come : if so, be patient, sister. 
 
 Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more] 
 
 Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door. 
 
 Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill. 
 
 Luc. 0, know, he is the bridle of your will. 
 
 Adr. There's noae but asses will be bridled so. 
 
 Luc. Why headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. 
 There's nothing situate under heaven's eye, 
 But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky: 
 The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, 
 Are their males' subjects, and at their controls : 
 Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 
 Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas, 
 \uducd with intellectual sense and souls, 
 Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, 
 Are masters to their females, and their lords: 
 Then let your will attend on their accords. 
 
 Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. 
 
 Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed. 
 
 Adr. But were vou wedded ou would bear some 
 
 Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey. 
 
 Adr. How if your husband start some other 
 where 7 
 
 Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear. 
 
 Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she 
 pause ; 
 They can be meek, that have no other cause. 
 A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, 
 We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry ; 
 But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, 
 As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: 
 So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee. 
 With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me: 
 But if thou live to see like right bereft, 
 This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be lelt. 
 
 Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try ;— 
 Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. 
 Enter Diiomio of Ephesus. 
 
 Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and 
 that my two ears can witness. 
 
 Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him 7 know'st 
 thou his mind 7 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear : 
 Beshrcw his hand, I scarce could understand it. 
 
 Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel 
 his meaning 7 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too 
 well feci his blows; .and withal so douHfully, that 
 I could scarce understand them. 8 
 
 • Head. i Oyer-reachod. 
 
 * »'. e. Scarce stand under them. 
 
296 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act il 
 
 Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home] 
 It seems, he hath great care to please his wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn- 
 mad. 
 
 Adr. Horn-mad, thou villain? 
 
 Dro. E. I mean not cuckold-mad; but. sure, 
 he's stark mad: 
 When I desired him to come home to dinner, 
 He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
 Tis dinner-time, quoth I; My gold, quoth he: 
 Your meat doth burn, quoth I; My gold* quoth he: 
 Will you come home? quoth I ; My gold, quoth he: 
 Where is the thousand marks 1 gave thee, villain? 
 The pig, quoth I, is burn'd,- My gold, quoth he: 
 My mistress, sir, quoth I; Hangup thy mistress,- 
 I know not thy mistress,- out on thy mistress. 1 
 
 Luc. Quoth who 7 
 
 Dro. E. Quoth my master : 
 Iknow, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress,- — 
 So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
 I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders; 
 For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. 
 
 Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him 
 home. 
 
 Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home7 
 For God's sake, send some other messenger. 
 
 Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across. 
 
 Dro. E. And he will bless that crosn with other 
 beating : 
 Between you I shall have a holy head. 
 
 Adr. Hence, prating peasant ; fetch thy master 
 home. 
 
 Dro. E. Am I so round with vou, as you with 
 me, 
 That like a football you do spurn me thus 7 
 You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither: 
 If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Luc. Fye, how impatience low'reth in your face. 
 
 Adr. His company must do his minions grace. 
 Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. 
 Hath homely age the alluring beauty took 
 From my poor cheek 7 then he hath wasted it : 
 Are my discourses dull 7 barren my wit 7 
 If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd, 
 Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. 
 Do their gay vestments his affections bait 7 
 That's not my fault, he's master of my state: 
 What ruins are in me, that can be found 
 By him not ruin'd7 then is he the ground 
 Of my defeatures: 9 My decayed fair' 
 A sunny look of his would soon repair; 
 But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale, 
 And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. 2 
 
 Luc. Self-arming jealousy ! — fye, beat it hence. 
 
 Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis- 
 pense, 
 I know his eye doth homage otherwhere, 
 Or else, what lets 3 it but he would be here 7 
 Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain ; — 
 Would that alone alone he would detain, 
 So he would keep fair quarter with his bed ! 
 I see, the jewel, best enamelled, 
 Will lose iiis beauty ; and though gold 'bides still, 
 That others touch, yet often touching will 
 Wear gold : and so no man, that hath a name. 
 But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
 Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, 
 I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. 
 Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 • Alteration of features. 
 1 Stalkinir-liorse. 
 
 1 Fair, for fairness. 
 3 Hinders. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. 
 Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up 
 Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
 Is wander'd forth, in care to seek me out. 
 By computation, and mine host's reporl, 
 I could not speak with Dromio, since at first 
 I sent him from the mart : See, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Dromio of Syracuse. 
 How now, sir 1 is your merry humor alter'd 7 
 As you love strokes, so jest with me again. 
 You know no Centaur? you receiv'd no gold? 
 Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? 
 My house was at the Phoenix 7 Wast thou mad, 
 That thus so madly thou didst answer me 7 
 
 Dro. S. What answer, sir 7 when spake I such a 
 
 word 7 
 Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour 
 
 since. 
 Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence, 
 Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt; 
 And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner ; 
 For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd. 
 
 Dro. S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein: 
 What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me. 
 Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the 
 teeth 7 
 Think'st thou, I jest 7 Hold, take thou that, and 
 that. [Beating him. 
 
 Dro. S. Hold, sir, for God's sake : now your jest 
 is earnest: 
 Upon what bargain do you give it me 7 
 
 Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
 Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, 
 Your sauciness will jest upon my love, 
 And make a common of my serious hours. 
 When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport. 
 But creep in crannies, when he hides his beams. 
 If you will jest with me, know my aspect, 4 
 And fashion your demeanor to my looks, 
 Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 
 
 Dro. S. Sconce, call you it? so you would leave 
 battering, I had rather have it a head : an you use 
 these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, 
 and insconce 5 it too ; or else I shall seek my wit if, 
 my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten? 
 Ant. S. Dost thou not know? 
 Dro. S. Nothing, sir ; but that I am beaten. 
 Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ? 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore; for, they say, 
 every why hath a wherefore. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, first; — for flouting me; and then, 
 wherefore, — 
 For urging it the second time to me. 
 
 Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten oul 
 of season? 
 When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither 
 
 rhyme nor reason? — 
 Well, sir, I thank you. 
 
 Ant. S. Thank me, sir ! for what ? 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you 
 gave me for nothing. 
 
 Ant. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you 
 nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner- 
 time 7 
 
 Dro. S. !Yo, sir; I think, the meat wants that I 
 
 have. 
 Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that 7 
 Dro- S. Basting. 
 « Study my countenance. » A sconce was a fortification 
 
OCENE Ix 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 297 
 
 Ant. S. Wen, sir, then 'twill be dry. 
 
 Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. 
 
 Ant. <S. Your reason ? 
 
 Dro. <S. Lest it make you choleric, and purchase 
 me another dry basting. 
 
 Am. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time ; 
 There's a time for all things. 
 
 Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were 
 so choleric. 
 
 Ant. S. By what rule, sir! 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain 
 aald pate of father Time himself. 
 
 Ant. S. Let's hear it. 
 
 Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his 
 hair, that grows bald by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? 
 
 Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and 
 recover the lost hair of another man. 
 
 Ant. S. Why is time such a niggard of hair, 
 being, as it is, so plentiful an excrement ? 
 
 Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows 
 on beasts : and what he hath scanted men in hair, 
 he hath given them in wit. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more 
 hair than wit. 
 
 Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit 
 to lose his hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men 
 plain dealers without wit. 
 
 Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : Yet 
 he loseth it in a kind of jollity. 
 
 Ant. S. For what reason ] 
 
 Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you. 
 
 Dro. S. Sure ones then. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. % 
 
 Dro. S. Certain ones then. 
 
 Ant. S. Name them. 
 
 D"o. S. The one, to save the money that he 
 spends in tiring; the other, that at dinner they 
 should not drop in his porridge. 
 
 Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, 
 there is no time for all things. 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, no time to 
 recover hair lost by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. But. your reason was not substantial, 
 why there is no time to recover. 
 
 Dro. S. Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, 
 and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald 
 followers. 
 
 Ant. S. I knew it would be a bald conclusion : 
 Sut soft! who wafts 6 us yonder? 
 
 Enter Adiuaxa and Luciaxa. 
 
 Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown: 
 Some other mistress hath thy STveet aspects ; 
 I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. 
 The time was once, when thou murged wouiust 
 
 vow 
 That never words were music to thine ear, 
 That never object pleasing in thine eye, 
 That never touch well-welcome to thy hand, 
 That never meat sweet-savor'd in thy taste, 
 Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee. 
 How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it 
 That thou art then estranged from thyself] 
 Thyself I call it, being strange to me, 
 That, undividable, incorporate, 
 Am better than thy dear selfs better part. 
 Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; 
 For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall 
 \ drop of water in the breaking gulf, 
 • Beckons. 
 
 And take unmingled thence that drop again. 
 
 Without addition, or diminishing, 
 
 A6 take from me thyself, and not me too. 
 
 How dearly would it touch thee to the quick. 
 
 Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious ? 
 
 And that this body, consecrate to thee, 
 
 By ruffian lust should be contaminate ? 
 
 Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, 
 
 And hurl the name of husband in my face, 
 
 And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow, 
 
 And from my false hand cut the wedding ring, 
 
 And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ? 
 
 I know thou canst; and therefore, see, thou do it. 
 
 I am possess'd with an adulterate blot; 
 
 My blood is mingled with the crime of lust : 
 
 For, if we two be one, and thou play false, 
 
 I do digest the poison of thy flesh, 
 
 Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 
 
 Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed . 
 
 I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonored. 
 
 Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know 
 you not: 
 In Ephesus I am but two hours old, 
 As strange unto your town, as to your talk; 
 Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd, 
 Want wit in all one word to understand. 
 
 Luc. Fye, brother! how the world is changed 
 with you : 
 When were you wont to use rny sister thus '.' 
 She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 
 
 Ant. S. By Dromio ? 
 
 Dro. S. By me ? 
 
 Adr. By thee: and this thou didst return hom 
 him, — 
 That he did buffet thee, and in his blow* 
 Denied my house for his, me for his wife. 
 
 Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle- 
 woman ? 
 What is the force and drift of your compact 1 
 
 Dro. S. I, sir ? I never saw her till this time 
 
 Ant. S. Villain, thou liest ; for even her verv 
 words 
 Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 
 
 Dro. & I never spake with her in all my life. 
 
 Ant. S. How can she thus then call us by oni 
 names, 
 Unless it be by inspiration 1 
 
 Ad?: How ill agrees it with your gravity, 
 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave 
 Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! 
 Be it my wrong, you arc from me exempt, 
 But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt 
 Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: 
 Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine; 
 Whose weakness, married to thy stronger stali-. 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate • 
 If aught possess thee from me, it is dross. 
 Usurping ivy, briar, or idle 1 moss; 
 Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
 Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. 
 
 Ant. <S'. To me she speaks; she moves me fcr hei 
 theme : 
 What, was I married to her in my dream] 
 Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this] 
 What error drives our eyes and cars amiss? 
 Until I know this sure uncertainty, 
 I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy. 
 
 Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread fci 
 dinner. 
 
 Dro. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner 
 This is the fairy land; — O, spite of spites!' — 
 We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprite*' 
 ' Unfruitful, barren. 
 
r 
 
 S98 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act IK. Scenr 1. 
 
 If we obey them not, this will ensue, 
 They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. 
 Luc. Why prat'st thou to thyself, and answer'st 
 not? 
 Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot ! 
 Dro. S. I am transformed, master, am not II 
 Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I. 
 Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my 
 
 shape. 
 Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form. 
 Dro. S. No, I am an ape. 
 
 Luc. If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an 
 
 ass. 
 Dro. S. 'Tis true ; she rides me, and I iong for 
 grass. 
 Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be, 
 But I should know her as well as she knows me. 
 
 Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, 
 To put the finger in the eye and weep, 
 
 Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes t£ 
 
 scorn. — 
 Come, sir, to dinner ; Dromio, keep vne gate :— 
 Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day, 
 And shrive 1 you of a thousand idle pranks: 
 Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, 
 Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter 
 Come, sister: — Dromio, play the porter well. 
 
 Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell ' 
 Sleeping or waking? mad or well-advised? 
 Known unto these, and to myself disguised? 
 I'll say as they say, and persever so, 
 And in this mist at all adventures go. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate ? 
 
 Adr. Ay ; and let none enter, lest I break youi 
 pate. 
 
 Lac. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too la'*. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, Dkomio of 
 
 Ephesus, Angelo, a?id Balthazar. 
 Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse 
 us all ; 
 My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours: 
 Say, that I linger'd with y®u at your shop, 
 To see the making of her carkanet, 3 
 And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
 But here's a villain, that would face me down 
 He met me on the mart; and that I beat him, 
 And charged him with a thousand marks in gold, 
 And that I did deny my wife and house: — 
 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? 
 Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what 
 I know: 
 That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to 
 
 show: 
 [f the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave 
 
 were ink, 
 Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. 
 Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass. 
 Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 
 
 By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear. 
 1 should kick, being kick'd; and, being at that 
 
 pass, 
 You would keep from my heels, and beware of an 
 ass. 
 Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar: 'Pray 
 God, our cheer 
 May answer my good will, and your good welcome 
 here. 
 Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your 
 
 welcome dear. 
 A.nt. E. 0, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, 
 A. table full of, welcome makes scarce one dainty 
 dish. 
 Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every churl 
 
 affords. 
 Ant. E. And welcome more common; for that's 
 
 nothing but words. 
 Bal. Small cheer and great welcome, makes a 
 
 merry feast. 
 Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more spar- 
 ing guest; 
 But though 117 cates 9 be mean, take them in good 
 
 part: 
 • 4 Tn>ofel«e« strung witk *h°arls. 8 Dishes of meat. 
 
 Better cheer may you have, but not with better 
 
 heart. 
 But, soft; my door is lock'd: Go, bid them let 
 us in. 
 Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, 
 
 Jen'! 
 Dro. S. [WUkin.] Moine," malt-horse, capon, 
 coxcomb, idiot, patch! 3 
 Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the 
 
 hatch. 
 Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'st for 
 
 . such store, 
 When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from the 
 door. 
 Dro. E. What, patch is made our porter ? My 
 
 master stays in the street. 
 Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, 
 
 lest he catch cold on's feet. 
 Ant. E. Who talks within there ? ho, open the 
 
 door. 
 Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll 
 
 tell me wherefore ? 
 Ant. E. Wherefore, for my dinner; I have nt t 
 
 dined to-day. 
 Dro. S. Nor to-day here you must not ; come 
 
 again when you may. 
 Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from 
 
 the house I owe ? * 
 Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my 
 
 name is Dromio. 
 Dro. E. villain, thou hast stolen both mine 
 office and my name; 
 The one ne'er got mc credit, the other mickle blame. 
 If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place, 
 Thou wouldst have changed thy face for a name, 
 or thy name for an ass. 
 Luce. [Wit/tin.'] What a coil 5 is there 7 Dromio, 
 
 who are those at the gate? 
 Dro. E. Let thy master in, Luce. 
 Luce. Faith, no; he comes too late; 
 
 And so tell your master. 
 
 Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh : — 
 
 Have at you with a proverb : — Shall I set in njy 
 staff? 
 Luce. Have at you with another: that's, — When 1 , 
 can you tell ? 
 
 1 Hear your confession. 
 
 a Fool. 
 
 * Pustle, tumult. 
 
 ' Blockhead. 
 
 * I own, am o * ner «£ 
 
Scene II. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 299 
 
 Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou 
 
 hast answer'd him well. 
 Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion 1 you'll let us 
 
 in, I hope 1 
 Luce. I thought to have ask'd you. 
 Dro. S. And you said, no. 
 
 Dro. E. So, come, help ; well struck ; there was 
 
 blow for blow. 
 Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. 
 Luce. Can you tell for whose sake? 
 
 Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
 Luce. Let him knock till it ache. 
 
 Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the 
 
 door down. 
 Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks 
 
 in the town 1 
 Adr. [Within.'] Who is that at the door, that 
 
 keeps all this noise ] 
 Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with 
 
 unruly boys. 
 Ant. E. Are you there, wife 1 you might have 
 
 come before. 
 Adr. Your wife, sir knave! go, get you from 
 
 the door. 
 Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave 
 
 would go sore. 
 Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome ; 
 
 we would fain have either. 
 Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part' 
 
 with neither. 
 Dro. E. They stand at the door, master; bid 
 
 them welcome hither. 
 Ant. E. There is something in the wind, that we 
 
 cannot get in. 
 Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your gar- 
 ments were thin. 
 5Tour cake here is warm within; you stand here in 
 
 the cold: 
 [t would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought 
 and sold. 
 Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope 
 
 the gate. 
 Dro. 8. Break any breaking here, and I'll break 
 
 your knave's pate. 
 Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, 
 sir : and words are but wind ; 
 Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not 
 behind. 
 Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking: Out 
 
 upon thee, hind ! 
 Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee ! I pray 
 
 thee, let me in. 
 Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and 
 
 fis'h have no fin. 
 .4??/. E. Well, I'll break in; Go, borrow me a crow. 
 Dro. E. A crow without a feather ; master, mean 
 you sol 
 For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a 
 
 feather: 
 If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow 
 together. 
 Ant. E. Go, get thec gone, fetch me an iron crow. 
 Bui. Have patience, sir; 0, let it not be so; 
 Herein you war against your reputation, 
 And d aw within the compass of suspect 
 The unviolated honor of your wife. 
 Once this, — Your long experience of her wisdom, 
 Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, 
 Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; 
 And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
 Why at this time the doors are made' against you. 
 Be ruled by me ; depart in patience, 
 
 « Take part. » i, e. Made fast. 
 
 And let us to the Tiger all to dinner: 
 
 And, about evening, come yourself alone, 
 
 To know the reason of this strange restraint. 
 
 If by strong hand you offer to break in, 
 
 Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
 
 A vulgar comment will be made on it; 
 
 And that supposed by the common rout 
 
 Against your yet ungalled estimation, 
 
 That may with foul intrusion enter in, 
 
 And dwell upon your grave when you are dead' 
 
 For slander lives upon succession ; 
 
 For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. 
 
 Ant. E. You have prevail'd ; I will depart in quiet, 
 And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry 
 I know a wench of excellent discourse, — 
 Pretty and witty ; wild, and, yet too, gentle ; — 
 There will we dine: this woman that I mean, 
 My wife (but, I protest, without desert) 
 Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; 
 To her will we to dinner. — Get you home, 
 And fetch the chain ; by this, 8 I know, 'tis made: 
 Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine; 
 For there's the house: that chain will I bestow 
 (Be it for nothing but to spite my wife) 
 Upon mine hostess there: good sir, make haste: 
 Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
 I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me. 
 
 Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hence. 
 
 Ant. E. Do so ; This jest shall cost me some 
 expense. [Exemit 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Enter Luciana, and Antipholus of Syracuse. 
 
 Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot 
 
 A husband's office] Shall, Antipholus, hate, 
 Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs 9 rot! 
 
 Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate 1 
 If you did wed my sister for her wealth, 
 
 Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more 
 kindness: 
 Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; 
 
 Muffle your false love with some show of blindness: 
 Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 
 
 Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; 
 Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; 
 
 Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger: 
 Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted 
 
 Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ; 
 Be secret-false : What need she be acquainted 1 
 
 What simple thief brags of his own attaint] 
 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed, 
 
 And let her read it with thy looks at board: 
 Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; 
 
 111 deeds are doubled with an evil word. 
 Alas, poor women! make us but believe, 
 
 Being compact of credit, that you love us, 
 Though others have tho arm, show us the sloe re 
 
 We in your motion turn, and you may move us* 
 Then, gentle brother, get you in again; 
 
 Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife : 
 'Tis holy sport to be a little vain,' 
 
 When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 
 
 Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else, 
 I know not, 
 
 Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,) 
 Less, in your knowledge, and your giace, you 
 show not, 
 
 Than our earth's wonder; more than earth Ji 
 vine. 
 Teach me, dear creature, how to think ami apeak 
 
 3 By this time. 
 
 » Love-springs are young plants or iboots of lore. 
 
 1 Vain, is light of tongue. 
 
*00 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Lay open to my earthly gross conceit, 
 Bmother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, 
 
 The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
 Against my soul's pure truth why labor you, 
 
 To make it wander in an unknown field ? 
 .•vre you a god? would you create me new] 
 
 Transform me, then, and to your power I'll yield. 
 But if that I am I, then well I know, 
 
 Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 
 Nor to her bed no homage do I owe ; 
 
 Far more, far more, to you do I decline. 
 O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, 
 
 To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears ; 
 Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote: 
 
 Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 
 And as a bed I'll take thee, and there lie ; 
 
 And, in that glorious supposition, think 
 He gains by death, that hath such means to die : — 
 
 Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink ! 
 
 Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so? 
 
 Ant. S. Not mad, but mated;- how, I do not know. 
 
 Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 
 i?it. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, 
 being by. 
 
 Luc. Gaze where you should ; and that will clear 
 your sight. 
 
 Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on 
 night. 
 
 Luc. Why call you me love? call my sister so. 
 
 Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 
 
 Luc. That's my sister. 
 
 Ant. S. No; 
 
 It is thyself, mine own self's better part ; 
 Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart ; 
 My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, 
 My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. 
 
 Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 
 
 Ant S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee : 
 Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; 
 Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife ; 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still : 
 
 I'll fetch my sister, to get her good-will. [Exit Luc. 
 
 Enter, from the House of Antipholus of Ephe- 
 sus, Dnojuo of Syracuse. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where run'st 
 thou so fast? 
 
 Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio ? 
 am I your man? am I myself? 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou 
 art thyself. 
 
 Dro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and 
 besides myself. 
 
 Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides 
 thyself? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to 
 a woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me, 
 one that will have me. 
 
 Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee ? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay 
 to your horse; and she would have me as a beast: 
 not that, I being a beast, she would have me ; but 
 that she, being a very beastly creature, lays claim 
 to me. 
 
 Ant. S. What is she? 
 
 Dro. S. A very reverent body; ay, such a one 
 as a man may no) speak of, without he say, sir 
 reverence : I have but lean luck in the match, and 
 yet is she a wondrous fat marriage. 
 
 Ant. S. How dost thou mean, a fat marriage? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sii, she's the kitchen-wench, and 
 • i. e. Confounded. 
 
 all grease ; and I know not what use to put her to 
 but to make a lamp of her, and run from her bj 
 her own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow 
 in them, will burn a Poland winter: if she liven 
 till doomsday, she'll burn a week longer than the 
 whole world. 
 
 Ant. S. What complexion is she of? 
 
 Dro. S. Swart, 3 like my shoe, but her face no- 
 thing like so clean kept; For why? she sweats, a 
 man may go over shoes in the grime of it. 
 
 Ant. S. That's a fault that water will mend. 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir, 'tis in grain ; Noah's flood could 
 not do it. 
 
 Ant. S. What's her name? 
 
 Dro. S. Nell, sir; — 'but her name and three 
 quarters, that is, an ell and three quarters, will 
 not measure her from hip to hip. 
 
 Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth? 
 
 Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from 
 hip to hip: she is spherical, like a globe; I could 
 find out countries in her. 
 
 Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it 
 out by the bogs. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Scotland? 
 
 Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness; hard, in 
 the palm of the hand. 
 
 Ant. S. Where France? 
 
 Dro. S. In her forehead; arm'd and reverted, 
 making war against her hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Where England? 
 
 Dro. S. I look'd for the chalky cliffs, but I could 
 find no whiteness in ihem: but I guess it stood in 
 her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France 
 and it. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Spain ? 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it, hot in 
 her breath. 
 
 Ant. S. Where America, the Indies? 
 
 Dro. S. 0, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellish 'd 
 with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their 
 rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain; who sent 
 whole armadas of carracks 4 to be ballast at her nose. 
 
 Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands ! 
 
 Dro. S. O, sir, I did not look so low. To con- 
 clude, this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me ; 
 call'd me Dromio; swore, I was assured 5 to her; 
 told me what privy marks I had about me, as the 
 mark of my shoulder, the mole in my neck, the 
 great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from 
 her as a witch : and, I think, if my breast had not 
 been made of faith, and my heart of steel, she had 
 transform'd me to a curtail-dog, and made me turn 
 i'the wheel. 6 
 
 Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the itrad ; 
 And if the wind blow any way from shore, 
 I will not harbor in this town to-night. 
 If any bark put forth, come to the mart, 
 Where I will walk, till thou return to me. 
 If every one know us, and we know none, 
 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. 
 
 Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run tot 
 life, 
 So fly I from her that would be my wife. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here 
 And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence. 
 She, that doth call me husband, even my soul 
 Doth for a wife abhor : but her fair sister 
 Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, 
 Of such enchanting presence and discourse, 
 Hath almost made me trai'or to mvself : 
 
 * Swarthy. 
 » Affianced. 
 
 « Large ships. 
 • A turn spit 
 
Act IV. Scene 1 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 301 
 
 But, lest myself be guilty to wtf-wrong, 
 
 I'll stop mine ears against tb.3 mermaid's song. 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 Ang. Master Antipholus. 
 Ant. S. Ay, that's my name. 
 Ang. I know it well, sir : Lo, here is the chain ; 
 1 thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine : 
 The chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. 
 Ant. S. What is your will that I shall do with 
 
 this? 
 Ang. What please yourself, sir ; I have made it 
 
 for you. 
 Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I bespoke it not. 
 Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you 
 have: 
 
 Go home with it, and please your wife withal ; 
 And soon at supper-time, I'll visit you, 
 And then receive my money for the chain. 
 
 Ant. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now, 
 For fear you ne'er see chain, nor money, more. 
 
 Ang. You are a merry man, sir ; fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot 
 tell; 
 But this I think, there's no man is so vain, 
 That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain. 
 I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, 
 When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. 
 I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay ; 
 If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer. 
 
 Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due, 
 And since I have not much importuned you; 
 Nor now I had not, but that I am bound 
 To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage : 
 Therefore make present satisfaction, 
 Or I'll attach you by this officer. 
 
 Ang. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you, 
 Is growing 1 to me by Antipholus: 
 And, in the instant that I met with you, 
 He had of me a chain ; at five o'clock, 
 I shall receive the money for the same : 
 Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house 
 I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and Dromio of 
 Ephesus. 
 
 Off. That labor may you save; see where he 
 comes. 
 
 Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, 
 go thou 
 And buy a rope's end ; that will I bestow 
 Among my wife and her confederates, 
 For locking me out of my doors by day. — 
 But soft, I see the goldsmith: — get thee gone; 
 Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. 
 
 Dre. E. I buy a thousand pound a-year! I buy 
 a rope ! [Exit Dro. E. 
 
 Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you: 
 I promised your presence, and the chain; 
 But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came tome: 
 Belike, you thought our love would last too long, 
 If it were chain'd together ; and therefore came not. 
 
 Ang. Saving your merry humor, here's the note, 
 How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat; 
 The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion ; 
 Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 
 Than I stand debted to this gentleman ; 
 { pray you, see him presently discharged, 
 For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. 
 
 Ant. E. I am not furnish'd with the present 
 money ; 
 Uesides, I have some business in the town : 
 (iood signior, take the stranger to my house, 
 And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
 Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof; 
 Perchance I will ^c there as soon as you. 
 
 Ang. Then v/ilt thou bring the cha ; n to heryour- 
 celf? 
 
 " *oraruine. 
 
 Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come n*" 
 time enough. 
 
 Ang. Well, sir, I will : Have you the chain abo it 
 you"? 
 
 Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have ; 
 Or else you may return without your money. 
 
 Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give m« the 
 chain ; 
 Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, 
 And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 
 
 Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance, to 
 excuse 
 Your breach of promise to the Porcupine: 
 I should have chid you for not bringing it, 
 But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. 
 
 Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, despatch. 
 
 Ang. You hear, how he importunes me; th< 
 chain — 
 
 Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your 
 money. 
 
 Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even 
 now; 
 Either send the chain, or send me by some token. 
 
 Ant. E. Fye ! how you run this humor out of 
 breath : 
 Come, where's the chain 7 I pray you let me see it. 
 
 Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance: 
 Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me or no; 
 If not, I'll leave him to the officer. 
 
 Ant. E. I answer you! What should I answeryou? 
 
 Ang. The money that you owe me for the chain. 
 
 Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. 
 
 Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour since. 
 
 Ant. E. You gave me none; you wrong me 
 much to say so. 
 
 Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it: 
 Consider, how it stands upon my credit. 
 
 Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 
 
 Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name, 
 to obey me. 
 
 Ang. This touches me in reputation : — 
 Either consent to pay this sum for me, 
 Or I attach you by this officer. 
 
 Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never h&i 
 Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Ang. Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer, 
 I would not spare my brother in this case, 
 If he should scorn me so apparently. 
 
 Off. I do arrest you, sir; you hear the suit 
 
 Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail 
 But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 
 As all the metal in your shop will answer 
 
302 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have yaw in Ephesus, 
 To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. 
 Eater Dbomio of Syracuse. 
 Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum, 
 That stays but till her owner comes aboard, 
 And then, sir, bears away : our fraughtage," sir, 
 I have convey'd aboard; and I have bought 
 The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitse. 
 The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind 
 Blows fair from land: they stay for nought at all, 
 But for their owner, master, and yourself. 
 
 Ant. E. How now ! a madman ! Why, thou 
 peevish' sheep, 
 What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? 
 
 Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 1 
 Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a 
 rope; 
 And told thee to what purpose and what end. 
 
 Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's end as soon : 
 Vou sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. 
 
 Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisure, 
 And teach your ears to listen with more heed. 
 To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight : 
 Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
 That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry, 
 There is a purse of ducats; let her send it; 
 Tell her, I am arrested in the street, 
 And that shall bail me : hie thee, slave ; be gone. 
 On, officer, to prison till it come. 
 
 [Exeunt Merchant, Angelo, Officer, and 
 Ajit. E. 
 Dro. S. To Adriana; that is where he dined, 
 Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband : 
 She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. 
 Thither I must, although against my will, 
 For servants must their master's minds fulfil. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter Adriana and Luciana. 
 
 Adr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so ? 
 Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye 
 That he did plead in earnest, yea or no ? 
 
 Look'd he or red, or pale; or sad or merrily? 
 What observations mad'st thou in this case, 
 Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face ? 3 
 
 Luc. First, he denied you had in him no right. 
 
 Adr. He meant, he did me none ; the more my 
 spite. 
 
 Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here. 
 
 Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he 
 were. 
 
 Luc. Then pleaded I for you. 
 
 Adr. And what said he ? 
 
 Luc. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me. 
 
 Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? 
 
 Luc. With words that in an honest suit might 
 move. 
 First he did praise my beauty ; then, my speech. 
 
 Adr. Didst speak him fair ? 
 
 Luc. Have patience, I beseech. 
 
 Adr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still ; 
 My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. 
 He is detonned, crooked, old, and sere, 3 
 Ill-faced, worse-bodied, shapeless every where : 
 Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind ; 
 Stigmatical in making, 4 worse in mind. 
 
 Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one 
 IVo evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 
 
 * Freight, cargo. ' Silly. ' Carriage. 
 
 » An allusion to the redness of the northern lights, 
 likened to the appearance of armies. » Dry, withered. 
 
 • Marked by nature with deformity. 
 
 Adr. Ah! but I think him better than I say, 
 And yet would herein others' eyes were worse ! 
 Far from her nest the lapwing cries away ; * 
 
 My heart prays for him, though my tongue do 
 curse. 
 
 Enter Dhomio of Syracuse. 
 Dro. S. Here, go; the desk, the purse; sweel 
 
 now, make haste. 
 Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? 
 Dro. S. By running fast 
 
 Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? 
 Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell : 
 A devil in an everlasting garment 6 hath him, 
 One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel ; 
 A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough ; 
 A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff; 
 A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun- 
 termands 
 The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; 
 A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foo* 
 
 well; 
 One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls 
 to hell. 1 
 Adr. Why, man, what is the matter? 
 Dro. S. I do not know the matter : he is 'rested 
 
 on the case. 
 Adr. What, is he arrested? tell me, at whose suit. 
 Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested, 
 well; 
 But he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that 
 
 can I tell ; 
 Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the mo- 
 ney in the desk ? 
 Adr. Go fetch it, sister. — This I wonder at, 
 
 [Exit Luciajta. 
 That he, unknown to me, should be in debt: 
 Tell me, was he arrested on a band? 9 
 
 Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ; 
 A chain, a chain; do you not hear it ring? 
 Adr. What, the chain ? 
 
 Dro. S. No, no, the bell ; 'tis time that I were gone. 
 
 It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes 
 
 one. 
 
 Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never heai 
 
 Div. S. yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, 
 
 a'turns back for very fear. 
 Adr. As if time were in debt! how fondly dost 
 
 thou reason ? 
 Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more 
 than he's worth to season. 
 Nay, he's a thief too : Have you not heard men say, 
 That time comes stealing on by night and day ? 
 If he be in debt, and theft, and a sergeant in the way, 
 Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day ? 
 Enter Ltjciana. 
 Adr. Go, Dromio ; there's the money, bear it 
 straight ; 
 And bring thy master home immediately. — 
 Come, sister: I am press'd down with conceit; 
 Conceit my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. 
 
 Enter Antipholcs of Syracuse. 
 
 Ant. S. There's not a man I meet, but doth sa 
 lute me 
 As if I were their well-acquainted friend ; 
 And every one doth call me by my name. 
 
 * Who crieth most where her nest is not. 
 
 6 The officers in those days were clad in buff, which in 
 also a cant expression for a man's skin. 
 1 Hell was the cant term for prison. 
 
 • t. e. Bond. » Fanciful conception. 
 
BCENE IV. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 sm 
 
 8ome tender money to me, some invite me ; 
 Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
 Some offer mc commodities to buy : 
 Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, 
 And show'd me silks that he had bought for me, 
 And, therewithal, took measure of my body. 
 Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, 
 And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 
 
 Enter Dhomio of Syracuse. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for : 
 What, have you got the picture of old Adam new 
 apparel'd ! 
 
 Ant. S. What gold is this? what Adam dost thou 
 mean! 
 
 Dro. S. Not that Adam, that kept the paradise, 
 but that Adam, that keeps the prison : he that goes 
 in the calf s-skin that was kill d for the prodigal ; 
 he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, 
 and bid you forsake your liberty. 
 
 Ant. S. I understand thee not. 
 
 Dro. S. No ! why, 'tis a plain case : he that went 
 like a base-viol, in a case of leather ; the man, sir, 
 that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, 
 and 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed 
 men, and gives them suits of durance; he that sets 
 up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than 
 a morris-pike. 
 
 Ant. S. What! thou mean'st an officer! 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he, 
 that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his 
 band ; one that thiuks a man always going to bed, 
 and says, God give you good rest.' 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is 
 there any ship puts forth to-night! may we be gone! 
 
 Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour 
 6ince, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night, 
 and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to 
 '.arry for the hoy, Delay : Here are the angels, that 
 you sent for to deliver you. 
 
 Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I; 
 And here we wander in illusions ; 
 Some blessed power deliver us from, hence ! 
 
 Enter a Courtezan. 
 
 Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. 
 I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now; 
 Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day ! 
 
 Ant. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee, tempt me 
 not! 
 
 Dro. S. Master, is this mistress Satan ! 
 
 Ant. S. It is the devil. 
 
 Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's 
 dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light 
 wench ; and thereof comes, that the wenches say, 
 God damn me, that's as much as to say, God make 
 me a light wench. It is written, they appear to 
 men like angels of light: light is an effect of fire, 
 and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn; 
 Come not near her. 
 
 Cour. Your man and you are marvellous merry, 
 sir. 
 Will you go with me ? We'll mend our dinner here. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, 
 Despeak a long spoon. 
 
 Ant S. Why, Dromio! 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, he must have a long spoon, that 
 must eat with the devil. 
 
 Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend ! what tell'st thou me 
 of supping ! 
 Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress: 
 I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone. 
 
 Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had atdinrer, 
 
 Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd ; 
 And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 
 Dro. S. Some devils ask but the paring of one's 
 nail, 
 A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 A nut, a cherry-stone: but she, more covetous, 
 Would have a chain. 
 Master, be wise; and if you give it her, 
 The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it 
 
 Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain 
 I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so. 
 
 Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let 
 us go. 
 
 Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress 
 that you know. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dno. S 
 
 Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad, 
 Else would he never so demean himself: 
 A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, 
 And for the same he promis'd me a chain ! 
 Both one, and other, he denies me now. 
 The reason that I gather he is mad, 
 (Besides this present instance of his rage,) 
 Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner, 
 Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
 Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits, 
 On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
 My way is now, to hie home to his house, 
 And tell his wife, that, being a lunatic, 
 He rush'd into my house, and took perforce 
 My ring away : This course I fittest choose ; 
 For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit- 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 Enter Antipholus o/Ephesus, and an Officer 
 
 Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not break away 
 I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money 
 To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
 My wife is in a wayward mood to-day : 
 And will not lightly trust the messenger, 
 That I should be attach'd in Ephesus : 
 I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. — 
 
 Enter Diiomio of Ephesus, with a rope's end. 
 Here comes my man ; I think, he brings the money 
 How now, sir ! have you that I sent you for ! 
 
 Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pa_ 
 them all. 1 
 
 Ant. E. But where's the money ! 
 
 Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope 
 
 Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope ? 
 
 Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rati;. 
 
 Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home! 
 
 Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir; and to that end 
 am I return'd. 
 
 Ant. E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you 
 [Beating him 
 
 Off. Good sir, be patient. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am in 
 adversity. 
 
 Off. Good now, hold thy tongue. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his 
 hands. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain ! 
 
 Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that 1 
 might not feel your blows. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blowp 
 and so is an ass. 
 
 Dro. E. I am an ass indeed; you may prove i' 
 
 by my long ears. I have served him from the hou. 
 
 of my nativity to tills instant, and have nothing al 
 
 his hands for my service, but blows : when 1 am 
 
 • Correct thom an. 
 
304 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act [V 
 
 cold, he heats me with beating : when I am warm, 
 he cools me with beating : I am waked with it 
 when I sleep; raised with it, when I sit; driven out 
 of doors with it, when I go from home; welcomed 
 •■ ome with it, when I return : nay, I bear it on my 
 shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat; and, I think, 
 when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from 
 door to door. 
 
 "Enter Adf.iana, Luciana, and the Courtezan, 
 with Pinch, and others. 
 
 Ant. E. Come, go along; my wife is coming 
 
 yonder. 
 
 Dro. E. Mistress, respite finem, respect your end ; 
 
 ir rather the prophecy, like the parrot, Beware the 
 
 *ope's end. 
 
 Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk? [Beats him. 
 
 Cour. How say you now? is not your husband 
 
 mad 1 
 Adr. His incivility confirms no less. — 
 Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; 
 Establish him in his true sense, again, 
 \nd I will please you what you will demand. 
 Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks ! 
 Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstasy ! 
 Finch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your 
 
 pulse. 
 Ant. E There is my hand and let it feel your ear. 
 Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this 
 man, 
 T i yield possession to my holy prayers, 
 Afld to thy state of darkness hie thee straight; 
 I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. 
 
 Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ; I am not 
 
 mad. 
 Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul ! 
 Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your cus- 
 tomers ? 
 Did this companion with a saffron face 
 Revel and feast it at my house to-day, 
 Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, 
 And I denied to enter in my house ? 
 
 Adr. O, husband, God doth know, you dined at 
 home. 
 Where 'would you had remain'd until this time, 
 Free from these slanders, and this open shame ! 
 Ant. E. I dined at home ! Thou villain, what 
 
 say'st thou? 
 Dro. E. Si •, sooth to say, you did not dine at 
 
 home. 
 Ant. E. Wer • not my doors lock'd up, and I 
 
 shut out: 
 Dro. E. Perdy," j Mir doors were lock'd, and you 
 
 shut out. 
 Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there ? 
 Dro. E. Sans fable, 3 she herself reviled you there. 
 Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, 
 
 and scorn me ? 
 Dro. E. Certes, 4 she did ; the kitchen-vestal 
 
 scorn 'd you. 
 Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence ? 
 Dro. E. In verity you did; — my bones bear 
 witness, 
 That since have felt the vigor of his rage. 
 Adr. Is'tgood to sooth him in these contraries? 
 Pinch. It is no shame ; the fellow finds his vein, 
 And, yielding to him, humors well his frenzy. 
 Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd the goldsmith to 
 
 arrest me. 
 Adr. Alas, I sent you money to redeem you, 
 By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 
 
 3 A corruption of the .French oath — pardira. 
 * "SirLiut a fable. • Certainly. 
 
 Dro. E. Money hy me? heart and good-will yon 
 might, 
 But, surely, master, not a rag of money. 
 
 Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse ol 
 
 ducats ? 
 Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it. 
 Luc. And I am witness with her, that she did. 
 Dro. E. God and the rope-maker, bear me wit 
 ness, 
 That I was sent for nothing but a rope ! 
 
 Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is pos- 
 .sess'd ; 
 I know it by their pale and deadly looks : 
 They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 
 Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth 
 to-day, 
 And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? 
 
 Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 
 Dro. E. And, gentle master, Ireceiv'd no gold ; 
 But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 
 
 Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in 
 
 both. 
 Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all; 
 And art confederate with a damned pack, 
 To make a loathsome abject scorn of me: 
 But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes, 
 That would behold in me this shameful sport. 
 
 [Pinch and his Assistants bind Ant. E. 
 and Dro. E. 
 Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come 
 
 near me. 
 Pinch. More, company ! — the fiend is strong 
 
 within him. 
 Luc. Ah me, poor man, how pale and wan he 
 
 looks ! 
 Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Thou gaoler, 
 thou, ' 
 I am thy prisoner ; wilt thou suffer them 
 To make a rescue? 
 
 Off. Masters, let him go ; 
 
 He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. 
 Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. 
 Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish 5 officer ' 
 Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
 Do outrage and displeasure to himself? 
 
 Off. He is my prisoner ; if I let him go, 
 The debt he owes, will be required of me. 
 
 Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee: 
 Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, 
 And knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
 Good master doctor, see him safe convey d 
 Home to my house. — O most unhappy day ! 
 Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet! 
 Dro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond for 
 
 you. 
 Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore dost thou 
 
 mad me? 
 Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be mad, 
 Good master; cry, the devil. — 
 
 Luc. God help, poor souls, how i:ily do they 
 
 talk! 
 Adr. Go, bear him hence. — Sister, go you witn 
 me. — 
 [Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, with Ant. E 
 and Dno. E. 
 Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ? 
 
 Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith; Do ycu know 
 
 him? 
 Adr. I know the man: What is the sum he owes? 
 Off. Two hundred ducats. 
 Adr. Say, how grows it due ' 
 
 Off. Due for a chain, your husband had of him. 
 « Foolish. 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 305 
 
 Adr. He did bespeak a chain for me, bui nad it 
 not. 
 
 Cow: When as your husband, all in rage, to-day 
 Oarnfc up kv house, and took away my ring, 
 (The ring I saw upon his finger now,) 
 Straight after, did I meet him with a chain. 
 
 Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it : — 
 Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is, 
 I long to know the truth hereof at large. 
 
 Enter Antipholus of Syracuse, with his rapier 
 drawn, andunomo of Syracuse. 
 
 Luc Gou, K/t chy mercy ! they are loose again. 
 Adr. And come with naked swords ; let's call 
 more help, 
 To have them bound again. 
 
 Off"- Away, they'll kill us. 
 
 [Exeunt Officer, Ann., and Luc. 
 
 Ant . S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords. 
 
 Dro. S. She, that would be your wife, now ran 
 from you. 
 
 Ant.S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stuff T 
 from thence: 
 I long, that we were safe and sound aboard. 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, stay hsre this night, they will 
 surely do us no harm ; you saw, they speak us fair, 
 give us gold; methinks, they are such a gentle 
 nation, that but for the mountain of mad flesh that 
 claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to 
 stay here still, and turn witch. 
 
 Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town : 
 Therefore away, tc get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 Enter Merchant and Angelo. 
 Ang. I am 6orry, sir, that I have hinder'd you ; 
 Hut, I protest, he had the chain of me, 
 Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. 
 
 Mcr. How is the man esteem'd here in the city] 
 Ang. Of very reverend reputation, sir, 
 Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, 
 Second to none that lives here in the city ; 
 His word might bear my wealth at any time. 
 Mcr. Speak softly : yonder, as I think, he walks. 
 Enter Antipholus, and Dromio of Syracuse. 
 Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his neck, 
 Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have. 
 Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. 
 Signior Antipholus, I wonder much 
 That you would put me to this shame and trouble; 
 And not without some scandal to yourself, 
 With circumstance, and oaths, so to deny 
 This chain, which now you wear so openly: 
 Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment, 
 You have done wrong to this my honest friend ; 
 Who, but for staying on our controversy, 
 Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day : 
 This chain you had of me, can you deny it? 
 Ant. S. I think, I had ; I never did deny it. 
 Mer. Yes. that you did, sir ; and forswore it too. 
 Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it ? 
 Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear 
 thee: 
 Fye on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity, that thou liv'st 
 To walk where any honest men resort. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art a villain, to impeach me thus: 
 "Ml prove mine honor, and uaine honesty 
 Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. 
 Mcr. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. 
 
 [They draio. 
 Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtezan, and others. 
 Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake ; he is 
 mr>d ; — 
 Borne get within him, take his sword away : 
 Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 
 Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, take 
 a house. 
 This is some priory; — In, or we are spoil'd. 
 
 [Exeunt Ant. S. and Dno. S. to the Priory. 
 Enter the Aiibess. 
 Abb. Be quiet, people ; Wherefore throng you 
 rthe-' 
 
 • t. Close, grapple with htn. 
 
 Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence: 
 Let us come in, that we may bind him fast, 
 And bear him home for his recovery. 
 
 Ang. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits. 
 
 Mer. I am sorry now, that I did draw on him. 
 
 Abb. How long hath this possession held the maul 
 
 Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, 
 And much, much different from *he man he was, 
 But, till this afternoon, his passion 
 Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. 
 
 Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck at sea? 
 Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his <>.yc 
 Stray'd his affection in unlawful love? 
 A sin, prevailing much in youthful men, 
 Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. 
 Which of these sorrows is he subject to? 
 
 Adr. To none of these, except it be the last • 
 Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home. 
 
 Abb. You should for that have reprehended him 
 
 Adr. Why, so I did. 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not rough enough. 
 
 Adr. As roughly, as my modesty would let me. 
 
 Abb. Haply, in private. 
 
 Adr. And in assemblies too. 
 
 Abb. Ay, but not enough. 
 
 Adr. It was the copy s of our conference : 
 In bed, he slept not for my urging it ; 
 At board, he fed not for my urging it ; 
 Alone, it was the subject of my theme; 
 In company, I often glanced it ; 
 Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. 
 
 Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was mad 
 The venom clamors of a jealous woman 
 Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth. 
 It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing: 
 And thereof comes it that his head is light. 
 Thou say'st his meat was sauced with thy uj< 
 
 braidings : 
 Unquiet meals make ill digestions, 
 Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 
 And what's a fever but a fit of madness? 
 Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy rmvn* 
 Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, 
 But moody and dull melancholy; 
 (Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair;") 
 And. at her heels, a huge infectious trooj 
 Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life ? 
 In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest 
 To be dislurb'd, would mad or man, or beast; 
 The consequence is then, tby jealous fits 
 Have scared thy husband iiom the use of wiU 
 
 1 Baggage. t The them* 
 
Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly, 
 When he dcmean'd himself rough, rude, and 
 
 wildly.- - 
 Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not ? 
 
 Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. — 
 Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. 
 
 Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house. 
 
 Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband 
 forth. 
 
 Abb. Neither; he took this place for sanctuary, 
 And it shall privilege him from your hands, 
 Till I have brought him to his wits again, 
 Or lose my labor in essaying it. 
 
 Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse, 
 Diet his sickness, for it is my office, 
 And will have no attorney but myself; 
 And therefore let me have him home with me. 
 
 Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir, 
 Till I have used the approved means I have, 
 With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers, 
 To make of him a formal man again: 9 
 It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
 A charitable duty of my order; 
 Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. 
 
 Adr. I will not hence, and leave my husband 
 here; 
 And ill it doth beseem your holiness, 
 To separate the husband and the wife. 
 
 Abb. Be quiet, and depart, thou shalt not have 
 him . [Exit A 11 n E s s . 
 
 Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity. 
 
 Adr. Come, go ; I will fall prostrate at his feet, 
 And never rise until my tears and prayers 
 Have won his grace to come in person hither, 
 And take perforce my husband from the abbess. 
 
 Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five: 
 Anon, I am sure, the duke himself in person 
 Comes this way to the melancholy vale; 
 The place of death and sorry 1 execution, 
 Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 
 
 Ang. Upon what cause 1 ? 
 
 Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant, 
 Who put unluckily into this bay 
 Against the laws and statutes of this town, 
 Beheaded publicly for his offence. 
 
 Ang. See, where they come; we will behold his 
 death. 
 
 Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey. 
 
 Enter Duke attended,- j33geon bare-headed; with 
 the Headsman and other Officers. 
 
 Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publicly, 
 [f any friend will pay the sum for him, 
 He shall not die, so much we tender him. 
 
 Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess! 
 
 Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady; 
 [t cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. 
 
 Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my 
 husband, — 
 Whom I made lord of me and all I had, 
 At your important 7 letters, — this ill day 
 A most outrageous fit of madness took him; 
 That desperately he hurried through the street, 
 (With him his bondman, all as mad as he,) 
 Doing displeasure to the citizens 
 By rushing in their houses, bearing thence 
 Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
 Once did I get him bound, and sent him home, 
 Whilst to take order 3 for the wrongs I went, 
 That here and there his fury had committed. 
 Anon, I wot 4 not by what strong escape, 
 
 * «'. e. To bring him back to his senses. » Sad. 
 
 • I mportunate. * i. e. To take measures. * Know. 
 
 He broke from those that had the guard of him ; 
 And, with his mad attendant and himself, 
 Each one with ireful passion, with drawn sworrfu 
 Met us again, and, madly bent on us, 
 Chased us away; till raising of more aid, 
 We came again to bind them : then they fled 
 Into this abbey, whither we pursued them; 
 And here the abbess shuts the gates on us, 
 And will not suffer us to fetch him out, 
 Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence; 
 Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command. 
 Let him be brought forth, and borno hence for help. 
 Duke. Long since, thy husband serv'd mo in 
 my wars ; 
 And I to thee engaged a prince's word, 
 When" thou didst make him master of thy bed, 
 To do him all the grace and good I could. — 
 Go some of you, knock at the abbey-gate, 
 And bid the lady abbess come to me; 
 I will determine this before I stir. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself ! 
 My master and his man are both broke loose, 
 Beaten the maids a-row, 5 and bound the doctor, 
 Whose beard they have singed off with brand.! of fire 
 And ever as it blazed, they threw on him 
 Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair: 
 My master preaches patience to him, while 
 His man with scissors nicks him like a fool : 
 And, sure, unless you send some present help, 
 Between them they will kill the conjurer. 
 
 Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here; 
 And that is false thou dost report to us. 
 
 Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true ; 
 I have not breath'd almost since I did see it. 
 He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, 
 To scorch your face, and to disfigure you. 
 
 [Cry vnthin. 
 Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress; fly, be gone. 
 
 Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing: Guaro 
 with halberts. 
 
 Adr. Ah me, it is my husband ! Witness you, 
 That he is borne about invisible: 
 Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here ; 
 And now he's there, past thought of human reason. 
 
 'Enter Antipholus and Dnosno of Ephesus. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grar,t 
 me justice ! 
 Even for the service that long since I did thee, 
 When I bestrid thee, in the wars, and took 
 Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the blood 
 That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 
 
 JEge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, 
 I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that wo 
 man there. 
 She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ; 
 That hath abused and dishonor'd me 
 Even in the strength and height of injury ! 
 Beyond imagination is the wrong, 
 That she this day hath shameless thrown on mc 
 
 Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just 
 
 Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors 
 upon me. 
 While she with harlots 6 feasted in my house. 
 
 Duke. A grievous fault: Say, woman, didst thou so' 
 
 Adr. No, my good lord : — myself, he, and my 
 sister, 
 
 s i. e. Successively, one after another. 
 6 Harlot was a term of reproach appliod to cheats tmon>| 
 men, as well as to wantons among w -two. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 3tfl 
 
 To-day did dine together : so befall my soul, 
 \s this is false, he burdens me withal ! 
 
 Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night, 
 But she tells to your highness simple truth ! 
 
 Ang. O peijured woman! They are both forsworn. 
 In this th«; madman justly chargeth them. 
 
 Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say ; 
 Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine, 
 Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, 
 Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
 This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : 
 Tnai goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, 
 Could witness it; for he was with me then; 
 Who parted with me to go fetch a chain. 
 Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, 
 Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
 Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
 I went to seek him : in the street I met him ; 
 And in his company, that gentleman ; 
 There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, 
 That I this day of him receiv'd the chain, 
 Which, God he knows, I saw not : for the which, 
 He did arrest me with an officer. 
 1 did obey ; and sent my peasant home 
 For certain ducats : he with none return'd. 
 Then fairly I bespoke the officer, 
 To go in person with me to my house. 
 By the way we met 
 My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
 Of vile confederates: along with them 
 They brought one Pinch; a hungry, lean-faced 
 
 villain, 
 A mere anatomy, a mountebank, 
 A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller; 
 A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, 
 A living dead man: this pernicious slave, 
 Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer; 
 And gazing in my eyes, feeling my pulse, 
 And with no face, as 'twere, out-facing me, 
 Cries out, I was possess'd : then altogether 
 They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence ; 
 And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
 There left me and my man, both bound together; 
 Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
 I gain'd my freedom, and immediately 
 Ran hither to your grace ; whom I beseech 
 To give me ample satisfaction 
 For these deep shames and great indignities. 
 
 Ang. My lord, in truth, thus far, I witness with him; 
 That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out. 
 
 Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or, no? 
 
 Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran in here, 
 These people saw the chain about his neck. 
 
 Mer. Besides I will be sworn, these ears of mine 
 Heard you confess you had the chain of him, 
 After you first forswore it on the mart. 
 And, thereupon, 1 drew my sword on you ; 
 And then you fled into this abbey here, 
 From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 
 
 Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls, 
 Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me: 
 I never saw the chain, so help me heaven! 
 And this is false you burden me withal. 
 
 Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this ? 
 I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup. 
 *f here you hous'd him, here he would have been; 
 If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : — 
 You say he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
 Denies that saying: — Sirrah, what say you? 
 
 Dro. E. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por- 
 cupine. 
 
 four. He did ; and from ray finger snatch'd that 
 ring. 
 
 Ant. E. 'Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her. 
 
 Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here ? 
 
 Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is strange : — Go call the abbess 
 hither ; 
 I think you are all mated, or stark maa. 
 
 [Exit an Attendant 
 
 Mge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a 
 word; 
 Haply I see a friend will save my life, 
 And pay the sum that may deliver me. 
 
 Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt. 
 
 Mge. Is not your name, sir, called Antipholus ? 
 And is not that your bondman Dromio ? 
 
 Dro. E. Within this hour I was his bondman, sir, 
 But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords: 
 Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. 
 
 Mge. I am sure, you both of you remember me 
 
 Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you 
 For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
 You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir? 
 
 Mge. Why look you strange on me ? you know 
 me well. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now. 
 
 Mge. Oh ! grief hath changed me since you saw 
 me last; 
 And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand 
 Have written strange defeatures 1 in my face: 
 But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? 
 
 Ant.E. Neither. 
 
 Mge. Dromio, nor thou? 
 
 Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 
 
 Mge. I am sure thou dost. 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure I do not; and 
 whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to 
 believe him. 
 
 Mge. Not know my voice! O, time's extremity ! 
 Hast thou so crack'd and splitted my poor tongue. 
 In seven short years, that here my only son 
 Knows not my feeble key of untuned cares ? 
 Though now this grained 8 face of mine be hid 
 In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, 
 And all the conduits of my blood froze up; 
 Yet hath my night of life some memory. 
 My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left, 
 My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
 All these old witnesses (I cannot err) 
 Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. 
 
 Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life. 
 
 Mge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, 
 Thou know'st we parted: but, perhaps, my son. 
 Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery. 
 
 Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the 
 city, 
 Can witness with me that it is not so ; 
 I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 
 
 Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years 
 Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
 During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa ■ 
 I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. 
 
 Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan. 
 and Dhomio Syracusan. f 
 
 Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
 
 wrong'd. [All gather to see him 
 
 Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive 
 
 me. 
 Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other 
 And so of these: Which is the natural man, 
 And which the spirit ? Who deciphers them ? 
 Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio; command him away 
 Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio; pray let me stay 
 * Alteration of features. » Furrowed, lined 
 
308 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Act T 
 
 Ant. S. JSgeon, art thou not? or else his ghost? 
 
 Dro. S. O, my old master, who hath bound him 
 here? 
 
 Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, 
 And gain a husband by his liberty : — 
 Speak, old JSgeon, if thou be'st the man 
 That hadst a wife once called ^Emilia, 
 That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : 
 
 0, if thou be'st the same JEgeon, speak, 
 And speak unto the same ^Emilia! 
 
 Mge. If I dream not, thou art ^Emilia; 
 If thou art she, tell me where is that son 
 That floated with thee on the fatal raft ? 
 
 Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he and I, 
 And the twin Dromio, all were taken up; 
 But, by and by. rude fishermen of Corinth 
 By force took Dromio and my son from them, 
 And me they left with those of Epidamnum: 
 What then became of them I cannot tell ; 
 
 1, to this fortune that you see me in. 
 
 Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right ; 9 
 These two Antipholus's, these two so like, 
 And these two Dromios, one in 6emblance, — 
 Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, — 
 These are the parents to these children, 
 Which accidentally are met together. 
 Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first. 
 
 Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse. 
 
 Duke. Slay, stand apart ; I know not which is 
 which. 
 
 Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious 
 loid. 
 
 Dro. E. And I with him. 
 
 Ant. E. Brought to this town with that most 
 famous warrior 
 Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. 
 
 Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to- 
 day? 
 
 Ant. S. I, gentle mistress. 
 
 Adr. And are not you my husband ? 
 
 Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. 
 
 Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so ; 
 And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 
 Did call me brother: — What I told you then, 
 I hope, I shall have leisure to make good; 
 [f this be not a dream, I see, and hear. 
 
 Aug. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. 
 
 Ant. S. I think it be, sir; I deny it not. 
 
 Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain, arrested me. 
 
 Ang. I think I did, sir ; I deny it not. 
 
 Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, 
 By Dromio ; but I tkink he brought it not. 
 
 Dro. E. No, none by me. 
 
 > The morning story is what .aSgeon tells the Duke in 
 h» first scene of this play. 
 
 Ant . S. This purse of ducats I received from you, 
 And Dromio my man did bring them me: 
 I see, we still did meet each other's man, 
 And I was ta'en for him, and he for me, 
 And thereupon these Errors are arose. 
 
 Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 
 Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life. 
 Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you. 
 Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my 
 
 good cheer. 
 Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pain* 
 To go with us into the abbey here. 
 And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : — 
 And all that are assembled in this place, 
 That by this sympathized one day's error 
 Have suffer'd wrong, go, keep us company, 
 And we shall make full satisfaction. — 
 Twenty-five years have I but gone in ti vail 
 i t you, my sons ; nor, till this present hour, 
 My heavy burdens are delivered: — 
 The duke, my husband, and my children both, 
 And you the calendars of their nativity, 
 Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me ; 
 After so long grief, such nativity. 
 
 Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast 
 
 [Exeunt Duke, Abbess, ^Egeon, Courtezan, 
 
 Merchant, Angelo, and Attendants. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff from 
 
 ship-board ? 
 Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou 
 
 embark'd ? 
 Dro. S. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the 
 
 Centaur. 
 Ant. S. He speaks to me; I am your master 
 Dromio : 
 Come, go with us : we'll look to that anon : 
 Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. 
 
 [Exeunt Antipholus S. and E., Aim. : 
 and Luc. 
 Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's 
 house, 
 That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner ; 
 She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not mj 
 brother : 
 I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth. 
 Will you walk in to see their gossiping? 
 Dro. S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. 
 Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try it"! 
 Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior : till 
 then, lead thou first. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, then thus : 
 We came into the world, like brother and brother: 
 And now let's go hand in hand, not one befon 
 another. \Exeunt 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Dcncait, King of Scotland. 
 Malcolm. ) Ms Som . 
 
 DONALBAIN, ^ 
 
 BANauo H ' l Generals °f ihe Kin S ,s Arm V- 
 
 Macduff, 
 
 Lenox, 
 
 Rosse, 
 
 Menteth, 
 
 Angus, 
 
 Cathness, 
 
 Fleance, Son to Banquo. 
 
 Siwari), Earl of Northumberland, General of the 
 
 English Forces. 
 SCENE, in the End of the Fourth Act, lies in 
 
 and, chiefly, at 
 
 > Noblemen of Scotland. 
 
 Young Si ward, his Son. 
 
 Setton, an Officer attending on Macbeth. 
 
 Son to Macduff. 
 
 An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor. 
 
 A Soldier. A Porter. An old Man. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Ladt Macduff. 
 
 Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Hecate, and three Witches. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murder ft $ 
 
 Attendants, and Messengers. 
 The Ghost of Banquo, and several other Appari- 
 tions. 
 England; through the rest of the Play, in Scotland; 
 Macbeth's Castle. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I.— An open Place. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again 
 In thunder, lightning, or in rain 7 
 
 2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's ' done, 
 When the battle's lost and won. 
 
 3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 
 
 1 Witch. Where the place 1 
 
 2 Witch. Upon the heath : 
 
 3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
 1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! 
 
 All. Paddock calls : — Anon. — 
 Fair is foul, and foul is fair: 
 Hover through the fog and filthy air. 
 
 [Witches vanish. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Camp near Forres. 
 
 Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, 
 
 Donalbain, Lenox, with Attendants, meeting 
 
 a bleeding Soldier. 
 
 Dun. What bloody man is that ? He can report, 
 As scemeth by his plight, of the revolt 
 The newest state. 
 
 Mai. This is the sergeant, 
 
 Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
 'Gainst my captivity : — Hail, brave friend ! 
 Say to the king the knowledge of the broil, 
 As thou didst leave it. 
 
 Sold. Doubtfully it stood ; 
 
 As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, 
 And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwaid 
 (Worthy to be a rebel ; for, to that, 
 The multiplying villanies of nature 
 
 » Tumult. 
 T3091 
 
 Do swarm upon him) from the western isles 
 Of Kernes and Gallovvglasses was supplied ;'• 
 And fortune on his damned quarrel smiling, 
 Show'd like a rebel's whore: But all's too weak: 
 For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,) 
 Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
 Which smok'd with bloody execution, 
 Like valor's minion, 
 
 Carv'd out his passage, till he faced the slave, 
 And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him. 
 Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps. 
 And fix'd his head upon our battlements. 
 
 Dun. O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman ! 
 
 Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflection. 
 Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, 
 So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, 
 Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark : 
 No sooner justice had, with valor arm'd, 
 Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels. 
 But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage, 
 With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men. 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 
 Dun. Dismay'd not this 
 
 Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo 7 
 
 Sold. Yes; 
 
 As sparrows, eagles; or the hare, the lion 
 If I say sooth, 3 I must report they were 
 As cannons overcharged with double cracks , 
 So they 
 
 Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe: 
 Except they meant to bathe in reekmg wounds, 
 Or memorize another Golgotha, 
 
 I cannot tell: 
 
 But I am faint, my gasnes cry ior help, 
 a i. e . Supplied with light and heavy armed troop* 
 
 = r :-uth. 
 
no 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy 
 wounds ; 
 They smack of honor both: — Go, get him sur- 
 geons. [Exit Soldier, attended. 
 Enter Rosse. 
 Who comes here? 
 
 Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. 
 
 Len. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So 
 should he look, 
 That seems to speak things strange. 
 
 Rosse. God save the king ; 
 
 Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane? 
 
 Rosse. From Fife, great king, 
 Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, 
 And fan our people cold. 
 Norway himself, with terrible numbers, 
 Assisted by that most disloyal traitor 
 The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict: 
 Till that Bellona's bridegroom,* lapp'd in proof, 5 
 Confronted him with self-comparisons, 
 Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, 
 Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude, 
 The victory fell on us; 
 
 Dun. Great happiness! 
 
 Rosse. That now 
 Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ; 
 Nor would we deign him burial of his men, 
 Till he disbursed, at St. Colmes' inch, 
 Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 
 
 Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
 Our bosom interest : — Go, pronounce his death, 
 And with his former title greet Macbeth. 
 
 Rosse. I'll see it done. 
 
 Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath 
 won. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Heath. 
 Thunder. Enter the three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister? 
 
 2 Witch. Killing swine\ 
 
 3 Witch. Sister, where thou? 
 
 1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chestnuts in her lap, 
 And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mounch'd : — ■ 
 
 Give me, quoth I: 
 Aroint thee,* witch.' the rump-fed ronyon 1 cries. 
 Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger : 
 But in a sieve I'll thither sail, 
 And, like a rat without a tail, 
 r'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 
 
 2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 
 1 Witch. Thou art kind. 
 
 3 Witch. And I another. 
 
 1 Witch. I myself have all the other; 
 And the very ports they blow, 
 
 All the quarters that they know 
 I' the shipman's card. 3 
 I will drain him dry as hay: 
 Sleep shall, neither night nor day. 
 Hang upon his pent-house lid: 
 He shall live a man forbid: 9 
 Weary seven-nights, nine times nine. 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: 
 Though his bark cannot be lost, 
 Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
 Look what I have. 
 
 2 Witch. Show me, show me. 
 
 1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb, 
 Wreck'd, as homeward he did come. 
 
 [Drum within. 
 
 * Sshakspeare means Mars. » Defended by armor of proof. 
 
 * A vaunt, begone. ' A scurry woman fed on offals. 
 
 * Compass « Accursed. 
 
 3 Witch. A drum, a drum; 
 Macbeth doth come. 
 
 All. The weird sisters, 1 hand in hand, 
 Posters of the sea and land, 
 Thus do g<* about, about; 
 Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, 
 And thrice again, to make up nine. 
 Peace ! — the charm's wound up. 
 
 Enter Macbeth and Banq.uo. 
 
 Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 
 
 Ban. How far is't call'd to Forres ? — What art 
 these, 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ; 
 That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, 
 And yet are on't? Live you ? or are you aught 
 That man may question? You seem to understand 
 
 me, 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women, 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you are so. 
 
 Macb. Speak, if you can : — What are you ? 
 
 1 Witch. All hail, Tvlacbeth ! hail to thee, thane 
 
 of Glamis ! 
 
 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane 
 
 of Cawdor! 
 
 3 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be king 
 
 hereafter. 
 Ban. Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear 
 Things that do sound so fair ? — I'the name of truth, 
 Are ye fantastical, 11 or that indeed 
 Which outwardly ye show ? My noble partner 
 You greet with present grace, and great prediction 
 Of noble having, 3 and of royal hope, 
 That he seems rapt 1 withal ; to me you speak not: 
 If you can look into the seeds of time, 
 And say, which grain will grow, and which will not ; 
 Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear, 
 Your favors, nor your hate. 
 
 1 Witch. Hail! 
 
 2 Witch. Hail! 
 
 3 Witch. Hail ! 
 
 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 2 Witch. Not so happy, yet much happier. 
 
 3 Witch. Thou shalt get kings, though thou be 
 
 none : 
 So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo ! 
 
 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail ! 
 
 Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more : 
 By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glnmis: 
 But how of Cawdor? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
 A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be king, 
 Stands not within the prospect of belief, 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 
 You owe this strange intelligence ? or why 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greeting ?— Speak, I charge 
 you. [Witches! vanish. 
 
 Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has, 
 And these are of them : — Whither are they vanish'd? 
 
 Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal, 
 melted 
 As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid! 
 
 Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak 
 about? 
 Or have we eaten of the insane root. 
 That takes the reason prisoner? 
 
 Macb. Your children shall be kings. 
 
 Ban. You shall be king. 
 
 Macb. And thane of Cawdor too ; went it not so ? 
 
 * Prophetic sisters. 
 8 Estate. 
 
 » Supernatural, spiritual 
 * Abstracted 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 6). 
 
 Ban. To the self-same tune and words. Who's 
 here . 
 
 Enter Rosse and Angus. 
 
 Rosse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, 
 The news of thy success : and when he reads 
 Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
 His wonders and his praises do contend, 
 Whicn should be thine, or his: Silenced with that. 
 In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day, 
 He finds tVe in the stout Norvveyan ranks, 
 Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make. 
 Strange images of death. As thick as tale, 5 
 Came post with post; and every one did bear 
 Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, 
 And pour'd them down before him. 
 
 Aug. We are sent, 
 
 To give thee, from our royal master, thanks; 
 To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. 
 
 Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honor, 
 He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor: 
 In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
 For it is thine. 
 
 Ban. What, can the devil speak true 1 
 
 Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives : Why do you 
 dress me 
 [n borrow'd robes'! 
 
 Aug. Who was the thane, lives yet; 
 
 But under heavy judgment bears that life 
 Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 
 Combined with Norway ; or did line the rebel 
 With hidden help and vantage; or that with both 
 He Iabor'd in his country's wreck, I know not ; 
 But treasons capital, confess'd and prov'd, 
 Have overthrown him. 
 
 Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor : 
 
 The. greatest is behind. — Thanks for your pains. — 
 Do you not hope your children shall be kings, 
 When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, 
 Promis'd no less to them 1 ? 
 
 Ban. That, trusted home, 
 
 Might yet enkindle you unto the crown, 
 Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange: 
 And oftentimes to win us to our harm, 
 The instruments of darkness tell us truths; 
 Win us with honest trifles, to betray us 
 [n deepest consequence. — 
 Cousins, a word, I pray you. 
 
 Macb. Two truths are told, 
 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen. — 
 This supernatural soliciting 5 
 Cannot be ill; cannot be good: — If ill, 
 Why hath it given me earnest of success, 
 Commencing in a truth! I am thane of Cawdor: 
 If good, why do I yield to that suggestion 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs 
 Against the use of nature ! Present fears 
 Are less than horrible imaginings: 
 My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, 
 Shakes so my single state of man, that function 
 Is smother'd in surmise : and nothing is, 
 But what is not. 
 
 Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. 
 
 Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance 
 may crown me, 
 Without my stir. 
 
 Ban. New honors come upon him 
 
 Like our strange garments, cleave 1 not to their 
 
 mould, 
 But with the aid of use. 
 
 » M fast as they could bo counted. 
 
 » Inciteraent * i. t. Which cleave not. 
 
 Macb. Come what come may ; 
 
 Time and the hour 8 runs through the roughest day. 
 
 Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. 
 
 Macb. Give me your favor: 9 — my dull brain was 
 wrought 
 With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pain* 
 Are register'd where every day I turn 
 The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. — 
 Think upon what hath chanced : and, at more time, 
 The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
 Our free hearts each to other. 
 
 Ban. Very gladly. 
 
 Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV. — Forres. A Room in the Falace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbaik 
 
 Lenox, and Attendants. 
 
 Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor! Are no. 
 Those in commission yet return'd ! 
 
 Mai. My liege, 
 
 They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
 With one that saw him die : who did report, 
 That very frankly he confess'd his treasons ; 
 Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set forth 
 A deep repentance: nothing in his life 
 Became him, like the leaving it; he died 
 As one that had been studied in his death, 
 To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, 1 
 As 'twere a careless trifle. 
 
 Dun. There's no art, 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the face: 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built 
 An absolute trust. — worthiest cousin ! 
 Enter Macbeth, Banq.uo, Rosse, and Angus. 
 The sin of my ingratitude even now 
 Was heavy on me ; Thou art so far before, 
 That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
 To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd 
 That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
 Might have been mine ! only I have left to say, 
 More is thy due than more than all can pay. 
 
 Macb. The service and the loyalty I owe, 
 In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part 
 Is to receive our duties : and our duties 
 Are to your throne and state, children, and servants; 
 Which do but what theyshould, by doing every thing 
 Safe toward your love and honor. 
 
 Dun. Welcome hither 
 
 I have begun to plant thee, and will labor 
 To make thee full of growing. — Noble Banquo, 
 That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known 
 No less to have done so, let me infold thee, 
 And hold thee to my heart. 
 
 Ban. There if I grow, 
 
 The harvest is your own. 
 
 Dun. My plenteous joys, 
 
 Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
 In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
 And you whose places are the nearest, know, 
 We will establish our estate upon 
 Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter, 
 The prince of Cumberland : which honor must 
 Not, unaccompanied, invest him only, 
 But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine 
 On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness, 
 And bind us further to you. 
 
 Macb. The rest is labor, which is not used for yon 
 I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
 The hearing of my wife with your approach ; 
 So, humbly take my leave. 
 
 6 Time ami opportunity. Pardon. 
 
 1 Owned, possessed. 
 
312 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 r htn. My worthy Cawdor! 
 
 Macb. The prince of Cumberland ! — That is a 
 step, [Aside. 
 
 On which I must fall down, or else o'er-Ieap, 
 For ,U my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ! 
 Let not light sec my b'ack and deep desires: 
 The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be, 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to sec. [Exit. 
 
 Dun. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so valiant ; 3 
 And in his commendations I am fed; 
 It is a banquet to me. Let us after him, 
 Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
 Ii is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Inverness. A Room in Macbeth's 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
 
 Lady M. They met me in the day of success,- and 
 I have learned hi, the perfectest report, tiny have 
 more in them than mortal knowledge. When I 
 burned in desire to question them further, they 
 made themselves — air, into which they vanished. 
 Whiles I stood rapt in the wonder of it, came 
 missiveA 3 from the king, who all hailed r/se, Thane 
 of Cawdor; by which title, before, these weird sis- 
 ters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on 
 of time, with, Hail, king that shalt be! This have 
 1 thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner 
 of greatness,- Hint thou mightest not lose the dues 
 of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness 
 is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell. 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be 
 What thou art promis'd : — Yet do I fear thy nature ; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, 
 To catch the nearest way : Thou wouldst be great; 
 Art not without ambition; but without 
 The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst 
 
 highly, 
 That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false, 
 And yet wouldst wrongly win ; thou'dst have, great 
 
 Glamis, 
 That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it; 
 And that which rather thou dost for to do, 
 Than wished should be undone. Hie thee hither, 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear; 
 And chastise with the valor of my tongue 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round, 1 
 Which fate and metaphysical ' aid doth seem 
 To have thee crown'd withal. — What is your tidings'! 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Attend. The king comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it : 
 
 Is not thy master with him ? who, wcre't so. 
 Would have inform'd for preparation. 
 
 Attend. So please you, it is true; our thane is 
 coming: 
 One of my fellows nad the speed of him ; 
 Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message. 
 
 Lady M. Give him tending, 
 
 He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse, 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 '."nder my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
 That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here; 
 Vinl till me, from the crown to the toe, top-full 
 Ol' direst cruelty ! make thick my blood, 
 8top up the access and passage to remorse; 1 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 
 ••» FuU as valiant as describe!. 
 
 4 Diadem. 
 
 • Deadly, murderous. 
 
 3 Messenger*. 
 i Supernatural. 
 ' Pity. 
 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 The effect, and it! Come to my woman's breasts, 
 And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 You wait on nature's mischief: Come, thick night. 
 And pall*'thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes; 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, 
 
 To cry, Hold, hold.' Great Glamis ! worthy 
 
 Cawdor ! 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 This ignorant present, and I feel now 
 The future in the instant. 
 
 Macb. My dearest love, 
 
 Duncan comes here to night. 
 
 Lady M. And when goes hence ! 
 
 Macb. To-morrow, — as he purposes. 
 
 Lady M. 0, nevei 
 
 Shall sun that morrow see ! 
 Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men 
 May read strange matters: — To beguile the tim\; 
 Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, 
 Your hand, your tongue: look like the innoccn\ 
 
 flower, 
 But be the serpent under it. He that's coming 
 Must be provided for: and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my despatch ; 
 Which shall to all our nights and days to come 
 Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom. 
 
 Macb. Wc will speak further. 
 
 Lady M. On'y look up clear, 
 
 To alter favor 1 ever is to fear: 
 I. eave all the rest to me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Before the Castle. 
 
 Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending. 
 Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbaix, Ba.vciuo, 
 L B v<> x , M a c ii iff, Rosse. A >-r;r s, and Attendants. 
 
 Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air 
 Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
 Unto our gentle senses. 
 
 Ban. This guest of summer, 
 
 The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
 By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath 
 Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress, 
 Nor coigne of vantage,' but this bird hath made 
 His pendent bed, and procreant cradle : Where they 
 Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd the air 
 Is delicate. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Dun. Sec, see! our honor'd hostess! 
 
 The love that follows us, sometime is our trouble, 
 Which still wc thank as love. Herein I teach you, 
 How you shall bid God yield 2 us for your pains, 
 And thank us for your trouble. 
 
 Lady M. All our service 
 
 In every point twice done, and then done double, 
 Were poor and single business, to contend 
 Against those honors deep and broad, wherewith 
 Your majesty loads our house: For those of old, 
 And the late dignities heap'd up to them, 
 Wc rest your hermits. 
 
 Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor' 
 
 Wc cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
 To be his purveyor: hut he rides well ; 
 And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp hirn 
 To his home before us: Fair and noble hostess, 
 We are your guest to-night. 
 
 8 'Wrap as In a mantle. 
 • Convenient corner. 
 
 9 Look, co-antenaaoe 
 » Reward 
 
Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 313 
 
 Lady M Your servants ever 
 
 Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, 3 
 To make their audit at your highness' pleasure, 
 Still to return vour own. 
 
 Dun. Give me your hand. 
 
 Conduct me to mine host; we love him highly, 
 And shall continue our graces towards him. 
 By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— A Room in the Castle. 
 Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the 
 stage, a Sewer, 4 and divers Servants with dishes 
 ani service. Then enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 
 'twere well 
 It were done quickly : If the assassination 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
 With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
 But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
 We'd jump the life to come. — But, in these cases, 
 We still have judgment here; that we but teach 
 Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
 To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 To our own lips. He's here in double trust: 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 
 Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
 Who should against his murderer shut the door, 
 Not oear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 
 The deep damnation of his taking oil": 
 And pity, like a naked new-born babe, 
 Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
 Upon the sightless couriers s of the air, 
 Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, 
 That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 Vaulting ambition, which o'er-Ieaps itself, 
 And falls on the other. — How now, what news ? 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. He has almost supp'd : Why have you 
 left the chamber ? 
 
 Macb. Hath he ask'd for me? 
 
 Lady M. Know you not, he has ? 
 
 Macb. We will proceed no further in this business : 
 He hath honor'd me of late ; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
 Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon. 
 
 Lady M. Was the hope drunk, 
 
 Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since? 
 
 And wakes it now, to look so green and pale 
 At what it did so freely? From this time. 
 Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
 To be the same in thine own act and valor, 
 As thou art in desire ? Wouldst thou have that 
 Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
 And live a cowa.d in thine own esteem; 
 Letting I dare not wait upon I would, 
 Like the poor cat i' the adage ? 
 
 Macb. Pr'y thee, peace : 
 
 I dare do all that may become a man ; 
 Who dares do more, is none. 
 
 Lady M. What beast was it then 
 
 That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
 When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
 And, to be more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place, 
 Did then adhere, 6 and yet you would make both: 
 They have made themselves, and that their fitness 
 
 now / 
 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know^"V 
 How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me : V 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face, * > 
 
 Have pluck'd my nipple from its boneless gums, 
 And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn, as you '-Jy 
 
 Have done to this. 
 
 Macb. . If we should fail, 
 
 Lady M. We fail ! 
 
 But screw your courage to the sticking place, 
 And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
 (Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
 Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains 
 Will I with wine and wasscl ' so convince, 8 
 That memory, the warder 5 of the brain, 
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbeck only: When in swinish sleep 
 Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, 
 What cannot you and I perform upon 
 The unguarded Duncan? what not put upon 
 His spongy officers; who shall bear the guilt 
 Of our great quell?' 
 
 Macb. Bring forth men-children only! 
 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males. Will it not be received,' 
 When wc have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
 Of his own chamber, and used their very daggers, 
 That they have done't ? 
 
 Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 
 
 As we shall make our griefs and clamor roar 
 Upon his death ? . 
 
 Macb. I am settled, and bend up 
 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
 Away, and mock the time with fairest show: 
 False face must hide what the false heart doth know 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 
 SCENE I. — Court within Macbeth's Castle. 
 
 Enter BAjfQ.ro and Flvavck, and a Servant uu'/A 
 a torch before them. 
 
 Ban. How goes the night, boy ? 
 
 Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the 
 
 clock. 
 Ban. And she goes down at twelve. 
 Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir. 
 
 • Subject to accompt. 
 
 • An officer eo calk'ii from his placing the dishes on the 
 table. 
 
 • Winds ; sightless is invisible. 
 
 Ban. Hold, take my sword: — There's husbandry 
 in heaven, 
 Their candles arc all out. — Take thee that too. 
 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
 And yet I would not sleep: Merciful powers! 
 Iiestrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature 
 Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword : - 
 
 Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch. 
 Who's there? 
 Macb. A friend. 
 
 " In the same sense as cohere. 
 
 » Overpower. 
 
 • M urUer. a Supposed. 
 
 w 
 
 * Intempiran?* 
 » Sentinel 
 •Thrift. 
 
314 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act li 
 
 Ban. What, si?, not yet at rest? The kii g's a-bed: 
 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
 Sent forth great largess 1 to your offices : i 
 This diamond he greets your wife withal, 
 By the name of most kind hostess; and shut up 6 
 In measureless content. 
 
 Macb. Being unprepared, 
 
 Jur will became the servant to defect ; 
 Which else should free have wrought. 
 
 Ban. All's well. 
 
 I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: 
 To you they have show'd some truth. 
 
 Macb. I think not of them : 
 
 Yet when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
 Would spend it in some words upon that business, 
 If you would grant the time. 
 
 Ban. At your kind'st leisure. 
 
 Macb. If you shall cleave to my consent, — when 
 'tis, 
 It shall make honor tor you. 
 
 Ban. So I lose none, 
 
 In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
 My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
 I shall be counsell'd. 
 
 Macb. Good repose, the while. 
 
 Ban. Thanks, sir; The like to you. 
 
 [Exit Banq.uo and Fleanxe. 
 
 Macb. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is 
 ready, 
 She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
 The handle toward my hand 1 Come, let me clutch 
 
 thee : — 
 I have thee not, and yet I set thee still 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 
 A dagger of the mind ; a false creation, 
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain] 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 As this which now I draw. 
 Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; 
 And such an instrument I was to use. 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, 
 Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ; 
 And on thy blade, and dudgeon, 1 gouts 8 of blood, 
 Which was not so before. — There's no such thing: 
 It is the bloody business, which informs 
 Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 
 Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, 
 Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
 Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
 With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
 
 Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set 
 
 earth, 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, i'.ir fear 
 Thy very stones prate of my where-about, 
 And take the present horror from the time, 
 Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives; 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 
 
 [A bell rings. 
 I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
 Hear it not, Duncan; for it is a knell 
 That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, 
 
 hath made me bold : 
 
 • Bounty. 
 « Conclude. 
 
 » The rooms appropriated to servants. 
 1 Haft, handle. • Drops. 
 
 What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire — 
 
 Hark ! — Peace ! 
 It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 
 Which gives the stern'st good-night. He is about it: 
 The doors are open; and the surfeited grooms 
 Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugg'u 
 
 their possets, 
 That death and nature do contend about them, 
 Whether they live or die. 
 
 Macb. [Within.'] Who's there? — what, ho! 
 
 Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awaked. 
 And 'tis not done : — the attempt, and not the deed, 
 Confounds us : — Hark ! — I laid their daggers 
 
 ready, 
 He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept, I had done't. — My husband? 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. I have done the deed: — Didst thou not 
 hear a noise ? 
 
 Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the crick- 
 ets cry. 
 Did not you speak? 
 
 Macb. When? 
 
 Lady M. Now. 
 
 Macb. As I descended 1 
 
 Lady M. Ay. 
 
 Macb. Hark!— 
 Who lies i'the second chamber ? 
 
 Lady M. Donalbain. 
 
 Macb. This is a sorry sight. 
 
 [Looking on his hands 
 
 Lady M. A foolish thought; to say a sorry sight 
 
 Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and 
 one cried, murder! 
 That they did wake each other; I stood and heard 
 
 them . 
 But they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
 Again to sleep. 
 
 Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 
 
 Macb. One cried, God bless us/ and Amen, the 
 other ; 
 As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands 
 Listening their fear. I could not say amen, 
 When they did say, God bless us. 
 
 Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, 
 amen ? 
 I had most need of blessing, and amen 
 Stuck in my throat. 
 
 Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 
 After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
 
 Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleep no 
 more.' 
 Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep; 
 Sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave" of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labor's bulk, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast; — 
 
 Lady M. What do you mean ? 
 
 Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more! to all the house: 
 Glamishath murder' d sleep,- and therefore Cawdor 
 Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no mc~<>. ' 
 
 Lady M. Who was it that thus cried? Why, 
 worthy thane, 
 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 So brainsickly of things : — Go, get some water, 
 And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the place 1 
 They must lie there; Go, carry them; and smear 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 
 Macb. I'll go no more- 
 
 » Sleave is unwrought silk. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 MACBETH 
 
 315 
 
 I am afraid to think what I have done; 
 Look on't again, I dare not. 
 
 Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 
 
 Give me the daggers: The sleeping and the dead 
 Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood, 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
 For it must seem their guilt. 
 
 [Exit. Knocking within. 
 Macb. Whence is that knocking? 
 
 How is't with me, when every noise appals me ? 
 What hands are here"! Ha! they pluck out mine 
 
 eyes! 
 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my hand] No: this my hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine,' 
 Making the green — one red. 
 
 Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 
 Lady M. My hands are of your color; but I 
 
 shame 
 To wear a heart so white. [Knocking!] I hear a 
 
 knocking 
 At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber : 
 A little water clears us of this deed : 
 How easy is it, then ! Your constancy 
 Hath left you unattended. — [Knocking!] Hark ! 
 
 more knocking: 
 Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, 
 And show us to be watchers : — Be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 Macb. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know 
 
 myself. [Knocking. 
 
 Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would thou 
 
 couldst ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. 
 Enter a Porter. [Knocking within. 
 
 Porter. Here's a knocking, indeed! If a man 
 were porter of hell-gate, he should have old 2 turn- 
 ing the key. [Knocking.'] Knock, knock, knock: 
 Who's there? i'the name of Belzebub? Here's a 
 farmer, that hanged himself on the expectation of 
 plenty : Come in time ; have napkins 3 enough about 
 you ; here you'll sweat for't. [Knocking!] Knock, 
 knock: Who's there, i'the other devil's name? — 
 'Faith, here's an equivocator, that could swear in 
 both the scales against either scale; who committed 
 treason enough for God's sake, yet could not equi- 
 vocate to Heaven : 0, come in, equivocator. [Knock- 
 ing.] Knock, knock, knock: Who's there? 'Faith, 
 here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing 
 out of a French hose: Come in, tailor; here you 
 may roast your goose. [Knocking.] Knock, knock : 
 Never at quiet ! What are you ? But this place is 
 too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I 
 had thought to have let in some of all professions, 
 that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. 
 [Knocking.] Anon, anon; I pray you, remember 
 the porter. [Opens the gate. 
 
 Enter Macduff and Lenox. 
 
 Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed, 
 That you do lie so late? 
 
 Port. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the se- 
 cond cock: and drink, sir, is a great provoker of 
 three things. 
 
 Macd. What three things does drink especially 
 provoke ? 
 
 Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. 
 Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes; it pro- 
 vokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. 
 
 « To incarnadine, is to stain of a flesh color. 
 
 1 Frequent. * Handkerchiefs. 
 
 Therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivo 
 cator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him, 
 it sets him on, and it takes him of"; it persuade? 
 him, and disheartens him ; makes him stand to, and 
 not stand to: in conclusion, equivocates him in a 
 sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him. 
 
 Macd. I believe, drink gave thee the lie last night 
 
 Port. That it did, sir, i'the very throat o'me 
 But I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being 
 too strong for him, though he took up my leg? 
 sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him. 
 
 Macd. Is thy master stirring ? — 
 Our knocking hath awaked him ; here he comes 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Len. Good-morrow, noble sir ! 
 
 Macb. Good-morrow, both! 
 
 Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane? 
 
 Macb. ' Not yet. 
 
 Macd. He did command me to call timely on him; 
 I have almost slipp'd the hour. 
 
 Macb. I'll bring you to him 
 
 Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
 But yet 'tis one. 
 
 Macb- The labor we delight in physics 4 pain. 
 This is the door. 
 
 Macd. I'll make so bold to call, 
 
 For 'tis my limited service. 5 [Exit Macduff 
 
 Len. Goes the king 
 
 From hence to-day ? 
 
 Macb. He does : — he did appoint it, so 
 
 Len. The night has been unruly: Where we 
 lay, 
 Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, 
 Lamentings heard i'the air; strange screams of 
 
 death ; 
 And prophesying, with accents terrible, 
 Of dire combustion, and confused events, 
 New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird 
 Clamor'd the livelong night: some say, the earth 
 Was feverous and did shake. 
 
 Macb. 'Twas a rough night. 
 
 Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
 A fellow to it. 
 
 Re-enter Macduff. 
 
 Macd. O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor 
 heart, 
 Cannot conceive nor name thee ! 
 
 Macb. Len. What's the matter? 
 
 Macd. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! 
 Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
 The life o' the building. 
 
 Macb. What is't you say ? the life ? 
 
 Len. Mean you his majesty ? 
 
 Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy youi 
 sight 
 With a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ; 
 See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! awake 
 [Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox 
 Ring the alarum-bell : — Murder, and treason ! 
 Banquo, and Donalbain! Malcolm! awake! 
 Shake, off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
 And look on death itself! Up, up, and see 
 The great doom's image ! — Malcolm ! Banquo ! 
 As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprites, 
 To countenance this horror. [Bell rings 
 
 Enter Lady Mac beth. 
 
 Lady M. What's the business 
 
 That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
 The sleepers of the house ? speak, speak. — 
 
 4 i. e. A (fiords a cordial to it. » Appinnted seryioe. 
 
316 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 4c r II 
 
 Macd. O, gentle lady, 
 
 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak : 
 The repetition, in a woman's ear, 
 Would murder as it fell. — Banquo ! Banquo ! 
 
 Enter Banq.uo. 
 
 Our royal master's murder'd ! 
 
 Lady M. Woe, alas ! 
 
 What, in our house ? 
 
 Ban. Too cruel, any where. 
 
 Dear Duff, I pr'ythee contradict thyself, 
 And say, it is not so. 
 
 Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox. 
 
 Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
 I had l'iv'd a blessed time ; for, from this instant, 
 There's nothing serious in mortality : 
 All is but toys: renown, and grace is dead: 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 Is left this vault to brag of. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 
 
 Don. What is amiss'? 
 
 Macb. Y ou are, and do not know it : 
 
 The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood 
 Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd. 
 
 Macd. Your royal father's murder'd. 
 
 Mai. ! by whom ? 
 
 Len. Those of his chamber, as it seem'd, had 
 done't : 
 Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood, 
 So were their daggers, which, unwiped, we found 
 Upon their pillows: 
 
 They stared, and were distracted; no man's life 
 Was to be trusted with them. 
 
 Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury, 
 That I did kill them. 
 
 Macd. Wherefore did you so ? 
 
 Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate, and 
 furious, 
 Loyal and neutral, in a moment 1 No man: 
 The expedition of my violent love 
 Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan, 
 His silver skin laced with his golden blood ; 
 And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature, 
 For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers, 
 Steep'd in the colors of their trade, their daggers 
 Unmannerly breech'd with gore: 6 who could re- 
 frain, 
 That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
 Courage to make his love known 1 
 
 Lady M. Help me hence, ho ! 
 
 Macd. Look to the lady. 
 
 Mai. Why do we hold our tongues, 
 
 That most may claim this argument for ours? 
 
 Bon. What should be spoken here, 
 Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole, 
 May rush and seize us ? Let's away ; our tears 
 Are not yet brew'd. 
 
 Mai. Nor our strong sorrow on 
 
 The foot of motion. 
 
 Ban. Look to the lady: — 
 
 [Lady Macbeth is carried out. 
 And when we have our naked frailties hid, 
 That suffer in exposure, let us meet, 
 And question this most bloody piece of work, 
 To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us : 
 In the great hand of God I stand ; and, thence, 
 Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
 Of treasonous malice. 
 
 Macb. " And so do I. 
 
 41' So all. 
 
 • Covered with blood to their hilts. 
 
 Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness. 
 And meet i' the hall together. 
 
 All. Well contented 
 
 [Exeunt all but Mae. and Don 
 
 Mai. What will you do? Let's not consort witi 
 them: 
 To show an unfelt sorrow, is an office 
 Which the false man does easy : I'll to England 
 
 Don. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune 
 Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
 There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood, 
 The nearer bloody. 
 
 Mai. This murderous shaft that's shot. 
 
 Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way 
 Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse ; 
 And let us not be dainty of leave taking, 
 But shift away : there's warrant in that theft, 
 Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. 
 
 [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Without the Castle. 
 Enter Rosse and an Old Man. 
 
 OldM. Threescore and ten I can remember well : 
 Within the volume of which time, I have seen 
 Hours dreadful, and things strange ; but this sore 
 
 night 
 Hath trifled former knowings. 
 
 Rosse. Ah good father, 
 
 Thou seest the heavens, as troubled with man's act, 
 Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 'tis day, 
 And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp : 
 Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame, 
 That darkness does the face of earth intomb, 
 When living light should kiss if! 
 
 Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 
 
 Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last 
 A falcon, towering in her pride of place, 
 Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at, and kill'd. 
 
 Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most 
 strange and certain,) 
 Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
 Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, 
 Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make 
 War with mankind. 
 
 Old M. 'Tis said, they eat each other. 
 
 Rosse. They did so ; to the amazement of mine 
 eyes, 
 That look'd upon 't. Here comes the good Mac- 
 duff: 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 How goes the world, sir, now ? 
 
 Macd. Why, see you not ? 
 
 Rosse. Is't known who did this more than bloodj 
 deed ? 
 
 Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain.. 
 
 Rosse. Alas, the day ! 
 
 What good could they pretend? 1 
 
 Macd. They were suborn'd: 
 
 Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons, 
 Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them 
 Suspicion of the deed. 
 
 Rosse. 'Gainst nature still ; 
 
 Thriftless ambition, that wilt raven up 
 Thine own life's means ! — Then 'tis most like, 
 The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 
 
 Macd. He is already named ; and gone to Scouft 
 To be invested. 
 
 Rosse. Where is Duncan's body ? 
 
 Macd. Carried to Colmes-kiLl ; 
 The sacred storehouse of his predecessor, 
 And guardian of their bones. 
 
 1 1ntend to themselvaa. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 817 
 
 Rosse. Will you to Scone? 
 
 Macd. No, ceisin, I'll to Fife. 
 Rosse. Well, I will thither. 
 
 Macd. Well, may you see things well done 
 there ; — adieu ! — 
 Lest our old rotes sit easier than our new ! 
 
 Rosse. Father, farewell. 
 
 Old M. God's benison go with you : and with 
 those 
 That would make good of bad, and friends of foes ! 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Forres. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Banq.uo. 
 
 Ban. Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, 
 all, 
 As the weird women promis'd; and, I fear 
 Thou play'dst most foully for't : yet it was said, 
 It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
 But that myself should be the root, and father 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
 (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) 
 Why, by the verities on thee made good, 
 May they not be my oracles as well, 
 And set me up hi hope? But, hush; no more. 
 
 Senet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as King; Lady 
 Macbeth, as Queen,- Lenox, Rosse, Lords, 
 Ladies, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. Here's our chief guest. 
 
 Lady M. If he had been forgotten, 
 
 It had been as a gap in our great feast, 
 And all things unbecoming. 
 
 Macb. To-night wc hold a solemn supper, sir, 
 And I'll request your presence. 
 
 Ban. Let your highness 
 
 Command upon me; to the which, my duties 
 Are with a most indissoluble tie 
 For ever knit. 
 
 Macb. Ride you this afternoon ? 
 
 Ban. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. We should have else desired your good 
 advice 
 (Which still hath been both grave and prosperous) 
 In this day's council ; but we'll take to-morrow. 
 Is't far you ride ? 
 
 Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time 
 'Twixt this and supper : go not my horse the better, 
 I must become a borrower of the night, 
 For a dark hour or twain. 
 
 Macb. Fail not our feast. 
 
 Ban. My lord, I will not. 
 
 Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
 In England, and in Ireland ; not confessing 
 Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers 
 With strange invention: But of that to-morrow; 
 When therewithal, we shall have cause of state, 
 Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : Adieu, 
 Til'l you return at night. Goes Fleance with you ? 
 
 Ban. Ay, my good lord : our time does call upon 
 us. 
 
 Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot ; 
 And so I do commend you to their backs. 
 
 Farewell. [Exit Banq.uo. 
 
 Let every man be master of his time 
 Till seven at night ; to make society 
 The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
 Till supper-time alone : while then, God be with you. 
 [Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, <$r. 
 Eirrah, a.vvord: Attend those men our pleasure? 
 
 Alien. They are, my lord, without the palace gate. 
 
 Macb. B'ing them before us. — [Exit Atten. 
 
 To be thus, is nothing ; 
 
 But to be safely thus: — Our fears in Banquo 
 
 Stick deep; and in his royalty 8 of nature 
 
 Reigns that, which would be fear'd : 'Tis much he 
 
 dares; 
 And to that dauntless temper of his mind, 
 He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor 
 To act in safety. There is none, but he 
 Whose being I do fear : and under him, 
 My genius is rebuked; as, it is said, 
 Mark Antony's was by Cffisar. He chid the sisters, 
 When first they put the name of King upon me, 
 And bade them speak to him; then, prophet-like, 
 They hail'd him father to a line of kings : 
 Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown, 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
 Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, 
 No son of mine succeeding. If it be so, 
 For Banquo's issue have I filed'' my mind; 
 For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd, 
 Put rancors in the vessel of my peace 
 Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel 
 Given to the common enemy of man, 
 To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings! 
 Rather than so, come, fate, into the list, 
 
 And champion me to the utterance ! ' Who's 
 
 there? — 
 Re-enter Attendant, with Two Murderers. 
 Now to the door, and stay there till we call. 
 
 [Exit Attendant. 
 Was it not yesterday we spoke together ? 
 
 1 Mur. It was, so please your highness. 
 
 Macb. Well then, now 
 
 Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know, 
 That it was he, in the times past, which held you 
 So under fortune ; which, you thought, had been 
 Our innocent self: this I made good to you 
 In our last conference ; pass'd in probation 2 with you, 
 How you were borne in hand ; how cross'd ; the 
 
 instruments ; 
 Who wrought with them ; and all things else, that 
 
 might, 
 To half a soul, and a notion craz'd, 
 Say, Thus did Banquo. 
 
 1 Mur. Ycu made it known to us. 
 
 Macb. I did so ; and went further, which is now 
 Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
 Your patience so predominant in your nature, 
 Tliat you can let this go ? Are you so gospell'd, 
 To pray for that good man, and for his issue, 
 Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave, 
 And beggar'd yours lor ever ? 
 
 1 Mur. We are men, my liege. 
 
 Macb. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; 
 As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, 
 
 curs, 
 Shoughs, 3 water-rugs, and demi-wotves, are cleped 
 All by the name of dogs: the valued file 
 Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, 
 The house-keeper, the hunter, every one 
 
 8 Nobleness. ' For defiled 
 
 » Challenge me to extremities. Proved. 
 
 3 Wolf-dogs. Call 3d. 
 
316 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 According to the gift which bcanteous nature 
 
 Hath in him clos'd ; whereby he does receive 
 
 Particular addition, 5 from the bill 
 
 That writes them all alike : And so of men. 
 
 Now, if you have a station in the file, 
 
 And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it; 
 
 And I will put that business in your bosoms, 
 
 Whose execution takes your enemy off; 
 
 Grapples you to the heart and love of us, 
 
 Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
 
 Which in his death were perfect. 
 
 2 Mur. I am one, my liege, 
 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
 Have so incens'd that I am reckless 6 what 
 I do, to spite the world. 
 
 1 Mur. And I another, 
 
 So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, 
 That I would set my life on any chance, 
 To mend it, or be rid on't. 
 
 Macb. Both of you 
 
 Know, Banquo was your enemy. 
 
 2 Mur. True, my lord. 
 Macb. So is he mine : and in such bloody distance, 
 
 That every minute of his being thrusts 
 Against my near'st of life: And though I could 
 With bare-faced power sweep him from my sight, 
 And bid my will avouch it; yet I must not, 
 For 1 certain friends that are both his and mine, 
 Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
 Whom I myself struck down: and thence it is, 
 That I to your assistance do make love; 
 Masking the business from the common eye, 
 For sundry weighty reasons. 
 
 2 Mur. We shall, my lord, 
 
 Perform what you command us. 
 
 1 Mur. Though our live! 
 
 Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within 
 this hour, at most, 
 I will advise you where to plant yourselves, 
 Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'the time, 
 The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, 
 And something from the palace; always thought, 
 That I require a clearness: And with him, 
 (To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,) 
 ^leance his son, that keeps him company, 
 vVhose absence is no less material to me 
 Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
 Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart ; 
 Til come to you anon. 
 
 2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord. 
 
 Macb. I'll call upon you straight; abide within. 
 
 It is concluded: Banquo, thy soul's flight, 
 
 If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Room. 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant. 
 Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court? 
 Serv. Ay, madam, but returns igain to-night. 
 Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his 
 leisure 
 For a few words. 
 
 Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent, 
 
 Where our desire is got without content: 
 'Tis safer to be that which we destroy, 
 Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 How now, my lord] why do you keep alone, 
 Of sorriest 8 fancies your companions making? 
 . Jsing those thought?, which should indeed have died 
 
 » Title, description. 
 Because of. 
 
 i Careless. 
 
 8 Most melancholy. 
 
 With them they think on ? Things without remedy 
 Should be without regard: what's done, is done. 
 
 Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it 
 She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malict 
 Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
 But let 
 
 The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds surfe; 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams, 
 That shake us nightly: Better be with the dead, 
 Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace, 
 Than on the torture of ihe mind to lie 
 In restless ecstasy. 9 Duncan is in his grave; 
 After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ; 
 Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
 Can touch him further! 
 
 Lady M. Come on; 
 Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ; 
 Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 
 
 Macb. So shall I, love; and so, I pray, be you: 
 Let your remembrance apply to Banquo; 
 Present him eminence, 1 both with eye and tongue: 
 Unsafe the while, that we 
 
 Must lave our honors in these flattering streams; 
 And make our faces vizards to our hearts, 
 Disguising what they are. 
 
 Lady M. You must leave this. 
 
 Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind', dear wife ! 
 Thou know'st. that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 
 
 Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. 5 
 
 Macb. There's comfort yet ; they arc assailable ; 
 Then be thou jocund: Ere the bat hath flown 
 His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's summons, 
 The shard-borne beetle, 3 with his drowsy hums, 
 Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
 A deed of dreadful note. 
 
 Lady M. What's to be done ? 
 
 Macb. Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest 
 chuck, 
 Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling 4 night, 
 Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ; 
 And, with thy bloody and invisible hand, 
 Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond 
 Which keeps me pale!— Light thickens; and the crow 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood: 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; 
 Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. 
 Thou marveH'st at my words; but hold thee still; 
 Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill : 
 So, pr'ythec, go with me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Park or Lawn, with a Gate 
 
 leading to the Palace. 
 
 Enter Three Murderers. 
 
 1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us? 
 
 3 Mur. Macbeth 
 
 2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust: since he de- 
 
 livers 
 Our offices, and what we have to do, 
 To the direction just. 
 
 1 Mur. Then stand with us. 
 
 The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day : 
 Now spurs the lated traveller apace, 
 To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches 
 The subject of our watch. 
 
 3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horses. 
 Ban. [Within.'] Give us a light there, ho! 
 
 2 Mur. Then it is he ; the res< 
 » Agony. * Do him the highest honors. 
 
 * i. e. The copy, the lease, by which they hold* their lives, 
 is not eternal. 
 
 » The beetle borne in the air by its shards or scaly wing* 
 « Blinding. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 316 
 
 That aic within the note of expectation, 
 Already are i'the court. 
 
 1 Mur. His horses go about. 
 3 Mur. Almost a mile : but he does usually, 
 
 So al' men do, from hence to the palace gate 
 Make it their walk. 
 
 Enter Banq,uo and Fleance, a Servant with a 
 torch preceding them. 
 
 2 Mur. A light! a light! 
 
 3 Mur. 'Tis he. 
 1 Mur. Stand to't. 
 
 Ban. It will be rain to-night. 
 1 Mur. Let it come down. 
 
 [Assaults Banq.uo. 
 Ban. 0, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly ; 
 Thou mayst revenge. O slave ! 
 
 [Dies. Fleance and Servant escape. 
 3 Mur. Who did strike out the light 1 
 
 1 Mur. Was't not the way ? 
 3 Mur. There's but one down ; the son has fled. 
 
 2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair. 
 
 1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much is 
 done. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room of State, in the Palace. 
 A Banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Mac- 
 beth, Rosse, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Mach. You know your own degrees, sit down: 
 at first 
 And last, the hearty welcome. 
 
 Lords. Thanks to your majesty. 
 
 Macb. Ourself will mingle with society, 
 And play the humble host. 
 Our hostess keeps her state; 5 but, in best time, 
 We will require her welcome. 
 
 Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our 
 friends ; 
 For my heart speaks, they are welcome. 
 Enter First Murderer, to the door. 
 
 Macb. See, they encounter thee with their 
 
 hearts' thanks: 
 
 Both sides are even: Here I'll sit i'the midst: 
 Be large in mirth; anon, we'll drink a measure 
 The table round. — There's blood upon thy face. 
 
 Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 
 
 Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. 
 .s he despatch'd? 
 
 Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for him. 
 
 Macb. Thou art the best o'the cut-throats : Yet 
 he's good, 
 That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it, 
 Thou art the nonpareil. 
 
 Mur. Most royal sir, 
 
 Fleance is 'scaped. 
 
 Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else been 
 perfect ; 
 Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
 As broad, and general, as the casing air: 
 But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in 
 To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe? 
 
 Mur. Ay, my good lord, safe in a ditch he bides, 
 With twenty trenched gashes on his head ; 
 The least a death to nature. 
 
 Macb. Thanks for that: 
 
 There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's fled, 
 
 Hath nature that in time will venom breed, 
 
 No teeth for the present. — Get thee gone; to-mor- 
 
 iow 
 We'll hear ourselves again. [Exit Murderer. 
 
 Lady M. Mj royal lord, 
 
 You do nat give the cheer: the feast is sold, 
 • Her chair of state. 
 
 That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 
 'Tis given with welcome : To feed, were best a> 
 
 home; 
 From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony; 
 Meeting were bare without it. 
 
 Macb. Sweet remembrancer!— 
 
 Now good digestion wait on appetite, 
 And health on both ! 
 
 Len. May it please your highness sit? 
 
 [The Ghost o/'Banq.uo rises, and sits in 
 Macbetii's place. 
 
 Macb. Here had we now our country's honor 
 roof'd, 
 Were the graced person of our Banquo present ; 
 Who may I rather challenge for unkindness, 
 Than pity for mischance ! 
 
 Rosse. His absence, sir, 
 
 Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your 
 
 highness 
 To grace us with your royal company ? 
 
 Macb. The table's full. 
 
 Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir. 
 
 Macb. Where? 
 
 Len. Here, my lord. What is't that 
 
 moves your highness ? 
 
 Macb. Which of you have done mis ? 
 
 Lords. What, my good lord? 
 
 Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shako 
 Thy gory locks at me. 
 
 Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well. 
 
 Lady M. Sit, worthy friends : — my lord is ofteE 
 thus, 
 And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep seat , 
 The fit is momentary; upon a thought 
 He will again be well : If much you note him, 
 You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; 
 Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man? 
 
 Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 
 Lady M. proper stuff! 
 
 This is the very painting of your fear : 
 This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said, 
 Led you to Duncan. 0, these flaws, 6 and starts, 
 (Impostors to true fear,) would well become 
 A woman's story, at a winter's fire, 
 Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself! 
 Why do you make such faces ? When all's done, 
 You look but on a stool. 
 
 Macb. Pr'ythee, see there ! behold ! look ! lo ! 
 
 how say you? 
 
 Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too, — 
 If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
 Those that we bury, back, our monuments 
 Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears. 
 
 Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly ? 
 
 Macb. If I stand here, I saw him. 
 
 Lady M. Fye, for shame ! 
 
 Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden 
 time, 
 Ere human statute purged the gentle weal; 
 Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
 Too terrible for the ear: the times have been, 
 That, when the brains were out, the man would die, 
 And there an end: but now, they rise again, 
 With twenty mortal murders on their crowns, 
 And push us from our stools : This is more strange 
 Than such a murder is. 
 
 Lady M. My worthy lord, 
 
 Your noble friends do lack you. 
 
 Macb. I do forget :- 
 
 Do not muse 1 at me, my most worthy friends' 
 1 have a strange infirmity, which is nothing 
 • Sudden gusts. Wonder. 
 
320 
 
 MACBE1H. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 To those that know me. Come, love and health 
 
 to all; 
 Then I'll sit down: Give me some wine, fill 
 
 full: 
 
 I drink to the general joy of the whole table, 
 
 Ghost rises. 
 
 And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss: 
 Would ho were here ! to all, and him, we thirst, 
 And all to all. 8 
 
 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 
 
 Marb. Avaunt! and quit my sight ! Let the earth 
 hide thee! 
 Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ; 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with ! 
 
 Lady M. Think of this, good peers, 
 
 But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other; 
 Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
 
 Macb. What man dare, I dare : 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
 The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger, 
 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble: Or, be alive again, 
 And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; 
 If trembling I inhibit 9 thee, protest me 
 The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow ! 
 
 [G/iost disappears. 
 Unreal mockery, hence!— Why so; — being gone, 
 I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. 
 
 Lady M. You have displaced the mirth, broke the 
 good meeting, 
 With most admired disorder. 
 
 Macb. Can such things be, 
 
 And overcome 1 us like a summer's cloud, 
 Without our special wonder ? You make me strange 
 Even to the disposition that I owe, 2 
 When now I think you can behold such sights, 
 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 
 When mine are blanch'd with fear. 
 
 Rosse. What sights, my lord? 
 
 Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse 
 and worse : 
 Question enrages him: at once, good night: — 
 Stand not upon the order of your going, 
 But go at once. 
 
 Len. Good night, and better health 
 
 Attend his majesty ! 
 
 Lady M. A kind good night to all ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lords and Attendants. 
 
 Maeb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will 
 
 have blood : 
 
 Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; 
 
 Augurs, and understood relations, have 
 
 By magot-pies, 3 and choughs, and rooks, brought 
 
 forth 
 The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night 1 ? 
 Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which 
 
 is which. 
 Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his 
 person, 
 At our great bidding? 
 
 Lady M. Did you send to him, sir? 
 
 Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send : 
 There's not a one of them, but in his house 
 I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
 (Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters: 
 More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know, 
 By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good, 
 All causes shall give way; I am in blood 
 Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
 
 « t. e. All good wishes to all. » Forbid » Pass over. 
 • Peases* * Magpieo. 
 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er ; 
 Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
 Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.' 
 
 Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep. 
 
 Macb. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and 
 self-abuse 
 Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use : — 
 We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE V.— The Heath. 
 
 Thunder. Enter Hecate, meeting the Three 
 Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ? you look an- 
 gerly. 
 
 Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are, 
 Saucy, and overbold ? How did you dare 
 To trade and traffic with Macbeth, 
 In riddles and affairs of death ; 
 And I, the mistress of your charms, 
 The close contriver of all harms, 
 Was never call'd to bear my part, 
 Or show the glory of our art ? 
 And, which is worse, all you have done 
 Hath been but for a wayward son, 
 Spiteful, and wrathful; who, as others do, 
 Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
 But make amends now : Get you gone, 
 And at the pit of Acheron, 
 Meet me i'the morning; thither he 
 Will come to know his destiny. 
 Your vessels, and your spells, provide, 
 Your charms, and every thing beside: 
 I am for the air : this night I'll spend 
 Unto a dismal-fatal end. 
 Great business must be wrought ere noon; 
 Upon the corner of the moon 
 There hangs a vaporous drop profound;' 
 I'll catch it ere it come to ground : 
 And that distill'd by magic slights, 
 Shall raise such artificial sprites, 
 As, by the strength of their illusion, 
 Shall draw him on to his confusion : 
 He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear 
 His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear : 
 And, you all know, security 
 Is mortal's chiefest enemy. 
 
 Song. [Within.'] Come away, come away, SfC. 
 Hark, I am call'd: my little spirit, see, 
 Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit. 
 
 1 Witch. Cozae, let's make haste ; she'll soon be 
 back again. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE "VI.— Forres. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Lenox and another Lord. 
 Len. My former speeches have but hit your 
 
 thoughts, 
 Which can interpret further: only, I say, 
 Things have been strangely borne: The gracinua 
 
 Duncan 
 Was pitied of Macbeth : — marry, he was dead : — 
 And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late , 
 Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd. 
 For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. 
 Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
 It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, 
 To ki-11 their gracious father? damned fact ! 
 How it did grieve Macbeth ! did he not straight, 
 In pious rage, the two delinquents tear, 
 That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleef ? 
 Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; 
 For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive, 
 
 4 Examined nicely. 
 
 » t. e. A drop that has deep or hidden qualiti**. 
 
A.ut IV. Scene I. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 3'J1 
 
 To hear the men deny it. So that, I .say, 
 
 He has borne all things well : and I do think, 
 
 That, had he Duncan's sons under his key, 
 
 (A s. an't please heaven, he shall not,) they should find 
 
 What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fleance. 
 
 But, peace ' — for from broad words, and 'cause he 
 
 fail £« 
 His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear, 
 Macduff lives in disgrace: Sir, can you tell 
 Where he bestows himself? 
 
 Lord. The son of Duncan, 
 
 From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
 Lives in the English court; and is recciv'd 
 Of the most pious Edward with such grace, 
 That the malevolence of fortune nothing 
 Takes from his high respect : Thither Macduff 
 Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid 
 To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward ; 
 That, by the help of these, (with Him above 
 To ratify the work,) we may again 
 
 Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ; 
 Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives , 
 Do faithful homage and receive free honors, 8 
 All which we pine for now : And this report 
 Hath so exasperate the king, that he 
 Prepares for some attempt of war. 
 
 Len. Sent he to Macduff! 
 
 Lord. He did : and with an absolute, Sir, not J. 
 The cloudy messenger turns me his back, 
 And hums ; as who should say, You'll rue the time 
 That clogs me with this answer. 
 
 Len. And that well might 
 
 Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
 His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
 Fly to the court of England, and unfold 
 His message ere he come : That a swift blessing 
 May soon return to this our suffering country 
 Under a hand accurs'd ! 
 
 Lord. My prayers with him ! 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I. — A dark Cave. In the middle, a 
 
 Cauldron boiling. 
 
 Thunder. Enter the Three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 
 2 Witch. Thrice ; and once the hedge-pig whined. 
 
 3 Witch. Harper cries: — 'Tis time, 'tis time. 
 
 1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go ; 
 
 In the poison'd entrails throw. 
 
 Toad, that under coldest stone, 
 
 Days and nights hast thirty-one 
 Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
 Boil thou first i'the charmed pot! 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
 In the cauldron boil and bake : 
 
 Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 
 Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, 
 Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 
 For a charm of powerful trouble, 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; 
 Witches' mummy; maw, and gulf, 6 
 
 Of the raviu'd 1 salt-sea shark; 
 Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark; 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew ; 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 
 Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse; 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips ; 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe, 
 Ditch-deliverM by a drab, 
 Make the gruel thick and slab : 
 Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 
 For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Cool ii with a baboon's blood, 
 Then the charm is rirm and good. 
 Em'er Hecate. 
 
 Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains ; 
 And every one shall share i'the gains. 
 \nd now about the cauldron sing, 
 I like elves and fairies in a ring, 
 FiRckanting all that you put in 
 
 6 The throat. ' Rivenous. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Black spirits and white, 
 
 Blue spirits and grey; 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
 
 You that mingle may. 
 
 2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs, 
 Something wicked this way comes : 
 Open locks, whoever knocks. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight 
 hags'? 
 What is't you do 1 
 
 All. A deed without a name. 
 
 Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess. 
 (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : 
 Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd, 3 and trees blown 
 
 down; 
 Though castles topple" on their warders' heads ; 
 Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure 
 Of nature's germins 12 tumble all together. 
 Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
 To what. I ask you. 
 
 1 Witch. Speak. 
 
 2 Witch. Demand. 
 
 3 Witch. We'll answer 
 1 Witch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from oui 
 
 mouths, 
 Or from our masters'? 
 
 Macb. Call them, let me see them. 
 
 1 Witch. Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
 Her nine farrow ; grease, that's sweaten 
 From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
 Into the flame. 
 
 All. Come, high or low ; 
 
 Thyself, and office, deftly 3 show. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head nses. 
 
 Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, 
 
 1 Witch. He knows thy thought 
 
 Hea r his speech, but say thou nought. 
 
 s Honors freely bestowed. • Laid flat by wind or rain. 
 > Tumble. 3 Seeds which b»ve begun to sprout 
 
 8 Adroitly. 
 
J22 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 App. Macbeth' Macbeth! Macbeth! beware 
 Macdufi'; 
 Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me: — Enough. 
 
 [Descends. 
 Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution 
 thanks ; 
 fhou hast harp'd' my fear aright: — But one word 
 more. — 
 1 Witch. He will not be commanded: Here's 
 another, 
 More potent than the first. 
 
 Thujidcr. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises. 
 App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! — ■ 
 
 Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. • 
 App. Be bloody, bold, 
 
 And resolute : laugh to scorn the power of man, 
 For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth. 
 
 [Descends. 
 Macb. Then live, Macduff: What need I fear 
 of thee? 
 But yet I'll make assurance doubly sure, 
 And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies, 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this, 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, 
 
 ivith a tree in his hand, rises. 
 That rises like the issue of a king; 
 And wears upon his baby brow the round 
 And top of sovereignty ] 
 ' All. Listen, but speak not. 
 
 App. Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care 
 Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are: 
 Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 
 Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him. [Descends. 
 
 Macb. That will never be : 
 
 Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root] sweet bodements! good! 
 Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood 
 Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth 
 Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
 To time and mortal custom. — Yet my heart 
 Throbs to know one thing: Tell me, (if your art 
 Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom ] 
 
 All. Seek to know no more. 
 
 Macb. I will be satisfied: deny me this, 
 And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know : — 
 Why sinks that cauldron] and what noise is this] 
 
 [Hautboys. 
 
 1 Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! 3 Witch. Show! 
 
 All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart; 
 Come like shadows, so depart. 
 
 Eight Kings appear, and pass over the stage in 
 
 order,- the last with a glass in his hand,- Ban- 
 
 auo following. 
 
 Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo; 
 down! 
 Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls: — And thy 
 
 hair, 
 Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first: — 
 A third is like the former : — Filthy hags ! 
 Why do you show me this] — A fourth] — Start, 
 
 eyes ! 
 What! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom] 
 Another yet] — A seventh] — I'll see no more: — 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, 
 Which shows me many more: and some I see, 
 That two-fold balls and treble sceptres carry: 
 Horrible sight! — Ay, now, I see, 'tis true; 
 
 * Touched on » passion as a harper touches a string. 
 
 For the blood-bolter'd* Banquo snriles upon me. 
 And points at them for his. — What, is this so] 
 
 1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: — But why 
 Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ? — 
 Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprites, 
 And show the best of our delights; 
 I'll charm the air to give a sound, 
 While you perform your antique round ■ 
 That this great king may kindly say, 
 Our duties did his welcome pay. 
 
 [Music. The Witches dance, and vanish 
 
 Macb. Where are they] Gone] — Let this per- 
 nicious hour 
 Stand aye accursed in the calendar! — 
 Come in, without there ! 
 
 Enter Lenox. 
 
 hen. What's your grace's will ] 
 
 Macb. Saw you the weird sisters] 
 
 Len. No, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Came they not by you ] 
 
 Len. No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ; 
 And damn'd,all those that trust them! — I did hear 
 The galloping of horse: Who was't came by] 
 
 Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you 
 word, 
 Macduff is fled to England. 
 
 Macb. Fled to England ! 
 
 Len. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. Time, thou anticipat'st 6 my dread exploits: 
 The flighty purpose never is o'ertook, 
 Unless the deed go with it : From this moment, 
 The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
 The firstlings of my hand. And even now 
 To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and 
 
 done : 
 The castle of Macduff I will surprise; 
 Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o'the sword 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 That trace his line. No boasting like a fool; 
 This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool: 
 But no more sights ! — Where are these gentlemen ? 
 Come, bring me where they are. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. 
 
 Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rossk. 
 
 L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the 
 land] 
 
 Rosse. You must have patience, madam. 
 
 L. Macd. He had none ■ 
 
 His flight was madness: When our actions do not, 
 Our fears do make us traitors. 
 
 Rosse. You know not, 
 
 Whether it was his wisdom or his fear. 
 
 L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave his 
 babes, 
 His mansion, and his titles, in a place 
 From whence himself does fly] He loves us not; 
 He wants the natural touch: for the poor wren, 
 The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 
 Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
 All is the fear, and nothing is the love; 
 As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
 So runs against all reason. 
 
 Rosse. My dearest coz, 
 
 I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husband, 
 He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
 The fits o'the season. I dare not speak much further 
 But cruel are the times, when we are traitors, 
 And do not know ourselves; when we hold rumoi 
 
 • Besmeared with blood. 
 
 o I'reventest, by taking away the opportunity. 
 
8 TNE III 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 S2:, 
 
 Prom what we tear, yet know not what we fear ; 
 
 But float upon a wild and violent sea, 
 
 Each way, and move. — I take my leave of you : 
 
 Shall not be long but I'll be here again : 
 
 Tilings at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
 
 To what they were before. — My pretty cousin, 
 
 Messing upon you ! 
 
 L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless. 
 Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer, 
 It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort: 
 I take my leave at once. [Exit Rosse 
 
 L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead ; 
 
 And what will you do now? How will you live? 
 Son. As birds do, mother. 
 L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ? 
 
 Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do they. 
 L. Macd. Poor bird! thou'dst never fear the net, 
 nor lime, 
 The pit-fall, nor the gin. 
 
 Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they 
 are not set for. 
 My father is not dead, for all your saying. 
 
 L. Macd. Yes, he is dead ; how wilt thou do for 
 
 a father ? 
 Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband? 
 L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any 
 
 market. 
 Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again, 
 L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit; and 
 yet, i'faith, 
 With wit enough for thee. 
 Son. Was my father a traitor, mother? 
 L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 
 Son. What is a traitor? 
 L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies. 
 Son. And be all traitors, that do so? 
 L. Macd. Every one that does so is a traitor, and 
 
 must be hanged. 
 Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear 
 
 and lie? 
 L. Macd. Every one. 
 Son. Who must hang them ? 
 L. Macd. Why, the honest men. 
 Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools : for 
 there are liars and swearers enough to beat the 
 honest men, and hang up them. 
 
 L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey ! 
 But how wilt thou do for a father? 
 
 Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him: if you 
 would not, it were a good sign that I should quick- 
 ly have a new father. 
 
 L. Macd. Poor prattler! how thou talk'st. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, 
 Though in your state of honor I am perfect. 1 
 I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly: 
 If you will take a homely man's advice, 
 Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones. 
 To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage ; 
 To do worse to you, were fell cruelty, 
 Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve 
 
 you! 
 I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 L. Macd. Whither should I fly? 
 I have done no harm. But I remember now 
 I am in this earthly world ; where, to do harm, 
 [s often laudable : to do good, sometimes, 
 Accounted dangerous folly: Why, then, alas! 
 Do I put up that womanly defence, 
 To say, I have done no harm ? What are these 
 
 faces ? 
 * I am perfectly acquainted with your ank. 
 
 Enter Murderers, 
 
 Mur. Where is your husband ? 
 
 L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified, 
 Where such as thou mayst find him. 
 
 Mur. He's a traitor 
 
 Soti. Thou ly'st, thou ehag-ear'd villain. 
 
 Mur. What, you egg? [Stabbing him. 
 
 Young fry of treachery ! 
 
 Son. He has killed me, mothei , 
 
 Run away, I pray you. [Dies, 
 
 [Exit Lady Macduff, crying Murder 
 and pursued by the Murderers. 
 
 SCENE III.— England. A Room in the King's 
 
 Falacs. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Macduff. 
 
 Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and 
 there 
 Weep our sad bosoms empty. 
 
 Macd. Let us rather 
 
 Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men, 
 Bestride our downfall'n birthdom : Each new morn, 
 New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrews 
 Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
 As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
 Like syllable of dolor. 
 
 Mai. What I believe, I'll wail ; 
 
 What know, believe ; and, what I can redress, 
 As I shall find the time to friend, 9 I will. 
 What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 
 This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, 
 Was once thought honest : you have lov'd him well ; 
 He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young ; but 
 
 something 
 You may deserve of him through me ; and wisdom 
 To offer up a weak, poor, innocent lamb, 
 To appease an angry god. 
 
 Macd. I am not treacherous. 
 
 Mai. But Macbeth is. 
 
 A good and virtuous nature may recoil, 
 In an imperial charge. 9 But crave your pardon ; 
 That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose 
 Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell : 
 Though all things foul would* bear the brows of grace, 
 Yet grace must still look so. 
 
 Macd. I have lost my hopes. 
 
 Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find 
 my doubts. 
 Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, 
 (Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,) 
 Without leave-taking? — I pray you, 
 Let not my jealousies be your dishonors, 
 But mine own safeties : — You may be rightlyjust. 
 Whatever I shall think. 
 
 Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country. 
 
 Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, 
 For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou thy 
 
 wrongs, 
 Thy title isaffeer'd!' — Fare thee well, lord: 
 I would not be the villain that thou think'st 
 For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, 
 And the rich East to boot. 
 
 Mai. Be not offended : 
 
 I speak not as in an absolute fear of you. 
 I think our country sinks beneath the yoke, 
 It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash 
 Is added to her wounds: I think, withal, 
 There would be hands uplifted in my right; 
 And here from gracious England, have I offer 
 
 • Befriend. 
 
 » i. e. A good mind may recede from go'xlness in the ex 
 ecution of a royal commission. 
 
 •Legally settled by those who had the fiual adjudication 
 
324 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Of goodly thousands : But, for ail this, 
 When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head, 
 Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
 Shall have more vices than it had before ; 
 More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever, 
 By him that shall succeed. 
 
 Macd. What should he be 1 
 
 Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
 All the particulars of vice so grafted, 
 That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
 Will seem as pure as snow; and the poor state 
 Esteem him as a lamb, being compared 
 With my confineless harms. 
 
 Macd. Not in the legions 
 
 Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd 
 In evils, to top Macbeth. 
 
 Mai. I grant him bloody, 
 
 Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful, 
 Sudden," malicious, smacking of every sin 
 That has a name. But there's no bottom, none, 
 In my voluptuousness : your wives, your daughters, 
 Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up 
 The cistern of my lust ; and my desire 
 All continent impediments would o'er-bear, 
 That did oppose my will : Better Macbeth, 
 Than such a one to reign. 
 
 Macd. Boundless intemperance 
 
 In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been 
 The untimely emptying of tho happy throne, 
 And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
 To take upon you what is yours: you may 
 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
 And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink. 
 We have willing dames enough; there cannot be 
 That vulture in you, to devour so many 
 As will to greatness dedicate themselves, 
 Finding it so inclin'd. 
 
 Mai. With this, there grows, 
 
 In my most ill-compos'd affection, such 
 A stanchless avarice, that, were I king, 
 I should cut off the nobles for their lands ; 
 Desire his jewels, and this other's house: 
 And my more-having would be as a sauce 
 To make me hunger more; that I should forge 
 Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal, 
 Destroying them for wealth. 
 
 Macd. This avarice 
 
 Sticks deeper ; grows with more pernicious root 
 Than summer-seeding lust : and it hath been 
 The sword of our slain kings : Yet do not fear ; 
 Scotland hath foysons 2 to fill up your will, 
 Of your mere own: All these are portable, 4 
 With other graces weigh'd. 
 
 Mai. But I have none: The king-becoming 
 graces, 
 As justice, verity, temperance, stablcness, 
 Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, 
 Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
 I have no relish of them ; but abound 
 In the division of each several crime, 
 \cting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 
 Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, 
 Uproar the universal peace, confound 
 All unity on earth. 
 
 Macd. Scotland ! Scotland ! 
 
 Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak : 
 f am as I have spoken. 
 
 Macd. Fit to govern ! 
 
 No. not to live. — O nation miserable, 
 With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptred, 
 When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? 
 Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
 
 ♦Passionate "lenty. « May be endured. 
 
 By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, 
 
 And does blaspheme his breed 1 — Thy royal llithei 
 
 Was a most sainted king ; tho queen, that bore thee, 
 
 Oftner upon her knees than on her feet, 
 
 Died every day she lived. Fare thee well! 
 
 These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself, 
 
 Have banish'd rne from Scotland. — 0, my breast. 
 
 Thy hope ends here! 
 
 Mai. Macduff, this noble passion. 
 
 Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
 Wiped the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts 
 To thy good truth and honor. Devilish Macbeth 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 Into his power; and modest wisdom plucks me 
 From over-credulous haste : 5 But God above 
 Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
 I put myself to thy direction, and 
 Unspeak mine own detraction : here abjure 
 The taints and blames I laid upon myself, 
 For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
 Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn; 
 Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ; 
 At no time broke my faith ; would not betray 
 The devil to his fellow ; and delight 
 No less in truth than life : my first false speaking 
 Was this upon myself: What I am truly, 
 Is thine, and my poor country's, to command: 
 Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, 
 Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men, 
 All ready at a point, was setting forth: 
 Now weMl together; and the chance of goodness, 
 Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent? 
 
 Macd. Such welcome and unwelcome things at 
 once, 
 'Tis hard to reconcile. 
 
 Enter a Doctor. 
 
 Mai. Well; more anon. — Comes the king foith, 
 I pray you ? 
 
 Doct. Ay, sir : there are a crew of wretched souls 
 That stay his cure: their malady convinces 5 
 The great assay of art ; but, at his touch, 
 Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand, 
 They presently amend. 
 
 Mai. I thank you, doctor. 
 
 [Exit Doctor. 
 
 Macd. What's the disease he means! 
 
 Mai. 'Tis call'd the evil: 
 
 A most miraculous work in this good king; 
 Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
 I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven, 
 Himself best knows; but strangely visited people, 
 All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 
 The mere despair of surgery, he cures; 
 Hanging a golden stamp' about their necks, 
 Put on with holy prayer: and 'tis spoken, 
 To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
 The healing benediction. With this strange virtue, 
 He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy ; 
 And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
 That speak him full of grace. 
 
 Enter Rosse. 
 
 Macd. See, who comes here * 
 
 Med. My countryman ; but yet I know him not. 
 
 Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
 
 Mai. I know him now: Good God, betimes remove 
 The means that make us strangers ! 
 
 Rosse. Sir, Amen. 
 
 Macd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 
 
 Rosse. Alas, poor country : 
 
 Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
 
 s Over-hasty credulity. • Overpowers, subdues. 
 
 ' The coin called an angel- 
 
A.cr V. Scene I. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 :«S 
 
 Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing, 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to sinne ; 
 Where sighs and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, 
 Are made, not mark'd ; where violervj sorrow seems 
 A modern ecstasy; 8 the dead man's knell 
 Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's lives 
 Expire before the flowers in their caps, 
 Dying, or ere they sicken. 
 
 Macd. 0, relation, 
 
 Too nice, and yet too true ! 
 
 Mai. What is the newest grief? 
 
 Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker, 
 Each minute teems a new one. 
 
 Macd. How does my wife ? 
 
 Rosse. Why, well. 
 
 Macd. And ali my children ? 
 
 Rosse. Well too. 
 
 Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ? 
 
 Rosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I did 
 leave them. 
 
 Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; How 
 goes it ? 
 
 Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings, 
 Which I have heavily borne, there ran a rumor 
 Of many worthy fellows that were out: 
 Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
 For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot : 
 Now is the time of help; your eye in Scotland 
 Would create soldiers, make our women fight, 
 To doff 9 their dire distresses. 
 
 Mai. Be it their comfort, 
 
 We are coming thither : gracious England hath 
 Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ; 
 \n older, and a better soldier none 
 That Christendom gives out. 
 
 Rosse. Would I could answer 
 
 This comfort with the like ! But I have words 
 That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
 Where hearing should not latch 1 them. 
 
 Macd. What concern they? 
 
 The general cause? or is it a fee-grief, 2 
 Due to some single breast? 
 
 Rosse. No mind that's honest, 
 
 But in it shares some woe ; though the main part 
 Pertains to you alone. 
 
 Macd. If it be mine, 
 
 Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 
 
 Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for- 
 ever, 
 
 Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound, 
 That ever yet they heard. 
 
 Macd. Humph ! I guess at it. 
 
 Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and babes. 
 Savagely slaughter'd! to relate the manner, 
 Were, on the quarry 3 of these murder'd deer, 
 To add the death of you. 
 
 Mai. Merciful heaven! — 
 
 What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows • 
 Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak, 
 Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break. 
 
 Macd. My children, too? 
 
 Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 
 
 That could be found. 
 
 Macd. And I must be from thence ! 
 
 My wife kill'd too? 
 
 Rosse. I have said. 
 
 Mai. Be comforted: 
 
 Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, 
 To cure this deadly grief. 
 
 Macd. He has no children. — All my pretty ones? 
 Did you say, all?— 0, hell-kite !— All ? 
 What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, 
 At one fell swoop? 
 
 Mai. Dispute it like a man. 
 
 Macd. I shall do so; 
 
 But I must also feel it as a man: 
 I cannot but remember such things were, 
 That were most precious to me. Did heaven look on, 
 And would not take their part ? Sinful Macduff, 
 They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am, 
 Not for their own demerits, but for mine, 
 Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now! 
 
 Mai. Be this the whetsone of your sword: let grief 
 Convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 
 
 Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, 
 
 And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentlf 
 
 heaven, 
 Cut short all intermission ; front to front, 
 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and mysell; 
 Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape. 
 Heaven forgive him too! 
 
 Mai. This tune goes manly. 
 
 Come, go we to the king; our power is ready; 
 Our lack is nothing but our leave: Macbeth 
 Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above 
 Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you 
 
 may ; 
 The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeuni 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter a Doctor of Physic, and a waiting Gentle- 
 woman. 
 
 Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but 
 can perceive no truth in your report. When was 
 it she last walked? 
 
 Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have 
 seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown 
 upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold 
 it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again 
 return to bed: yet all this while in a most fast sleep. 
 
 Doct. A great perturbation in nature ! to receive 
 at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of 
 watching. — In this slumbry agitation, besides her 
 walking, and other actual performances, what, at 
 any time, have you heard her say? 
 
 • Common distress of mind. * Put off. 
 
 ' <3»tch. * A grief that has a single owner. 
 
 Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after hei 
 Doct. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you 
 
 should. 
 
 Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no 
 
 witness to confirm my speech. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, with a Taper. 
 
 Lo you, here she comes! This is her very guise: 
 and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand 
 close. 
 
 Doct. How came she by that light ? 
 
 Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light bj 
 her continually ; 'tis her command. 
 
 Duct. You see, her eyes are open. 
 
 Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut. 
 
 Doct. What is it she does now? Look, how ske 
 rubs her hands. 
 
 Gent. It is an accustomed action with her tc 
 * The game after it is killed. 
 
336 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 seem thus washing her hands ; I have known her 
 continue in this a quarter of an hour. 
 Lady M. Yet here's a spoV 
 
 Doct. Hark, she speaks : I wih set down what 
 comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the 
 more strongly. 
 
 Lady M. Out, damned spot! out, I say! One; 
 
 Two; Why, then 'tis time to do't: Hell is 
 
 murky !' — Fye, my lord, fye ! a soldier, and afear'd ? 
 What need we fear who knows it, when none can 
 call our power to account? — Yet who would have 
 thought the old man to have had so much blood in 
 him] 
 
 Doct. Do you mark that ? 
 
 Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife; Where 
 
 is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be 
 
 clean? — No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that: 
 you mar all with this starting. 
 
 Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you 
 should not. 
 
 Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am 
 sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. 
 
 Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all 
 the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
 hand. Oh! oh! oh! 
 
 Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely 
 charged. 
 
 Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, 
 for the dignity of the whole body. 
 
 Doct. Well, well, well,— 
 
 Gent. 'Pray God, it be, sir. 
 
 Doct. This disease is beyond my practice: Yet I 
 have known those which have walked in their sleep, 
 who have died holily in their beds. 
 
 Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night- 
 gown ; look not so pale : I tell you yet again, Ban- 
 quo's buried; he cannot come out of his grave. 
 
 Doct. Even so? 
 
 Lady M. To bed, to bed; there's knocking at 
 the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your 
 hand: What's done, cannot be undone : To bed, to 
 bed, to bed. [Exit Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Doct. Will she go now to bed ? 
 
 Gent. Directly. 
 
 Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad ; Unnatural 
 deeds 
 Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds 
 To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
 More needs she the divine, than the physician. — 
 God, God, forgive us all! Look after her; 
 Remove from her the means of all annoyance, 
 And still keep eyes upon her : — So, good-night : 
 My mind she has mated, 5 and amaz'd my sight : 
 I think, but dare not speak. 
 
 Gent. Good-night, good doctor. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The Country near Dunsinane. 
 
 Enter, with Drum and Colors, Menteth, Cath- 
 ness, Lenox, Angus, and Soldiers. 
 
 Ment. The English power is near, led on by 
 Malcolm, 
 His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. 
 Revenge? burn in them : for their dear causes 
 Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm, 
 Excite the mortified man. 6 
 
 Ang. Near Birnam wood 
 
 shall we well meet them; that way are they coming. 
 Cath. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother? 
 Le n. For certain, sir, he is not ; I have a file 
 Of all the gentry ; there is Siward's son, 
 
 • DarK. ' Confounded • A religious ; an ascetic. 
 
 And many unrough' youths that even now 
 Protest their first of manhood. 
 
 Ment. What does the tyrant. 
 
 Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly fortifies . 
 Some say, he's mad ; others, that lesser hate him 
 Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain, 
 He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause 
 Within the belt of rule. 
 
 Ang. Nov/ does he feel 
 
 His secret murders sticking on his hands ; 
 Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach; 
 Those he commands, move only in command, 
 Nothing in love : now does he feel his title 
 Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
 Upon a dwarfish thief. 
 
 Ment. Who then shall blame 
 
 His pester'd senses to recoil and start, 
 When all that is within him does condemn 
 Itself, for being there? 
 
 Cath. Well, march we on, 
 
 To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd : 
 Meet we the medecin* of the sickly weal ; 
 And with him pour we, in our country's purge, 
 Each drop of us. 
 
 Len. Or so much as it needs, 
 
 To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. 
 Make we our march towards Birnam. 
 
 [Exeunt, marching. 
 
 SCENE III. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all; 
 Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinine, 
 I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm ? 
 Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that know 
 All mortal consequents, pronounced me thus: 
 Fear not, Macbeth; no man, thafs born of woman, 
 
 Skull e'er have power on thee. Then fly, false 
 
 thanes, 
 And mingle with the English epicures: 
 The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, 
 Shall never sagg* with doubt, nor shake with fear. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced loon !' 
 Where gott'st thou that goose look ? 
 
 Serv. There is ten thousand 
 
 Macb. Geese, villain? 
 
 <S'ert'. Soldiers, sir 
 
 Macb. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear, 
 Thou Iily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch V 
 Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
 Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ^ 
 
 Serv. The English force, so please you. 
 
 Macb. Take thy face hence. — Seyton! — I am 
 sick at heart, 
 When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This pusri 
 Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
 I have liv'd long enough : my May of life 
 Is fall'n into the sear, 3 the yellow leaf: 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have; but, in their stead, 
 Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honor, breath. 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not 
 Seyton ! 
 
 Enter Seyton. 
 Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? 
 Macb. What news more ! 
 
 1 Unbearded. 
 
 "Sink 
 
 >An appellation of contempt. 
 
 8 The phys.V'sm. 
 1 Baf e f4low. 
 •Dry. 
 

 Scene V. 
 
 MACBETH 
 
 327 
 
 Set/. All is confirm'd. mv lord, which was re- 
 porter. 
 
 Macb. Til fight, till from rny bones my flesh be 
 hack'd. 
 Give me my armor. 
 
 Sey. 'Tis not needed yet 
 
 Macb. I'll put it on. 
 Send out more horses, skirr 4 the country round ; 
 Hang those that talk of fear. — Gi'e me mine ar- 
 mor. — 
 How does your patient, doctor? 
 
 Duct. Not so sick, my lord, 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 Macb. Cure her of that : 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain 
 And with some sweet, oblivious antidote, 
 Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
 Which weighs upon the heart 1 ? 
 
 Doct. Therein the patient 
 
 Must minister to himself. 
 
 Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of 
 it.— 
 Come, put mine armor on ; give me my staff. — ■ 
 Sey ton, send out. — 'Doctor, the thanes fly from me: — 
 Come, sir, despatch : — If thou couldst, doctor, cast 
 The water of my land, find her disease, 
 And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
 I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
 That should applaud again. — Pull't off, I say. — 
 What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug, 
 Would scour these English hence ! — Hearest thou 
 of them? 
 
 Doct. Ay, my good lord ; your royal preparation 
 Makes us hear something. 
 
 Macb. Bring it after me. 
 
 I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
 
 Til! Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit. 
 
 Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear, 
 Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Country near Dunsinane. A Wood 
 
 in view. 
 Enter, with Drum and Colors, Malcolm, old 
 
 Si ward and his Son, Macduff, Menteth, 
 
 Catiiness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, 
 
 marching. 
 
 Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand 
 That chambers will be safe. 
 
 Mtnt. We doubt it nothing. 
 
 Siw. What wood is this before us? 
 
 Ment. The wood of Birnam. 
 
 Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, 
 And bear't before him ; thereby shall we shadow 
 The numbers of our host, and make discovery 
 Err in report of us. 
 
 Sold. It shall be done. 
 
 Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant 
 Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure 
 Our setting down before't. 
 
 Mai. 'Tis his main hope : 
 
 For where there is advantage to be given, 
 Bothmoic and less 5 have given him the revolt; 
 And none serve with him but constrained things, 
 Whose hearts are absent too. 
 
 Macd. Let our just censures 
 
 Attend the true event, and put we on 
 Industrious soldiership. 
 
 Sivj. The time approaches, 
 
 That will with due decision make us know 
 • Scour. » i. e. Greater and leas. 
 
 What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
 Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate , 
 But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: 
 Towards which, advance the war. 
 
 [Exeunt, marching 
 
 SCENE V.— Dunsinane. Within the Castle 
 
 Enter, with Drums and Colors, Macbeth, Set 
 ton, and Soldiers. 
 
 Macb. Hang out our banners on the cutwarj 
 walls; 
 The cry is still, They come- Our castle's strengtn 
 Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie, 
 Till famine, and the ague, eat them up: 
 Were they not forced with those that should be our? 
 We might have met them dareful, beard to beard, 
 And beat them backward home. Whatisthatnoise' 
 [^4 cry within of women 
 
 Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
 The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
 To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell 6 of hah 
 Would at a dismal treatise. rouse, and stir 
 As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors, 
 Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, 
 Cannot once start me. — Wherefore was that cry'' 
 
 Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead. 
 
 Macb. She should have died hereafter ; 
 There would have been a time for such a word. — 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded lime; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candid^ 
 Life's but a walking shadow : a poor player, 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Thou com'st to use thy tongue ; thy story quickly 
 
 Mess. Gracious my lord, 
 I shall report that which I say I saw, 
 But know not how to do it. 
 
 Macb. Well, say, sir. 
 
 Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought, 
 The wood began to move. 
 
 Macb. Liar, and slave! 
 
 [Striking him 
 
 Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so 
 Within this three mile may you see it coining, 
 I say, a moving grove. 
 
 Macb. If thou speak'st false, 
 
 Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive, 
 Till famine cling 1 thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
 I care not if thou lost for me as much. — 
 I pull in :esclution; and begin 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, 
 That lies like truth: Fear not till Birnam icood 
 Do come to Dunsinane; — and now a wood 
 Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out.- 
 If this which he avouches, docs appear, 
 There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying hei-p. 
 I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 
 And wish the estate of the world were now undone.— 
 Ring the alarum bell : — Blow wind ! come, wrack ' 
 At least we'll die with harness on our back. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 « Skin. i Shriv?L 
 
128 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Act V 
 
 SCENE VI.— A Plain before the Castle. 
 Enter, with Drums and Colors, Malcolm, old 
 Siward, Macduff, <$-c, and their Army , with 
 Boughs. 
 
 Mai. Now near enough ; your leavy screens throw 
 down, 
 And show like those you are : — You, worthy uncle, 
 Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son, 
 Lead our first battle ; worthy Macduff, and we, 
 Shall take upon us what else remains to do, 
 According to our order. 
 
 Siw. Fare you well. — 
 
 Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night, 
 Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. 
 
 Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give them 
 all breath, 
 Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 
 [Exeunt. Alarums contimied. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Another Part of the Plain. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. They have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly, 
 But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — What's he, 
 That was not born of woman ] Such a one 
 Am I to fear, or none. 
 
 Enter young Siward. 
 Yo. Siw. What is thy name 1 
 Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. 
 
 Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a hotter 
 name 
 Than any is in hell. 
 
 Macb. My name's Macbeth. 
 
 Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce 
 a title 
 More hateful to mine ear. 
 
 Macb. No, nor more fearful. 
 
 Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant; with my 
 sword 
 I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. 
 
 [They fight, and young Siward is slain. 
 Macb. Thou wast born of woman. — 
 
 But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 
 Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Macduff. 
 Macd. That way the noise is: — Tyrant, show 
 thy face: 
 If hiou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine, 
 My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. 
 I cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms 
 Are hired to bear their staves ; either thou, Macbeth, 
 Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, 
 I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldstbe; 
 By this great clatter, one of greatest note 
 Seems bruited: 9 Let me find him, fortune! 
 And more I beg not. [Exit. Alarum. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and old Siward. 
 Siw. This way, my lord; — the castle's gently 
 render'd : 
 The tyrant's people on both sides do fight; 
 The noble thanes do bravely in the war; 
 The day almost itself professes yours, 
 And little is to do. 
 
 Med. We have met with foes 
 
 That strike beside us. 
 
 Siw. Enter, sir, the castle. 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarum 
 
 Re-enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die ! 
 Foot-soldiers. » Reported with clamor. 
 
 / 
 
 On mine own sword? whiles I see lives, the gashe» 
 Do better upon them. 
 
 Re-enter Macduff. 
 
 Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. 
 
 Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee : 
 But get thee back, my soul is too much charged 
 With blood of thine already. 
 
 Macd. I have no words, 
 
 My voice is in my sword ; thou bloodier villain 
 Than terms can give thee out! [They fight 
 
 Macb. Thou losest labor 
 
 As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air * 
 With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed 
 Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; 
 I bear a charmed life, which must not yield 
 To one of woman born. 
 
 Macd. Despair thy charm ; 
 
 And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd, 
 Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
 Untimely ripp'd. 
 
 Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me sc 
 For it hath cow'd my better part of man ! 
 And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd, 
 That palter' with us in a double sense; 
 That keep the word of promise to our ear. 
 And break it to our hope. — I'll not figh* with thctj 
 
 Macd. Then yield thee, coward, 
 And live to be the show and gaze o'the time 
 We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, 
 Painted upon a pole ; and underwrit, 
 Here may you see the tyrant. 
 
 Macb. ' I'll not yield, 
 
 To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
 And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
 And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, 
 Yet I will try the last : Before my body 
 I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff; ^*\/ 
 And damn'd be him that first cries, Hold, enough, r i 
 [ Exeunt, fighting, [/ 
 
 Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with Drum and Co- 
 lors, Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, 
 Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers. 
 
 Mai. I would, the friends we miss were safe ar 
 rived. 
 
 Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these I sec. 
 So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 
 
 Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son. 
 
 Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt 
 He only liv'd but till he was a man ; 
 The which no sooner had his prowess confirm M 
 In the unshrinking station where he fought. 
 But like a man he died. 
 
 Siw. Then he is dead] 
 
 Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field : your cause 
 of sorrow 
 Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then 
 It hath no end. 
 
 Siw. Had he his hurts before] 
 
 Rosse. Ay, on the front. 
 
 Siw. Why then, God's soldier be he 
 
 Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
 I would not wish them to a fairer deatn . 
 And so his knell is knoll'd. 
 
 Mai. He's worth more sorrow, 
 
 And that I'll spend for him. 
 
 Siw. He's worth no more 
 
 They say he parted well, and paid his score : 
 ? o God be with him. — Here comes newer comfoit 
 
 1 ""be air which c&naot be c»t. 
 
 » Shuffle 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 3% 
 
 Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's Head on a 
 Pole. 
 
 Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art: Behold, 
 where stands 
 .The usurper's cursed head : the time is free : 
 I sec thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl, 
 That speak my salutation in their minds; 
 Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, — 
 Hail, king of Scotland ! 
 
 All. King of Scotland, nail ! [Flourish. 
 
 Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of time, 
 Befd "e we reckon with your several loves, 
 And sake us ever, with ycu. My thtanes and 
 kinsmen, 
 
 Henceforth he earls, the first that ever Scotland 
 In such an honor named. What's more to do, 
 Which would be planted newlv with the tirne 
 As calling home our exiled friends abroad 
 That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ; 
 Producing forth the cruel ministers 
 Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen , 
 Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands 
 Took off her life: — This, and what needful else 
 That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
 We will perform in measure, time, and place 
 So thanks to all at once, and to each one, 
 Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone. 
 
 [Flourish. Exevru 
 
KING JOHN. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 ftlNG JoHX. 
 
 Prince Henry, his So?i; afterwards K. Henry III. 
 
 Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, Snn of Geffrey, late 
 Duke of Bretagne, the elder Brother of K. John. 
 
 William Mareshall, Earl of Pembroke. 
 
 Geffrey Fitz-Peter, £cr/o/ Essex, Chief Jus- 
 ticiary of England. 
 
 William Loxgswokd, Earl of Salisbury. 
 
 Robert Bigot, Earl of No-folk. 
 
 Hubert de Burgh, Chamberlain to the King. 
 
 Robert Faulconbridge, Son of Sir RobertFaul- 
 conbridge 
 
 Philip Faulconbridge, his Half-Brother, Bas- 
 tard Son to King Richard the First. 
 
 James Gurnet, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge. 
 
 Peter q/'Pomfret, a Prophet. 
 
 Philip, King of France. 
 
 Lewis, the Dauphin. 
 
 Archduke of Austria. 
 
 Cardin al Pandulph, the Pope's Leg-tit. 
 
 Melun, a French Lord. 
 
 Chatillon, Ambassador from France to K. John. 
 
 Elinor, the Widow of King Henry II. and Ma 
 
 ther of King John. 
 Constance, Mother to Arthur. 
 Blanch, Daughter to Alphonso, King of Castilft, 
 
 and Niece to King John. 
 La.'i* Faulconbridge, Mother to the Bastard, 
 
 and Robert Faulconbridge. 
 
 lxtrds, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff, He- 
 ralds, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE — Sometimes in England, and sometimes in France. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room of State in 
 the Palace. 
 
 Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke, 
 
 Essex, Salisbury, and others, with Chatillon. 
 
 K. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would 
 
 France with us? 
 Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of 
 France, 
 In my behavior, 1 to the majesty, 
 The borrow'd majesty of England here. 
 
 Eli. A strange beginning; — borrow'd majesty! 
 K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the em- 
 bassy. 
 Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf 
 Of thy deceased brother Gelfiey's son, 
 \rthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
 To this fair island, and the territories ; 
 To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine: 
 Desiring thee to lay aside the sword, 
 Which sways usurpingly these several titles; 
 And put the same into young Arthur's hand. 
 Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign. 
 
 K. John What follows, if we disallow of tnis? 
 Chat. The proud control of fierce and bloody 
 war, 
 To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld. 
 K. John. Here have we war for war, and blood 
 for blood, 
 Controlment for controlment: so answer France. 
 1 In the manner I now do. 
 T3301 
 
 Chat. Then take my king s defiance iiom mj 
 mouth, 
 The furthest limit of my embassy. 
 
 K. John. Bear mine to him, and so depart ul 
 peace . 
 Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France; 
 For ere thou canst report I will be there, 
 The thunder of my cannon shall be heard: 
 So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath, 
 And sullen presage of your own decay. — 
 An honorable conduct let him have : — 
 Pembroke, look to't: Farewell, Chatillon. 
 
 [Exeunt Chatillon a7id Pembroke. 
 Eli. What now, my son 1 have I not ever said, 
 How that ambitious Constance would not cease, 
 Till she had kindled France, and all the world, 
 Upon the right and party of her son ] 
 This might have been prevented, and made whole, 
 With very easy arguments of love; 
 Which now the manage ' of two kingdoms must 
 With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. 
 
 K. John. Our strong possession, and our right, 
 
 for us. 
 Eli. Your strong possession, much more than 
 your right; 
 Or else it must go wrong with you, and me : 
 So much my conscience whispers in your ear* 
 Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall 
 hear. 
 
 * Conduct, administration 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 331 
 
 Enter the Sheriff of Northamptonshire, who whis- 
 pers Esskx. 
 Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy, 
 Come from the country tc be judg'd by you, 
 That e'er I heard : Shall I produce the men ? 
 
 K. John. Let them approach, — [Exit Sheriff. 
 Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay 
 Re-enter Sheriff, with Rohert Faulconbridge, 
 and Philip, his bastard Brother. 
 
 This expedition's charge. — What men are you? 
 
 Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, 
 Born in Northamptonshire; and eldest son, 
 As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge ; 
 A soldier, by the honor-giving hand 
 Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. 
 
 X. John. What art thou ? 
 
 Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulcon- 
 bridge. 
 
 K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir ? 
 Yon came not of one mother then, it seems. 
 
 Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king, 
 That is well known; and, as I think, one father: 
 But, for the certain knowledge of that truth, 
 I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother; 
 Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 
 
 JVii. Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame 
 thy mother, 
 \.nd wound her honor with this diffidence. 
 
 Bast. I, madam? no, I have no reason for it; 
 That is my brother's plea, and none of mine; 
 The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
 k.t least from fair five hundred pound a year: 
 Heaven guard my mother's honor, and my land! 
 
 K. John. A good blunt fellow : — Why, being 
 younger born, 
 Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ? 
 
 Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
 But once he slander'd me with bastardy: 
 But vvhe'r I be as true-begot, or no, 
 That still I lay upon my mother's head; 
 R >:t, that I am as well begot, my liege, 
 (Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me !) 
 Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. 
 If old sir Robert did beget us both, 
 And were our father, and this son like him; — 
 
 old sir Robert, father, on my knee, 
 
 1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. 
 
 K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent 
 is here ! 
 
 Eli. He hath a trick 3 of Cceur-de-lion's face, 
 The accent of his tongue affecteth him : 
 Do you not read some tokens of my son 
 In the large composition of this man ? 
 
 K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts, 
 
 And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak, 
 
 What doth move you to claim your brother's land? 
 
 Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father : 
 With that half-face would he have all my land: 
 A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year! 
 
 Rob. Mv gracious liege, when that my father 
 liv'd, 
 Four brother did employ my father much; 
 
 Bast. Well, sir, by this you cannot get my land ; 
 Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. 
 
 Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy 
 To Germany, there, with the emperor, 
 To treat of high affairs touching that time : 
 The advantage of his absence took the king, 
 And in the mean time sojourn' d at my father's; 
 Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak; 
 But trn'h is truth; large lengths of seas and shores 
 • TVacf, outline- 
 
 Between my father and my mother lay, 
 (As I have heard my father speak himself,) 
 When this same lusty gentleman was got. 
 Upon his death-bed he by will bequeathed 
 His lands to me ; and took it, on his death, 
 That this my mother's son, was none of his; 
 And, if he were, he came into the world 
 Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
 Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
 My father's land, as was my father's will. 
 
 K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; 
 Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him ; 
 And, if she did play false, the fault was hers; 
 Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands 
 That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brothel. 
 Who, as you say, took pains to get this son, 
 Had of your father claim'd this son for his? 
 In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept 
 This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world ; 
 In sooth he might: then, if he were my brother's, 
 My brother might not claim him ; nor your father, 
 Being none of his, refuse him : This concludes,- - 
 My mother's son did get your father's heir; 
 Your father's heir must have your father's land. 
 
 Rob. Shall then my father's will i-e of no foice, 
 To dispossess that child which is not his ? 
 
 Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sii, 
 Than was his will to get me, as I think. 
 
 Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon- 
 bridge, 
 And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land; 
 Or the reputed son of Cceur-de-lion, 
 Lord of thy presence, and no land beside ? 
 
 Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape, 
 And I had his, sir Robert his, like him : 
 And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 
 My arms such eel-skins stuffd ; my face so thin, 
 That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, 
 Lest men should say, Look, where three-farthings 
 
 goes! 
 And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 
 'Would I might never stir from off this place, 
 I'd give it every foot to have this face ; 
 I would not be sir Nob in any case. 
 
 Eli. I like thee well ; Wilt thou forsake thy for 
 tune, 
 Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me ? 
 I am a soldier, and now bound to France. 
 
 Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my 
 chance : 
 Your face hath got five hundred pounds a year ; 
 Yet sell your face for five pence, and, 'tis dear. — 
 Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. 
 
 Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. 
 
 Bast. Our country manners give our betters way. 
 
 K. John. What is thy name? 
 
 Bast. Philip, my liege; so is my name begun, 
 Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 
 
 K. John. From henceforth bear his name whose 
 form thou bcar'st: 
 Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great : 
 Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenct. 
 
 Bast. Brother, by my mother's side, give me you. 
 hand; 
 My father gave me honor, yours gave land:— 
 Now blessed be the hour, by night or day. 
 When I was got v sir Robert was away. 
 
 Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet! — 
 I am thy grandame, Richard ; call me so. 
 
 Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth: WL 
 though ? 
 Something about, a little from the right, 
 
 In at the window, or else Jer the hatch - 
 
 I 
 
m 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 A.OT II 
 
 Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night; 
 
 And have is have, however men do catch: 
 Near or far off, well won is still well shot; 
 And I am I, howe'er I was begot. 
 
 K. John. Go, Faulconbridge ; now hast thou thy 
 desire, 
 A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. — 
 Come, madam, and come, Richard; we must speed 
 For France, for France ; for it is more than need. 
 
 Bast. Brother, adieu ; good fortune come to thee ! 
 For thou wast got i'the way of honesty. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Bastard. 
 A foot of honor better than I was; 
 But many a foot of land the worse. 
 
 Well, now can I make any Joan a lady : 
 
 Good den? Sir Richard, — God-a-mercy, fellow,- 
 And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter : 
 For new-made honor doth forget men's names ; 
 'Tis too respective, and too sociable, 
 For your conversion. Now your traveller, — ■ 
 He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess; 
 And when my knightly stomach is sufficed, 
 Why then I suck my teeth and catechise 
 
 My picked man of countries: 5 My dear sir, 
 
 (Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,) 
 
 I shall beseech you. — That is question now ; 
 
 And then comes answer like an ABC-book: — 
 
 sir, says answer, at your best command; 
 
 At your employment; at your service, sir: 
 
 No, sir, says question, I, sweet sir, at yours: 
 
 And so, ere answer knows what question would, 
 
 (Saving in dialogue of compliment; 
 
 And talking of the Alps, and Apennines, 
 
 The Pyrenean, and the river Po,) 
 
 It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 
 
 But this is worshipful society, 
 
 A nd fits the mounting spirit, like myself: 
 
 For he is but a bastard to the time, 
 
 That doth not smack of observation 
 
 (And so am I, whether I smack, or no;) 
 
 And not alone in habit and device, 
 
 Exterior form, outward accoutrement; 
 
 But from the inward motion to deliver 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth : 
 
 Which, though I will not practise to deceive, 
 
 Y« •„ to avoid deceit, I mean to learn; 
 
 Fcr it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. — 
 
 But who comes in such haste, in riding robes? 
 
 What woman-post is this] hath she no husband, 
 
 Tnat will take pains to blow a horn before her? 
 
 Fnter Lady Faulconbridge and James 
 Gurnet. 
 
 me! 'tis my mother: — How now, good lady? 
 What brings you here to court so hastily? 
 
 Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? 
 where is he? 
 That holds in chase mine honor up and down ? 
 
 Bast. My brother Robert ? old sir Robert's son ? 
 Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man? 
 Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so? 
 
 Lady F. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unrev*» 
 rend boy, 
 Sir Robert's son: Why scorn'st thou at sir Robert" 
 He is sir Robert's son ; and so art thou. 
 
 Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a 
 while ? 
 
 Gur. Good leave, good Philip. 
 
 Bast. Philip? — sparrow! --Jame« 
 
 There's toys 8 abroad ; anon I'll tell thee more. 
 
 [Exit Gurnet 
 Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son; 
 Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
 Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast . 
 Sir Robert could do well ; Marry (to confess !) 
 Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it; 
 Wc know his handy-work: — Therefore, gooj 
 
 mother, 
 To whom am I beholden for these limbs? 
 Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother 
 too, 
 That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine ho- 
 nor? 
 What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? 
 
 Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, — Basilisco- 
 like: 1 
 What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shoulder. 
 But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son; 
 I have disclaimed sir Robert, and my land ; 
 Legitimation, name, and all is gone : 
 Then, good my mother, let me know my father , 
 Some proper man, I hope ; Who was it, mother ? 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulcon- 
 bridge ? 
 
 Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil. 
 
 Lady F. King Richard Cceur-de-lion was thy 
 father ; 
 By long and vehement suit I was seduced 
 To make room for him in my husband's bed : — 
 Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ! 
 Thou art the issue of my dear offence, 
 Which was so strongly urged, past my defence. 
 
 Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again, 
 Madam, I would not wish a better father. 
 Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
 And so doth yours; your fault was not your folly: 
 Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, — 
 Subjected tribute to commanding love,— 
 Against whose fury and unmatched force 
 The awless lion could not wage the fight, 
 Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
 He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts, 
 May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother, 
 With all my heart I thank thee for my father! 
 Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well 
 When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. 
 Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin ; 
 
 And they shall say, when Richard me begot, 
 If thou had'st said him nay, it had been sin : 
 
 Who says it was, he lies ; I say, 'twas not. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — France. Before the Walk of Angiers. 
 
 hnter, on one side, the Archduke^of Austria, and 
 Forces,- on the other, Philip, King of France, 
 and Forces,- Lewis, Constance, Arthur, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. — 
 ♦fikxxt ersning » My travelled fop. 
 
 Arthur, that great fore-runner of thy blood, 
 Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart, 
 And fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
 By this brave duke came early to his grave: 
 And, for amends to his posterity, 
 
 « Idle reports. 
 
 1 A character in an old drama called Soliman and Ar 
 seda. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 3H3 
 
 At o t importance, 9 hither is he come. 
 To spread his colors, boy in thy behalf; 
 Ami to rebuke the usurpation 
 Oi thy unnatural uncle, English John: 
 Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. 
 Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death, 
 The rather, that you give his offspring life, 
 Shadowing their right under your wings of war: 
 I give you welcome with a powerless hand, 
 But with a heart full of unstained love: 
 Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke. 
 Lew- A noble boy! Who would not do thee right! 
 Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss, 
 As seal to this indenture of my love; 
 That to my home I will no more return, 
 Till Angiers and the right thou hast in France, 
 Together with that pale, that white-faced shore, 
 Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, 
 And coops from other lands her islanders, 
 Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, 
 The water-walled bulwark, still secure 
 And confident from foreign purposes, 
 Even till that utmost corner of the west 
 Salute thee for her king; till then, fair boy, 
 Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 
 
 Const. 0, take his mother's thanks, a widow's 
 thanks, 
 Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength, 
 To make a more requital to your love. 
 
 Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift 
 their swords 
 In such a just and charitable war. 
 
 K. Phi. Well then, to work ; our cannon shall 
 be bent 
 Against the brows of this resisting town. 
 Call for our chiefest men of discipline, 
 To cull the plots of best advantages; 1 — 
 We'll lay before this town our royal bones, 
 Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood, 
 But we will make it subject to this boy. 
 
 Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy, 
 Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood: 
 My lord Chatillon may from England bring 
 That right in peace, which here we urge in war ; 
 And then we shall repent each drop of blood, 
 That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 
 
 Enter Chatillon. 
 
 K. Phi. A wonder, lady ! — lo, upon thy wish, 
 Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. — 
 What England says, say briefly, gentle lord, 
 We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak. 
 
 Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege, 
 And stir them up against a mightier task. 
 England, impatient of your just demands, 
 Hath put himself in arms ; the adverse winds, 
 Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time 
 To land his legions all as soon as I : 
 His marches are expedient 2 to this town, 
 His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
 With him along is come the mother-queen, 
 An Ate, 3 stirring him to blood and strife ; 
 With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain; 
 With them a bastard of the king deceas'd : 
 And all the unsettled humors of the land, — 
 Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries, 
 With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, — 
 Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
 Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs, 
 To make a hazard of new fortunes here, 
 [n brief, a braver choice, of dauntless spirits, 
 
 8 Importunity. ' Best s^-ations to over-awe the town. 
 'Immediate, expeditious »T>. > Goddess of Revenge. 
 
 Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er 
 Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
 To do offence and seath 4 in Christendom. 
 The interruption of their churlish drums 
 
 [Drums beat. 
 Cuts off more circumstance: they are at hand, 
 To parley or to fight; therefore, prepare. 
 
 K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expedition 
 Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much 
 We must awake endeavor for defence; 
 For courage mounteth with occasion: 
 Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. 
 
 Enter King Jou^Elinok, Blanch, the Bastard, 
 Pembroke, and Forces. 
 
 K. John. Peace be to France ; if France in peace 
 permit 
 Our just and lineal entrance to our own ! 
 If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven. 
 Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
 Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven. 
 
 K. Phi. Peace be to England: if that war return 
 From Fiance to England, there to live in peace! 
 England we love: and, for that England's sake, 
 With burden of our armor here we sweat: 
 This toil of ours should be a work of thine ; 
 But thou from loving England art so far, 
 That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, 
 Cut off the sequence of posterity, 
 Outfaced infant state, and done a rape 
 Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
 Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; — 
 These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his . 
 This little abstract doth contain that large, 
 Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time 
 Shall draw this brief 5 into as huge a volume. 
 That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, 
 And this his son; England was Geffrey's right, 
 And this is Geffrey's : In the name of God, 
 How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king. 
 W T hen living blood doth in these temples beat, 
 Which owe 6 the crown that thou o'ermasterest ! 
 
 K. John. From whom hast thou this great com- 
 mission, France, 
 To draw my answei from thy articles ? 
 
 K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirs 
 good thoughts 
 In any breast of strong authority, 
 To look into the blots and stains of right. 
 That judge hath made me guardian to this boy : 
 Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong; 
 And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it. 
 
 K.John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 
 
 K. Phi. Excuse; it is to beat usurping down. 
 
 Eli. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, France 1 
 
 Const. Let me make answer ; — thy usurping son. 
 
 Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king ; 
 That thoumayst be a queen, and check the world! 
 
 Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true. 
 As thine was to thy husband : and this boy 
 Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, 
 Than thou and John in manners; being as like. 
 As rain to water, or devil to his dam. • 
 My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think, 
 His father never was so true begot; 
 It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. 
 
 Eli. There's a good mother, hoy, that blots thy 
 father. 
 
 Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that would 
 blot thee. 
 
 Aust. Peace! 
 
 Bast. Hear the crier. 
 
 4 Mischief. » A short-writing. • Owv 
 
334 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Acr II 
 
 Aust. What the devil art thou 1 
 
 Bast. One that wiil piay the devil, sir, with you, 
 An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. 
 You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, 
 Whose valor plucks dead lions by the beard ; 
 I'll smoke vour skin-coat, an I catch you right : 
 Sirrah, look to't; i'faith, I will, i'faith. 
 
 Blanch. O, well did he become that lien's robe, 
 That did disrobe the lion of that robe! 
 
 Bast. It lies as sighth/ on the back of him, 
 As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass : — 
 But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back; 
 Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack. 
 
 A ust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears 
 With this abundance of superfluous breath ? 
 K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do 
 
 straight. 
 Lew. Women and fools, break off your confer- 
 ence. — 
 King John, this is the very sum of all, — 
 England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine, 
 In right of Arthur do I claim of thee : 
 Wilt thou resign them and lay down thy arms ? 
 K. John. My life as soon : — I do defy thee, 
 France. 
 Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand; 
 And, out of my dear love, I'll give thee more 
 Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : 
 Submit thee, boy. 
 
 Eli. Come to thy grandam, child. 
 
 Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child; 
 Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will 
 Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig: 
 There's a good grandam. 
 
 Arth. Good my mother, peace ! 
 
 I would, that I were low laid in my grave ; 
 I am not worth this coil ' that's made for me. 
 Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he 
 
 weeps. 
 Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does or no! 
 His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, 
 Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, 
 Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee; 
 Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be bribed 
 To do him justice, and revenge on you. 
 
 Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and 
 
 earth ! 
 Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and 
 earth ! 
 Call not me slanderer; thou, and thine, usurp 
 The dominations, royalties, and rights, 
 Of this oppressed boy : This is thy eldest son's son, 
 Infortunate in nothing but in thee; 
 Thy sins are visited in this poor child; 
 The canon of the law is laid on him, 
 Being but the second generation 
 Removed from thy sin-conceiving womb. 
 A'. John. Beldam, have done. 
 Const. I have but this to say, — 
 
 That he's not only plagued for her sin, 
 But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
 On this removed issue, plagued for her, 
 And with her plague, her sin; his injury 
 Her injury, — the beadle to her sin; 
 All punish'd in the person of this child, 
 And all for her; A plague upon her! 
 
 Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
 A will that bars the title of thy son. 
 
 Const. Ay, who doubts that'! a will! a wicked will ; 
 A woman's will; a canker'd grandam's will! 
 
 K Phi. Peace, lady, pa use, or be more temperate : 
 ft W. beseems this presence, to cry aim' 
 
 ' Pustle • To encourage. 
 
 To these ill-tuned repetition* — 
 Some trumpet summon hither to the walls 
 These men of Angiers ; let us hear them speaK, 
 Whose title they admit, ^Arthur's or John's. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the Walk 
 
 1 Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls* 
 
 A'. Phi. 'Tis France, for England. 
 
 K.John. England, for itself. 
 
 You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects, — 
 
 K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's 
 subjects, 
 Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. 9 
 
 K. John. For our advantage ; — Therefore hear 
 
 us first. 
 
 These flags of France, that are advanced here 
 Before the eye and prospect of your town, 
 Have hither march'd to your endamagement : 
 The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ; 
 And ready mounted are they to spit forth 
 Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : 
 All preparation for a bloody siege, 
 And merciless proceeding by these French, 
 Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates ; 
 And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones 
 That as a waist do girdle you about, 
 By the compulsion of their ordinance 
 By this time from their fixed beds of lime 
 Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 
 For bloody power to rush upon your peace. 
 But, on the sight of us, your lawful king, — 
 Who painfully with much expedient march, 
 Have brought a countercheck before your gates, 
 To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks, — 
 Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle: 
 And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, 
 To make a shaking fever in your walls, 
 They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke, 
 To make a faithless error in your ears : 
 Which trust accordingly, kind citizens, 
 And let us in, your king; whose labor'd spirits, 
 Forwearicd 1 in this action of swift speed, 
 Crave harborage within your city walls. 
 
 K. Phi. When I have said, make answer to u* 
 both. 
 Lo, in this right hand, whose protection 
 Is most divinely vow'd upon the right 
 Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet ; 
 Son to the elder brother of this man, 
 And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys: 
 For this down-trodden equity, we tread 
 In warlike march these greens before your town , 
 Being no further enemy to you, 
 Than the constraint of hospitable zeal, 
 In the relief of this oppressed child, 
 Religiously provokes. Be pleased then 
 To pay that duty, which you truly owe, 
 To him that owes' 3 it; namely, this young prince 
 And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, 
 Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up ; 
 Our cannon's malice vainly shall be spent 
 Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven; 
 And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire. 
 With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd 
 We will bear home that lusty blood again, 
 Which here we came to spout against your town. 
 And leave your children, wives, and you in peace. 
 But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer, 
 'Tis not the roundure 3 of your old-faced walls 
 Can hide you from our messengers of war: 
 Though all these English, and their discipline, 
 Were harbor'd in their rude circumference. 
 
 9 Conference. « Worn out. » Owns. a Cirfila 
 
Scene II. KING JOHN. 
 
 38ft 
 
 Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord. 
 In that behalf which we have challenged if? 
 Or shall we give the signal to our rage, 
 And stalk in blood to our possession 1 
 
 1 Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's 
 subjects ; 
 For him, and in his right, we hold this town. 
 K. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let 
 
 me in. 
 1 Cit. That can we not: but he that proves the king 
 To him will we prove loyal ; till that time, 
 Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world. 
 K. John. Doth not the crown of England prove 
 the king ? 
 And, if not that, I bring you witnesses, 
 Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed, — 
 Bast. Bastards, and else. 
 K. John. To verify our title with their lives. 
 K. Phi. As many, and as well-born bloods as 
 
 those, 
 
 Bast. Some bastards too. 
 K. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. 
 1 Cit. Till vou compound whose right is worthiest, 
 We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. 
 K. John. Then God forgive the sin of all those 
 souls, 
 That to their everlasting residence, 
 Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, 
 In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! 
 
 K. Phi. Amen ! Amen ! — Mount, chevaliers, to 
 
 arms ! 
 Bast. St. George, — that swinged the dragon, 
 and e'er since, 
 Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, 
 Teach us some fence ! Sirrah, were I at home, 
 At your den, sirrah,[ToAusTRiA.]withyour lioness, 
 I'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
 And make a monster of you. 
 
 Aust. Peace ; no more. 
 
 Bast. 0, tremble ; for you hear the lion roar. 
 K. John. Up higher to the plain ; where we'll set 
 forth, 
 In best appointment, all our regiments. 
 
 Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. 
 K. Phi. It shall be so ; — [To Lewis.] and at the 
 other hill 
 Command the rest to stand. — God and our right! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Alarums and Excursions: then a Retreat. Enter 
 a French Herald, with Trumpets., to the Gates. 
 F. Her. You menof xlngiers, open wide your gates, 
 And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in ; 
 Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made 
 Much work for tears in many an English mother. 
 Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground : 
 Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, 
 Coldly embracing the discolor'd earth ; 
 And victory, with little loss, doth play 
 Upon the dancing banners of the French ; 
 Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, 
 To enter conquerors, and to proclaim 
 Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. 
 Enter ail English Herald, with Trumpets. 
 E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your 
 bells, 
 King John, your king and England's, doth approach, 
 Commander of this hot malicious day ! 
 Their armors, that march'd hence so silver-bright, 
 Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood ; 
 There slack no plume in any English crest, 
 
 That is removed by a staff of France ; 
 Our colors do return in those same hands 
 That did display them when we first march'd forth ■ 
 And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 
 Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, 
 Died in the dying slaughter of their foes : 
 Open your gates, and give the victors way. 
 
 Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, 
 From first to last, the onset and retire 
 Of both your armies ; whose equality 
 By our best eyes cannot be censured: 4 
 Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd 
 
 blows ; 
 Strength match'd with strength, and power con- 
 fronted power : 
 Both are alike ; and both alike we like. 
 One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, 
 We hold our town for neither; yet for both. 
 
 Enter, at one side, King John, with his Power,- 
 Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastard; at the other, 
 King Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces. 
 
 K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast 
 away ? 
 Say, shall the current of our right run on 1 
 Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, 
 Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell 
 With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, 
 Unless thou let his silver water keep 
 A peaceful progress to the ocean. 
 
 K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of 
 blood, 
 In this hot trial, more than we of France ; 
 Rather, lost more : And by this hand I swear, 
 That sways the earth this climate overlooks, — 
 Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, 
 We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we 
 
 bear, 
 Or add a royal number to the dead; 
 Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss, 
 With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 
 
 Bast. Ha, majesty ! how high thy glory towers, 
 When the rich blood of kings is set on fire ! 
 0, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel • 
 The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; 
 And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men, 
 In undetermin'd differences of kings. — 
 Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? 
 Cry, havoc, kings ! back to the stained field, 
 You equal potents, 5 fiery kindled spirits! 
 Then let confusion of one part confirm 
 The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death! 
 
 K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? 
 
 K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's youi 
 king? 
 
 1 Cit. The king of England, when we know the 
 king. 
 
 K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his 
 right. 
 
 K. John. In us, that are our own great deputy, 
 And bear possession of our person here ; 
 Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 
 
 1 Cit. A greater power than we, denies all this; 
 And, till it be undoubted, we do lock 
 Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates: 
 King'd of our fears ; until our fears resolv'd, 
 Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 
 
 Bust. By heaven, these scroyles 6 of Angiers flout 
 you, kings; 
 And stand securely on their battlements, 
 As in a theatre, whence they gape and point 
 At your industrious scenes and acts of deatS: 
 4 Judged, determined. • Potentates. « Scabby MIp-jts 
 
:«6 
 
 KING JOHN 
 
 Act £1 
 
 Your royal presences be rul'd by me ; 
 
 Do like the mutines 1 of Jerusalem; 
 
 Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend 
 
 Tour sharpest deeds of malice on this town : 
 
 By east and west let France and England mount 
 
 Their battering cannon, charged to the mouths; 
 
 Till their soul-fearing clamors have brawl'd down 
 
 The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : 
 
 I'd play incessantly upon these jades, 
 
 Even till unfenced desolation 
 
 Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. 
 
 That done, dissever your united strengths, 
 
 And part your mingled colors once again ; 
 
 Turn face to face, and bloody point to point: 
 
 Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth 
 
 Out of one sjde her happy minion ; 
 
 To whom in favor she shall give the day, 
 
 And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
 
 How like you this wild counsel, mighty states'! 
 
 Smacks it not something of the policy ? 
 
 K. John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our 
 heads, 
 I like it well ; — France, shall we knit our powers, 
 And lay this Angiers even with the ground; 
 Then, after, fight who shall be king of it ? 
 
 Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, — 
 Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town, — 
 Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery, 
 As we will ours, against these saucy walls: 
 And when that we have dash'd them to the ground, 
 Why, then defy each other; and pell-mell, 
 Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. 
 
 A'. Phi. Let it be so: — Say, where will you assault? 
 
 K. John. We from the west will send destruction 
 Into this city's bosom. 
 
 Aust. I from the north. 
 
 K. Phi. Our thunder from the south, 
 
 Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 
 
 Bust. O prudent discipline ! From north to south; 
 Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth : 
 
 [Aside. 
 I'll stir them to it: — Come, away, away! 
 
 1 Cit. Hear us, great kings: vouchsafe a while 
 to stay, 
 And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league ; 
 Win you this city without stroke, or wound; 
 Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, 
 That here come sacrifices for the field : 
 Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. 
 
 K. John. Speak on, with favor ; we are bent to hear. 
 
 1 Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady 
 Blanch, 
 Is near to England: Look upon the years 
 Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid : 
 If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
 Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch? 
 If zealous 8 love should go in search of virtue, 
 Where should he find it purer than in Blanch? 
 If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch ? 
 Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
 Is the young Dauphin every way complete: 
 If not complete, say, he is not she; 
 And she again wants nothing, to name want, 
 If want it be not, that she is not he : 
 He is the half part of a blessed man, 
 Left to be finished by such as she; 
 And she a fair divided excellence, 
 Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 
 0, two such silver currents, when they join, 
 Do glorify the banks that bound them in: 
 Vnd two such cV >orea tc tw o such streams made one, 
 • Mutineers 8 Pious. 
 
 Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, kings. 
 To these two princes, if you marry them. 
 This union shall do more than battery can, 
 To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match, 
 With swifter spleen 9 than powder can enforce, 
 The mouth of passage shall we ding wide ope, 
 And give you entrance ; but without this match, 
 The sea enraged is not half so deaf, 
 Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
 More free from motion ; no, not Death himsel* 
 In mortal fury half so peremptory, 
 As we to keep this city. 
 
 Bast. Here's a stay, 
 
 That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death 
 Out of his rags ! Here's a large mouth, indeed, 
 That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and 
 
 seas; 
 Talks as familiarly of roaring lions, 
 As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs ? 
 What cannoneer begot this lusty blood? 
 He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and 
 
 bounce ; 
 He gives the bastinado with his tongue ; 
 Our ears are cudgel'd; not a word of his, 
 But buffets better than a fist of France : 
 Why ! I was never so bethump'd with words, 
 Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad. 
 
 Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match 
 Give with our niece a dowry large enough: 
 For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 
 Thy now unsured assurance to the crown, 
 That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
 The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. 
 I see a yielding in the looks of France; 
 Mark, how they whisper: urge them, while fheu 
 
 souls 
 Are capable of this ambition: 
 Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath 
 Of soft petitions, pity and remorse, 
 Cool and congeal again to what it was. 
 
 1 Cit. Why answer not the double majesties 
 This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town ? 
 
 K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for- 
 ward first 
 To speak upon this city : What say you ? 
 
 A'. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely 
 son, 
 Can in this book of beauty read, I love, 
 Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen : 
 For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, 
 And all that we upon this side the sea 
 (Except this city now by us besieged) 
 Find liable to our crown and dignity, 
 Shall gild her bridal bed; and make her rich 
 In titles, honors, and promotions, 
 As she in beauty, education, blood, 
 Holds hand with any princess of the world. 
 
 K. Phi. "What say'st thou, boy ? look in the lady's 
 
 face. 
 Lew. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find 
 A wonder, or a wonderous miracle, 
 The shadow of myself form 'd in her eye; 
 Which, being but the shadow of your son, 
 Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow: 
 I do protest, I never lov'd myself, 
 Till now infixed I beheld myself, 
 Drawn in the flattering table of her eye. 
 
 [Whispers with Bl.auch 
 Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye! - 
 Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow 
 And quarter' d i;i her heart! — he doth espy 
 Himself love's traitor: This is pity now 
 » Speod. 
 
Act III Scene i. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 33? 
 
 That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there 
 
 should be, 
 In such a love, so vile a lout as he. 
 
 ftlanch. My uncle's will, in this respect, is mine : 
 if he see aught in you, that makes him like, 
 That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, 
 I can with ease translate it to my will; 
 Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,) 
 I will enforce it easily to my love. 
 Further -I will not natter you, my lord, 
 That all I see in you is worthy love, 
 Than this — that nothing do I see in you, 
 (Though churlish thoughts themselves should be 
 
 your judge,) 
 That I can find should merit any hate. 
 
 K. John. What say these young ones'? What 
 
 say you, my niece? 
 Blanch. That she is bound in honor still to do 
 What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. 
 K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin; can you 
 
 love this lady? 
 Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; 
 For I do love her most unfeignedly. 
 
 K. John. Then I do give Volquessen, Touraine, 
 Maine, 
 Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, 
 With her to thee; and this addition more, 
 Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. — 
 Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal, 
 Command thy son and daughter to join hands. 
 K. Phi. It likes us well ; — Young princes, close 
 
 your hands. 
 Aust. And your lips too ; for, I am well assured, 
 That I did so, when I was first assured. 1 
 
 K. Phi. Now, citizens of Angiers, ope your gates, 
 Let in that amity which you have made; • 
 For at Saint Mary's chapel, presently, 
 Tne rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. — ■ 
 Is not the lady Constance in this troop] — 
 [ know, she is not; for this match, made up, 
 Her presence would have interrupted much: — 
 Where is she and her son? tell me, who knows. 
 Lew. She is sad and passionate* at your highness' 
 
 tent. 
 K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we 
 have made, 
 Will give her sadness very little cure. — 
 Brother of England, how may we content 
 This widow lady ? In her right we came : 
 Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, 
 To our own vantage. 
 
 K. John. We will heal up all; 
 
 For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, 
 And carl of Richmond; and this rich fair town 
 We make him lord of. — Call the lady Constance; 
 Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
 To our solemnity : — I trust we shall, 
 If not fill up the measure of her will, 
 Yet in some measure satisfy her so, 
 That we shall stop her exclamation. 
 Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, 
 To this ur.look'd for unprepared pomp. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Bastard. — The Citizens 
 retire from the Walls. 
 
 Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composition ! 
 John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole, 
 Hath willingly departed with a part : 
 And France, (whose armor conscience buckled on; 
 Whom zeal and charity brought to the field, 
 As God's own soldier,) rounded 4 in the ear 
 With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil; 
 That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith ; 
 That daily break-vow ; he that wins of all, 
 Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids ; — 
 Who having no external thing to lose 
 But the word maid, — cheats the poor maid of that; 
 That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity,* 
 Commodity, the bias of the world , 
 The world, who of itself is peised 6 well, 
 Made to run even, upon even ground ; 
 Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias, 
 This sway of motion, this commodity, 
 Makes it take head from all indifferency, 
 From all direction, purpose, course, intent: 
 And this same bias, this commodity, 
 This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
 Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 
 Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid, 
 From a resolv'd and honorable war, 
 To a most base and vile-concluded peace. — 
 And why rail I on this commodity? 
 But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: 
 Not that I have the power to clutch 7 my hand, 
 When his fair angels 8 would salute my palm : 
 But for my hand, as unattempted yet, 
 Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
 Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail, 
 And say, — there is no sin, but to be rich; 
 And being rich, my virtue then shall be, 
 To say, — there is no vice but beggary: 
 Since kings break faith upon commodity, 
 Gain, be my lord ! for I wdl worship thee ! [Exit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The French King's Tent. 
 Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury. 
 
 Const. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace! 
 Faise blood to false blood join'd ! Gone, to be friends ! 
 Shall Lewis have Blanch? and Blanch those pro- 
 vinces ? 
 It is not so ; thou hast mis-spoke, misheard ; 
 Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again : 
 It cannot be; thou dost but say, 'tis so: 
 I trust, I may not trust thee; for thy word 
 Is but the vain breath of a common man 
 Believe me, I do not believe thee, man; 
 I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
 Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me, 
 Tor I am sick, and capable" of fears; 
 Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ; 
 
 Affianced 
 
 » Susceptible. 
 
 A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; 
 A woman, naturally born to fears; 
 And though thou now confess, thou didst but jeal 
 With my vex'd spirits, I cannot take a truce, 
 But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
 What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head? 
 Why dost thou look so sadly on my son? 
 What means that hand upon that breast of thine 
 Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum, 
 .Like a proud river peering 9 o'er his bounds? 
 Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? 
 Then speak again; not all ...y former tale. 
 But this one word ; whether thy tale be true. 
 
 Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think their iu\m 
 That give you cause to prove my saying true. 
 
 Const. 0, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow 
 
 4 Conspired. 
 ' Clasp. 
 
 s Interest. 
 » Coin 
 
 » PoUad, bal&nred- 
 • Appearing. 
 
&J8 
 
 KING JOHN 
 
 Act 111 
 
 1 
 
 Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die; 
 And let belief and life encounter so 
 As doth the fury of two desperate men, 
 Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die. — 
 Lewis marry Blanch ! 0,bpy, then where art thou? 
 France friend with England! what becomes of me? — 
 Fellow, be gone ; I cannot brook thy sight ; 
 This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 
 
 Sal. What other harm have I, good lady, done, 
 Hut spoke the harm that is by others done ? 
 
 Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is, 
 >\s it makes harmful all that speak of it. 
 
 Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 
 Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert 
 grim, 
 Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb, 
 Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless' stains, 
 Lame, foolish, crooked, swarth, prodigious, 
 Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks, 
 I would not care, I then would be content ; 
 For then I should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
 Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
 But thou art fair; and at thy birth, dear boy ! 
 Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great: 
 Of nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast, 
 And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, ! 
 She is corrupted, changed, and won from thee ; 
 She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ; 
 And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
 To tread down fair respect of sovereignty, 
 And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
 Fiance is a bawd to fortune, and king John; 
 That strumpet fortune, that usurping John : — 
 Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ? 
 Envenom him with words; or get thee gone, 
 And leave those woes alone, which I alone 
 Am bound to under-bear. 
 
 Sal. Pardon me, madam, 
 
 I may not go without you to the kings. 
 
 Const. Thou mayst, thou shall, I will not go with 
 thee: 
 I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ; 
 For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
 To me, and to the state 3 of my great grief, 
 Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great, 
 That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
 c'an hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ; 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 
 
 [She throws herself on the ground. 
 
 Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, 
 Elinoii, Bastard, Austria, and Attendants. 
 
 K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed 
 day 
 Ever in France shall be kept festival : 
 f o solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
 Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist; 
 Turning, with splendor of his precious eye, 
 The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
 The yearly course, that brings this day about, 
 Shalf never see it but a holyday. 
 
 Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — — 
 
 [Rising. 
 What hath this day deserv'd; what hath it done; 
 That it in golden letters should be set, 
 Among the high tides, in the calendar ? 
 Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ; 
 "Hus day of shame, oppression, perjury : 
 Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child 
 Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day, 
 Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd : 
 But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck, 
 
 < Unsightly » Monstrous. • Dignity. 
 
 No bargains break, that are not this day made ; 
 This day, all things begun come to ill en-1; 
 Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood cr ange ! 
 
 K. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause 
 To curse the fair proceedings of this day : 
 Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? 
 
 Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, 
 Resembling majesty; which, being touch'd and tried, 
 Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn ; 
 You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
 But now in arms you strengthen it with yours; 
 The grappling vigor and rough frown of war, 
 Is cold in amity and painted peace, 
 And our oppression hath made up this league : — 
 Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings 
 A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
 Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
 Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset, 
 Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings ! 
 Hear me, 0, hoar me ! 
 
 Aust. Lady Constance, peace. 
 
 Const. War! war! no peace! peace is to me a wai 
 O Lymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame 
 That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thoi 
 
 coward ; 
 Thou little valiant, great in villany ! 
 Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
 Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
 But when her humorous ladyship is by 
 To teach thee safety ! thou art perjur'd too, 
 And sooth'st up greatness. W 7 hat a fool art thou. 
 A ramping fool; to brag, and stamp, and 'swear, 
 Upon my party ! Thou cold- blooded slave, 
 Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? 
 Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend 
 Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength? 
 And dost thou now fall over to my foes? 
 Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it ' for shame, 
 And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs. 
 Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to 
 
 me ! 
 Bast. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant 
 
 limbs. 
 Aust. Thou dar'st not say so. villain, for thy life. 
 Bast. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant 
 
 limbs. 
 K. John. We like not this: thou dost forget thyself. 
 
 Enter Pandulph. 
 
 K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate ef the pope. 
 
 Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven ! — 
 To thee, king John, my holy errand is. 
 I Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal, 
 And from pope Innocent the legate here, 
 Do, in his name, religiously demand, 
 Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
 So wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce, 
 Keep Stephen Langton. chosen archbishop 
 Of Canteufcury, from that holy see? 
 This in our 'foresaid holy father's name, 
 Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee. 
 
 K. John. What earthly name to interrogatories 
 Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 
 Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
 So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, 
 To charge me to an answer, as the pope. 
 Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England, 
 Add thus much more, — That no Italian priest 
 Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; 
 But as we under heaven are supreme head, 
 So, under him, that great supremacy. 
 Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
 « Put it off. 
 
ScENfi I. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 339 
 
 Without the assistance of a mortal hand : 
 So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart, 
 To him, and his usurp'd authority. 
 
 K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in 
 
 this. 
 K. John. Though you, and all the kings of Chris- 
 tendom, 
 Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, 
 Dreading the curse that money may buy out 
 And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
 Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, 
 Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself: 
 Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led, 
 This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish; 
 Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose 
 Against the pope, and count his friends my foes. 
 
 Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have, 
 Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate : 
 And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt 
 From his allegiance to a heretic ; 
 And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
 Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint, 
 That takes away by any secret course 
 Thy hateful life. 
 
 Const. O. lawful let it be, 
 
 That I have room with Rome to curse a while ! 
 Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen, 
 To my keen curses ; for, without my wrong, 
 There is no tongue hath power to curse him right. 
 
 Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. 
 
 Const. And for mine too; when law can do no right, 
 Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong : 
 Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ; 
 For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law: 
 Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, 
 How can the law forbid my tongue to curse? 
 
 Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse, 
 Let go the hand of that arch-heretic ; 
 And raise the power of France upon his head, 
 Unless he do submit himself to Rome. 
 
 Eli. Look'st thou pale, France ? do not let go 
 thy hand. 
 
 Const. Look to that, devil ! lest that France re- 
 pent, 
 And, by disjoining hands, hell lose a soul. 
 
 Aust. King Philip, list-en to the cardinal. 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf's skin on his recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust. Well, ruffian, I must pocket up these 
 wrongs, 
 Because 
 
 Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 
 
 K. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal] 
 
 Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal"! 
 
 Lew. Bethink you, father : for the difference 
 Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
 Or the light loss of England for a friend : 
 Forego the easier. 
 
 Bhnch. That's the curse of Rome. 
 
 Const. Lewis, stand fast ; the devil tempts thee 
 here, 
 In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. 
 
 Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her 
 faith, 
 But from her need. 
 
 Const. O, if thou grant my need, 
 
 Which only lives but by the death of faith, 
 
 Th:it need must needs infer this principle, 
 
 That faith would live again by death of need ; 
 
 0, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up ; 
 
 Keep my need up, and faith is trodden do*'n. 
 
 K. John The king is mov'd, and answers not to 
 this. 
 
 Contt. O, lie. rcinov'd from him, and answer well. 
 
 Aust. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in 
 
 doubt. 
 Bast. Hang nothing but a calf s skin, most sweet 
 
 lout. 
 A'. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. 
 Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee 
 more. 
 If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd ? 
 
 K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person 
 yours, 
 And tell me, how you would bestow yourself. 
 This royal hand and mine are newly knit; 
 And the conjunction of our inward souls 
 Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
 With all religious strength of sacred vows ; 
 The latest breath that gave the sound of words, 
 Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love, 
 Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves ; 
 And even before this truce, but new before, — 
 No longer than we well could wash our hands, 
 
 To clap this royal bargain up of peace, 
 
 Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd 
 With slaughter's pencil ; where revenge did paint 
 The fearful difference of incensed kings : 
 And shall these hands so lately purged of blood, 
 So newly join'd in love, so strong in both, 
 Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet 1 8 
 Play fast and loose with faith 1 so jest with heaven, 
 Make such unconstant children of ourselves, 
 As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; 
 Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage be J 
 Of smiling peace to march a bloody host, 
 And make a riot on the gentle brow 
 Of true sincerity 1 holy sir, 
 My reverend father, let it not be so : 
 Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
 Some gentle order ; and then we shall be blcss'd 
 To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 
 
 Pand. All form is formless, order orderless, 
 Save what is opposite to England's love. 
 Therefore, to arms ! be champion of our church ! 
 Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 
 A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
 France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, 
 A cased lion by the mortal paw, 
 A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, 
 Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold 
 K. Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. 
 Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith 
 And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath, 
 Thy tongue against thy tongue. 0, let thy vow 
 First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ; 
 That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
 What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself 
 And may not be performed by thyself; 
 For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, 
 Is not amiss when it is truly done ; 
 And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
 The truth is then most done not doing it: 
 The better act of purposes mistook 
 Is, to mistake again ; though indirect, 
 Yet indirection thereby grows direct, 
 And falsehood, falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire, 
 Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. 
 It is religion, that doth make vows kept; 
 But thou hast sworn against religion; 
 By what thou swear'st, against the thing thot 
 
 swear'st ; 
 And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth 
 Against an oath: The truth thou art unsure 
 To swear, swear only not to be lorsworn : 
 Else, what a mockery onould it be to swear ! 
 » Exchange of salutation. 
 
340 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act III 
 
 But thou dost swear only to be forsworn; 
 
 And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. 
 
 Therefore, thy latter vowb, against thy first, 
 
 Is in thyself rebellion to thyself: 
 
 And better conquest never canst thou make, 
 
 Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
 
 Against those giddy loose suggestions: 
 
 upon which better part our prayers come in, 
 
 If thou vouchsafe, them : but, if not, then know, 
 
 The peril of our curses light on thee ; 
 
 So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off, 
 
 But, in despair, die under their black weight. 
 
 Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion ! 
 
 Bast. WM'tnotbe? 
 
 Will not a calf's skin stop that mouth of thine 1 
 
 Leiv. Father, to arms! 
 
 Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ? 
 
 Against the blood that thou hast married? 
 What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd 
 
 men 1 
 Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, — 
 Clamors of hell, — be measures 6 to our pomp? 
 O, husband, hear me ! — ah, alack, how new 
 Is husband in my mouth ! — even for that name, 
 Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce, 
 Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 
 Against mine uncle. 
 
 Const. O, upon my knee, 
 
 Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee, 
 Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
 Fore-thought by heaven. 
 
 Blanch. Now shall I see thy love; what motive 
 may 
 Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ? 
 
 Const. That which upholdeth him that thee up- 
 holds, 
 His honor ; 0, thine honor, Lewis, thine honor ! 
 
 Lew. I muse, 1 your majesty doth seem so cold, 
 When such profound respects do pull you on. 
 
 Panel. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 
 
 K. Phi. Thou shalt not need: — England, I'll 
 fall from thee. 
 
 Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty ! 
 
 Eli. foul revolt of French inconstancy! 
 
 A'. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within 
 this hour. 
 
 Bast. Old Time, the clock-setter, that bald sexton 
 Time, 
 Is it a-s he will? well then, France shall rue. 
 
 Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood ; Fair day, 
 adieu ! 
 Which is the side that I must go withal? 
 I am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
 And, in their rage, I having hold of both, 
 They whirl asunder, and dismember me. 
 Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win ; 
 Uncle, I needs must p r ay that thou mayst lose; 
 Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
 Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive: 
 Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose; 
 Assured loss before the match be play'd. 
 
 Lew. Lady, with me; with me thy fortune lies. 
 
 Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my 
 life dies. 
 
 K. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance 8 to- 
 gether. — [Exit Bastard. 
 France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
 A rage, whose heat hath this condition, 
 That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, 
 The b\ood, and dearest-valued blood of France. 
 
 K. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou 
 shalt turn 
 
 Masic for dancing. 
 
 ' Wonder. 
 
 To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that Are 
 Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 
 
 K. John. No more than he that threats. — T» 
 arms let's hie ! [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— Plains near Angiers. 
 
 Alarums,- Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with 
 Austria's head. 
 
 Bast. Now, by my life, this day grows wondrou 
 hot; 
 Some airy devil hovers in the sky, 
 And pours down mischief. Austria's head he there, 
 While Philip breathes. 
 
 Enter King John, Arthur, and Huhkrt. 
 
 K. John. Hubert, keep this boy: — Philip, make up; 
 My mother is assailed is our tent, 
 And ta'en, I fear. 
 
 Bast. My lord, I rescued her ; 
 
 Her highness is in safety, fear you not : 
 But on, my liege : for very little pains 
 Will bring this labor to a happy end. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. 
 Alarums,- Excursions,- Retreat. E?iter Kik a Joim , 
 
 Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and 
 
 Lords. 
 
 K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay 
 behind, [To Elinor. 
 
 So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad : 
 
 [To Arthur. 
 Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
 As dear be to thee as thy father was. 
 
 Arth. O, this will make my mother die with griet. 
 
 K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard,] away foi 
 England; haste before: 
 And ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
 Of hoarding abbots; angels" imprison'd 
 Set thou at liberty : the fat ribs of peace 
 Must by the hungry now be fed upon : 
 Use our commission in its utmost force. 
 
 Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive mo 
 back, 
 When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
 I leave your highness: — Grandam, I will pray 
 (If ever I remember to be holy) 
 For your fair safety ; so I kiss your hand. 
 
 Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin. 
 
 K. John. Coz, farewell. 
 
 [Exit Bastard. 
 
 Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word 
 [She takes Arthur aside. 
 
 K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my genHe 
 Hubert, 
 We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh 
 There is a soul, counts thee her creditor, 
 And with advantage means to pay thy love: 
 And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
 Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
 Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — 
 But I will fit it with some better time. 
 By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed 
 To say what good respect I have of thee. 
 
 Hub. I am much bounden to your majesty 
 
 K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause l< 
 say so yet" 
 But thou shalt have ; and creep time ne'er so slow 
 Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
 I had a thing to say, — but let it go : 
 The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day. 
 Attended with the pleasures of the world. 
 Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, - 
 
 »Goldcoi». * Showy cr nam onto. 
 
ScKNK IV. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 *1] 
 
 To give me audience : — If the midnigh* bell 
 
 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 
 Sound on» unto th? drowsy race of night; 
 
 If this same were a church-yard where we stand, 
 
 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; 
 
 Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, 
 
 Had bak'd tny blood, and made it heavy, thick; 
 
 (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, 
 
 Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
 
 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
 
 A passion hateful to my purposes ;} 
 
 Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, 
 
 Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
 
 Without a tongue, using conceit 3 alone, 
 
 Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
 
 Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, 
 
 [ would into thy bosom pour my thoughts: 
 
 But, ah, I will not: — Yet I love thee well ; 
 
 And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well. 
 
 Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 
 Though that my death were adjunct 3 to my act, 
 By heaven, I'd do't. 
 
 K. John. Do not I know, thou wouldst? 
 
 Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
 On yon young boy : I'll tell thee what, my friend, 
 He is a very serpent in my way ; 
 And,' wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, 
 He lies before me: Dost thou understand me! 
 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 Hub. And I will keep him so, 
 
 That he shall not offend your majesty. 
 
 K.John. Death. 
 
 Hub. My lord? 
 
 K. John. A grave. 
 
 Hub. He shall not live. 
 
 K. John. Enough. 
 
 I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee; 
 Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee; 
 
 Remember. Madam, fare you well : 
 
 I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. 
 
 Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 
 
 K. John. For England, cousin: 
 
 Hubert shall be your man, attend on you 
 With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE IV.— The same. The French King's Tent. 
 Enter King Philip, Lkwis, Pandulph, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
 A whole armado* of convicted 6 sail 
 Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship. 
 
 Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well. 
 
 K. Phi. What can go well, when we have run 
 so ill! 
 Are we not beaten"! Is not Angiers lost 1 ? 
 Arthur ta'en prisoner? divers dear friends slain? 
 And bloody England into England gone, 
 O'erbeanng interruption, spite of France ? 
 
 Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified ; 
 So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd, 
 Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 
 Doth want example : Who hath read, or heard, 
 Of any kindred action like to this? 
 
 K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this 
 praise, 
 So we could find some pattern of our shame. 
 
 Enter Constance. 
 Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ; 
 Holding the eternal spirit, against her will, 
 m the vile prison of afflicted breath: — 
 [ pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 
 
 0r.;>5option. * Joined. 4 Fleet of war. » Overcome. 
 
 Const. Lo,now! row seethe issue of your peuce ! 
 
 K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle 
 Constance ! 
 
 Cjnst. No, I defy 6 all counsel, all redress, 
 But that which ends all counsel, true redress, 
 Death, death : — O amiable lovely Death ! 
 Thou odoriferous stench! sound rottenness! 
 Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, 
 Thou hate and terror to prosperity. 
 And I will kiss thy detestable bones; 
 And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows ; 
 And ring these fingers with thy household worms 
 And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, 
 And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
 Come, grin on me, and I will think thou smil'st, 
 And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
 O, come to me. 
 
 K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. 
 
 Const. No, no, I will not, having breath to 
 cry:— 
 
 that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth' 
 Then with a passion would I shake the world; 
 And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, 
 Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice 
 Which scorns a modern 1 invocation. 
 
 Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow 
 Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so; 
 
 1 am not mad : this hair I tear, is mine ; 
 
 My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's v ife ; 
 Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: 
 I am not mad ; I would to heaven, I were! 
 For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: 
 O, if I could, what grief should I forget ! — 
 Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
 And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; 
 For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, 
 My reasonable part produces reason 
 How I may be deliver'd of these woes, 
 And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
 If I were mad, I should forget my son: 
 Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he : 
 I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
 The different plague of each calamity. 
 
 K. Phi. Bind up those tresses: O, what love I note 
 In the fair multitude of those her hairs ! . 
 Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen. 
 Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends 
 Do glew themselves in sociable grief; 
 Like true, inseparable, faithful loves, 
 Sticking together in calamity. 
 
 Const. To England, if you will. 
 
 K. Phi. Bind up your hairs 
 
 Const. Yes, that I will; and wherefore will 1 
 do it? 
 I tore them from their bonds : and cried aloud, 
 O that these hands could, so redeem my son, 
 As they have given these hairs their liberty.' 
 But now I envy at their liberty, 
 And will again commit them to their bonds, 
 
 Because my poor child is a prisoner. 
 
 And, father cardinal, I have heard you say, 
 That we shall see and know our friends in heaven 
 If that be true, I shall sec my boy again : 
 For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 
 To him that did but yesterday suspire, 3 
 There was not such a gracious creature born. 
 But now will canker sorrow eat my Dud, 
 And chase the native beauty from his cheek. 
 And he will look as hollow as a ghost; 
 As dim and meagre as an ague's fit; 
 And so he'll die; and. rising so again, 
 When I shall meet him in the court of rea' / 
 « Refuse. 1 Common. • Breathe. » Qr&M aJ 
 
,U2 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 I shall not know him : therefore never, never 
 Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 
 
 Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 
 
 Const. He talks to me that never had a son. 
 
 K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. 
 
 Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
 Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ; 
 Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
 Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
 Stuffs 1 out his vacant garments with his form ; 
 Then have I reason to be fond of grief. 
 Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 
 I could give better comfort than you do. — 
 I will not keep this form upon my head, 
 
 [Tearing off her head-dress. 
 When there is such disorder in my wit. 
 lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
 My life, my joy, my food, my all the world! 
 My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure. [Exit. 
 
 K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lew. There's nothing in this world can make 
 me joy : 
 Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, 
 Vexing the dull car of a drowsy man ; 
 And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's 
 
 taste, 
 That it yields nought but shame and bitterness. 
 
 Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, 
 Even in the instant of repair and health, 
 The fit is strongest ; evils that take leave, 
 On their departure most of ah show evil: 
 What have you lost, by losing of this day? 
 
 Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 
 
 Pand. If you had won it, certainly you had. 
 No, no : when fortune means to men most good, 
 She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 
 'Tie strange, to think how much king John hath 
 
 lost 
 In this which he accounts so clearly won : 
 Are not you griev'dthat Arthur is his prisoner? 
 
 Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath him. 
 
 Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. 
 Now hear me speak with a prophetic spirit; 
 For even the breath of what I mean to speak 
 Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub, 
 Out of the path which shall directly lead 
 Thy foot to England's throne ; and, therefore, mark : 
 John hath seiz'd Arthur ; and it cannot be, 
 That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins, 
 The misplaced John should entertain an hour, 
 One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest : 
 A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand, 
 
 Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd : 
 And he that stands upon a slippery place, 
 Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up: 
 That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall, 
 So be it, for it cannot be but so. 
 
 Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's 
 fall? 
 
 Pand. You, in the right of lady Blanch, youj 
 wife, 
 May then make all the claim that Arthur did- 
 
 Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 
 
 Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old 
 world ! 
 John lays you plots; the times conspire with you: 
 For he that steeps his safety in true blood. 
 Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. 
 This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts 
 Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal; 
 That none so small advantage shall step forth, 
 To check his reign, but they will cherish it: 
 No natural exhalation in the sky, 
 No scape of nature, no distemper'd day, 
 No common wind, no customed event, 
 But they will pluck away his natural cause, 
 And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, 
 Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven, . 
 Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 
 
 Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's 
 life, 
 But holds himself safe in his prisonment. 
 
 Pand. 0, sir, when he shall hear of your approach, 
 If that young Arthur be not gone already, 
 Even at that news he dies: and then the heart 
 Of all his people shall revolt from him, 
 And kiss the lips of unacquainted change: 
 And pick strong matter of revolt and wrath, 
 Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. 
 Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot ; 
 And, 0, what better matter breeds for you, 
 Than I have named ! — The bastard Faulconbridge 
 Is now in England, ransacking the church, 
 Offending charity : If but a dozen French 
 Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
 To train ten thousand English to their side; 
 Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, 
 Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, 
 Go with me to the king : 'Tis wonderful, 
 What may be wrought out of their discontent : 
 Now that their souls are topful of offence, 
 For England go ; I will whet on the king. 
 
 Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions ; Let 
 us go; 
 If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — Northampton. A Roomin the Castle. 
 Enter Hubeut and two Attendants. 
 
 Huu. Heat me these irons hot: and look thou 
 stand 
 Within the. arras: 1 when I strike my foot 
 Tjpon the bosom cf the ground, rush forth: 
 And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
 Past to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 
 I Attend. I hope your wan-ant will bear out the 
 
 deed. 
 Huh. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look 
 to"t. — [Exeunt Attendants, 
 
 foung lad, come forth; 1 have to say with you. 
 Tapestry. 
 
 Enter Airrurjn. 
 
 Arth. Good-morrow, Hubert. 
 
 Huh. Gcod-morrow, liV tie print e 
 
 Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
 To be more prince) as may be. — You are sad 
 
 Huh. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
 
 Arth. Mercy on Hie 
 
 Methinks, no body should be sad but I: 
 Yet I remember, when I was in France, 
 Young gentlemen would be as sad as night. 
 Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
 So I were out of prison and kept sheep. 
 I should be merry as the day is long; 
 And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
 My uncle practises more harm to me : 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 MS 
 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
 
 Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? 
 
 No, indeed, is't not ; And I would to heaven, 
 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
 He will awake my mercy which lies dead: 
 Therefore, I will he sudden and despatch. [Aside. 
 
 Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to- 
 day: 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick, 
 That I might sit all night, and watch with you : 
 I warrant I love y.ou more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. 
 Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper. .] How 
 now, foolish rheum ! [Aside. 
 
 Turning dispiteous torture out of door! 
 I must be brief; lest resolution drop 
 Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. — 
 Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ? 
 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 
 
 Hub. Young boy, I must. 
 
 Arth. And will you? 
 
 Hub. And I will. 
 
 Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did 
 but ache, 
 knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
 ^The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
 And I did never ask it you again: 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
 Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 
 Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? 
 Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
 Many a poor man's son would have Iain still 
 And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 But you at your sick service had a prince. 
 Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 
 And call it cunning ; Do, an if you will : 
 If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, 
 Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes] 
 These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, 
 So much as frown on you? 
 
 Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 
 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age. would do it ! 
 The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench his fiery indignation, 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence: 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron ? 
 An if an angel should have come to me, 
 And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 I would not have believu no tongue, but Hubert's. 
 Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with Cord, Irons, <$c. 
 
 Do as I bid you do. 
 
 Arth. 0, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes 
 are out, 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
 
 Art h . A las ! what need you be so boist'rous rough? 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
 And I will sit as quiet as a lamb: 
 I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
 IS or look upon the iron angerly: 
 Tlirust but these men away, and I'll forgive y<m, 
 M '.atever torment you do put me to. 
 
 Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone wkh him 
 
 1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a 
 deed. [Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend: 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
 Let him come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 Hub. Come, boy, prepare yoursell 
 
 Arth. Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a motn 
 in yours, 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
 Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your 
 tongue. 
 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
 Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
 So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes; 
 Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it, boy. 
 
 Arth. No, in good sooth : the fire is dead witb 
 grief, 
 Being create for comfort, to be used 
 In undeserv'd extremes : 2 See else, yourself; 
 There is no malice in ithis burning coal ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
 And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush 
 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert 
 Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a clog that is compell'd to fight, 
 Snatch at his master that doth tarre 3 him on. 
 All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
 Deny their office : only you do lack 
 That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends, 
 Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes 
 For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 4 
 Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
 With this same very iron to burn them out. 
 
 Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while 
 You were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu; 
 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
 I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
 Will not offend thee. 
 
 Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubeil 
 
 Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely' in with me 
 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE U.—A Room of State in the Pa/ace. 
 
 Enter King John, crowned,- Pemiiroke, Salis 
 
 bury, and other Lord-s. The King takes his 'State 
 
 K. John. Here once again we sit, once agaii 
 crown'd. 
 And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 
 Pern. This once again, but that your highne* 
 pleas'd, 
 Was once superfluous: you were crown'd b«for»' 
 And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd orT; 
 The faiths of men ne'er stained with 'evolt . 
 
 * In cruelty I hav» not deserved. 
 « Owns. 
 
 < Set him on 
 • Ssoratrt. 
 
344 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 A or IV, 
 
 Fresh expectation troubled not the land, 
 With any long'd-for change, or better state. 
 
 Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, 
 To guard 6 a title that was rich before, 
 To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, 
 To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
 To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, 1 
 is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 
 
 Pern. B ut that your royal pleasure must be done, 
 This act is as an ancient tale new told ; 
 And, in the last repeating, troublesome, 
 Being urged at a time unseasonable. 
 
 Sal. In this the antique and well-noted face 
 Of plain old form is much disfigured : 
 And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, 
 1 1 makes the course of thoughts to fetch about : 
 Startles and frights consideration ; 
 Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 
 1'or putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 
 
 Pern. When workmen strive to do better than well, 
 They do confound their skill in covetousness : 8 
 And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault. 
 Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ; 
 As patches set upon a little breach, 
 Discredit more in hiding of the fault, 
 Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 
 
 Sal. To this effect before you were new crown'd, 
 We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your high- 
 ness 
 To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd ; 
 Since all and every part of what we would, 
 Doth make a stand at what your highness will. 
 
 K. John. Some reasons of this double coronation 
 I have possess'd you with, and think them strong ; 
 And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) 
 I shall indue you with: Mean time, but ask 
 What you would have reform'd that is not well ; 
 And well shall you perceive, how willingly 
 I will both hear and grant you your requests. 
 
 Pern. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these 
 To sound 9 the purposes of all their hearts,) 
 Both for myself and them, (but chief of all, 
 Your safety, for the which myself and them 
 Bend their best studies.) heartily request 
 The enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraint 
 Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
 To break into this dangerous argument, — 
 If, what in rest you have, in right you hold, 
 Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend 
 Tiie steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up 
 Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
 With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
 The rich advantage of good exercise ? 
 That the time's enemies may not have this 
 To grace occasions, let it be our suit, 
 That you have bid us ask his liberty ; 
 Which for our goods we do no further ask, 
 Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, 
 Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. 
 
 K. John. Let it be so ; I do commit his youth 
 Enter Hubert. 
 To your direction. — Hubert, what news with you? 
 Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed; 
 He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
 The image of a wicked heinous fault 
 . Lives in his eye; that close aspect of his 
 Dees show the mood of a much-troubled breast ; 
 And 1 do fearfully believe, 'tis done, 
 What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 
 
 * Lace. ' Decorate. 
 
 • Desire of sxoellmg. • Publish. 
 
 Sal. The color of the king doth come and go, 
 Between his purpose and his conscience, 
 Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set : 
 His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 
 
 Pern. And, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence 
 The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 
 
 K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong 
 hand : — 
 Good lords, although my will to give is living: 
 The suit which you demand is gone and dead- 
 He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night. 
 
 Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure. 
 
 Pent. Indeed we heard how near his death he was. 
 Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
 This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. 
 
 A'. John. Why do you bend such solemn brows on 
 me ? 
 Think you, I bear the shears of destiny • 
 Have I commandment on the pulse of life ? 
 
 Sal. It is apparent foul play; and 'tis shame, 
 That greatness should so grossly offer it: 
 So thrive it in your game ! and so farewell. 
 
 Pern. Stay yet, lord Salisbury ; I'll go with thee 
 And find the inheritance of this poor child, 
 This little kingdom of a forced grave. 
 That blood, which ow'd ' the breadth of all this isle. 
 Three foot of it doth hold: Bad world the while! 
 This must not be thus borne : this will break out 
 To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt. 
 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 
 K. John. They burn in indignation ; I repent ; 
 There is no sure foundation set on blood ; 
 
 No certain life achiev'd by others' death. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 A fearful eye thou hast: Where is that blood, 
 That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks? 
 So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 
 Pour down thy weather: — How goes all in France? 
 
 Mess. From France to England. — Never such » 
 power 
 For any foreign preparation, 
 Was levied in the body of a land ! 
 The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ; 
 For, when you should be told they do prepare, 
 The tidings come, that they are all arrived. 
 
 K. John. O, where hath our intelligence beei 
 drunk? 
 Where hath it slept? Where is my mother's care, 
 That such an army could be drawn in France, 
 And she not hear of it ? 
 
 Mess. My liege, her ear 
 
 Is stopp'd with dust; the first of April, died 
 Your noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord, 
 The lady Constance in a frenzy died 
 Three days before : but this from rumor's tongua 
 I idly heard ; if true, or false, I know not. 
 
 K. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ; 
 0, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
 My discontented peers! — What! mother dead? 
 How wildly then walks my estate in France ! — 
 Under whose conduct came those powers of Francu, 
 That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here? 
 
 Mess. Under the Dauphin. 
 Enter the Bastard and Peteh of Pomfret. 
 
 K. John. Thou hast made me giddy 
 
 With these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world 
 To your proceedings? do not seek to stuff 
 My head with more ill news, for it .s full. 
 
 Bast. But, if you be afeard to hear the worst. 
 Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. 
 
 A'. John. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was amaz'd 
 « Owned. 
 
SctKE Ii 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 34« f , 
 
 Under the tide ; but now I breathe again 
 Aloft the flood; and can give audience 
 To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 
 
 Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen, 
 The sums I have collected shall express. 
 But, as I travelled hither through the land, 
 I find the people strangely fantasied ; 
 Possess'd with rumors, full of idle dreams ; 
 Not knowing what they fear, but full of fear : 
 And here's a prophet, that I brought with me 
 From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found 
 With many hundreds treading on his heels; 
 To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes, 
 That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, 
 Your highness should deliver up your crown. 
 
 K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou 
 sol 
 
 Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. 
 
 K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison him ; 
 And on that day at noon, whereon, he says, 
 I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd: 
 Deliver him to safety, 3 and return, 
 For I must use thee. — O my gentle cousin, 
 
 [Exit Hubkut, with Peter. 
 Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? 
 
 Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are 
 full of it : 
 Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, 
 (With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire.) 
 And others more, going to seek the grave 
 Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night 
 On your suggestion. 
 
 K.John. Gentle kinsman, go, 
 
 And thrust thyself into their companies: 
 I have a way to win their loves again ; 
 Bring them before me. 
 
 Bast. I will seek them out. 
 
 K. John. Nay, but make haste ; the better foot 
 
 before. 
 
 0, let me have no subject enemies, 
 
 When adverse foreigners affright my towns 
 
 With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! — 
 
 Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels ; 
 
 And fly, like thought, from them to me again. 
 
 Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 K. John. Spoke like a sprightful noble gentle- 
 man. — 
 Go after him ; for he, perhaps, shall need 
 Some messenger betwixt me and the peers; 
 \nd be thou he. 
 
 Mess. With all my heart, my liege. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 K. John. My mother dead ! 
 
 Re-enter Huiieht. 
 
 Hub. My lord, they say, five moons were seen 
 to-night : 
 Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
 The other four, in wond'rous motion. 
 
 K. John. Five moons'! 
 
 Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets 
 
 Do prophecy upon it dangerously ; 
 V oung Arthur's death is common in their mouths : 
 And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
 And whisper «ne another in the ear; 
 And ho, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; 
 Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action, 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
 I mw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
 With open mouth e'vallowing a tailor's news; 
 » Safe custody. 
 
 Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 
 Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French, 
 That were embattled and rank'd in Kent: 
 Another lean unwash'd artificer 
 Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 
 K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with 
 these fears ? 
 Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ? 
 Thy hand hath murder'dhim: I had mighty cause 
 To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 
 
 Hub. Had none, my lord ! why, did you not pro- 
 voke me? 
 
 K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended 
 By slaves, that take their humors for a warrant 
 To break within the bloody house of life : 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 To understand a law; to know the meaning 
 Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frownt 
 More upon humor than advis'd respect. 3 
 
 Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 
 
 K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven 
 and earth 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
 Witness against us to damnation ! 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, 
 Makes deeds ill done ! Hadest not thou been by, 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, 
 Quoted,' and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, 
 This murder had not come into my mind: 
 But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect, 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villany, 
 Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, 
 I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death; 
 And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
 Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 
 
 Hub. My lord, 
 
 K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, Cf 
 made a pause, 
 When I spake darkly what I purposed; 
 Or turn'd an eye of doubt upon my face, 
 As bid me tell my tale in express words; 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break 
 
 off, 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me: 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs, 
 And didst in signs again parley with sin: 
 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 
 And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 
 The deed, which both our tongues held vile to 
 
 name, — 
 Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 
 My nobles leave me; and my state is braved, 
 Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers: 
 Nay in the body of this fleshly land, 
 This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath. 
 Hostility and civil' tumult reigns 
 Between my conscience, and my cousin's death. 
 
 Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, 
 I'll make a peace between your soul and you. 
 Young Arthur is alive : This hand of mine 
 Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand. 
 Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
 Within this bosom never enter'd yet 
 The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought 
 And you have slander'd nature in my form, 
 Which, howsoever rude exteriorly. 
 Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
 Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 
 
 A'. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste tnee to the 
 
 peers, 
 ' Delibcrft'.e consideration. 
 Y 
 
 Noted. ot**rToa 
 
546 
 
 K.NG JOHN. 
 
 ArTV 
 
 riuow this report on their incense d rage, 
 
 And make them tame to their obedience! 
 
 I orgive the comment that my passion made 
 
 Upon thy feature; for my rage was blind, 
 
 \nd foul imaginary eyes of blood 
 
 Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
 
 0, answer not; but to my closet bring 
 
 J'he angry lords, with all expedient haste: 
 
 1 conjure thee but slowly; run more fast. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Before the Castle. 
 Enter Authuk, on the Walk. 
 Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down: 
 Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not! — 
 There's few, or none, do know me; if they did, 
 This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. 
 I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. 
 If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
 I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : 
 As good to die, and go, as die, and stay. 
 
 [Leaps down. 
 me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : — 
 Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. 
 
 Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's 
 Bury; 
 It is our safety, and we must embrace 
 This gentle offer of the perilous time. 
 
 Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal 
 
 Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France; 
 Whose private with me,' of the Dauphin's love, 
 Is much more general than these lines import. 
 
 Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him then. 
 
 Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for 'twill be 
 Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd 6 
 lords ! 
 The king, by mc, requests your presence straight. 
 
 Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us; 
 We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
 •With our pure lumors, nor attend the foot 
 That leaves the print of blood where'er it walks : 
 Return, and tell him so; we know the worst. 
 Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I think, 
 
 were best. 
 Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. 
 Bast. But there is little reason in your grief; 
 Therefore, 'twere reason you had manners now. 
 Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 
 Bast. 'Tis true; to hurt his master, no man else. 
 Sal. This is the prison: What is he lies here] 
 
 [Seeing Ahtkuh. 
 Pern. O death, made proud with pure and prince- 
 ly beauty ! 
 The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. 
 
 Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
 Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 
 
 Big. Or when he doom'd this beauty to a grave, 
 Found it wo precious-princely for a grave. 
 
 Sal Sir Richard, what thinli you 1 Have you 
 beheld, 
 Or have you read, or heard] or could you think] 
 Or do you almost think, although you see, 
 That you do see ] could thought, without this object, 
 Fcim'such another! This is the very top, 
 'J'he height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, 
 Of murder's arms: this is the bloodiest shame, 
 The wildest savagery, the vilest stroke, 
 
 « Private wee-nt « Out of humor. 
 
 That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage, 
 Presented to the tears of soft remorse ' 
 
 Pern. All murders past do stand excused in thi* 
 And this, so sole, and so unmatchable, 
 Shall give a holiness, a purity, 
 To the yet-unbegotten sin of time ; 
 And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
 Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 
 
 Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work; 
 The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
 If that it be the work of any hand. 
 
 Sal. If that it be the work of any hand 1 — 
 We had a kind of light, what would ensue 
 It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; 
 The practice, and the purpose, of the king:— 
 From whose obedience I forbid my soul, 
 Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, 
 And breathing to his breathless excellence 
 The incense of a vow, a l.olj vow; 
 Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
 Never to be infected with delight, 
 Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 
 Till I have set a glory to this hand, 
 By giving it the worship of revenge. 
 
 Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm U>T 
 words. 
 
 Enter Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you : 
 Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you. 
 
 Sal. 0, he is bold, and blushes not at deatl - 
 Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 
 
 Hub. I am no villain. 
 
 Sal. Must I rob the law '? 
 
 [Drawing his sicora. 
 
 Bast. Your sword is bright, sir: put it up again. 
 
 Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin. 
 
 Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, 1 
 say; 
 By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours: 
 I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
 Nor tempt the danger of my true 8 defence; 
 Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
 Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 
 
 Bin:. Out, dunghill! dar'st thou brave a noble* 
 man i 
 
 Hub. Not for my life: but yet I dare defend 
 My innocent life against an emperor. 
 
 Sal. Thou art a murderer. 
 
 Hub. Do not prove me so;' 
 
 Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false, 
 Not truly speaks; who speaks not truly, lies. 
 
 Pern. Cut him to pieces. 
 
 Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 
 
 Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 
 
 Bast. Thou wcrt better gall the devil, Salisbury: 
 If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot, 
 Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
 I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword tsetime ; 
 Or I'll so maul you and your toasting-iron, 
 That 3 7 ou shall think the devil is come from hell. 
 
 Bir- What wilt thou do, renowned Faulcon- 
 bridge? 
 Second a villain, and a murderer] 
 
 Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none. 
 
 Big. Who kill'd this prince ' 
 
 Hub. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well. 
 I honor'd him. I lov'd him ; and will weep 
 My date of life out.'for his sweet life's loss. 
 
 Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eye* 
 For villany is not without such rheum ;' 
 
 ' Pity. 
 
 » By compelling me to kill you. 
 
 » Honest. 
 ' Moisture 
 
Act "V. Scene T. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 347 
 
 And lie, long traded in it, makes it seem 
 Like rivers of remorse 9 and innocency. 
 Away, with me, ail you whose souls abhor 
 The uncleanly savors of a slaughter-house, 
 For I am stifled with this smell of sin. 
 
 Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there. 
 
 Tim. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out. 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 
 Bast. Here's a good world ! — Knew you of this 
 fair work ! 
 Beyond the infinite and boundless reach 
 Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, 
 Art thou damn'd, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Do but hear me, sir. 
 
 Bast. Ha ! I'll tell thee what ; 
 Thou art damn'd as black — nay, nothing is so 
 
 black; 
 Thou art more deep damn'd than prince Lucifer: 
 Then? is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell 
 As tho'; shalt be, if thou didst kill this child. 
 
 Hub. Upon my soul, 
 
 Bast. If thou didst but consent 
 
 1 c tlis most cruel act, do but despair, 
 Ar. 1, if thou want'st a cord, the smallest thread 
 That ever spider twisted from her womb 
 Will serve to strangle thee: a rush will be 
 A beam to hang thee on; or wouldst thou drown 
 
 thyself, 
 Put but a little water in a spoon, 
 A'k 1 i; chill be is all the ocean, 
 
 Enough to stifle such a villain up. 
 
 I do suspect thee very grievously. 
 
 Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought, 
 Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
 Which was embounded in this beauteous clay, 
 Let hell want pains enough to torture me ! 
 I left him well. 
 
 Bast. Go, bear him in thine arms.— 
 
 I am amaz'd, methinks ; and lose my way 
 Among the thorns and dangers of this world. — 
 How easy dost thou take all England up! 
 From forth this morsel of dead royalty, 
 The life, the right, and truth of all this realm 
 Is fled to heaven; and England now is left 
 To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth 
 The unowed* interest of proud swelling state. 
 Now, for the bare-pick'd bone of majestv, 
 Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest, 
 And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace: 
 Now powers from home, and discontents at home* 
 Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits 
 (As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast) 
 The imminent decay of wrested pomp. 
 Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture * can 
 Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child, 
 And follow ine with speed; I'll to the king: 
 A thousand businesses are brief in hand, 
 And heaven itself doth frown upon the land. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE \.—A Room in the Palace. 
 
 inter King John, Pandulph until the Crown, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand 
 The circle of my glory. 
 
 Pand. Take again 
 
 [Giving John the Crown. 
 From this my hand, as holding of the pope, 
 Your sovereign greatness and authority. 
 
 K. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet 
 the French; 
 ^nJ from his holiness use all your power 
 To stop their marches, 'foro we are inflamed. 
 Our discontented counties do revolt; 
 r tur people quarrel with obedience; 
 Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, 
 To stranger blood, to foreign loyalty. 
 This inundation of distemper'd humor 
 Rests by you only to be qualified. 
 Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick, 
 That present medicine must be minister'd, 
 Or overthrow incurable ensues. 
 
 Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up, 
 Upon your stubborn usage of the pope: 
 But since you are a gentle convertite,' 
 My tongue shell hush again this storm of war, 
 And make fair weather in your blustering land. 
 On this Ascension-day, remember well, 
 Upon your oath of service to the pope, 
 Go I to make the French lay down their arms. [Exit. 
 
 K. John. Is this Ascension-day ! Did not the 
 prophet 
 Say, that, before Ascension-dav at noon, 
 My crown I should give off? Even so I have: 
 I did suppose it should be on constraint ; 
 l!ut heaven be thank'd. it is but voluntary. 
 *Pity. » Convert. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 Bast. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there held* 
 out, 
 But Dover castle: London hath receiv'd, 
 Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers: 
 Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
 To offer service to your enemy ; 
 And wild amazement hurries up and down 
 The little number of your doubtful friends. 
 
 K. John. W T ould not my lords return to me again, 
 After they heard young Arthur was alive ? 
 
 Bast. They found him dead, and cast into the 
 streets ; 
 An empty casket, where the jewel of life 
 By some curst hand was robb'd and ta'en away. 
 
 K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live. 
 
 Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he know 
 But wherefore do you droop? why look you sad 1 
 Be great in act, as you have been in thought- 
 Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, 
 Govern the motion of a kingly eye: 
 Be stirring as the time; be fire with fire; 
 Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow 
 Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 
 That borrow their behaviors from the great, 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 The dauntless spirit of resolution. 
 Away; and glister like the god of war, 
 When he intendcth to become the field : 
 Show boldness, and aspiring confidence. 
 What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 
 And fright him there ? and make him tremble therel 
 O, let it not be said ! — Forage, and run 
 To meet displeasure further from the doors. 
 And grapple with him, ere he comes so nigh. 
 
 K.Jn/in. The logateofthepopehathbeen with run 
 And I have made a happy Deace with him 
 ♦ Unowned. Oi?cU« 
 
H48 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Acr V 
 
 And he lwth promis'd to dismiss the powers 
 Led by the Dauphin. 
 
 Bait. inglorious league ! 
 
 Shall vvc, upon the footing of our land, 
 Send fair-play orders, and make compromise, 
 Insinuation, parley, and base truce, 
 To arms invasive? Shall a beardless boy, 
 \ cocker'd 6 silken wanton, brave our fields, 
 \nd flesh his spirit in a warlike soil, 
 Mocking the air with colors idly spread, 
 And find no check! Let us, my liege, to arms: 
 Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace; 
 Or if he do, let it at least be said, 
 They saw we had a purpose of defence. 
 
 K. John. Have thou the ordering of this present 
 time. 
 
 Bast. Away then, with good courage; yet, I know, 
 Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — ^4 Plain near St. Edmund's Bury. 
 
 Enter, in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melujt, 
 Pembroke, Bigot, and Soldiers. 
 
 Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out, 
 And keep it safe for our remembrance: 
 Return the precedent to these lords again ; 
 That, having our fair order written down, 
 Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes, 
 May know wherefore we took the sacrament, 
 And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 
 
 Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
 And, noble Dauphin, albeit *tc swear 
 A voluntary zeal, and unurged faith, 
 To your proceedings; yet, believe me, prince, 
 I am not glad that such a sore of time 
 Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt, 
 And heal the inveterate canker of one wound, 
 By making many : O, it grieves my soul, 
 That. I must draw this metal from my side 
 To be a widow-maker; 0, and there, 
 Where honorable rescue, and defence, 
 Cries out upon the name of Salisbury : 
 But such is the infection of the time, 
 That, for the health and physic of our right, 
 We cannot deal but with the very hand 
 Of stern injustice and confused wrong. — 
 And is't not pity, O my grieved friends ! 
 That we, the sons and children of this isle, 
 Were born to see so sad an hour as this; 
 Wherein we step after a stranger march 
 Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
 Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep 
 Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) 
 To grace the gentry of a land remote, 
 And follow unacquainted colors here? 
 What here? — O nation, that thou couldst remove! 
 That Neptune's arms, who clippcth 1 thee about, 
 Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself, 
 And grapple thee unto a pagan shore ; 
 Where these two Christian armies might combine 
 The blood of malice in a vein of league, 
 And not to spend it so unneighborly ! 
 
 Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in this; 
 And great affections wrestling in thy bosom, 
 Do make an earthquake of nobility. 
 0, what a noble combat hast thou fought, 
 Between compulsion and a brave respect! 3 
 Let me wipe off this honorable dew, 
 That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks : 
 My heart hath melted at a lady's tears, 
 Being an ordinary inundation; 
 But this effusion of such manly drops, 
 This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul, 
 
 « Fowlled. ' Embraccth. » Love of country. 
 
 Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd 
 
 Than had I seen the vaulty top of heaven 
 
 Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. 
 
 Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 
 
 And with a great heart heavo away thin stom 
 
 Commend these waters to those baby eyes, 
 
 That never saw the giant world enraged; 
 
 Nor met with fortune other than at feasts, 
 
 Full warm of blooJ, of mirth, of gossiping. 
 
 Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as d'-ep 
 
 Into the purse of rich prosperity, 
 
 As Lewis himself: — so, nobles, shall you all, 
 
 That knit your sinews to the strength of mina. 
 
 Enter Paxdulph, attended. 
 
 And even there, methinks, an angel spake: 
 Look, where the holy legate comes apace, 
 To give us warrant from the hand of heave a; 
 And on our actions set the name of right, 
 With holy breath. 
 
 Pand. Hail, noble prince of Franc* ' 
 
 The next is this, — king John hath reconciled 
 Himself to Rome; his spirit is come in, 
 That so stood out against the holy church, 
 The great metropolis and see of Rome : 
 Therefore thy threat'ning colors now wind mj. 
 And tame the savage spirit of wild war ; 
 That, like a lion foster'd up at hand, 
 It may lie gently at the foot of peace, 
 And be no further harmful than in show. 
 
 Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I wi'l '.. *t 
 back; 
 I am too high-born to be propertied,' 
 To be a secondary at control, 
 Or useful serving-man, an instrument, 
 To any sovereign state throughout the world. 
 Your breath first kindled the dead cil of wars, 
 Between this chustis'd kingdom aud nyself 
 And brought in matter that should feed this fo<- 
 And row 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
 With that same weak wind which enkindled it 
 You taught me how to know the face of right, 
 Acquainted me with interest to this land, 
 Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 
 And come you now to tell me, John hath made 
 His peace with Rome? What is that peace to ms 1 
 I, by the honor of my marriage-bed, 
 After young Arthur, claim this land for mine; 
 And, now it is half-conquered, must I back, 
 Because that John hath made his peace with Rome' 
 Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome born? 
 What men provided, what munition sent, 
 To underprop this action ? is't not I, 
 That undergo this charge ? who else but I, 
 And such as to my claim are liable, 
 Sweat in this business, and maintain this war? 
 Have I not heard these islanders shout out, 
 Vive le roy! as I have bank'd their towns ? 
 Have I not here the best cards for the game, 
 To win this easy match play'd for a crown ? 
 And shall I now give o'er the yielded set? 
 No, on my soul, it never shall be said. 
 
 Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. 
 
 Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return 
 Till my attempt so much be glorified 
 As to my ample hope was promised 
 Before I drew this gallant head of war, 
 And cull'd these fiery spirits from me worlu. 
 To outlook 1 conquest, and to win renown 
 Even in the jaws of danger and of death. — 
 
 [Trumpet sound* 
 What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? 
 » Appropriated. ' Fice down. 
 
Scene IV 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 34<> 
 
 Eider the Bastard, attended. 
 
 Bast. According to the fair play of the world, 
 Let me have audience; I am sent to speak: — 
 My holy lord of Milan, from the king 
 [ come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; 
 And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
 And warrant limited unto my tongue. 
 
 Panel. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, 
 And will not temporize with my entreaties; 
 He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms. 
 
 Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd, 
 The youth says well: — Now hear our English king; 
 For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
 He is prepared ; and reason too, he should : 
 This apish and unmannerly approach, 
 This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, 
 This unhair'd saucincss, and boyish troops, 
 The king doth smile at; and is well prepar'd 
 To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, 
 From out the circle of his territories. 
 That hand whieh had the strength, even at your 
 
 door, 
 To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch; 2 
 To dive like buckets, in concealed wells; 
 To crouch in litter of your stable planks ; 
 To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks; 
 To hug with swine ; to seek sweet safety out 
 In vaults and prisons; and to thrill and shake, 
 Even at the crying of your nation's crow,' 
 Thinking his voice an armed Englishman; 
 Shall that victorious hand be teebled here, 
 That in your chambers gave you chastisement 7 
 No: Know the gallant monarch is in arms; 
 And like an eagle o'er his aiery* towers, 
 To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. — 
 And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, 
 You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 
 Of your dear mother England, blush for shame: 
 For your own ladies, and pale-visaged maids, 
 Like Amazons, come tripping after drums ; 
 Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, 
 Their neelds 5 to lances, and their gentle hearts 
 To fierce and bloody inclination. 
 
 Lew. There end thy brave, 6 and turn thy lace 
 in peace; 
 We grant, thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; 
 We hold our time too precious to be spent 
 With such a brabbler. 
 
 Pand. Give me leave to speak. 
 
 Bast. No, I will speak. 
 
 Lew. We will attend to neither: — 
 
 Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue of war 
 Plead for our interest, and our being here. 
 
 Bast. Indeed, your drums being beaten, will cry 
 out; 
 And so shall you, being beaten: Do but start 
 An echo with the clamor of thy drum, 
 And even at hand a drum is ready braced, 
 That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; 
 Sound but another, and another shall, 
 As ioud as thine, rattle the welkin's 1 ear, 
 And mock tlie dcep-mouth'd thunder ; for at hand 
 (Not trusting to this halting legate here, 
 Whom be hath used rather for sport than need) 
 Is warlike John ; arid in his forehead sits 
 A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
 To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 
 
 Lew. Strike up our drums to find this danger out. 
 
 Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not 
 doubt. [Exeunt. 
 
 4 Leap over the batch. 
 
 * Nest. 
 
 • Koast. 
 
 » The crowing of a cock. 
 » Needles. 
 
 ' Sky. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Field of Battle. 
 Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. 
 K. John. How goes the day with us ! O, tell ine, 
 
 Hubert. 
 Hub. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty ? 
 K. John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long, 
 Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick ! 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon 
 bridge, 
 Desires your majesty to leave the field. 
 And send him word by me, which way you go. 
 K. John. Tell him toward Swinstead, to th» 
 
 abbey there. 
 Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great supply 
 That was expected by the Dauphin here, 
 Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands. 
 This news was brought to Richard but even now 
 The French fight, coldly, and retire themselves. 
 K. John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, 
 
 And will not let me welcome this good news. 
 
 Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight : 
 Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the same. 
 Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, andothers. 
 
 Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with 
 friends. 
 
 Pern. Up once again ; put spirit in the French ; 
 If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 
 
 Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, 
 In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. 
 
 Pern. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left 
 the field. 
 
 Enter Melun wounded, and led by Soldiers. 
 
 Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 
 
 Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. 
 
 Pern. It is the count Melun. 
 
 Sal. Wounded to death. 
 
 Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and 
 sold ; 8 
 Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, 
 And welcome home again discarded faith. 
 Seek out king John, and fall before his feet; 
 For, if the French be lords of this loud day, 
 He'' means to recompense the pains you take, 
 By cutting off your heads: Thus hath he sworn 
 And I with him, and many more with me, 
 Upon the altar at St. Edmund's Bury; 
 Even on that altar, where we swore to you 
 Dear amity and everlasting love. 
 
 Sal. May this be possible 1 may this be true ? 
 
 Mel. Have I not hideous death within my vi..*> 
 Retaining but a quantity of life ; 
 Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
 Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire V 
 What in the world should make me now deceive 
 Since I must lose the use of all deceit? 
 Why should I then be false; since it is true 
 That I must die here, and live hence by truth 1 
 I say again, if Lewis do win the day. 
 He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of your* 
 Behold another day break in the east . 
 But even this night, — whose black contagious hreaK 
 Already smokes about the burning crest 
 Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, — 
 Even this ill night your breathing shall expire 
 Paying the fine of rated treachery. 
 Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives 
 
 » A proverb intimating treachery. ' Lewi* 
 
 » In al' ision to the images made by witches. 
 
350 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Act V 
 
 If Lewis by your assistance win the day. 
 Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; 
 The love of him, — and this respect besides, 
 For that my grandsirc was an Englishman, — 
 Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
 In lieu whereof, I pray you bear mo hence 
 From forth the noise and rumor of the field ; 
 Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts 
 In peace, and part this body and my soul 
 With contemplation and devout desires. 
 
 Sal. We do believe thee. — And beshrew my soul 
 But I do love the favor and the form 
 Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
 We will untread the steps of damned flight; 
 And, like a bated and retired flood, 
 Leaving our rankness and irregular course, 
 Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd, 
 And calmly run on in obedience, 
 
 Even to our ocean, to our great king John. 
 
 My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; 
 
 For I do see the cruel pangs of death 
 
 Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends ! New 
 
 flight: 
 And happy newness, 2 that intends old right. 
 
 [Exeunt, leading o^Melun. 
 
 SCENE V.— The French Camp. 
 Enter Lewis and his Train. 
 Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loth to 
 
 set; 
 But stay'd and made the western welkin blush, 
 When the English measur'd backward their own 
 
 ground, 
 In faint retire : 0, bravely came we ofli 
 When with a volley of our needless shot, 
 After such bloody toil we bid good night ; 
 And wound our tatter'd colors clearly up, 
 Last in the field, and almost lords of it ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin ? 
 
 Lew. Here : — What news ? 
 
 Mess. The count Melunis slain; the English lords, 
 By his persuasion, are again fall'n off: 
 And your supply, which you have wish'd so long, 
 Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. 
 
 Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! — Beshrew thy very 
 heart ! 
 I did not think to be so sad to-night, 
 As this hath made me. — Who was he, that said, 
 King John did fly, an hour or two before 
 The stumbling night did part our weary powers ! 
 
 Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord. 
 
 Lew. Well; keep good quarter, and good care 
 to-night ; 
 The day shall not be up so soon as I, 
 To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — An open Place in the Neighbor- 
 hood o/Swinstead-Abbey. 
 
 Enter the Bastard and Hubert meeting. 
 Hub. Who's there 1 speak, ho ! speak quickly, 
 
 or I shoot. 
 Bast. A friend : — What art thou ? 
 Hub. Of the part of England. 
 
 Bast. Whither dost thou go ? 
 Hu b. What's that to thee] Why may not I demand 
 )t thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? 
 Bast. Habert, I think. 
 
 Hub Thou hast a perfect thought: 
 
 i will, upon all hazards, well believe 
 » Innovation. 
 
 Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well 
 Who art thou 1 
 
 Bast. Who thou wilt: an If thou please. 
 
 Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think 
 I come one way of the Plantagcnets. 
 
 Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless 
 night, 
 Have done me shame: — Brave soldier, pardon m* 
 That any accent, breaking from thy tongue, 
 Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 
 
 Bast. Come, come; sans 3 compliment, what news 
 abroad ? 
 
 Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night. 
 To find you out. 
 
 Bast. Brief, then ; and what's the news * 
 
 Hub. 0, my sweet sir, news fitting to the nigh'., 
 Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 
 
 Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news 
 I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it. 
 
 Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk: 
 I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
 To acquaint you with this evil; that you might 
 The better arm you to the sudden time, 
 Than if you had at leisure known of this. 
 
 Bast. How did he take it ! who did taste to him *i 
 
 Hub. A monk, I tell you : a resolved villain, 
 Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king 
 Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover. 
 
 Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty! 
 
 Hub. Why, know you not 1 the lords are all 
 come back. 
 And brought prince Henry in their company; 
 At whose request the king has pardon'd them, 
 And they are all about his majesty. 
 
 Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty hea- 
 ven ! 
 
 And tempt us not to bear above our power ! 
 
 I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night, 
 Passing these flats, are taken by the tide, 
 These Lincoln washes have devoured them ; 
 Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped. 
 Away, before ! conduct me to the king ; 
 I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey. 
 Enter Prince Heniiy, Salisbury, aWBiooT. 
 P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood 
 Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain 
 (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling- 
 house) 
 Doth by the idle comments that it makes, 
 Foretell the ending of mortality. 
 
 Enter Pembroke. 
 
 Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; and holds 
 belief, 
 That, being brought into the open air, 
 It would allay the burning quality 
 Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 
 
 P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard 
 here. — 
 Doth he still rage? [Exit Bigot 
 
 Pern. He is more patient 
 
 Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 
 
 P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes, 
 In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
 Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts, 
 Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now 
 Against the mind, the which he pricks and rvounds 
 With many legions of strange fantasies.* 
 Which, in their throng and press to that last hold 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 351 
 
 Confound themselves. 'Tiw strange, that death 
 
 should sing. 
 
 I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, 
 Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; 
 And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings 
 His soul and body to their lasting rest. 
 
 Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are born 
 To set a form upon that indigest 
 Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude. 
 Re-entsr Bigot and Attendants, ivko bring in King 
 Johs in a Chair. 
 
 K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow- 
 room ; 
 ft .vould not out at windows, nor at doors. 
 There is so hot a summer in my bosom, 
 That all my bowels crumble up to dust : 
 [ am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
 Upon a parchment ; and against this fire 
 Do I shrink up. 
 
 P. Hen. How fares your majesty ? 
 
 K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare; — dead, forsook, 
 cast off; 
 And none of you will bid the winter come, 
 To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
 Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
 To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, 
 And comfort me with cold: — I do not ask you much, 
 I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait' 
 And so ingrateful, you deny me that. 
 
 P. Hen. O. that there were some virtue in my tears, 
 That might relieve you ! 
 
 K. John. The salt in them is hot. — 
 Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 
 Is, as a fiend, confined to tyrannize 
 On unreprievable condemned blood. 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion, 
 And spleen of speed to see your majesty. 
 
 K.John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye: 
 The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd; 
 And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, 
 Are turned to one thread; one little hair : 
 My heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
 Which holds but till thy news be uttered; 
 \nd then all this thou see'st, is but a clod, 
 And module 5 of confounded royalty. 
 
 Ba.it. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward; 
 Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him: 
 For, in a night, the best part of my power, 
 As I upon advantage did remove, 
 Were in the washes, all unwarily, 
 Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The King dies. 
 
 Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an 
 ear. — 
 My liege ! my lord ! — But now a king, — now thus. 
 » tfarrcv. uvaricious. * Model. 
 
 P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and ev.m so stop. 
 What surety of the world, what hope, what stay, 
 When this was now a king, ana now is clay ! 
 
 Bast. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind, 
 To do the office fo> thee of revenge; 
 And then my sor shall wait on thee to heaven, 
 
 As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 
 
 Now, now, you stars, that move in your right 
 
 spheres, 
 Where be your powers 1 Show now your mended 
 
 faiths ; 
 And instantly return with me again, 
 To push destruction, and perpetual shame, 
 Out of the weak door of our fainting land : 
 Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; 
 The Dauphin rages at our very heels. 
 
 Sal. It seems you know not then so much as we : 
 The cardinal Pandulph is within at res4, 
 Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin, 
 And brings from him such offers of our peace 
 As we with honor and respect may take, 
 With purpose presently to leave this war. 
 
 Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees 
 Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 
 
 Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ; 
 For many carriages he hath despatch'd 
 To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel 
 To the disposing of the cardinal : 
 With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, 
 If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
 To consummate this business happily. 
 
 Bast. Let it be so: — And you, my noble prince, 
 With other princes that may best be spared, 
 Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 
 
 P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd, 
 For so he will'd it. 
 
 Bast. Thither shall it then. 
 
 And happily may your sweet self put on 
 The lineal state and glory of the land! 
 To whom, with all submission, on my knee, 
 I do bequeath my faithful services 
 And true subjection everlastingly. 
 
 Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
 To rest without a spot for evermore. 
 
 P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give yon 
 thanks, 
 And knows not how to do it, but with tears. 
 
 Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, 
 Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. — 
 This England never did (nor never shall) 
 Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, 
 But when it first did help to wound itself. 
 Now these her princes are come home again, 
 Come the three corners of the world in arms, 
 And we shall shock them: Nought shall make ua 
 
 rue, 
 If England to itself do rest but true. [Exci tnt 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Kino Richard the Second. 
 Edmund of Langley, Duke of York; ) Unties to 
 John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; ) the King. 
 Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, 
 Son to John of Gaunt; afterwards K. Henry IV. 
 Duke of Aumerle, Son to the Duke of York. 
 Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. 
 Duke of Surrey. 
 
 Earl of Salisbury. Earl Berkeley. 
 Bu 
 
 Creatures to King Richard. 
 
 Bushy, ) 
 Bagot, > 
 Green, ) 
 
 Earl of Northumberland. 
 Henry Percy, his Son. 
 
 Lord Ross. Lcrd Willocohbt. 
 
 Lord Fitzwater. 
 
 Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster 
 
 Lord Marshal ; and another Lord. 
 
 Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop 
 
 Captain of a Band of Welshmen. 
 
 Queen to King Richard. 
 Duchess of Gloster. 
 Duchess of York. 
 Lady, attending on the Queen. 
 
 Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardener^ 
 Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendant* 
 
 SCENE, dispersedly in England and Wales. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Kino Richard, attended: John ofGacn.t, 
 
 and other Nobles, with him. 
 K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honor'd Lan- 
 caster, 
 Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, 1 
 Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son; 
 Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 
 Which then our leisure would not let us hear, 
 Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? 
 Gaunt. I have, my liege. 
 K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded 
 him, 
 If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; 
 Or worthily as a good subject should, 
 On some known ground of treachery in him? 
 Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu- 
 ment, — 
 On some apparent danger seen in him, 
 Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. 
 K. Rich. Then call them to our presence ; face 
 to face, 
 And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear 
 The accuser, and the accused, freely speak : 
 
 [Exeunt some Attendants. 
 High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, 
 In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. 
 Re-enter Attendants, with Bolingbroke and 
 Norfolk. 
 Boling. May many years of happy days befall 
 My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! 
 'Bond. 
 [3l)2j 
 
 Nor. Each day still better other's happiness; 
 Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, 
 Add an immortal title to your crown ! 
 
 K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flat 
 
 ters us, 
 As well appearcth by the cause you come ; 
 Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. 
 Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
 Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? 
 Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my 
 
 speech !) 
 In the devotion of a subject's love, 
 Tendering the precious safety of my prince, 
 And free from other misbegotten hate, 
 Come I appellant to this princely presence. — 
 Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, 
 And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak, 
 My body shall make good upon this earth, 
 Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
 Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant; 
 Too good to be so, and too bad to live : 
 Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky, 
 The uglier seem the cloud* that in it fly. 
 Once more, the more to aggravate the note, 
 With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat : 
 And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I nzDve, 
 What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword maj 
 
 prove. 
 Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal 
 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, 
 The bitter clamor of two eager tongues, 
 Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : 
 The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, 
 
SCRNB I. 
 
 KIN^ RICHARD II. 
 
 353 ! 
 
 Vet can I not of such tame patience boast, 
 
 As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say: 
 
 First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me 
 
 From giving reins and spurs to my free speech : 
 
 Which else would post, until it had return'd 
 
 These terms of treason doubled down his throat. 
 
 Setting aside his high blood's royalty, 
 
 And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
 
 I do defy him, and I spit at him ; 
 
 Call him — a slanderous coward, and a villain : 
 
 Which to maintain, I would allow him odds, 
 
 And meet him, were I tied to run a-foo f 
 
 Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, 
 
 Or any other ground inhabitable, 3 
 
 Wherever Englishman durst set his foot. 
 
 Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, — 
 
 By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 
 
 Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw 
 my gage, 
 Disclaiming here the kindred of a king; 
 And lay aside my high blood's royalty, — 
 Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except : 
 If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, 
 As to take up mine honor's pawn, then stoop; 
 By that, and all the rights of knighthood else, 
 Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, 
 What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. 
 
 Nor. I take it up ; and, by that sword I swear, 
 Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, 
 I'll answer thee in any fair degree, 
 Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: 
 And, when I mount, alive may I not light, 
 If I be traitor, or unjustly fight! 
 
 K. Rich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
 charge ? 
 It must be great, that can inherit us 
 So much as of a thought of ill in him. 
 
 Boling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove 
 it true ; — 
 That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles, 
 In name oflehdings for your highness' soldiers; 
 The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, 
 Like a false traitor, and injurious villain. 
 Besides I say, and will in battle prove, — 
 Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge 
 That ever was survey'd by English eye, — 
 That all the treasons, for these eighteen years 
 Complotted and contrived in this land, 
 Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. 
 Further I say, — and further will maintain 
 Upon his bad life, to make all this good, — 
 That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death ; 
 Suggest his soon-believing adversaries ; 
 And, consequently, like a traitor coward, 
 Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of 
 
 blood : 
 Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, 
 Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
 To me, for justice, and rough chastisement; 
 And, by the glorious worth of my descent, 
 This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. 
 
 K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars ! — 
 Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? 
 
 Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face, 
 And bid his ears a little while be deaf, 
 Till I have told this slander of his blood, 
 How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. 
 
 K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and 
 ears: 
 Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
 (As he is but my father's brother's son,) 
 Now by my sceptre's awe I make a vow, 
 1 Uninhabitable. 
 
 Such neighbor nearness to our sacred blood 
 Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize 
 The unstooping firmness of my upright soul ; 
 He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; 
 Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. 
 
 Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart 
 Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest 
 Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, 
 Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers : 
 The other part reserv'd I by consent; 
 For that my sovereign liege was in my debt, 
 Upon remainder of a dear account, 
 Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : 
 
 Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster'* 
 
 death, — 
 I slew him not ; but to my own disgrace, 
 Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — 
 For you, my noble lord of Lancaster, 
 The honorable father to my foe, 
 Once did I lay in ambush for your life, 
 A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul: 
 But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, 
 I did confess it ; anj exactly begg'd 
 Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. 
 This is my fault : As for the rest appeal'd, 
 It issues from the rancor of a villain, 
 A recreant and most degenerate traitor : 
 Which in myself I boldly will defend; 
 And interchangeably hurl down my gage 
 Upon this overweening traitor's foot, 
 To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
 Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom : 
 In haste whereof, most heartily I pray 
 Your highness to assign our trial day. 
 
 K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ru* d bj 
 me; 
 Let's purge this choler without letting blood : 
 This we prescribe, though no physician; 
 Deep malice makes too deep incision : 
 Forget, forgive; conclude, and be agiccd; 
 Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. — 
 Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
 We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. 
 
 Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become mj 
 age: 
 Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage 
 
 K. Rich. And, Norfolk, throw down his. 
 
 Gaunt. When, Harry? when ! 
 
 Obedience bids, I should not bid again. 
 
 K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; then 
 is no boot. 3 
 
 Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot 
 My life thou shalt command, but not my shame 
 The one my duty owes; but my fair name, 
 (Despite of death, that lives upon my grave.) 
 To dtrk dishonor's use thou shalt not have. 
 I am disgraced, impeach'd, and baffled here: 
 Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear. 
 The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood 
 Which breath'd this poison. 
 
 A". Rich. Rage must be withstood 
 
 Give me his gage: — Lions make leopards tame 
 
 Nor. Yea but not change their spots : take lull 
 my shame, 
 And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, 
 The purest treasure mortal times afford. 
 Is — spotless reputation ; that away. 
 Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay 
 A jewel in a ten-times-barr d-up encfu 
 Is — a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
 Mine honor is my life ; both grow in one 
 Take honor from me, and my life is donn 
 * No advantage in delay- 
 
354 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act J 
 
 Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try ; 
 In that I live, and for that will I die. 
 
 K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your eage ; do you 
 begin. 
 
 Boling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin! 
 Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? 
 Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height 
 Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue 
 Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong, 
 Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
 The slavish motive of recanting fear; 
 And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, 
 Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray's 
 face. [Exit Gaunt. 
 
 A'. Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command: 
 Which since we cannot do to make you friends, 
 Be ready as your lives shall answer it, 
 At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day; 
 There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
 The swelling difference of your settled hate; 
 Since we cannot atone 4 you, we shall see 
 Justice design 5 the victor's chivalry. — 
 Marshal, command our officers at arms 
 Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Exeunt. 
 
 ■^CENE II. — The same. A Room in the Duke 
 of Lancaster's Palace. 
 Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Glosteh. 
 Gaunt. Alas ! the part I had in Gloster's blood 
 Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, 
 To stir against the butchers of his lifs. 
 But since correction lieth in those hands, 
 Which made the fault that we cannot correct, 
 Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
 Who, vhen he sees the hours ripe on earth, 
 Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 
 
 Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? 
 Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? 
 Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, 
 Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, 
 Or seven fair branches springing from one root : 
 Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, 
 Some of those branches by the destinies cut : 
 But, Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, — 
 One phial full of Edward's sacred blood, 
 One flourishing branch of his most royal root, — 
 Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ; 
 Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, 
 By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. 
 Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine; that bed, that 
 
 womb, 
 That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee, 
 Made him a man; and though thou liv'st, and 
 
 breath'st, 
 Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 
 In some large measure to thy father's death, 
 In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, 
 Who was the model of thy father's life. 
 Call it not patience, Gaunt, it js despair: 
 In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, 
 Thou shuw'st the naked pathway to thy life, 
 Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee : 
 That which in mean men we entitle — patience, 
 Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
 What shall I say ? to safeguard thine own life, 
 The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death. 
 Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's 
 
 substitute, 
 His deputy anointed in his sight, 
 Hath caus'd his death : the which, if wrongfully, 
 Let heaven revenge; tor I may never lift 
 An angry arm against his minister. 
 
 * Reconcile. » Show. 
 
 Duch. Where ll en, alas ! may I complain myself! 
 
 Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and 
 defence. 
 
 Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt 
 Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
 Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: 
 O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear. 
 That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! 
 Or, if misfortune miss the first career. 
 Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, 
 That they may break his foaming courser's back, 
 And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 
 A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford ! 
 Farewell, old Gaunt ; thy sometime brother's wife. 
 With her companion grief must end her life. 
 
 Gaunt. Sister, farewell: I must to Coventry 
 As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! 
 
 Duch. Yet one word more; — Grief bounded) 
 where it falls, 
 Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : 
 I take my leave before I have begun ; 
 For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
 Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
 Lo, this is all : — Nay, yet depart not so : 
 Though this be all, do not so quickly go; 
 I shall remember more. Bid him — 0, what?— 
 With all good speed at Plashy 6 visit me. 
 Alack, and what shall good old York there see, 
 But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, 
 Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? 
 And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans* 
 Therefore commend me ; let him not come there, 
 To seek out sorrow that dwells every where : 
 Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ; 
 The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Gosford Green, near Coventry. 
 Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, &c, attending. 
 Enter the Lord Marshal and Aumerle. 
 Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford 
 
 arm'd ? 
 Aum. Yea, at all points : and longs to enter ill. 
 Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, 
 Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 
 Au m. Why, then the champions are prepared and 
 stay 
 For nothing but his majesty's approach. 
 
 Flourish of Trumpets. Enter King Richard, 
 who takes his seat on his throne,- Gaunt, and 
 several Noblemen, who take their places. A 
 trumpet is sounded, and answered by another 
 trumpet within. Then enter Norfolk, in ar- 
 mor, preceded by a Herald. 
 A". Rich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
 The cause of his arrival here in arms : 
 Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed 
 To swear him in the justice of his cause. 
 
 Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who 
 thou art, 
 And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms: 
 Against what man thou com'st, and what thv quar- 
 rel: 
 Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath; 
 And so defend thee heaven, and thy valor ! 
 
 Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbrav, duke ol 
 Norfolk; 
 Who hither come engaged by my oath, 
 (Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate!; 
 Both to defend my loyalty and truth. 
 To God, my king, and my succeeding issue 
 • Her bouse in Eggex. 
 
Scene I[l. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 ttoft 
 
 Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me: 
 And. by the grace of God, and this mine arm, 
 To provo him, in defending of myself, 
 A traitor to my God, my king, and me 
 And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven! 
 
 [He takes his sea!. 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolixgbroke, in ar- 
 mor, preceded by a Herald. 
 
 K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, 
 Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 
 Thus plated in habiliments of war ; 
 And formally according to our law 
 Depose him in the justice of his cause. 
 
 Mar. What is thy name ] and wherefore com'st 
 thou hither. 
 Before king Richard, in his royal lists] 
 Against whom comest thou ] and what's thy quar- 
 rel] 
 Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 
 
 Boling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, ahtl Derby, 
 Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, 
 To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valor, 
 In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, 
 That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous, 
 To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me: 
 And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 
 
 Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold 
 Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists; 
 Except the marshal, and such officers 
 Appointed to direct these fair designs. 
 
 Boling. Lord Marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 
 hand, 
 And bow my knee before his majesty : 
 For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men 
 That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; 
 Then let us take a ceremonious leave, 
 And loving farewell of our several friends. 
 
 Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your high- 
 ness, 
 And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave. 
 
 K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our 
 arms. 
 Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right. 
 So he thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
 Farewell, my blood ; which if to-day thou shed, 
 Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. 
 
 Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
 For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear; 
 As confident, as is the falcon's flight 
 
 Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. 
 
 My loving lord, [To Lord Marshal,] I take my 
 
 leave of you;— 
 Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle; — 
 Not sick, although I have to do with death; 
 
 But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 
 
 Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet 
 
 The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: 
 
 thou, the earthly author of my blood, — 
 
 [To Gaunt. 
 \A hose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, 
 Doth with a two-fold vigor lift me up 
 To reach at victory above my head, — 
 Add proof unto mine armor with thy prayers; 
 And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, 
 That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, 
 And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, 
 Even in the lusty 'havior of his son. 
 
 Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee 
 prosperous ! 
 Be swift like lightning in the execution: 
 And let thy blows, doubly redo ibled, 
 P#Jl like amazing thunder on tne casque 
 
 Of thy adverse, pernicious enemy: 
 
 Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live 
 
 Boling. Mine innocency. and saint George to 
 thrive ! [He takes his seat. 
 
 Nor [Rising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast 
 my lot, 
 There lives or dies, true to king Richard's throne, 
 A loyal, just, and upright gentleman: 
 Never did captive with a freer heart 
 Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace 
 His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, 
 More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
 This feast of battle with mine adversary. — 
 Most mighty liege, — and my companion peers,— 
 Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: 
 As gentle and as jocund, as to jest, 
 Go I to fight; Truth hatli a quiet breast. 
 
 K. Rich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy 
 
 Virtue with valor couched in thine eye. 
 
 Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 
 [The Kixg and the Lords return to their seats. 
 
 Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 
 
 Boling. [Rising.'] Strong as a tower in hope, I 
 cry — amen. 
 
 Mar. Go bear this lance, [To an Officer.] to 
 Thomas duke of Norlblk. 
 
 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, 
 On pain to be found false and recreant, 
 
 To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
 A traitor to his God, his king, and him, 
 And dares him to set forward to the fight. 
 
 2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, dukn 
 
 of Norfolk, 
 On pain to be found false and recreant, 
 Both to defend himself, and to approve 
 Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal ; 
 Courageously, and with a free desire, 
 Attending but the signal to begin. 
 
 Mar. Sound trumpets; and set forward, com- 
 batants. [A charge sounded. 
 Stay, the king hath thrown his warder 1 down. 
 K. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their 
 spears, 
 And both return back to their chairs again : — 
 Withdraw with us: — and let the trumpets sound, 
 While we return these dukes what we decree. — 
 
 [A long flourish. 
 Draw near, [7b the combatants. 
 
 And list, what with our council we have done. 
 For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd 
 With that dear blood which it hath fostered ; 
 And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect 
 Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbors' swords; 
 [And for we think the eagle-winged pride 
 Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts 
 With rival-hating envy, set you on 
 To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle 
 Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ;] 
 Which so rous'd up, with boisterous untuned 
 
 drums, 
 With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful braj, 
 And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, 
 Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, 
 And make us wade even in our kindred's blood;- 
 Therefore we banish you our territories: — 
 You, cousin Hereford, upon paiii of death. 
 Till twice five summers nave enricn'd our ricl«'.v 
 Shall not regreet our fair dominions, 
 But tread the stranger paths of banishment. 
 1 Truncheon. 
 
356 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 ActI 
 
 Baling. Your will be done : This must my com- 
 fort be, 
 
 That; sun that warms you here, shall shine on me ; 
 And those his golden beams, to you here lent, 
 Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. 
 
 K. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, 
 Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: 
 The fly-slow hours shall not determinate 
 The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; — 
 
 The hopeless word of never to return, 
 
 Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 
 
 Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, 
 And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: 
 A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
 As to be cast forth in the common air, 
 Have I deserved at your highness' hand. 
 The language I have learn'd these forty years, 
 My native English, now must I forego, 
 And now my tongue's use is to me no more, 
 Than an unstringed viol or a harp; 
 Or, like a cunning instrument cased up, 
 Or, being open, put into his hands 
 That knows no touch to tune the harmony. 
 Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, 
 Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips; 
 And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
 Is made my gaoler to attend on me. 
 I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 
 Too far in years to be a pupil now ; 
 What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death, 
 Which robs my tongue from breathing native 
 breath? 
 
 K. Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate ; 
 After our sentence, plaining comes too late. 
 
 Nor. Then thus I turn me from my country's light, 
 To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 
 
 [Retiring. 
 K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
 Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands ; 
 Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, 
 (Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) 
 To keep the oath that we administer : — 
 You never shall, (so help you truth and heaven !) 
 Embrace each other's love in banishment; 
 Nor never look upon each other's face; 
 Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 
 This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; 
 Nor never by advised purpose meet, 
 To plot , contrive, or complot any ill, 
 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 
 
 Boling. I swear. 
 
 Nor. And I, to keep all this. 
 
 Boling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy ; — 
 By this time, had the king permitted us, 
 One of our souls had wander'd in the air, 
 Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, 
 A s now our flesh is banish'd from this land : 
 Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm: 
 Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
 The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 
 
 Nor. No, Bolingbroke ; if ever I were traitor, 
 My name be blotted from the book of life, 
 And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! 
 But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know; 
 And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. — 
 Farewell, my liege : — Now no way can I stray ; 
 Save back to Engl ind, all the world's my way. [Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes 
 I see thy grieved heart; thy sad aspect 
 Hath from the number of his banish'd years 
 1'iuck'd four away: — Six frozen winters spent, 
 'ieturn [To Boling.] with welcome home from 
 banishment. 
 
 Boling. How long a time lies in one little word : 
 Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs. 
 End in a word; such is the breath of kings. 
 
 Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me, 
 He shortens four years of my son's exile : 
 But little vantage shall I reap thereby; 
 For, ere the six yeara that he hath to spend, 
 Can change their moons, and bring their times abont, 
 My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light, 
 Shall be extinct with age and endless night ; 
 My inch of taper will be burnt and done, 
 And blindfold death not let me see my son. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to life, 
 
 Gaunt. But not a minute, king, that thou canst 
 give: 
 Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, 
 And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow : 
 Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 
 Bui stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; 
 Thy word is current with him for my death ; 
 But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. 
 
 R. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice ; 
 Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave; 8 
 Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower! 
 
 Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in diges- 
 tion sour. 
 You urged me as a judge ; but I had rather, 
 You would have bid me argue like a father : — 
 O, had it been a stranger, not my child, 
 To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: 
 A partial slander 9 sought I to avoid, 
 And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. 
 Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say, 
 I was too strict to make mine own away ; 
 But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue, 
 Against my will to do myself this wrong. 
 
 K. Rich. Cousin, farewell: — and, uncle, bid him so, 
 Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt K. Richard and Train. 
 
 Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must not 
 know, 
 From where you do remain let paper show. 
 
 Mar. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride, 
 As far as land will let me, by your side. 
 
 Gaunt. 0, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy 
 words, 
 That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? 
 
 Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you 
 When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
 To breathe the abundant dolor of the heart. 
 
 Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time 
 
 Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time 
 
 Gaunt. What is six winters? they are quickly 
 gone. 
 
 Boling. To men in joy : but grief makes one houi 
 ten. 
 
 Gaunt. Call it a travel that thou tak'st for pleasure. 
 
 Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so. 
 Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 
 
 Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
 Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
 The precious jewel of thy home-return. 
 
 Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
 Will but remember me what a deal of world 
 I wander from the jewels that I love. 
 Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
 To foreign passages, and in the end, 
 Having my freedom, boast of nothing else, 
 But that I was a journeyman to grief? 
 
 Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visitaj 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens : 
 Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
 
 « Had a part or share. ' Reproach of partiality 
 
Act 11. Scene I. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 3W 
 
 There is no virtue like necessity. 
 
 Think not, the king did banish thee ; 
 
 But thou, the king: Woe doth the heavier sit, 
 
 Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
 
 Go, say — T sent thee forth to purchase honor, 
 
 And not — the king exiled thee: or suppose, 
 
 Devouring pestilence hangs in our air, 
 
 And thou art flying to a fresher clime, 
 
 Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
 
 To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st: 
 
 Suppose the singing birds, musicians ; 
 
 The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence 1 
 
 strew'd ; 
 The flowers, fair ladies; and thy steps no more 
 Than a delightful measure or a dance : 
 For gnarling 3 sorrow hath less power to bite 
 The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. 
 
 Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand, 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 
 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, 
 By bare imagination of a feast ? 
 Or wallow naked in December snow, 
 By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 
 0, no, the apprehension of the good, 
 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
 Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more, 
 Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 
 
 Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on 
 thy way: 
 Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. 
 
 Baling. Then, England's ground, farewell ; sweet 
 soil, adieu ! 
 My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! 
 
 Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, 
 
 Though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE I V.— The Same. A Room in the King's 
 
 Castle. 
 Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green; Au- 
 jcerle following. 
 K. Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle, 
 How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? 
 Aum. I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, 
 But to the next high way, and there I left him. 
 K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears 
 
 were shed? 
 Aum. 'Faith, none by me : except the north-east 
 wind, 
 Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
 Awaked the sleeping rheum ; and so, by chance, 
 Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 
 
 K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted 
 
 with him? 
 Aum. Farewell: 
 And, for my heart disdained that my tongue 
 Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
 To counterfeit oppression of such grief, 
 
 That words seem 'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
 Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen 'c 
 
 hours, 
 And added years to his short banishment, 
 He should have had a volume of farewells; 
 But since it would not, he had none of me. 
 
 K. Rich. He i:s our cousin, cousin ; but 'tis d 
 When time shall call him home from banish 
 Whether our kinsman come to see his frien 
 Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
 Observ'd his couitship to the common people 
 How he did seem to dive into their hearts, 
 With humble and familiar courtesy ; 
 What reverence he did throw away on slaves, 
 Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles, 
 And patient underbearing of his fortune, 
 As 'twere to banish their affects with him. 
 Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; 
 A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well, 
 And had the tribute of his supple knee, 
 With — Thanks, my countrymen, my loving 
 
 friends,- 
 As were our England in reversion his, 
 And he our subjects' next degree in hope. 
 
 Green. Well, he is gone; and with him go these 
 thoughts. 
 Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ; — 
 Expedient manage must be made, my liege; 
 Ere further leisure yield them further means, 
 For their advantage, and your highness' loss. 
 
 K. Rich. We will ourself in person to this war, 
 And, for 3 our coffers — with too great a court, 
 And liberal largess — are grown somewhat light, 
 We are enforced to farm our royal realm ; 
 The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
 For our affairs in hand: If that come short, 
 Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters, 
 Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, 
 They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, 
 And send them after to supply our wants , 
 For we will make for Ireland presently. 
 
 Enter Bushy. 
 
 Bushy, what news ? 
 
 Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, ray 
 lord; 
 Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste 
 To entreat your majesty to visit him. 
 
 A'. Rich. Where 'lies he? 
 
 Bushy. At Ely-house. 
 
 K. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his physician'? 
 mind. 
 To help him to his grave immediately ! 
 The lining of his coffers shall make coats 
 To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars.— 
 Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him : 
 Pray heaven, we may make haste, and come too 
 late ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I —London. A Room in Ely-house. 
 
 Gaunt on a Cuuch,- the Duke of York, and 
 others, standing by him. 
 
 Gaunt. Will the king come? that I may breathe 
 my last 
 Id wholesome counsel to his knstay'd youth. 
 
 1 Presence chamber at court. » Growling. 
 
 York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with you» 
 breath ; 
 For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. 
 
 Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues cf dying 
 men 
 Enforce attention, like ueep hanony : 
 i Where words are scarce, they i e seldom spent in 
 vain: 
 
 ' Because. 
 
358 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 Tor thsy breathe truth, that breathe their words in 
 p«un. 
 
 He, that no more must say, is listen d more 
 
 Than they whom youth and case have taught to 
 
 glose ; ' 
 More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before . 
 
 The setting sun, and music at the close, 
 As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last; 
 Writ in remembrance, more than things long past : 
 Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, 
 My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 
 
 York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering 
 
 sounds, 
 As, praises of his state : then, there are found 
 Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound 
 The open ear of youth doth always listen : 
 Report of fashions in proud Italy; 
 Whose manners still our tardy apish nation 
 Limps after, in base imitation, 
 Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity, 
 (So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) 
 That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears? 
 Then all too late comes counsel to be heard 
 Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
 Direct not him, whose way himself will choose; 
 'Tis breath thou lack'st,and that breath wilt thou lose. 
 Gaunt. Mcthinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd ; 
 And thus, expiring, do foretell of him : 
 His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last: 
 For violent fires soon burn out themselves : 
 Small showers last long, but sudden storms are 
 
 short; 
 He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes ; 
 With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder: 
 Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, 
 Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
 This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, 
 This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This other Eden, demi-paradise; 
 This fortress, built by nature for herself, 
 Against infection, and the hand of war ; 
 This happy breed of men, this little world; 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 Or, as a moat defensive to a house, 
 Against the envy of less happier lands: 
 This blessed plot, this earth, tins realm, this England, 
 This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
 Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth, 
 Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
 (For Christian service, and true chivalry,) 
 As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, 
 Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son : 
 This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, 
 Dear for her reputation through the world, 
 Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it) 
 Like to a tenement or pelting 5 farm: 
 England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
 Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
 Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
 With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds; 
 That England, that was wont to conquer others, 
 Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: 
 0, would the scandal vanish with my life, 
 How happy then were my ensuing death ! 
 
 Enter King Richard, and Qukkn ; Avmkrlk, 
 Busht, Ghken, Bagot, Ross, and Wil- 
 loughbt. 
 
 York. The king is come: deal mildly with his 
 youth ; 
 ••'or young hot "olts, being raged, do rage the more. 
 ♦ Fl»tte:. » Paltry. 
 
 Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? 
 
 K. Rich. What comfort, man? How is't witt 
 aged Gaunt? 
 
 Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition . 
 Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt 6 in being old : 
 Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ; 
 And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt T 
 For sleeping Engiand long time have T .vatch'd ; 
 Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt : 
 The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, 
 Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks; 
 And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: 
 Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, 
 Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 
 
 A". Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with theii 
 names? 
 
 Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: 
 Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, 
 I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. 
 
 A'. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those 
 that live? 
 
 Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that die. 
 
 A^. Rich. Thou, i*ow a dying, say'st — thou flat- 
 ter'st me. 
 
 Gaunt. Oh ! no; thou diest, though I the sicker 
 be. 
 
 K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee 
 ill. 
 
 Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see 
 thee ill ; 
 111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill, 
 Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land, 
 Wherein thou liest in reputation sick: 
 And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
 Commij'st thy anointed body to the cure 
 Of those physicians that first wounded thee: 
 A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, 
 Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; 
 And yet, incaged in so small a verge, 
 The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
 O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, 
 Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, 
 From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame 
 Deposing thee before thou wort possess'd, 
 Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
 Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world. 
 It were a shame to let this land by lease 
 But, for thy world, enjoying but this land, 
 Is it not more than shame, to shame it so? 
 Landlord of England art thou now, not king : 
 Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ; 
 And thou 
 
 A'. Rich. a lunatic lean-witted fool, 
 
 Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
 
 Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 
 
 Make paic our cheek ; chasing the royal blood, 
 
 With fury, from his native residence. 
 
 Now by my seat's right royal majesty, 
 
 Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, 
 
 This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, 
 
 Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. 
 
 Gaunt. 0, spare me not, my brother Edward's son. 
 For that I was his father Edward's son ; 
 That blood already, like the pelican, 
 Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd : 
 My brother Gioster, plain well-meaning soul, 
 (Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls!) 
 May be a precedent and witness good, 
 That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: 
 Join with the present sickness that I have; 
 And thy nnkindness be like crooked age, 
 To crop at once n too-long wither'd flower. 
 6 Lean, thin. 
 
Scenit L 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 *5U 
 
 Live m thy shame, but die not sharne with thee ! — 
 These words hereafter thy tormentors be, — 
 Jonvey me to my bed, then to my grave : 
 I ove they to live, that love and honor have. 
 
 [Exit, borne out by his Attendants. 
 
 A". Rich. And let them die that age and sullens 
 have; 
 For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 
 
 York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words 
 To wayward sickliness and age in him: 
 He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
 As Harrj dnke of Hereford, were he here. 
 
 A". Rich* Right; you say true: as Hereford's love, 
 so his : 
 As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. 
 Enter Northumberland. 
 
 North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to 
 your majesty. 
 
 A'. Rich. What says he now ? 
 
 North. Nay, nothing; all is said: 
 
 His tongue is now a stringless instrument; 
 Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 
 
 York, Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! 
 Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 
 
 K. Rich.The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; 
 His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be : 
 
 So much for that. Now for our Irish wars : 
 
 We must supplant those rough rug-headed kernes ; T 
 Which live like venom, where no venom else, 
 But only they, hath privilege to live. 
 And for these great alfairs do ask some charge, 
 Towards our assistance, we do seize to us 
 The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, 
 Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. 
 
 York. How long shall I be patient ! Ah, how 
 long 
 Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ! 
 Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, 
 Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, 
 Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
 About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, 
 Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, 
 Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. — 
 I am the last of noble Edward's sons, 
 Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; 
 In war, was never lion raged more fierce, 
 In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, 
 Thau was that young and princely gentleman : 
 His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 
 Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; 
 But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, 
 And not against his friends: his noble hand 
 Did win what he did spend, and spent not that 
 Which his triumphant father's hand had won : 
 His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood, 
 But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
 O, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief, 
 Or else he never would compare between. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter ? 
 
 York. O, my liege, 
 
 Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleas'd 
 Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
 Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands, 
 The royalties and rights ofbanish'd Hereford'! 
 Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live! 
 Was not Gaunt just] and is not Harry true'? 
 Did not the one deserve to have an heir ? 
 Is not his heir a well-deserving son? 
 Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time 
 His charters and his customary rights; 
 Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ; 
 Be not thyself, for how art thou a king, 
 1 1riah soldiers. 
 
 But by fair sequence and succession? 
 
 Now, afore God (God forbid, I say true !) 
 
 If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, 
 
 Call in the letters patent that he hath 
 
 By his attornies-general to sue 
 
 His livery, 8 and deny his ofTer'd homage, 
 
 You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, 
 
 You lese a thousand well-disposed hearts, 
 
 And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 
 
 Which honor and allegiance cannot think. 
 
 K. Rich. Think what you will; we pcize ink 
 our hands 
 His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. 
 
 York. I'll not be by the while : My liege, fare 
 well: 
 What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell ; 
 But by bad courses may be understood, 
 That their events can never fall out good. [Exti 
 
 K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire 
 straight; 
 Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, 
 To see this business : To-morrow next 
 We will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow ; 
 And we create, in absence of ourself, 
 Our uncle York lord governor of England, 
 For he is just and always lov'd us well. — 
 Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part ; 
 Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish, 
 [Exeunt Kwg, Queen, Bushy, Aumehie, 
 Green, and Bagot. 
 
 North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. 
 
 Ross. And living too; for now his son is duke. 
 
 With. Barely in title, not in revenue. 
 
 North. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 
 
 Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break with 
 silence, 
 Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. 
 
 North. Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er 
 speak more, 
 That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm ! 
 
 Wi/lo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke 
 of Hereford ? 
 If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; 
 Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. 
 
 Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him ; 
 Unless you call it good to pity him, 
 Bereft and gelded " of his patrimony. 
 
 North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such 
 wrongs are borne, 
 i T n him a royal prince, and many more 
 Of noblo blood in this declining land. 
 The king is not himself, but basely led 
 By flatterers ; and what they will inform, 
 Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, 
 That will the king severely prosecute 
 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 
 
 Ross. The commons hath he pill'd ' with grievoui 
 taxes, 
 And lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fined 
 For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 
 
 Wilio. And daily new exactions are devis'd; 
 As blanks, benevolences, and I w ; ot not what: 
 Hut ivb?,i, o'God's name, doth become of this? 
 
 iY: -;,',. Wz:: have not wasted it, for warr'd ho 
 hath not, 
 Bui b'.-.sely yielded upon compromise 
 Thtft which his ancestors achiev'd with blows: 
 More huth he spent in peace, than they in wars. 
 
 Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in 
 farm. 
 
 Willo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken 
 man. 
 » Claim possession ; a law term. • Deprived ' I'illwtoJ 
 
360 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act II 
 
 North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over 
 him. 
 
 Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, 
 His hurdcnous taxations notwithstanding, 
 But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 
 
 North. His noble kinsman: most degenerate 
 king! 
 But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, 
 Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm: 
 We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 
 And yet we strike not, but securely perish." 
 
 Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer ; 
 And unavoided is the danger now, 
 For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 
 
 North. Not so ; even through the hollow eyes of 
 death, 
 [ spy life peering ; but I dare not say 
 How near the tidings of our comfort is. 
 
 Willo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou 
 dost ours. 
 
 Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland : 
 We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, 
 Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore be bold. 
 
 North. Then thus: — I have from Port le Blanc, 
 a bay 
 In Brittany, receiv'd intelligence, 
 That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, 
 [The son of Richard earl of Arundel,] 
 That late broke from the duke of Exeter, 
 His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, 
 Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston, 
 Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis 
 
 Quoint, 
 
 All these well furnish 'd by the duke of Bretagne, 
 With eight tall 3 ships, three thousand men of war, 
 Are making hither with all due expedience,' 
 And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: 
 Perhaps, they had ere this ; but that they stay 
 The first departing of the king for Ireland. 
 If then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke, 
 Imp 5 out our drooping country's broken wing, 
 Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, 
 Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt," 
 And make high majesty look like itself, 
 Away, with me, in post to Ravenspurg : 
 But if you faint, as tearing to do so, 
 Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. 
 
 Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them 
 that fear. 
 
 Willo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 
 
 Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: 
 You promis'd when you parted with the king, 
 To lay aside life-harming heaviness, 
 And entertain a cheerful disposition. 
 
 Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please 
 myself, 
 I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause 
 Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, 
 Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
 As my sweet Richard : Yet, again, methinks, 
 Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, 
 Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul 
 With nothing trembles : at something it grieves, 
 More than with parting from my lord the king. 
 
 Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty 
 shadows, 
 Which show like grief itself, but are not so: 
 
 » Perish by confidence in our security. » Stout. 
 
 * Expedition. « Supply with new feathers. « Gilding. 
 
 For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding teara. 
 Divides one thing entire to many objects ; 
 Like perspectives, 1 which, rightly gaz'd upon, 
 Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry, 
 Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty, 
 Looking awry upon your lord's departure, 
 Finds shapes of grief, more than himself to wail ; 
 Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows 
 Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, 
 More than your lord's departure weep not ; more' 
 
 not seen : 
 Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, 
 Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. 
 
 Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul 
 Persuades me, it is otherwise : Howe'er it be, 
 I cannot but be sad : so heavy sad, 
 As, — though, in thinking, on no thought I think, — 
 Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 
 
 Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit, 8 my graciou< 
 lady. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still derived 
 From some fore-father grief; mine is not so ; 
 For nothing hath begot my something grief; 
 Or something hath the nothing that I grieve : 
 'Tis in reversion that I do possess ; 
 But what it is, that is not yet known ; what 
 I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 9 
 
 Enter Green. 
 
 Green. Heaven save your majesty ! — and well 
 met, gentlemen : — 
 I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 
 Queen. Why hop'st thou sol 'tis better hope, 
 he is, 
 For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope; 
 Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd ? 
 Green. That he, our hope, might have retired 
 his power, 
 And driven into despair an enemy's hope, 
 Who strongly hath set footing in this land: 
 The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, 
 And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd 
 At Ravenspurg. 
 
 Queen. Now God in heaven forbid ! 
 
 Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that i» 
 worse, — 
 The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry 
 
 Percy, 
 The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, 
 With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 
 Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd North 
 umberland, 
 And all the rest of the revolting faction 
 Traitors 1 
 
 Green. We have : whereon the earl of Worces- 
 ter 
 Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, 
 And all the household servants fled with him 
 To Bolingbroke. 
 
 Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my 
 woe. 
 And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir* 
 Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy; 
 And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, 
 Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 
 Bushy. Despair not, rnadam. 
 Queen. Who shall hinder mel 
 
 I will despair, and be at enmity 
 With cozening hope; he is a flatterer, 
 A parasite, a keeper-back of death, 
 Who gently would dissolve the bands of life. 
 Which false hope lingers in extremity. 
 
 * Pictures. ' Fanciful conception. • Know 
 
Scene II l. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 361 
 
 Enter York. 
 
 Green. Here comes the duke of York. 
 
 Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck ; 
 0, full of careful business are his looks! — 
 Uncle. 
 For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words. 
 
 York. Should I do so, I should belie my 
 thoughts : 
 Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, 
 Where nothing lives but crosses, care and grief. 
 Your husband he is gone to save far off, 
 Whilst others come to make him lose at home : 
 Here am I left to underprop his land, 
 Who, weak with age, cannot support myself; 
 Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; 
 Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I 
 came. 
 
 York. He was 1 ? — Why, so! — go all which way 
 it will !— 
 The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, 
 And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side — 
 Sirrah, 
 
 Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster ; 
 Bid her send me presently a thousand pound:— 
 Hold, take my ring. 
 
 Serv. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship : 
 To-day, as I came by, I called there ; 
 But I shall grieve you to report the rest. 
 
 York. What is it, knave 1 
 
 Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 
 
 York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
 Comes rushing on this woeful land at once ! 
 I know not what to do : — I would to God, 
 (So my untruth' had not provoked him to it,) 
 The king had cut off my head with my brother s. 
 What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland 1 ? — 
 How shall we do for money for these wars? 
 Come, sister, — cousin, I would say, pray, pardon 
 
 me. — 
 Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, pro- 
 vide some carts, 
 And bring away the armor that is there. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know 
 How, or which way, to order these affairs, 
 Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, 
 Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ; 
 The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath 
 And duty bids defend; the other again, 
 Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd; 
 Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
 Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll 
 Dispose of you : — Go, muster up your men, 
 \nd meet me presently at Berkley-castle. 
 f should to Plashy too, — 
 Bu f time will not permit: — All is uneven, 
 A.nd every thing is left at six and seven. 
 
 [Exeunt York and Queen. 
 
 Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to 
 Ireland, 
 But none returns. For us to levy power, 
 Proportionable to the enemy, 
 Is all impossible. 
 
 G)ten. Besides, our nearness to the king in 
 love, 
 Is near the hate of those love not the king. 
 
 Bagof. And that's the waverinjr commons: for 
 their love 
 
 1 Disloyalty. 
 
 Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, 
 By so much fills their heart with deadly hate. 
 
 Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- 
 demn'd. 
 
 Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, 
 Because we ever have been near the king. 
 
 Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol 
 castle ; 
 The earl of Wiltshire is already there. 
 
 Bushy. Thither will I with you : for little office 
 The hateful commons will perform for us; 
 Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. — 
 Will you go along with us 1 
 
 Bagot. No: I'll to Ireland to his majesty. 
 Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain, 
 We three hero part, that ne'er shall meet again. 
 
 Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bo- 
 lingbroke. 
 
 Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he undertakes 
 Is — numbering sands, and drinking oceans dry; 
 Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 
 
 Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and 
 ever. 
 
 Green. Well, we may meet again. 
 
 Bagot. I fear me, never 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Wilds in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Enter Boliiigbroke and Northumberland, 
 with Forces. 
 
 Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now ? 
 
 North. Believe me, noble lord, 
 I am a stranger here in Glostershire. 
 These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, 
 Draw out our miles and make them wearisome: 
 And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, 
 Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
 But, I bethink me, what a weary way 
 From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found 
 In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company; 
 Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
 The tediousness and process of my travel : 
 But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have 
 The present benefit which I possess : 
 And hope to joy, is little less in joy, 
 Than hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords 
 Shall make their way seem short; as mine hath 
 
 done 
 By sight of what I have, your noble company. 
 
 Boling. Of much less value is my company, 
 Than your good words. But who comes here! 
 
 Enter Harry Percy. 
 
 North. It is my son, young Harry Percy, 
 Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. 
 Harry, how fares your uncle'! 
 
 Percy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd 
 his health of you. 
 
 North. Why, is he not with the qifeen? 
 
 Percy. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook the 
 court, 
 Broken his staff of office, and dispers'd 
 The household of the king. 
 
 North. What was his reason T 
 
 He was not so resolv'd when last we spake to- 
 gether. 
 
 Percy. Because your lordship was proclaimed 
 traitor. 
 But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, 
 To offer service to the duke of Hereford, 
 And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover 
 What power the Juke of York had levied there; 
 Then with director, to repair to Ravenspurp 
 
n 
 
 863 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Aot li 
 
 North. Have you forgot trie duke of Hereford, 
 
 boy 7 
 ■Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot, 
 Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, 
 i never in my life did look on him. 
 
 North. Then learn to know him now; this is 
 
 the duke. 
 Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my 
 service, 
 Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young ; 
 Which elder days shall ripen and confirm 
 To more approved service and desert. 
 
 Boling. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be sure, 
 I count myself in nothing else so happy, 
 As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends ; 
 And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, 
 It shall be still thy true love's recompense : 
 My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals 
 it. 
 North. How far is it to Berkley 1 And what stir 
 Keeps good old York there, with his men of war 1 
 Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of 
 trees, 
 Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard : 
 And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Sey- 
 mour: 
 None else of name, and noble estimate. 
 
 Enter Ross and Willoughbt. 
 North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil- 
 loughby, 
 Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 
 
 Boling. Welcome, my lords: I wot," your love 
 pursues 
 A banish'd traitor; all my treasury 
 Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, 
 Shall be your love and labor's recompense. 
 
 Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble 
 
 lord. 
 Willo. And far surmounts our labor to attain it. 
 Boling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the 
 poor; 
 Which till my infant fortune comes to years, 
 Stands for my bounty. But who comes here 1 
 
 Enter Berkley. 
 North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 
 Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to 
 
 you. 
 Boling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster ; 
 And I am come to seek that name in England: 
 And I must find that title in your tongue, 
 Before I make reply to aught you say. 
 
 Berk. Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my 
 meaning, 
 To raze one title of your honor out : 
 To you, my lord, I come (what lord you will) 
 From the most glorious regent of this land, 
 The duke of, York; to know, what pricks you on 
 To take advantage of the absent time,' 
 And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 
 Enter York, attended. 
 Boling. I shall not needs transport my words 
 by you. 
 Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle! 
 
 [Kneels. 
 York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy 
 knee, 
 Whose duty is deceivable and false 
 Boling. My gracious uncle.' 
 York. Tut, tut ! 
 ftraor, me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle : 
 « Know 3 Time of tbe king's absence. 
 
 I am no traitor's uncle; and that word — grac*. 
 In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. 
 Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 
 Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground 1 
 But then more why ; — Why have they dared to 
 
 march 
 So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ; 
 Frighting her pale-faced villages with war. 
 And ostentation of despised arms 1 
 Com'st thou because the anointed king is henco 1 
 Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, 
 And in my loyal bosom lies his power. 
 Were I but now the lord of such hot youth, 
 As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, 
 Rescued the black prince, that young Mars of men, 
 From forth tho ranks of many thousand French- 
 0, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, 
 Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, 
 And minister correction to thy fault! 
 
 Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; 
 On what condition stands it, and wherein 1 
 
 York. Even in condition of the worst degree, — ■ 
 In gross rebellion, and detested treason : 
 Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come, 
 Before the expiration of thy time, 
 In braving arms against thy sovereign. 
 
 Boling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here- 
 ford; 
 But as I come, I come for Lancaster. 
 And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, 
 Look on my wrongs with an indifferent 4 eye: 
 You are my father, for, methinks, in you 
 I see old Gaunt alive; 0, then, my father ! 
 Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
 A wandering vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
 Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
 To upstart unthrifts'! Wherefore was I ben' 
 If that my cousin king be king of England, 
 It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. 
 You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; 
 Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, 
 He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, 
 To rouse his wrongs, 5 and chase them to the bay. 
 I am denied to sue my livery 6 here, 
 And yet my letters-patent give me leave : 
 My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold; 
 And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
 What would you have me do? I am a subject, 
 And challenge law : Attornies are denied me ; 
 And therefore personally I lay my claim 
 To my inheritance of free descent. 
 North. The noble duke hath been too much abused. 
 Ross. It stands your grace upon," to do him right 
 Willo. Base men by his endowments are made 
 
 great. 
 York. My lords of England, let me tell ycu this, — 
 I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, 
 And labor'd all I could to do him right: 
 But in this kind to come, in braving arms, ' 
 Be his own carver, and cut out his way, 
 To find out right with wrong, — it may not he; 
 And you, that do abet him in this kind, 
 Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 
 
 North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming u 
 But for his own : and, for the right of that, 
 We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; 
 And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. 
 
 York*. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms ■ 
 I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, 
 Because my power is weak, and all ill left 
 But, if I could, by him that gave me lite, 
 
 ♦ Impartial. » The persons who wrong him 
 
 « Possession of my land, <£c. ' It is /our intereit 
 
'.iox Hi. Scene .. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 363 
 
 I would attach you all, and make you stoop 
 Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ; 
 But, since I cannot, be it known to you, 
 I do remain as neuter. So fare you well ; — 
 Unless you please to enter in the castle, 
 And there repose you for this night. 
 
 Boling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. 
 But we must win your grace, to go with us 
 To Bristol castle ; which, they say, is held 
 By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices, 
 The caterpillars of the commonwealth, 
 Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away. 
 
 York. It may be, I will go with you: — but yet 
 I'll pause; 
 For I am loath to break our country's laws. 
 Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
 Things past redress, are now with me past care. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Camp in Wales. 
 
 Enter Salisbury, and a Captain. 
 
 Capt. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, 
 And hardly kept our countrymen together, 
 
 And yet we hear no tidings from the king: 
 Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. 
 
 Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman, 
 The king reposeth all his confidence 
 In thee. 
 
 Capt. 'Tis thought the king is dead ; we wii 
 not stay. 
 The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, 
 And meteors fright the fixed stars of heavsn ; 
 The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth, 
 And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; 
 Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap,— 
 The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy, 
 The other, to enjoy by rage and war: 
 These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.— 
 Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled, 
 As well assured, Richard their king is dead. [Exit. 
 
 Sal. Ah, Richard ! with the eyes of heavy mind, 
 I see thy glory, like a shooting star, 
 Fall to the base earth from the firmament! 
 Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
 Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest: 
 Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ; 
 And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. 
 
 Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland, 
 Percy, Willoughby, Ross: Officers behind 
 with Bushy and Green, prisoners. 
 
 Boling. Bring forth these men. — 
 Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls 
 (Since presently your souls must part your bodies) 
 With too much urging your pernicious lives, 
 For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your blood 
 From off my hands, here in the view of men, 
 I will unfold some causes of your death. 
 You have misled a prince, a royal king, 
 A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
 By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. 8 
 You have, in manner, with your sinful hours, 
 Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him; 
 Broke the possession of a royal bed, 
 And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
 With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. 
 Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ; 
 Near to the king in blood ; and near in love, 
 Till you did make him misinterpret me, — 
 Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, 
 And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, 
 Eating the bitter bread of banishment : 
 Whilst you have fed upon my seignories, 
 Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods ; 
 From my own windows ' orn my household coat, 
 Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, — 
 Save men's opinions, and my living blood, — 
 To show the world I am a gentleman. 
 This, and much more, much more than twice all 
 
 this, 
 Condemns you to the death: — See them deliver'd 
 
 over 
 To execution and the hand of death. 
 
 Bushy. More welcome is the 6troke of death to 
 
 me, 
 Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell. 
 Green. My comfort is, — that heaven will take 
 
 our souls, 
 And plague injustice with the pains of hell. 
 8 Completely. 
 
 Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them de- 
 spatch'd. 
 
 [Exeunt Northumberland and others, 
 with Prisoners. 
 Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house; 
 For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated ' 
 Tell her, I send to her my kind commends; 
 Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 
 
 York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd 
 With letters of your love to her at large. 
 
 Boling. Thanks, gentle uncle. — Come, lords 
 away; 
 To fight with Glendower and his complices; 
 Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The Coast of Wales. A Castle in 
 
 view. 
 Flourish: Drums and Trumpets. Enter Kino 
 
 Richard, Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand' 
 
 Aum. Yea, my lord: How brooks your grace 
 the air, 
 After late tossing on the breaking seas] 
 
 K. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy, 
 
 To stand upon my kingdom once again. 
 
 Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, 
 Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs. 
 As a long parted mother with her child 
 Plays fondly with her tears, and smile's in meeting 
 So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, 
 And do thee favor with my royal hands. 
 Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, 
 Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense, 
 But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, 
 And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way; 
 Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet 
 Which with usurping steps do trample thee 
 Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies: 
 And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower 
 Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder; 
 Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
 Throw death upon thy sovereign's encmies.- 
 Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords 
 
364 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act ill. 
 
 This eaith shall have a feeling, and these stones 
 Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king, 
 Shall falter under foul rebellious arms. 
 
 Car. Fear not, my iord ; that Power, that made 
 
 you king, 
 Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all. 
 The means that heaven yields must be embraced, 
 And not neglected; else, if heaven would, 
 And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse; 
 The proffer'd means of succor and redress. 
 
 Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; 
 Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, 
 Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends. 
 A*. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou 
 
 not, 
 That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
 Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, 
 Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, 
 In murders, and in outrage, bloody here; 
 But when, from under this terrestrial ball, 
 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
 Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, 
 The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, 
 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? 
 So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, — 
 Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, 
 Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, — 
 Shall see us rising in our throne the east, 
 His treasons will sit blushing in his face, 
 Not able to endure the sight of day, 
 But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin. 
 Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
 Can wash the balm from an anointed king: 
 The breath of worldly men cannot depose 
 The deputy elected by the Lord: 
 For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, 
 To lift, shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
 God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 
 A glorious angel: then, if angels fight, 
 Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the 
 
 right. 
 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 
 Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power? 
 
 Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord, 
 Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue, 
 And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
 One day too late, I fear, my noble lord, 
 Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : 
 O, call back yesterday, bid time return, 
 And tlfou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! 
 To-day, to-day, unhappy day too late, 
 O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state; 
 For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wcrt dead, 
 Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled. 
 
 Aum. Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace 
 so pale? 
 
 K. Rich. But now the blood of twenty thousand 
 men 
 
 Did Liiumph in my face, and they are fled ; 
 And till so much blood thither come again, 
 
 Have I not reason to look pale and dead? 
 All souls that will be safe fly from my side ; 
 ^oi time hath set a blot upon my pride. 
 
 Aum. Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. 
 
 K. Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not king? 
 Awake, thou sluggard majesty ! thou sleep'st. 
 fs not the king's name forty thousand names? 
 Arm, arm, my name, a puny subject strikes 
 At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground, 
 Ye favorites of a king; Are we not high? 
 Hirrh ba ->ur thoughts; I know my uncle York 
 
 Hath power enough to serv? <;ur turn. But whc 
 Comes here? 
 
 Enter Scroop. 
 
 Scroop. More health and happiness letide inj 
 liege, 
 Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him. 
 K. Rich. Mine car is open and my heart pre 
 pared ; 
 The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. 
 Say, is my kingdom lost ? why, 'twas my care ; 
 And what loss is it, to be rid of care ? 
 Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ? 
 Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, 
 We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so : 
 Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend ; 
 They break their faith to God, as well as us : 
 Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay ; 
 The worst is — death, and death will have his day. 
 Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd 
 To bear the tidings of calamity. 
 Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
 Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
 As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears ; 
 So high above his limits swells the rage 
 Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 
 With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel. 
 White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless 
 
 scalps 
 Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, 
 Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints 
 In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown : 
 Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 
 Of double-fatal yew against thy state; 
 Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills 
 Against thy scat; both young and old rebel, 
 And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 
 K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so 
 ill. 
 Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? 
 What is become of Bushy? where is Green? 
 That they have let the dangerous enemy 
 Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? 
 If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. 
 I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 
 Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed. 
 
 my lord. 
 K. Rich. villains, vipers, damn'd without re- 
 demption ! 
 Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 
 Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my 
 
 heart ! 
 Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! 
 Would they make peace? terrible hell make war 
 Upon their spotted souls for this offence ! 
 
 Scroop. Sweet love, I see, changing his property, 
 Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : — 
 Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made 
 With heads, and not with hands : those whom you 
 
 curse 
 Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, 
 And lie full low, grav'd in thf hollow ground. 
 Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wilt- 
 shire dead ? 
 Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their 
 
 heads. 
 Aum. Where is the duke my father with hi« 
 
 power ? 
 K. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no mat 
 
 Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
 Write sorrow on the bosom rf the ea-th. 
 
Scene II J. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 365 
 
 Let's choose executors, and talk Ji'wills: 
 And yet not so, for what can we tequeath, 
 Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
 Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 
 And nothing can we call our own, but death; 
 And that small model of the barren earth, 
 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
 For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings: — 
 How some have been depos'd, some slain in war ; 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd ; 
 "">ome poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; 
 All murder'd : — For within the hollow crown, 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
 Keeps death his court; and there the antic sits, 
 Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
 To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks ; 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit, — 
 As if this flesh, which walls about our life, 
 Were brass impregnable; and humor'd thus, 
 Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
 Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king! 
 Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
 With solemn reverence; throw away respect, 
 Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, 
 For you have but mistook me all this while : 
 Hive with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
 Need friends: — Subjected thus, 
 How can you say to me — I am a king ? 
 
 Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present 
 woes, 
 But presently prevent the ways to wail. 
 To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, 
 Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, 
 And so your follies fight against yourself. 
 Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come, to fight : 
 And fight and die, is death destroying death; 
 Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath. 
 
 Aum. My father hath a power, enquire of him; 
 And learn to make a body of a limb. 
 
 K. <Rich. Thou chid'st me well : — Proud Boling- 
 broke, I come 
 To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
 This ague-fit of fear is overblown ; 
 
 An easy task it is to win our own. 
 
 Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? 
 Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 
 
 Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky 
 
 The state and inclination of the day: 
 So may you by my dull and heavy eye, 
 
 My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. 
 I play the torturer, by small and small, 
 To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : — 
 Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke; 
 And all your northern casuV.s yieided up, 
 And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
 Upon his party. 
 
 K. Rich. Thou hast said enough. • 
 
 Beshrew thee, cousin, which did lead me forth 
 
 [To Aumerle. 
 Of that sweet way I was in to despair! 
 What say you now ? what comfort have we now ? 
 By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly, 
 That bids me be of comfort any more. 
 Go, to Flint castle ; there I'll pine away ; 
 A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
 That power I have, discharge; and let them go 
 To ear" the land that hath some hope to grow, 
 For I have none : — Let no man speak again 
 To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 
 
 Aum. My lieqe, one word. 
 » Plough. 
 
 K. Rich. He does me double wrong 
 
 That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
 Discharge my followers, let them hence; — Away, 
 From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— Wales. Before Flint Castle. 
 
 Enter, with Drum and Colors, Bolingbroke and 
 Forces,- York, Northumberland, and others. 
 
 Boling. So that by this intelligence we learn, 
 The Welshmen are dispers'd; and Salisbury 
 Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed, 
 With some few privaie friends, upon this coast. 
 
 North. The news is very fair and good, my lord : 
 Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. 
 
 York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, 
 To say — king Richard: — Alack the heavy day, 
 When such a sacred king should hide his head ! 
 
 North. Your grace mistakes me ; only to be brief, 
 Left I his title out. 
 
 York. The time hath been, 
 
 Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
 Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, 
 For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 
 
 Boling. Mistake not, uncle, farther than you 
 should. 
 
 York. Take not, good cousin, further than you 
 should, 
 Lest you mistake : The heavens are o'er your head. 
 
 Boling. I know it, uncle; and oppose not 
 Myself against their will. — But who comes here? 
 
 Enter Percy. 
 Well, Harry ; what, will not this castle yield ? 
 
 Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, 
 Against thy entrance. 
 
 Boling. Royally ! 
 
 Why, it contains no king?- 
 
 Percy. Yes, my good lord, 
 
 It doth contain a king : king Richard lies 
 Within the limits of yon lime and stone; 
 And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, 
 Sir Stephen Scroop; besides a clergyman 
 Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn. 
 
 North. Belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. 
 
 Boling. Noble lord, [7b North 
 
 Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; 
 Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
 Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: 
 Harry Bolingbroke 
 
 On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand ; 
 And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart, 
 To his most royal person : hither come 
 Even at his feet to lay my arms and power; 
 Provided that, my banishment repeal'd, 
 And lands restor'd again, be freely granted : 
 If not, I'll use the advantage of my power, 
 And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
 P »n'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: 
 The which, how far off from the mind of Boling- 
 broke 
 It is, such crimson tempest should bedrenab 
 The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land. 
 My stooping duty tenderly shall show. 
 Go, signify as much ; while here we march 
 
 Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. 
 
 [Northumberland advances to tl*e 
 Castle with a Trumpet. 
 Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum 
 That from the castle's totter'd battlements 
 Our.fair appointments may be well perused. 
 Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet 
 With no less terror than the elements 
 
5fH> 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 3f fire and water when their thund'ring shock 
 At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. 
 Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water: 
 The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
 My waters; on the earth, and not on him. 
 March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. 
 
 A Parle sounded, and answered by another Trum- 
 pet within. Flourish. Enter on the Walls 
 King Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Au- 
 merle. Scroop, and Salisbury. 
 
 York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear, 
 As doth the blushing discontented sun 
 From out the fiery portal of the east; 
 When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
 To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
 Of his bright passage to the Occident. 
 Yet looks he like a king ; behold, his eye, 
 As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth, 
 Controlling majesty ; Alack, alack, for woe, 
 That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 
 K. Rich. We are amaz'd; and thus long have 
 
 we stood 
 To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, 
 
 [To Northumberland. 
 Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: 
 And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
 To pay their awful duty to our presence? 
 If we be not, show us the hand of God 
 That hath dismiss'dus from our stewardship; 
 For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 
 Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, 
 Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
 And though you think, that all, as you have done, 
 Have torn their souls, by turning them from us, 
 And we are barren, and bereft of friends; — 
 Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent, 
 Ismust'ring in his clouds, on our behalf, 
 Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike 
 Your children yet unborn, and unbegot, 
 That lift your vassal hands against my head, 
 And threat the glory of my precious crown. 
 Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,) 
 That every stride he makes upon my land, 
 Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope 
 The purple testament of bleeding war: 
 But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, 
 Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 
 Shall ill become the flower of England's face ; 
 Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
 To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
 Her pasture's gras? with faithful English blood. 
 North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the 
 
 king 
 Should so with chil and uncivil arms 
 Be rush'd upon; Thy thrice-noble cousin, 
 Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand, 
 And by the honorable tomb he swears, 
 That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones ; 
 And by the royalties of both your bloods, 
 Currents that spring from one most gracious head; 
 And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt; 
 And by the worth and honor of himself, 
 Comprising all that may be sworn or said, — 
 His coming hither hath no further scope, 
 Than for his lineal royalties, and i> beg 
 Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: 
 Which on thy royal party granted once, 
 His glittering arms he will commend to rust, 
 His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
 To faithful service of your majesty. 
 This swears he, as he is a prince, is just ; 
 \nd, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 
 
 K. Rich. Northumberland, say, — thus the king 
 
 returns 
 
 His noble cousin is right welcome hither ; 
 And all the number of his fair demands 
 Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction; 
 With all the gracious utterance thou hast, 
 Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. — 
 We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, 
 To look so poorly, and to speak so fair? [To Aum 
 Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
 Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? 
 
 Aum. No, my good lord ; let's fight with gentl* 
 words, 
 Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful 
 swords. 
 K. Rich. God ! God ! that e'er this tongue 
 of mine, 
 That laid the sentence of dread banishment 
 On yon proud man, should take it off again 
 With words of sooth !' 0, that I were as great 
 As is my grief, or lesser than my name! 
 Or "\at I could forget what I have been ! 
 Or not remember wha* I must be now ! 
 Swell'st thou, proud heart ? I'll give thee scope to 
 
 beat, 
 Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 
 Aum. Northumberland comes back from Bo- 
 lingbroke. 
 K. Rich. What must the. king do now? Must 
 he submit? 
 The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd ? 
 The king shall be contented : must he lose 
 The name of king? o'God's name, let it go: 
 I'll give my jewels for a set of beads; 
 My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage; 
 My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown ; 
 My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood ; 
 My sceptre, for a palmer's walking staff; 
 My subjects, for a pair of carved saints; 
 And my large kingdom, for a little grave, 
 A little, little grave, an obscure grave: — 
 Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, 
 Some way of common trade where subjects' feet 
 May hourly trample on their sovereign's head: 
 For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live; 
 
 And, buried once, why not upon my head ? 
 
 Aumerle, thou weep'st ; My tender-hearted cousin! 
 We'll make foul weather with despised tears; 
 Our sighs and they, shall lodge the summer corn, 
 And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
 Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, 
 And make some pretty match with shedding tears; 
 As thus: — To drop them still upon one place, 
 Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
 Within the earth; and therein laid, — There lies 
 Two kinsmen, digg'd their graves with weeping 
 
 eyes? 
 Would not this ill do well? — Well, well, I see 
 I -talk but idly, and you mock at me. — 
 Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland 
 What says king Bolingbroke ? will his majesty 
 Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ? 
 You make a leg, 2 and Bolingbroke says — ay. 
 North. My lord, in the base 3 court he doth at- 
 tend, 
 To speak with you; may't please you to come down? 
 K. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering 
 Phaeton, 
 Wanting the manage of unruly jades. 
 
 [North, retires to Boling, 
 In the base court? Base court, where kings grow 
 
 1 Softness. 
 
 • Abv v. 
 
 * Lowar 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING RICHARD II 
 
 36- 
 
 To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
 
 In the base court? Come down? Down, court! 
 
 down, king! 
 For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should 
 sing. [Exeunt, from above. 
 
 Boling. What says his majesty? 
 
 North Sorrow and grief of heart 
 
 Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man: 
 Vet he is come. 
 Enter Kins Richard, and his Attendants, below. 
 
 Baling. Stand all apart, 
 
 And show fair duty to his majesty. 
 
 My gracious lord, — [Kneeling. 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely 
 knee, 
 To make the base earth proud with kissing it: 
 Me ratlier had, my heart might feel your love, 
 Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
 Up, cousin, up: your heart is up, I know, 
 Thus high at least, [Touching his own head.] al- 
 though your knee be low. 
 
 Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine 
 own. 
 
 K. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and 
 all. 
 
 Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, 
 As my true service shall deserve your love. 
 
 K. Rich. Well you deserve : — They well deserve 
 to have, 
 That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — 
 Uncle, give me your hand: nay, dry your eyes; 
 Tears show their love, but want their remedies. — 
 Cousin, I am too young to be your father, 
 Though you are old enough to be my heir. 
 What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; 
 For do we must, what force will have us do. — 
 Set on towards London : Cousin, is it so ? 
 
 Boling. Yea, my good lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Then I must not say, no. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Langley. The duke of York's 
 Garden. 
 
 Enter the Queen, and two Ladies. 
 Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this 
 garden, 
 To drive away the heavy thought of care ? 
 1 Lady. Madam, we'll play at bowls. 
 Queen. 'Twill make me think, 
 
 The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune 
 Runs 'gainst the bias. 
 
 1 Lady. Mad&m, we will dance. 
 
 Queen. My legs can keep no measure in de- 
 light, 
 When my poor heart nc iBS&NKttft keeps in grief: 
 Therefore, no dancir. g, girl ; some other sport. 
 1 Lady. Madam, we'ii tell tales. 
 Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy ? 
 
 1 Lady. Of either, madam. 
 Queen. Of neither, girl: 
 
 For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 
 Tt doth remember me the more of sorrow; 
 Or if of grief, being altogether had, 
 It adds more sorrow to my want of joy : 
 For what I have, I need not to repeat ; 
 And what I want, it boots not to complain. 
 1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing. 
 Queen. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ; 
 
 But thou hhouldst please me better, wouldst thou 
 weep. 
 Lady I could weo , madam, would it do you 
 good. 
 
 Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do 
 me good, 
 And never borrow any tear of thee. 
 But stay, here come the gardeners: 
 Let's step into the shadow of these trees. — 
 
 Enter a Gardener, and two Servants 
 
 My wretchedness unto a row of pins, 
 They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so 
 Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe 
 
 [Queen and Ladies retire 
 
 Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apncock«i 
 Which, like unruly children, make their r.:t 
 Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : 
 Give some supportance to the bending twigs. — 
 Go thou, and liko an executioner, 
 Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, 
 That look too lofty in our commonwealth: 
 
 All must be even in our government. 
 
 You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
 The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
 The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 
 
 1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a 
 pale, 
 Keep law, and form, and due proportion, 
 Showing, as in a model, our firm estate? 
 When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, 
 Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up, 
 Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, 
 Her knots* disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
 Swarming with caterpillars ? 
 
 Gard. Hold thy peace: — 
 
 He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring, 
 Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: 
 The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves M 
 
 shelter, 
 That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, 
 Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke; 
 I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. 
 
 1 Serv. What, are they dead? 
 
 Gard. They are; and Bolingbroke 
 
 Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — Oh! What pity is it 
 That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land, 
 As we this garden ! We at time of year 
 Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees; 
 Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood, 
 With too much riches it confound itself: 
 Had he done so to great and growing men, 
 They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste 
 Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches 
 We lop away, that bearing boughs may live : 
 Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, 
 Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. 
 
 1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall be 
 depos'd? 
 
 Gard. Depress'd he is already ; and depos'd, 
 'Tis doubt he will be : Letters came last night 
 To a dear friend of the good duke of York's 
 That tell black tidings. 
 
 Queen. 0, I am press'd to death, 
 
 Through want of speaking! — Thou, old Ads»m'a 
 
 likeness, [Coming front her concealment. 
 
 Set to dress this garden, how dare? 
 
 Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasinj* 
 
 news ? 
 What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee 
 To make a second fall of cursed man T 
 Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd ? 
 Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth. 
 Divine his downfall? Say where, when, and how, 
 Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? Speak, thou 
 wretch. 
 
 * Figures plant**} in a box 
 
868 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Gard. Pardon me, madam ; little joy have I, 
 To breathe this news ; yet, what I say, is true. 
 King Richard, he is in the mighty hold 
 Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd: 
 In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, 
 And some few vanities that make him light; 
 But ir. the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
 Besides himself are all the English peers, 
 And with that odds he weighs king Richard down. 
 Post you to London, and you'll find it so ; 
 I speak no more than every man doth know. 
 
 Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of 
 foot, 
 Doth not thy embassage belong to me, 
 And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st 
 To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
 
 Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go, 
 To meet at London London's king in woe. — 
 What, was I born to this ! that my sad look 
 Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? 
 Gardener, for telling me this news of woe, 
 I would, the plants thou graft'st may never gTOW 
 [Exeunt Queen and Ladies 
 Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might b« 
 no worse, 
 I woold, my skill were subject to thy curse. — 
 Here did she drop a tear; here, in this place 
 I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : 
 Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, 
 In the remembrance of a weeping queen. 
 
 Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. Westminster-Hall. 
 
 The Lords Spiritual on the right side of the 
 Throne; the Lords Temporal on the left; the 
 Commons below. Enter Bolingbroke, Au- 
 merle, Surrey, Northumberland, Perct, 
 Fitzwater, another Lord, Bishop of Car- 
 lisle, Abbot of Westminster, and Attend- 
 ants. Officers behind, with Baoot. 
 
 Boling. Call forth Bagot: 
 
 Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind, 
 What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; 
 Who wrought it with the king, and who perform 'd 
 The bloody office of his timeless end 1 
 
 Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle. 
 Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that 
 
 man. 
 Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring 
 tongue 
 Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. 
 In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, 
 I heard you say, — Is not my arm of length, 
 That rcacheth from the restful English court 
 As far as Calais, to my uncle's head? 
 Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
 I heard you say that you had rather refuse 
 The offer of a hundred thousand crowns, 
 Than Bolingbroke's return to England ; 
 Adding withal, how blest this land would be, 
 In this your cousin's death. 
 
 Aum. Princes, and noble lords, 
 
 What answer shall I make to this base man ? 
 Shall I so much dishonor my fair stars, 
 On equal terms to give him chastisement? 
 Either I must, or have mine honor soil'd 
 
 With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. 
 
 There is my gage, the manual seal of death, 
 That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest, 
 And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false, 
 In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
 ■ To stain the temper of my knightly sword. 
 
 Boling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. 
 Aum. Excepting one. I would he were the best 
 In all this presence that hath mov'd me so. 
 
 Fitz. If that thy valor stand on sympathies, 
 There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine : 
 By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'et, 
 1 heard thee say, and vanntingly thou spak'st it, 
 That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. 
 T tnou ucny'st it, twenty times thou liest; 
 A-iin I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, 
 Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. 
 
 Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that 
 day. 
 
 Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would i* were this 
 hour. 
 
 Aum. Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. 
 
 Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honor is as true, 
 In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: 
 And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage. 
 To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
 Of mortal breathing ; seize it, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off, 
 And never brandish more revengeful steel 
 Over the glittering helmet of my foe ' 
 
 Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Au- 
 merle ; 
 And spur thee on with full as many lies 
 As may be holla'd in thy treacherous ear 
 From sun to sun : there is my honor's pawn : 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw 
 at all : 
 I have a thousand spirits in one breast, 
 To answer twenty thousand such as you. 
 
 Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember wel: 
 The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 
 
 Fitz. My lord, 'tis true : you were in p>esenc*> 
 then; 
 And you can witness with me, this is true. 
 
 Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself w 
 true. 
 
 Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 
 
 Surrey. Dishonorable boy ! 
 
 That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, 
 That it shall render vengeance and revenge, 
 Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie 
 In earth as quiet as thy father's skull. 
 In proof whereof, there is my honor's pawn ; 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward hor*j 
 If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
 I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, 
 And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies, 
 And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith, 
 To tie thee to my strong correction. — 
 As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
 Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
 Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say, 
 That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
 To execute the noble duke at Calais. 
 
 Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gap;' 
 That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this, 
 If he may be repeal'd to try his honor. 
 
rfcENE I. 
 
 KIN! RICHARD II. 
 
 369 
 
 Doling. These differences shall all rest under 
 gage, 
 Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be, 
 \nd, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
 To all his land and seignories; when he's return'd, 
 Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 
 
 Car. That honorable day shall ne'er be seen. — 
 Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
 For Jesu Christ; in glorious Christian field 
 Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross, 
 Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens: 
 And, toil'd with works of war, retired himself 
 To Italy ; and there at Venice, gave 
 His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
 And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
 Under whose colors he had fought so long. 
 
 Boling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ] 
 
 Car. As sure as I live, my lord. 
 
 Boling. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to 
 the bosom 
 Of good old Abraham! — Lords appellants, 
 Your differences shall all rest under gage, 
 Till we assign you to your days of trial. 
 
 Enter York, attended. 
 
 York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to thee 
 From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul 
 Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields 
 To the possession of thy royal hand : 
 Ascend his throne, descending now from him, — 
 And long live Henry, of that name the fourth! 
 
 Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal 
 throne. 
 
 Car. Marry, God forbid! — 
 Worst in this royal presence may I speak, 
 Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
 Would God, that any in this noble presence 
 Were enough noble to be upright judge 
 Of noble Richard ; then true nobless would 
 Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
 What subject can give sentence on his king ] 
 And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject] 
 Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear, 
 Although apparent guilt be seen in them ; 
 And shall the figure of God's majesty, 
 His captain, steward, deputy elect, 
 Anointed, crowned, planted many years, 
 Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath, 
 And he himself not present] O, forbid it, God, 
 That, in a Christian climate, souls refined 
 Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! 
 I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
 Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. 
 My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, 
 Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king : 
 And if you crown him, let me prophesy, — 
 The blood of English shall manure the ground, 
 And future ages groan for this foul act ; 
 Peace shdl go sleep with Turks and Infidels, 
 And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars 
 Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound - 
 Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny, 
 Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
 The field of Golgott % and dead men's skulls. 
 O, if thou rear thif .iouse against this house, 
 It will the woefullest division prove, 
 That ever fell upon this cursed earth : 
 Prevent, resist it, let it not be so, 
 Lest child, child's children, cry, against you — woe! 
 North. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your 
 puins, 
 Of capital treason we arrest you here : 
 My lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
 
 To keep him safely till his day of trial. — 
 
 May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit 
 
 Boling. Fetch hither Richard, that in common 
 view 
 He may surrender; so we shall proceed 
 Without suspicion. 
 
 York. I will be his conduct. | Exit. 
 
 Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest, 
 Procure your sureties for your days of answer: — 
 Little are we beholden to your love, [7h Carlisle. 
 And little look'd for at your helping hands. 
 
 Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers 
 bearing the Crown, <Sfc. 
 
 K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, 
 Before I have shook off the regal thoughts 
 Wherewith I reign'd ] I hardly yet have learn'd 
 To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee: — 
 Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me 
 To this submission. Yet I well remember 
 The favors 5 of these men : Were they not mine] 
 Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me ] — 
 So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve, 
 Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand 
 
 none. 
 God save the king! — Will no man say, amen 7 
 Am I both priest and clerk] well then, amen. 
 God save the king ! although I be not he ; 
 And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — 
 To do what service am I sent for hither ] 
 
 York. To do that office of thine own good will, 
 
 Which tired majesty did make thee offer, 
 
 The resignation of thy state and crown 
 To Henry Bolingbroke. 
 
 K. Rich. Give me the crown: — Here, cousin, 
 seize the crown; 
 Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. 
 Now is this golden crown like a deep well, 
 That owes 6 two buckets filling one another; 
 The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
 The other down, unseen, and full of water : 
 That bucket down, and full of tears, am I, 
 Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 
 
 Boling. I thought you had been willing to resign, 
 
 K.Rich. My crown, I am; but still my griefs 
 are mine : 
 You may my glories and my state depose, 
 But not my grief; still am I king of those. 
 
 Boling. Part of your cares you give me with your 
 crown. 
 
 K. Rich. Your cares set up do not pluck my 
 cares down. 
 My care is — loss of care, by old care done ; 
 Your care is — gain of care, by new care won : 
 The cares I give, I have, though given away ; 
 They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay 
 
 Boling. Are you contented to resign the crown] 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, no; — no, ay; — For I must nothing 
 be; 
 Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. 
 Now mark me how I will undo myself :- 
 I give this heavy weight from off my head, 
 And this unwieldly sceptre from my hand. 
 The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; 
 With mine own tears I wash away my balin," 
 With mine own hands I give away my crown. 
 With mine own tongue deny my sacred stale, 
 With mine own breath release all duteous catn* 
 All pomp and majesty T do forswear ; 
 My manors, rents, revenues, I forego , 
 My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny : 
 God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me 
 
 ' Countenances. «Owns. ' Oil of conee. ration 
 
BIO 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Aci rv 
 
 God keep all vows unHoke, are made to thee! 
 Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd; 
 And thou with ail plcas'd, that hast all achiev'd ! 
 Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, 
 A nd soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! — 
 God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, 
 And send him many years of sunshine days! — 
 What more remains? 
 
 North. No more, but that you read 
 
 [Offering a Paper. 
 These accusations and these grievous crimes, 
 Committed by your person, and your followers, 
 Against the state and profit of this land; 
 That, by confessing them, the souls of men 
 May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 
 
 K. Rick. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out 
 My weav'd up follies! Gentle Northumberland, 
 [f thy offences were upon record, 
 Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop, 
 To read a lecture of them'! If thou wouldst, 
 There shouldst thou find one heinous article, — 
 Containing the deposing of a king, 
 And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, — 
 Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of hea- 
 ven : — 
 Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me, 
 Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, — 
 Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, 
 Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates 
 Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross. 
 And water cannot wash away your sin. 
 
 North. My lord, despatch: read o'er these ar- 
 ticles. 
 
 K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot 
 see: 
 And yet salt water blinds them not so much, 
 But they can see a sort" of traitors here. 
 Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
 I find myself a traitor with the rest: 
 For I have given here my soul's consent, 
 To undeck the pompous body of a king ; 
 Make glory base ; and sovereignty, a slave ; 
 Proud majesty, a subject; state, a peasant. 
 
 No) th. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insult- 
 ing man, 
 Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title, — 
 No, not that name was given me at the font, 
 But 'tis usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day, 
 That I have worn so many winters out, 
 And know not now what name to call myself! 
 O, that I were a mockery king of snow, 
 Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
 To melt myself away in water-drops ! — 
 Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly 
 
 good,) 
 An if my word be sterling yet in England 
 Let it command a mirror hither straight: 
 That it may show me what a face I have, 
 Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 
 
 Baling. Go, some of you, and fetch a looking- 
 glass. [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth 
 come. 
 
 K. Rich. Fiend! thou torment'st me ere I come 
 to hell. 
 
 Baling. Urge it n<- <«.jre, my lord Northumber- 
 land. 
 
 North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 
 
 K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll rea 1 enough, 
 When I do see the very book indeed 
 Where all mv sins are writ, and that's myself. — 
 • Pack. 
 
 Re-e?ite? Attendant, witn a Glass. 
 Give me that glass, and therein will I read. — 
 No deeper wrinkles vet? Hath sorrow struck 
 So many blows upon this face of mine, 
 And made no deeper wounds ? — O, flattering glase 
 Like to my followers in prosperity, 
 Thou dost beguile me ! — Was this face the face, 
 That every day under his household roof 
 Did keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face, 
 That, like the sun, did make beholders wink 't 
 Was this the face, that faced so many follief 
 And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke : 
 A brittle glory shineth in this face: 
 As brittle as the glory is the face; 
 
 [Dashes the Glass against the ground 
 For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. — 
 Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, — 
 How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. 
 
 Boling. The shadow of your sorrow hath de- 
 stroy'! 
 The shadow of your face. 
 
 K. Rich. Say that again. 
 
 The shade v of my sorrow ? Ha ! let's see : — 
 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ; 
 And these external manners of lament 
 Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, 
 That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul; 
 There lies the substance : and I thank thee, king, 
 For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
 Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
 How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, 
 And then be gone, and trouble you no more. 
 Shall I obtain it? 
 
 Boling. Name it, fair cousin. 
 
 K. Rich. Fair cousin ? Why, I am greater than 
 a king : 
 For, when I was a king, my flatterers 
 Were then but subjects; being now a subject, 
 I have a king here to my flatterer. 
 Being so great, I have no need to beg. 
 
 Boling. Yet ask. 
 
 K. Rich. And shall I have? 
 
 Boling. You shall. 
 
 K. Rich. Then give me leave to go. 
 
 Boling. Whither? 
 
 K. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your 
 sights. 
 
 Boling. Go, some of you, convey him to the 
 Tower. 
 
 K. Rich. 0, good! Convey? — Conveyers' are 
 you all, 
 That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 
 
 [Ex. K. Richard, some Lords, and a Guard. 
 
 Boling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set 
 down 
 Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop of 
 Caklisle, and Aumeble. 
 
 Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld- 
 
 Car. The woe's to come ; the children yet un- 
 born 
 Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 
 
 Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
 To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? 
 
 Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein. 
 You shall not only take the sacrament 
 To bury mine intents, but to effect 
 Whatever I shall happen to devise . — 
 I see your brows are full of discontent, 
 Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears; 
 Come home with me to supper; J wi 1 ' lay 
 A plot, shall show us a!i a merry day [Exeunt 
 8 Jugglers, also robber*. 
 
Act V Scene i 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 37! 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.- London. A Street leading to the 
 Tower. 
 
 Enter Queen, and Ladies. 
 Queen. This way the king will come; this is 
 the way 
 To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, 1 
 To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
 Is doom'd a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke: 
 Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
 Have any resting for her true king's queen. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and Guards. 
 But soft, but see, or rather do not see, 
 My fair rose wither: Yet look up; behold: 
 That you in pit)' may dissolve to dew, 
 And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. — 
 Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; 
 Thou map of honor ; thou king Richard's tomb, 
 And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous inn, 
 Why should hard-favor'd grief be lodg'd in thee, 
 When triumph is become an ale-house guest 7 
 K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not 
 
 so, 
 To make my end too sudden: barn, good soul, 
 To think our former state a happy dream; 
 From which awaked, the truth of what we are 
 Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, 
 To gvim necessity: and he and I 
 Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, 
 And cloister thee in some religious house: 
 Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, — 
 Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 
 Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and 
 
 mind 
 Transform'd. and weakened 7 Hath Bolingbroke 
 Depos'd thine intellect 7 hath he been in thy heart 7 
 The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, 
 And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage. 
 To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, 
 Take thy correction mildly] kiss the rod, 
 And fawn on rage with base humility, 
 Which art a lion, and a king of beasts 7 
 
 K. Rich. A king of beasts indeed ! if aught but 
 
 beasts, 
 I had been still a happy king of men. 
 Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for 
 
 France. 
 Think, I am dead ; and that even here thou tak'st, 
 As from my death-bed, my last living leave. 
 In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire, 
 With good old folks; and let them tell thee tales 
 Of woeful ages, long ago betid: 
 And, ere thou bid good night, to quit* their grief, 
 Tell thou the lamentable fall of me, 
 And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 
 For why, the senseless brands will sympathize 
 The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, 
 And, in compassion, weep the fire out: 
 And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, 
 For the deposing of a rightful king. 
 
 Enter Northuxbereand, attended. 
 North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is 
 
 changed ; 
 You must to Pornfret, not unto the Tower. — 
 An 1, madam, there is order ta'en for you ; 
 With all swift speed you must away to France. 
 ' Tower of London. » Requite, repay. 
 
 K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where 
 withal 
 The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,— 
 The time shall not be many hours of age 
 More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think, 
 Though he divide the realm, and give thee half, 
 It is too little, helping him to all; 
 And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the 
 
 way 
 To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, 
 Being ne'er so little urged, another way 
 To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 
 The love of wicked friends converts to fear ; 
 That fear, to hate ; and hate turns one, or both, 
 To worthy danger, and deserved death. 
 
 North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. 
 Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. 
 K. Rich. Doubly divorced 7 — Bad men, ye violate 
 A two-fold marriage : 'twixt my crown and me ; 
 And then, betwixt me and my married wife. — 
 Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me ; 
 And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. — 
 Fart us, Northumberland ; I towards the north, 
 W litre shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; 
 My wife to France ; from whence, set forth in pomp, 
 She came adorned hither like sweet May, 
 Sent back like Hallowmas, 3 or short'st of day. 
 Queen. And must we be divided 7 must we part 7 
 K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart 
 
 from heart. 
 Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with 
 
 me. 
 North. That were some love, but little policy. 
 Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go 
 K. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one 
 woe. 
 Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; 
 Better far oiT, than — near, be ne'er the near'. 
 Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine with groans 
 Queen. So longest way shall have the longest 
 
 moans. 
 K. Rich. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way 
 being short, 
 And piece the way out with a heavy heart. 
 Come, come, in wooing sorrow, let's be brief, 
 Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. 
 One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; 
 Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart. 
 
 [They kiss 
 Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere no good 
 part, 
 To take on inc to keep and kill thy heart. 
 
 [Kiss again. 
 So, now I have mine own again, begone, 
 That I may strive to kill it with a groan. 
 
 K. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond 
 delay : 
 Once more adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. A Room in the Dulu 
 of York's Falace. 
 Enter York, and liis Duchess. 
 Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell tin 
 rest, 
 When weeping made you break the story off 
 Of oui two cousins coming into London. 
 ■ Allhallows, i.e. All-saints, Not. 1. 
 
372 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act V 
 
 fork. Where did I leave ? 
 
 Duch. At that sad stop, my lord, 
 
 Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' 
 
 tops, 
 Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. 
 
 York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling- 
 broke, — 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, 
 Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
 With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, 
 While all tongues cried — God save thee, Boling- 
 
 broke ! 
 You would have thought the very windows spake, 
 So many greedy looks of young and old 
 Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
 Upon his visage; and that all the walls, 
 With painted imagery, had said at once, — ■ 
 Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke: 
 Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, 
 Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
 Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen: 
 And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 
 
 Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the 
 while? 
 
 York. As, in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
 After a well-graced actor leaves the stage. 
 Are idiy bent on him that enters next, 
 Thinking his prattle to be tedious: 
 Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes 
 Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him ! 
 No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: 
 But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; 
 Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, — 
 His face still combating with tears and smiles, 
 The badges of his grief and patience, — 
 That, had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
 The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
 And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
 But heaven hath a hand in these events; 
 To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
 To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, 
 Whose state and honor I for aye allow. 
 
 Enter Aumerle. 
 
 Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. 
 York. Aumerle that was ; 
 
 But that is lost for being Richard's friend, 
 And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: 
 I am in parliament pledge for his truth, 
 And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 
 
 Duch. Welcome, my son : Who are the violets 
 now, 
 That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ? 
 Aunt. Madam. I know not, nor I greatly care not : 
 God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. 
 
 York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of 
 time, 
 Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. 
 What news from Oxford] hold those justs 4 and 
 triumphs ? 
 Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
 York. You will be there, I know. 
 Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so. 
 York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy 
 bosom ? 
 Yea, look'st thou pale 1 let me see the writing. 
 Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. 
 York. No matter then who sees it : 
 
 . will be satisfied, let me see the writing. 
 
 Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me ; 
 • is a matter of small consequence, 
 vVhich for some reasons I would not have seen. 
 * Tilts and tournaments 
 
 York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see 
 
 I fear, I fear, 
 
 Duch. What should you fear ? 
 
 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into 
 ^or gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. 
 
 York. Bound to himself? what doth he with it 
 bond 
 That he is bound to ? W r ife, thou art a fool. — 
 Boy, let me see the writing. 
 
 Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not 
 
 show it. 
 York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. 
 [Snatches it, and reads 
 Treason ! foul treason ! villain ! traitor ! slave ! 
 Duch. What is the matter, my lord ? 
 York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servant 
 Saddle my horse. 
 God for his mercy ! what treachery is here ! 
 Duch. Why, what is it, my lord! 
 York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my 
 
 horse : 
 
 Now by mine honor, by my life, my troth, 
 I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Duch. What's the matter? 
 
 York. Peace, foolish woman. 
 Duch. I will not peace : — What is the matter, soul 
 Aum. Good mother, be content; it is no more 
 Than my poor life must answer. 
 
 Duch. Thy life answer ! 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with Boots. 
 
 York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king 
 
 Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou 
 art amaz'd: 
 Hence, villain ; never more come in my sight. — 
 
 [To the Servant 
 
 York. Give me my boots, I say. 
 
 Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? 
 Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? 
 Have v/e more sons? or are we like to have? 
 Is not my teeming 5 date drunk up with time? 
 And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, 
 And rob me of a happy mother's name? 
 Is he not like thee ? is he not thine own ? 
 
 York. Thou fond mad woman, 
 Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ? 
 A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, 
 And interchangeably set down their hands. 
 To kill the king at Oxford. 
 
 Duch. He shall be none ; 
 
 We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him ' 
 
 York. Away, 
 Fond woman ! were he twenty times my son, 
 I would appeach him. 
 
 Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him 
 
 As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. 
 But now I know thy mind ; thou dost suspect, 
 That I have been disloyal to thy bed, 
 And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 
 Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind 
 He is as like thee as a man may be, 
 Not like to me, or any of my kin, 
 And yet I love him. 
 
 York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. 
 
 Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his horse; 
 Spur, post : and get before him to the king, 
 And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. 
 I'll not be long behind ; though I be old. 
 I doubt not but to ride as fast as York: 
 And never will I rise up from the ground, 
 Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee : Away: 
 Begone. [Extunt 
 
 » Breeding 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 S7» 
 
 SCENE III.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Bolinghroke, as Ki?ig; Percy, and other 
 Lords. 
 Bollng. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son? 
 'Tis full three months since I did see him last : — 
 If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
 I would to God, my lords, he might be found : 
 Inquire at London, 'mongst. the taverns there, 
 For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
 With unrestrained loose companions: 
 Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
 And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; 
 While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, 
 Takes on the point of honor, to support 
 So dissolute a crew. 
 
 Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the 
 prince ; 
 And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 
 Baling. And what said the gallant 1 ? 
 Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the 
 stews ; 
 And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, 
 And wear it as a favor; and with that 
 He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 
 
 Boling. As dissolute, as desperate! yet through 
 both 
 I see some sparkles of a better hope, 
 Which elder days may happily bring forth. 
 But who comes here ] 
 
 Enter A u merle hastily. 
 Aum. Where is the king? 
 
 Boling. What means 
 
 Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly] 
 Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech your 
 majesty, 
 To have some conference with your grace alone. 
 Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
 alone. — ■ [Exeunt Peiicy and Lords. 
 
 What is the matter with our cousin now 1 
 
 Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, 
 
 [Kneels. 
 My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, 
 Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak. 
 
 Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault] 
 If but the first, how heinous e'er it be, 
 To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. 
 
 Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the 
 key, 
 That no man enter till my tale be done. 
 Boling. Have thy desire. 
 
 [Aumkhie locks the door. 
 York. [ Within.'] My liege, beware ; look to thy- 
 self; 
 Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 
 
 Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing. 
 Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand ; 
 Thou hast no cause to fear. 
 
 York. [Within^] Open the door, secure, fool- 
 hardy king: 
 Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face ] 
 Open the door, or I will break it open. 
 
 [BomfGBnoKE opens the door. 
 Enter York. 
 Boling. What is the matter, uncle] speak; 
 Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger, 
 That we may arm us to encounter it. 
 
 York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt 
 know 
 The treason that my haste forbids me show. 
 Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise 
 past : 
 
 I do repent me ; read not my name there, 
 My heart is not confederate with my hand. 
 
 York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it 
 down. — 
 I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king : 
 Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : 
 Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
 A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. 
 
 Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! — 
 
 loyal father of a treacherous son ! 
 
 Thou sheer, 6 immaculate, and silver fountain, 
 From whence this stream through muddy passages. 
 Hath held his current, and defiled himself! 
 Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; 
 And thy abundant goodness shall excuse 
 This deadly plot in thy digressing son. 
 
 York. So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd ; 
 And he shall spend mine honor with his shame, 
 As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
 Mine honor lives when his dishonor dies, 
 Or my shamed life in his dishonor lies; 
 Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breath, 
 The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. 
 
 Duch. [Within^ What ho, my liege ! for God'i 
 sake let me in. 
 
 Boling. What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this 
 eager cry ] 
 
 Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king, 
 'tis I. 
 Speak with me, pity me, open the door ; 
 A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. 
 
 Boling. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious 
 thing, 
 And now changed to The Beggar and the King J — 
 My, dangerous cousin, let your mother in; 
 
 1 know she's come to pray for your foul sin. 
 
 York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, 
 More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. 
 This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests »eund; 
 This, let alone, will all the rest confound. 
 
 Enter Duchess. 
 
 Duch. O king, believe not this hard-hearted man, 
 Love, loving not itself, none other can. 
 
 York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make 
 here] 
 Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear] 
 
 Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle 
 liege. [Kneels. 
 
 Boling. Rise up, good aunt. 
 
 Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech: 
 
 For ever will I kneel upon my knees, 
 And never see day that the happy sees, 
 Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, 
 By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 
 
 Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my 
 knee. [Kneels. 
 
 York. Against them both, my true joints bended 
 be. [Kneels 
 
 111 mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 
 
 Duch. Pleads he in earnest ] look upon his face; 
 His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; 
 His words come from his mouth, ours from oui 
 
 breast : 
 He prays but faintly, and would be denied; 
 We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside: 
 His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ; 
 Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow 
 His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; 
 Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. 
 Our prayers do out-pray bis; then let them ha»« 
 That mercy which true p >. vers ought to have 
 6 Transparent .m oid ballad 
 
374 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duck. Nay, do not say — stand up; 
 
 But, pardon, firs?;; and afterwards, stand up. 
 An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 
 Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech. 
 [ never long'd to hear a word till now; 
 Bay — pardon, king ; let pity teach thee how : 
 The word is short, but not so short as sweet ; 
 No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. 
 
 York. Speak it in French, king ; say, pardunnez 
 moy? 
 
 Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de- 
 stroy 1 
 Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, 
 That set'st the word itself against the word ! — 
 Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land ; 
 The chopping French we do not understand. 
 Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there: 
 Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ; 
 That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, 
 Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. 
 
 Boling. Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duch. I do not sue to stand, 
 
 Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 
 
 Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. 
 
 Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! 
 Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; 
 Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, 
 But makes one pardon strong. 
 
 Boling. With all my heart, 
 
 I pardon him. 
 
 Duch. A god on earth thou art. 
 
 Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, — and 
 the abbot, 
 With all the rest of that consorted crew, — 
 Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — 
 Good uncle, help to order several powers 
 To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: 
 They shall not live within this world, I swear, 
 But I will have them, if I once knew where. 
 Uncle, farewell, — and cousin, too, adieu : 
 Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 
 
 Duch. Come, my old son; — I pray God make 
 thee new. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Enter Exton and a Servant. 
 Exton. Didst thou not mark the king what 
 words he spake ? 
 Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? 
 Was it not so? 
 
 Serv. Those were his very words. 
 
 Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake 
 it twice, 
 And urged it twice together ; did he not ? 
 Serv. He did. 
 
 Exton. And speaking it, he wistfully look'd on 
 me; 
 As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man 
 That would divorce this terror from my heart; 
 Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go; 
 I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Pomfret. The Castle. 
 Enter King Richaiui 
 K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 
 This prison, where I live, unto the world: 
 A.nd, for because the world is populous, 
 And here is not a creature but myself, 
 ! cannot do it ; — Yet I'll hammer it out. 
 My brain 1 11 prove the female to my soul ; 
 8 Excuse me. 
 
 My soul, the father: and these two Deget 
 A generation of still-breeding thoughts, 
 And these same thoughts people this little wor-d 
 In humors, like the people of this world ■ 
 For no thought is contented. The better soil,- 
 As thoughts of things divine, — are intermix'd 
 With scruples, and do set the word it«eh 
 Against the word: 
 
 As thus, — Come, little ones,- and then again, — 
 It is as hard to come, as for a camel 
 To thread the postern" of a needle's eye. 
 Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
 Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails 
 May tear a passage through the flinty ribs 
 Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; 
 And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
 Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves,- 
 That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, 
 Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, 
 Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, 
 That many have, and others must sit there: 
 And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
 Bearing their own misfortune on the back 
 Of such as have before endured the like. 
 Thus play I, in one person, many people, 
 And none contented: Sometimes am I king, 
 Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar; 
 And so I am : Then crushing penury 
 Persuades me I was better when a king ; 
 Then am I king'd again: and, by-and-by, 
 Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, 
 And straight am nothing : — but whate'er I am, 
 Nor I, nor any man, that but man is, 
 With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd 
 With being nothing. — Music do I hear ? [Music 
 Ha, ha ! keep time : — How sour sweet music is, 
 When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! 
 So is it in the music of men's lives. 
 And here have I the daintiness of ear, 
 To check time broke in a disorder'd string ; 
 But, for the concord of my state and time, 
 Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
 I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. 
 For now hath time made me his numb' ring clock . 
 My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, they jai 
 Their watches on to mine eyes, the outward watch, 
 Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, 
 Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. 
 Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is, 
 Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, 
 Which is the bell : So sighs, and tears, and groans, 
 Show minutes, times, and hours: — but my time 
 Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, 
 While I stand fooling here, his Jack o'the clock.* 
 This music mads me, let it sound no more ; 
 For though it have holp madmen to their wits, 
 In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. 
 Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
 For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard 
 Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. 
 
 Enter Groom. 
 
 Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 
 
 K. Rich. Thanks, noble peer, 
 
 The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
 What art thou? and how comest thou hither, 
 Where no man never comes, but that sad dog 
 That brings me food, to make misfortune live? 
 
 Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king 
 When thou wert king; who, travelling toward* 
 York, 
 
 • Little gate. 
 
 1 Strike for him, like the figure of a man on a bell. 
 
Scene V 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 375 
 
 With much adn. at length have gotten leave 
 To look upon my sumetime master's face. 
 O, how it yearn'd my heart, when I beheld, 
 In London streets, that coronation day, 
 When Bolingbroke rode on roanBarbary! 
 That horse, that tfiou so often hast bestrid; 
 That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd! 
 A'. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle 
 friend, 
 How wont he under him 1 
 
 Groom. So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. 
 K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his 
 back! 
 That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; 
 This hand hath made him proud with clapping 
 
 him. 
 Would he not stumble ? Would he not fall down, 
 (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck 
 Of that proud man that did usurp his backl 
 Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, 
 Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, 
 Wast born to bear ? I was not made a horse ; 
 And yet I bear a burden like an ass, 
 Spur-gall'd, and tired, by jauncing Bolingbroke. 
 Enter Keeper, with a Dish. 
 Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. 
 [To the Groom. 
 K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert 
 
 away. 
 Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my 
 heart shall say. [Exit. 
 
 Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to 7 
 K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 
 Keep. My lord, I dare not ; sir Pierce of Exton, 
 who 
 Lately came from the king, commands the con- 
 trary. 
 K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, 
 and thee ! 
 Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. 
 
 [Beats the Keeper. 
 eep. Help, help, help! 
 
 Enter Exton, and Servants armed. 
 K. Rich. How now? what means death in this 
 rude assault? 
 Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. 
 [Snatching a weapon, and killing one. 
 Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 
 [He kills another, then Exton strikes him down. 
 That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, 
 That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce 
 
 hand 
 Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own 
 
 land. 
 Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; 
 Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die. 
 
 [Dies. 
 Exton. As full of valor, as of royal blood : 
 Both have I spilt ; O, would the deed were good ! 
 For now the devil, that told me — I did well, 
 Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
 This dead king to the living king I'll bear; — 
 i'ake hence the rest, and give them burial here. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 8CENE VI.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle 
 Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, 
 with Lords, and Attendants. 
 Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we 
 hear, 
 
 Is — that the rebels have consumed with fire 
 
 Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ; 
 
 But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not 
 
 Enter Northumberland. 
 
 Welcome, my lord : What is the news ? 
 
 North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap- 
 piness, 
 The next news is, — I have to London sent 
 The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent: 
 The manner of their taking may appear 
 At large discoursed in this paper here. 
 
 [Presenting a paper. 
 Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy 
 pains ; 
 And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 
 
 Enter Fitzwater. 
 
 Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to Lon 
 don 
 The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely ; 
 Two of the dangerous consorted traitors, 
 That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 
 
 Boling. Thy pains, FitzwateT, shall not be fork ./t; 
 Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 
 
 Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. 
 
 Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West- 
 minster, 
 With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, 
 Hath yielded up his body to the grave ; 
 But here is Carlisle living to abide 
 Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. 
 
 Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom : — 
 Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, 
 More than thou hast, and with it 'joy thy life; 
 So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife : 
 For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, 
 High sparks of honor in thee have I seen. 
 
 Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a Coffin. 
 
 Exton. Great king, within this coffin I present 
 Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies 
 The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, 
 Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. 
 
 Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; lor thou hast 
 wrought. 
 A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, 
 Upon my head, and all this famous land. 
 
 Exton. From your own mouth, my lord, did I 
 this deed. 
 
 Boling. They love not poison that do poison 
 need, 
 Nor do I thee ; though I did wish him dead, 
 I hate the murderer, love him murdered 
 The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labor, 
 But neither my good word, nor princely favor: 
 With Cain go wander through the shade of night, 
 
 And never show thy head by day nor light. 
 
 Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, 
 That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow: 
 Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, 
 And put on sullen black incontinent: 3 
 I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, 
 To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:— 
 March sadly after; grace my mournings here, 
 In weeping after this untimely bier. [Extunt 
 » Immediately. 
 
FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Kino Henry the Fourth. 
 
 Henry, Prince of Wales, J ^ fo ^ Ring- 
 
 Friends to the King. 
 
 Prince John of Lancaster, 
 
 Earl of Westmoiiklakd, 
 
 Sir Walter Blunt, 
 
 Thomas Perct, Earl of Worcester. 
 
 Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. 
 
 Henry Percy, surnamed Hotspur, his Son. 
 
 Edward Mortimer, Earl of March. 
 
 Scroop, Archbishop of 'York. 
 
 Archibald, Earl of Douglas. 
 
 Owen Glendower. 
 
 Sir Richard Vernon. 
 
 Sik John Falstafi. 
 
 Poins. 
 
 Gadshill. 
 
 Peto. Bardolph. 
 
 Lady Percy, Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to Mor- 
 timer. 
 
 Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower, and 
 Wife to Mortimer. 
 
 Mrs. Quickly, Hostess of a Tavern mEastcheap. 
 
 Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain 
 Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers and Attendants 
 
 SCENE, England. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir 
 Walter Blunt, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 
 Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, 
 And breathe short-winded accents of new broils 
 To be commenced in stronds ' afar remote. 
 No more the thirsty Erinnys" of this soil 
 Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood ; 
 No more shall trenching war channel her fields, 
 Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs 
 Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes, 
 Which, — like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 
 
 All of one nature, of one substance bred, 
 
 Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
 And furious close of civil butchery, 
 Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks, 
 March all one way; and be no more oppos'd 
 Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : 
 The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
 No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, 
 As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
 (Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
 We arc impressed and engaged to fight,) 
 Forthwith a power of English shall we levy; 
 Whose arms were moulded in their mother's womb 
 I'o chase these pagans, in those holy fields, 
 Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet, 
 Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd 
 For our advantage, on the bitter cross. 
 But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, 
 And bootless 'tis to tell you — we will go ; 
 Therefore we meet not now : — Then let me hear 
 Of you, mv gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
 
 1 Strands, banks of the sea. "The Fury of discord. 
 [376] 
 
 What yesternight our council did decree 
 In forwarding this dear expedience. 3 
 
 West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, 
 And many limits 4 of the charge set down 
 But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came 
 A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news ; 
 Whose worst was, — that the noble Mortimer 
 Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
 Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 
 Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, 
 And a thousand of his people butchered. 
 Upon whose dead corps there was such misuse, 
 Such beastly, shameless transformation, 
 By those Welshwomen done, as may not be, 
 Without much shame, re-told or spoken of. 
 
 K. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this 
 broil 
 Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 
 
 West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious 
 lord; 
 For more uneven and unwelcome news 
 Came from the north, and thus it did import. 
 On Holy-rood day, 5 the gallant Hotspur there, 
 Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald-, 
 That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
 At Holmedon met, 
 
 Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, 
 As by discharge of their artillery, 
 And shape of likelihood, the news was told; 
 For he that brought them, in the very heat 
 And pride of their contention, did take horse, 
 Uncertain of the issue any way. 
 
 K. Hen. Here is a dear and true industrious friend, 
 Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
 Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
 
 ' Expedition. 
 
 ' September 14. 
 
ScKNE II. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 377 
 
 Betwix that Holmedon and this seat of ours ; 
 
 And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. 
 
 The earl of Douglas is discomfited ; 
 
 Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, 
 
 Balk'd* in their own blood, did sir Walter see 
 
 On Holmedon's plains : Ofprisoners, Hotspur took 
 
 Moulake, the earl of Fife, and eldest son 
 
 To beaten Douglas, and the earls of Athol, 
 
 (Jf Murray, Angus, and Menteith. 
 
 And is not this an honorable spoil? 
 
 A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not ? 
 
 West. In faith. 
 It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 
 
 K. He>}. Yea, tlwo thou mak'st me sad, and 
 mak'st me sin 
 In envy that my lord Northumberland 
 Should be the lather of so blest a son : 
 A son, who is the theme of honor's tongue ; 
 A mongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
 Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride: 
 Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
 See riot and dishonor stain the brow 
 Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd, 
 That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged 
 hi cradle-clothes our children where they lay, 
 And cail'd mine — Percy, nis — Plantagenet! 
 Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 
 But let him from my thoughts: — What think you 
 
 coz, 
 Of this young Percy's pride? the prisoners, 
 Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd, 
 To his own use he keeps: and sends me word, 
 [ shall have none but Mordake, earl of Fife. 
 
 West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor- 
 cester, 
 Malevolent to you in all aspects; 
 Which makes him prune 1 himself, and bristle up 
 The crest of youth against your dignity. 
 
 K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this; 
 And, for this cause, a while we must neglect 
 Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
 Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
 Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords: 
 But come yourself with speed to us again ; 
 For more is to be said, and to be done, 
 Than out of anger can be uttered. 
 
 West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the Palace. 
 Eni°.r Hexhi Prince of Wales, and Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of 
 old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and 
 sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast 
 forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst 
 truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with 
 the time of the day ? unless hours were cups of sack, 
 and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of 
 brwds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and 
 the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame- 
 color'd taffeta; I see no reason, why thou shouldst 
 be so superfiuous to demand the time of the day. 
 
 Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal : for 
 we that take purses, go by the moon and seven 
 ■•tars; and not by Phoebus, — he, that wandering 
 knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when 
 thou art king, — as, God save thy grace, (majesty, 
 I should say ; for grace thou wilt have none,) 
 
 P. Hen. What, none? 
 
 Fal. No, by my troth ; not so much as will serve 
 V. l, e prologue to an egg and butter. 
 
 • Piled up in a heap. 
 
 " "rim. as birds clean their feathers. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, how then ! come, roundly, 
 roundly. 
 
 Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou ail 
 king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, 
 be called thieves of the day's beauty ; let us be — 
 Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions 
 of the moon : And let men say, we be men of good 
 government : being governed, as the sea is, by our 
 noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose 
 countenance we — steal. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well too : 
 for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, 
 doth ebb and flow like the sea ; being governed, as 
 the sea is, by the rnoon. As, for proof, now: A 
 purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday 
 night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morn- 
 ing; got with swearing — lay by; 8 and spent with 
 crying — bring in : 9 now, in as low an ebb as the 
 foot of the ladder ; and, by and by, in as high a 
 flow as the ridge of the gallows. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is 
 not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ? 
 
 P. Hen. As the hone}' of Hybla, my old lad of 
 the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet 
 robe of durance ? ' 
 
 Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ? what, in 
 thy quips, and thy quiddities ? what a plague have 
 I to do with a buff jerkin? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my 
 hostess of the tavern ? 
 
 Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning 
 many a time and oft. 
 
 P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? 
 
 Fal. No ; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid 
 all there. 
 
 P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin 
 would stretch ; and, where it would not, I have used 
 my credit. 
 
 Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not h»re 
 apparent that thou art heir apparent, — But, I pr'y- 
 thee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in 
 England when thou art king ? and resolution thus 
 fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father 
 antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, 
 hang a thief. 
 
 P. Hen. No ; thou shalt. 
 
 Fal. Shall I? rare ! By the lord I'll be a brave 
 judge. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, 
 thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so 
 become a rare hangman. 
 
 Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps 
 with my humor, as well as waiting in the court, I 
 can tell you. 
 
 P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? 
 
 Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the 
 hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am 
 as melancholy as a gib Q cat, or a lugged bear. 
 
 P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute- 
 Fa/. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bag- 
 pipe. 3 
 
 P. Hen. What say st thou to a hare, or the 
 melancholy of Moor-ditch ? 
 
 Fal. Thou hast the most unsavory similes ; and 
 art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalhest. — 
 sweet young prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble 
 me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou 
 and I knew where a commodity of good names 
 were to be bought : An old lord of the council ra- 
 
 • Stand still. 9 More wine. 
 
 1 The dress of sheriff's officers. 
 
 a Gib cat, should be lib cat, — a Scotch term at thi* itj 
 for a gelded cat. » Croak of a fro;. 
 
 'A 
 
37R 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 u»d me the other day in the street about you, sir; 
 r.ui I marked him not : and yet he talked very 
 wisely ; but I regarded him not: and yet he talked 
 wisely, and in the street too. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out 
 in the streets, and n:> man regards it. 
 
 1 ''(//. thou hast damnable iteration:' and art, 
 u. deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done 
 much harm upon me, Hal, — God forgive thee for 
 c! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and 
 now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better 
 than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, 
 pjid I will give it over ; by the Lord, an I do not, 
 1 am a villain ; I'll be damned fornever a king's 
 son in Christendom. 
 
 P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, 
 Jack? 
 
 Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I 
 do not, call me villain, and baffle 5 me. 
 
 P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee ; 
 from praying, to purse-taking. 
 
 Enter Poins, at a distance. 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal ; 'tis no 
 sin for a man to labor in his vocation. Poins ! — 
 Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match." 
 O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in 
 hell were hot enough for him 1 This is the most 
 omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true 
 man. 
 
 P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned. 
 
 Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. — What says 
 monsieur Remorse 1 What says sir John Sack-and- 
 Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about 
 thy soul, that thou soldcst him on Good-friday last, 
 for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's legl 
 
 P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil 
 shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a 
 breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due. 
 
 Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy 
 word with the devil. 
 
 P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening 
 the devil. 
 
 Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, 
 by four o'clock, early at Gadshill : There are pilgrims 
 going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders 
 riding to London with fat purses: I have visors 
 for you all, you have horses for yourselves: Gads- 
 hill lies to-night in Rochester : I have bespoke supper 
 to-morrow night in Eastcheap ; we may do it as 
 secure as sleep: If you will go, I will stuff your 
 purses full of crowns: if you will not, tarry at 
 home, and be hanged. 
 
 Fal. Hear me, Yedward ; if I tarry at home, and 
 go not, I'll hang you for going. 
 
 Poins. You will, chops 1 
 
 Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ? 
 
 P. Hen. Who, I rob ? I a thief! not I, by my faith. 
 
 Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good- 
 fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood 
 royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. 1 
 
 P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a 
 j) ad cap. 
 
 Fal. Why, that's well said. 
 
 P. Hen Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. 
 
 Fa!. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when 
 thou art kir.g. 
 
 P. Hm. I care not. 
 
 Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and 
 me alone ; I will lay him down such reasons for this 
 ndventure, that he shall go. 
 
 ' Citation of hnly texts. » Treat me with ignominy. 
 ,; Made an appointment. 
 The value of a coin called real or royal. 
 
 Fal. Well, mayst thou have the spirit of persua- 
 sion, and lie the ears of profiting, that what thou 
 speakest may move, and what he hears may be 
 believed, that the true prince may (for recreation' 
 sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of 
 the time want countenance. Farewell : You shall 
 find me in Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring ! Farewell 
 All-hallown summer! 8 [Exit Falstapf. 
 
 Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with 
 us to-morrow ; I have a jest to execute, that I can 
 not manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and 
 Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already 
 waylaid ; yourself, and I, will not be there : and 
 when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob 
 them, cut this head from my shoulders. 
 
 P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in 
 setting forth 1 
 
 Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after 
 them, and appoint fehem a place of meeting, where- 
 in it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they 
 adventure upon the exploit themselves ; which they 
 shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon 
 them. 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like, that they will know us, 
 by our horses, by our habits, and by every other 
 appointment, to be ourselves. 
 
 Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie 
 them in the wood ; our visors we will change, after 
 we leave them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buck- 
 ram for the nonce, 9 to inmask cur noted outward 
 garments. 
 
 P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for 
 us. 
 
 Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be 
 as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for 
 the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll 
 forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the 
 incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will 
 tell us, when we meet at supper : how thirty, at least, 
 he fought with ; what wards, what blows, what ex- 
 tremities he endured ; and, in the reproof of this, 
 lies the jest. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee , provide us &.['. 
 things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in 
 Eastcheap : there I'll sup. Farewell. 
 
 Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poixs. 
 
 P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold 
 The unyok'd humor of your idleness : 
 Yet herein will I imitate the sun; 
 Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
 To smother up his beauty from the world, 
 That, when he please again to be himself, 
 Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 Of vapors, that did seem to strangle him. 
 If all the year were playing holidays, 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
 But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come 
 And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents: 
 So, when this loose behavior I throw off, 
 And pay the debt I never promised, 
 By bow much better than my word I am, 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes; 
 And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
 Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, 
 Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
 I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; 
 Redeeming time, when men think least I will. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 » Fine weather at All-hallown-tide, (i. e. All-Sai>:ls, 
 Nov. 1st,) is called an All-fc allcrn summer. » Occasion 
 
Scene IIJ 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 379 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room in the Palace. 
 
 Kntcr Kino Henry, Northumberland, Wor- 
 cester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and 
 
 others. 
 
 K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tem- 
 perate, 
 fjnapt to stir at these indignities, 
 \ nd you have found me ; for, accordingly, 
 5fou tread upon my patience; but, be sure, 
 I will from henceforth rather be myself, 
 Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition;' 
 W hich hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, 
 And therefore lost that title of respect, 
 Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. 
 
 Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little de- 
 serves 
 The scourge of greatness to be used on it; 
 And that same greatness too which our own hands 
 Have holp to make so portly. 
 
 North. My lord, 
 
 K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger 
 And disobedience in thine eye ; O, sir, 
 Y..ur presence is too bold and peremptory : 
 Ami majesty might never yet endure 
 The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
 You have good leave to leave us ; when we need 
 Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. — 
 
 [Exit Worcester. 
 You were ?bout to speak. [To North. 
 
 North. Yea, my good lord. 
 
 Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded, 
 Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, 
 Were, as he says, not with such strength denied 
 As is deliver'd to your majesty : 
 Either envy, therefore, or misprision, 
 Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. 
 
 Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
 But, I remember, when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd, 
 Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 
 He was perfumed like a milliner; 
 And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 
 A pouncet-box, 12 which ever and anon 
 He gave his nose, and took't away again ; — 
 Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, 
 Took it in snuff: — and still he smiled and talk'd ; 
 And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 He call'd thom — untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 With many holiday and lady terms 
 He question'd me ; amon<r the rest demanded 
 My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 
 I then, all smarting, with my wounds being Gold, 
 To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 
 Out of my grief and my impatience, 
 Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what ; 
 He should, or he should not; — for he made me 
 
 mad. 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
 And talk so like a waitins-gentlewoman, 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the 
 
 mark !) 
 And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise ; 
 And that it was great pity, so it was, 
 That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
 reposition » A small box for musk or other perfumes, 
 
 Which many a good tall* fellow had destroy'd 
 So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, 
 He would himself have been a soldier. 
 This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
 I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 
 And, I beseech you, let not his report 
 Come current for an accusation, 
 Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 
 
 Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my 
 lord, 
 Whatever Harry Percy then had said. 
 To such a person, and in such a place 
 At such a time, with all the rest re-told. 
 May reasonably die, and never rise 
 To do him wrong, or any way impeach 
 What then he said, s^ he unsay it now. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, yet ue doth deny his prisoners ; 
 But with proviso, and exception, — 
 That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight 
 His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer; 
 Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
 The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
 Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower; 
 Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March 
 Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then 
 Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home 1 
 Shall we buy treason ] and indent 4 with fears, 
 When they have lost and forfeited themselves] 
 No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
 For I shall never hold that man my friend, 
 Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
 To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 
 
 Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! 
 He never did fall off, my sovereign liege. 
 But by the chance of war : — To prove that true, 
 Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, 
 Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, 
 When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, 
 In single opposition, hand to hand, 
 He did confound the best part of an hour 
 In changing hardiment with great Glendower: 
 Three times they breath'd, and three times did they 
 
 drink. 
 Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; 
 Who then, affrighted with their bioody looks, 
 Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, 
 And hid his crisp s head in the hollow bank 
 Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
 Never did bare and rotten policy 
 Color her working with such deadly wounds : 
 Nor never could the noble Mortimer 
 Receive so many, and all willingly: 
 Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 
 
 K. Hen.' Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou do*' 
 belie him ; 
 He never did encounter with Glendower ; 
 I tell thee, 
 
 He durst as well have met the devil alone. 
 As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
 Art not ashamed] But, sirrah, henceforth 
 Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer: 
 Send me your prisoners with tne speeJiest m^ans 
 Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
 As will displease you. — My lord Not i''.;imrer!an<', 
 We license your departure with your son: — 
 Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. 
 
 [Exeunt Kino Henry, B/.unt, and Tram 
 
 Hot. And if the devil come and roar for tbo" 
 I will not send them : — I will liter straight, 
 And tell him so : tor I will ease my heart, 
 Although it be with hazard of my head. 
 
 3 Brave, 
 s Curl«d. 
 
 Sign an mdenrera. 
 
aso 
 
 FiftST PART OF 
 
 Act I 
 
 North.. What, drunk with choler ? stay, and pause 
 awhile ; 
 Hue comes your uncle. 
 
 Re-enter Worcester. 
 
 Hot. Speak of Mortimer 1 
 
 Zrtund", I will sptak of him; and let my soul 
 Want mercy, if I do not join with him : 
 Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, 
 And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust, 
 But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer 
 As high i' the air as this unthankful king, 
 As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 
 
 North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew 
 mad. [To Worcester. 
 
 Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone 1 
 
 Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners; 
 And when I urged the ransom once again 
 Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale ; 
 And on my face he turn'd an eye of death, 
 Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 
 
 Wor. I cannot blame him : Was he not proclaim'd, 
 By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ? 
 
 North. He was; I heard the proclamation: 
 A~i<\ then it was, when the unhappy king 
 (Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth 
 Upon his Irish expedition ; 
 From whence he, intercepted, did return 
 To be depos'd, un:l shortly, murdered. 
 
 Wor. And fn- whose death, we in the world's wide 
 mouth 
 Live scandallz'd, and foully spoken of. 
 
 Hot. But. soft, I pray you; Did king Richard 
 then 
 Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
 Hdr to the crown ? 
 
 North. He did ; myself did hear it. 
 
 Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin 
 king, 
 That wished him on the barren mountains starv'd. 
 But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown 
 Upon the head of this forgetful man ; 
 And, for his sake, wear the detested blot 
 Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be, 
 That you a world of curses undergo; 
 Being the agents, or base second means, 
 The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather] — 
 0, pardon me, that I descend so low, 
 To show the line, and the predicament, 
 Wherein you range under this subtle king. — 
 Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, 
 Or fill up chronicles in time to come, 
 That men of your nobility and power, 
 Did gage them both in an unjust behalf, — 
 Ax both of you, God pardon it ! have done, — 
 To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
 And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke"! 
 Av;:i shall it in more shame, be further spoken, 
 That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off 
 riy him, for whom these shames ye underwent? 
 No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
 Youi banish'd honors, and restore yourselves 
 Into the good thoughts of the world again : 
 Revp .ge the jeering and disdain'd contempt, 
 Of ttij< proud king; who studies day and night, 
 To inswer all the debt he owes to you, 
 Even with the bloody payment of your deaths 
 Therefore, I say, 
 
 Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more : 
 
 And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
 4.nd to your quick-conceiving discontents 
 .'11 read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
 As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, 
 
 As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud. 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
 
 Hot. If he fall in, good night : — or sink or swim 
 Send danger from the east unto the west, 
 So honor cross it from the north to south, 
 And let them grapple ; — ! the blood more stirs. 
 To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 
 
 North. Imagination of some great exploit 
 Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 
 
 Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, 
 To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon ; 
 Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 
 Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
 And pluck up drowned honor by the locks; 
 So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, 
 Without corrival, all her dignities : 
 But out upon this half-faced fellowship . 
 
 Wor. He apprehends a world of figures nei.., 
 But not the form of what he should attend. — 
 Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 
 
 Hot. I cry you mercy. 
 
 Wor. Those same noble Scot*, 
 That are your prisoners, 
 
 Hot. I'll keep them all ; 
 
 By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them : 
 No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not 
 I'll keep them, by this hand. 
 
 Wor. You start away, 
 
 And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
 These prisoners you shall keep. 
 
 Hot. Nay, I will ; that's flat •- - 
 
 He said, he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
 Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
 But I will find him when he lies asleep, 
 And in his ear I'll holla — 'Mortimer! 
 Nay, 
 
 I'll have a starling shall be tar.ght to speak 
 Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, 
 To keep his anger still in motion. 
 
 Wor. Hear you, 
 
 Cousin ; a word. 
 
 Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 
 Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke : 
 And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales,— 
 But that I think his father loves him not, 
 And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
 I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 
 
 Wor. Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you, 
 When you are better temper'd to attend. 
 
 North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool 
 Art thou to break into this woman's mood; 
 Tying thine ear to no tongue hut thine own ! 
 
 Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourged 
 with rods, 
 Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
 Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
 In Richard's time, — What do you call the place 1— 
 A plague upon't! — it is in Glostershire; — 
 'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept; 
 His uncle York; — where Ifirstbow'd my knee 
 Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
 When you and he came back from Ravenspurg 
 
 North. At Berkley castle. 
 
 Hot. You say true: 
 
 Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
 This fawning greyhound then did proffer me 
 Look, — when his infant fortune mime to age, 
 And, — gentle Harry Percy, — and, kind cousin, — 
 
 0, the devil take such cozeners ! God forgive 
 
 me! 
 
 Good uncle, tell your tale, <br I have done. 
 
 Wor. Nay, if you have iU, to't again; 
 We'll stay your leisure. 
 
\ct II. Scene 1 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 3Si 
 
 Hot. I nave done, i'faith. 
 
 Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
 Deliver them up without their ransom straight, 
 \nd make the Douglas' soi vour only mean 
 For powers in Scotland ; which, — for divers reasons, 
 Which I shall send you written, — be assur'd, 
 Will easily be granted. — You my lord, — 
 
 [To Northumberland. 
 Vour son in Scotland being thus employ'd, — 
 Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
 Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 
 The archbishop. 
 
 Hut. Of York, is't not? 
 Wor. True ; who bears hard 
 His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop. 
 I speak not this in estimation, 
 As what I think might be, but what I know 
 Is ruminated, plotted, and set down ; 
 And only stays but to behold the face 
 Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 
 
 Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well. 
 North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slip. 
 Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot: — 
 And then the power of Scotland, and of York — 
 To join with Mortimer, ha? 
 
 Wor. And so they shall. 
 
 Hot. In faith it is exceedingly well aim'd. 
 
 Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed. 
 To save our heads by raising of a head : : 
 For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
 The king will always think him in our debt ; 
 And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
 Till he hath found a time to pay us home. 
 And see already, how he doth begin 
 To make us strangers to his looks of love. 
 
 Hot. He does, he does : we'll be revenged on him 
 
 Wor. Cousin, farewell : — No further go in this 
 Than I by letters shall direct your course. 
 When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,) 
 I'll steal to Glendower and lord Mortimer; 
 Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, 
 (As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet, 
 To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, 
 Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 
 
 North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, 
 I trust. 
 
 Hot. Uncle, adieu : — 0, let the hours be short, 
 Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport . 
 
 \Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rochester. An Inn Yard. 
 
 Enter a Carrier, luith a Lantern in his hand. 
 
 1 Car. Heigh ho ! An't be not four by the day, 
 I'll be hanged; Charles' wain is over the new chim- 
 ney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler ! 
 
 Osf. [Within.] Anon, anon. 
 
 1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's 6 saddle, put 
 a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung 
 in the withers out of all cess. 1 
 
 Enter another Carrier. 
 
 2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, 
 and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: 
 this house is turned upside down, since Robin ostler 
 died. 
 
 1 Car. Poor fellow ! never joyed since the price 
 of oats rose ; it was the death of him. 
 
 2 Car. I think this be the most villanous house 
 in all London road for fleas: I am stung like a tench. 9 
 
 1 Car. Like a tench ? by the mass, there is ne'er 
 a king in Christendom could be better bit than I 
 have been since the first cock. 
 
 2 Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, 
 and then we leak in your chimney ; and your cham- 
 ber-lie breeds fleas like a loach. 3 
 
 1 Car. What, ostler ! come away and be hanged, 
 come away. 
 
 2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes 
 of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charingcross. 
 
 1 Car. 'Odsbody ! the turkeys in my pannier are 
 quite starved. — What, ostler! — A plague on thee! 
 hast thou never an eye in thy head ! canst not 
 Rear? An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to 
 break the pate of thee, lam a very villain. — Come, 
 and be hanged: — Hast no faith in thee? 
 Enter Gadshill. 
 
 Gads. Good-morrow, carriers. What's o'clock ? 
 
 I Car I think it be two o'clock. 
 
 Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
 <elding in the stable. 
 
 « Name of his horse. ' Measure. 
 
 * Spotted like a tench. 
 
 • A small fish : upposed to breed fleas. 
 
 1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye ; I kr/~w a trick worth 
 two of that. 
 
 Gads. I pr'ythee lend me thine 
 
 2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell? ;nd me thy 
 lantern, quoth a ? — marry, I'll see friee hanged first 
 
 Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to 
 come to London? 
 
 2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, 
 I warrant thee. — Come, neighbor Mugs, we'll call 
 up the gentlemen ; they will along with the com- 
 pany, for they have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers. 
 
 Gads. What, ho! chamberlain! 
 
 Cham. [Within.'] At hand, quoth pick purse.' 
 
 Gads. That's even as fair as — at hand, quoth the 
 chamberlain: for thou variest no more from picking 
 of purses, than giving direction doth from laboring ; 
 thou lay'st the plot how. 
 
 Enter Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good-morrow, master Gadshill. It holds 
 current that I told you yesternight: There's a 
 franklin 3 in the wild of Kent, hath brought three 
 hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell 
 it to one of his company, last night at supper; a 
 kind of auditor; one that hath abundance of charge 
 too, God knows what. They are up already, and 
 call for eggs and butter: They will away presently. 
 
 Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicho- 
 las' clerks, 4 I'll give thee this neck. 
 
 Cham. No, I'll none of it : I pr'ythee, keep that 
 for the hangman ; for I know thou worship'st saint 
 Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. 
 
 Gads. Why talkest thou to me of the hangman 1 
 if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows : for, if I 
 hang, old sir John hangs with me; and, thou knowest, 
 he's no starveling. Tut: there are other Trojans 
 that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport 'sake, 
 are content to do the profession some grace; tha 
 would, if matters should be looked into, for their 
 own credit 'sake, make all whole. I am joined with 
 
 1 A body offerees. 
 
 a A proverb, from the pick-purse being always read» 
 
 » Freeholder. 
 
 4 Cant term for highwaymen. 
 
382 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act II, 
 
 no foot land-rakers,' n :> long-staff, sixpenny strikers ; 
 none of these mad, mustachio, purple-hued malt 
 worms; but with nobility, and tranquillity; burgo- 
 masters, and great oneyers;" such as can hold in; 
 such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak 
 sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray: 
 And yet I lie; for they pray continually to their 
 saint, the commonwealth; or, rather, not pray to 
 her, but prey on her; for they ride up and down 
 on her, and make her their boots. 1 
 
 Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? 
 will she hold out water in foul way? 
 
 Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored 
 her. s We steal as in a castle, cock-sure ; we have 
 the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. 
 
 Cham. Nay, by my faith ! I think you are more 
 oeholden to the night than to fern-seed, for your 
 walking invisible. 
 
 Gads. Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a 
 share in our purchase, as I am a true man. 
 
 Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a 
 false thief. 
 
 Gads. Go to ; Homo is a common name to all 
 men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the 
 stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The Road by Gadshill. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry and Poins; Bardolph 
 
 and Peto, at some distance. 
 
 Poins. Come, shelter, shelter : I have removed 
 Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. 
 
 P. Hen. Stand close. 
 
 Enter Fai.staff. 
 
 Fal. Poins! Poins! and be hanged! Poins! 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal; what a 
 brawling dost thou keep ! 
 
 Fal. Where's Poins, Hal ? 
 
 P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill ; 
 I'll go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poins. 
 
 Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: 
 the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I 
 know not where. If I travel but four foot by the 
 squire 9 further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, 
 I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 
 'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have for- 
 sworn his company hourly any time these two-and- 
 twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the 
 rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me 
 medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged ; it 
 could not be else ; I have drunk medicines.- — Poins ! 
 — Hal ! — a plague upon you both ! — Bardolph ! — 
 Peto ! — I'll starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An 
 'twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true man, 
 and leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that 
 ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven 
 ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me; 
 and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough: 
 A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true to one 
 another! [They whistled] Whew! — A plague upon 
 you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me 
 my horse, and be hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts ! lie down ; lay thine 
 :ar close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear 
 he tread of travellers. 
 
 Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, 
 ueing down! 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so 
 tar afoot, again, for all the coin in thy father's ex- 
 chequer What a plague mean ye to colt' me thus ? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art 
 uncolted. 
 
 ' Footpads. 
 
 11 Bootv. 
 
 • Square, rule. 
 
 6 Public accountants. 
 
 8 Oiled, smoothed her over. 
 
 1 Make a youngster of me. 
 
 Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my 
 horse: good king's son. 
 
 P. Hen. Out, you rogue ! shall I be your ostler > 
 
 Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent 
 garters! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I 
 have not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy 
 tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison : When a 
 jest is so forward, and afoot too — I hate it. 
 Enter Gadsuill. 
 
 Gads. Stand. 
 
 Fal. So I do, against my will. 
 
 Poins. 0, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. What news? 
 
 Gads. Case ye, case ye: on with your visors: 
 there's money of the king's coming down the hill ; 
 'tis going to the king's exchequer. 
 
 Fal. You lie, you rogue ; 'tis going to the king's 
 tavern. 
 
 Gads. There's enough to make us all — 
 
 Fal. To be hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirs,jou four shall front them in the nar 
 row lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower: if they 
 'scape from your encounter, then they light on us 
 
 Peto. How many be there of them ? 
 
 Gads. Some eight, or ten. 
 
 Fal. Zounds ! will they not rob us ? 
 
 P. Hen. What, a coward, sir John Paunch? 
 
 Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand- 
 father : but yet no coward, Hal. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 
 
 Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the 
 hedge; when thou need'st him, there thou shalt find 
 him. Farewell, and stand fast. 
 
 Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be 
 hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises ? 
 
 Poins. Here, hard by ; stand close. 
 
 [Exeunt P. Henry and Poins 
 
 Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, 
 say I ; every man to his business. 
 
 Enter Travellers. 
 
 1 Trav. Come neighbor; the boy shall lead our 
 horses down the hill : we'll walk afoot awhile, and 
 ease our legs. 
 
 Thieves. Stand. 
 
 Trav. Jesu bless us ! 
 
 Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' 
 throats : Ah ! whoreson caterpillars ! bacon-fed 
 knaves ! they hate us youth : down with them : 
 fleece them. 
 
 1 Trav. O, \vc are undone, both we and ours, 
 for ever. 
 
 Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied 2 knaves; Are ye un- 
 done? No, ye fat chuffs; 3 I would, your store were 
 here! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves? young 
 men must live; You are grand jurors, are ye 1 
 We'll jure, ye, i'faith. 
 
 [Exeunt Fa l. 6fc. driving the Travellers out. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
 P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men. 
 Now, could thou and I rob the thieves, and go 
 merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, 
 laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. 
 Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming. 
 
 Re-enter Thieves. 
 Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then 
 to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be 
 not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring 
 > Fat, corpulent. * Clowns 
 
Scene 111 
 
 RING HENRY IV. 
 
 4S3 
 
 there's no more valor in that Poins than in a wild 
 duck. 
 
 P. Hen. Your money! [Rushing out upon them. 
 Poins. Villains. 
 
 [.4s they are sharing, the Phixck and 
 Poixs set upon them. Fa^staff, after 
 a blow or two, and the rest, run away, 
 leaving their booty behind them. 
 P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to 
 horse : 
 The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
 So strongly, that they dare not meet each other ; 
 Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
 Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, 
 And lards the lean earth as he walks along: 
 Were't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
 Poins. How the rogue roar'd! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Hotspur, reading a Letter. 
 
 But for mine own part, my lord, I could 
 
 be well contented to be there, in respect of the love 
 I bear your house. — He could be contented, — Why 
 is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our 
 house — he shows in this, he loves his own barn 
 better than he loves our house.. Let me see some 
 more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous,- — 
 Why, that's certain; 'tis dangerous to take a cold, 
 to sleep, to drink: but I tell you, my lord fool, out 
 of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 
 The purpose you undertake is dangerous,- the 
 friends you have named, uncertain,- the time itself 
 unsorled; and your whole plot too light, fur the 
 counterpoise of so great an opposition. — Say you 
 so, say you so? I say unto you again you are a shal- 
 low, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain 
 is this 1 By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever 
 was laid ; our friends true and constant : a good plot, 
 good friends, and full of expectation : an excellent 
 plot, very good friends. What a frosty -spirited rogue 
 is this? Why, my lord of York commends the plot, 
 and the general course of the action. Zounds, an 
 I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with 
 his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, 
 and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of 
 York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, 
 the Douglas ? Have I not all their letters, to meet me 
 in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are 
 they not, some of them, set forward already? 
 What a pagan rascal is this? an infidel? Ha! you 
 shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold 
 heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our pro- 
 ceedings. 0, I could divide myself, and go to 
 buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk 
 with so honorable an action ! Hang him ! let him 
 tell the king: We are prepared: I will set forward 
 to-night. 
 
 Enter Lady Pehcy. 
 How now, Kate? I must leave you within these 
 two hours. 
 
 Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone ? 
 For what olfence have I, this fortnight, been 
 A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? 
 Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee 
 Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? 
 Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth; 
 And start so often when thou sitt'st alone ? 
 Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks ; 
 And given my treasures, and my rights of the<?, 
 To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholj . 
 In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, 
 And h^ard thee murmur tales of iron wars: 
 
 Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; 
 
 Cry, Courage.' — to the field.' And thou hast talk'd 
 
 Of sallies, and retires; of trenches, tents, 
 
 Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets; 
 
 Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin ; 
 
 Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, 
 
 And all the 'currents of a heady fight. 
 
 Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, 
 
 And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, 
 
 That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 
 
 Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream : 
 
 And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, 
 
 Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
 
 On some great sudden haste. O, what portents art 
 
 these ? 
 Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
 And I must, know it, else he loves me not. 
 
 Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone? 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. 
 
 Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the 
 sheriff? 
 
 Serv. One horse, my lor d, \e brought even now. 
 
 Hot. What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not ? 
 
 Serv. It is, my lord. 
 
 Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 
 
 Well, I will back him straight: O esperance.' 1 — 
 Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Ex. S^rv. 
 
 Lady. But hear vou, my lord. 
 
 Hot. What say'st, my lady? 
 
 Lady. What is it carries you away ? 
 
 Hot. My horse, 
 
 My love, my horse. 
 
 Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape ! 
 A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, 
 As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
 I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. 
 I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir 
 About his title; and hath sent for you, 
 To line 5 his enterprize: But if you go 
 
 Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 
 
 Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
 Directly to this question that I ask. 
 In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, 
 An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 
 
 Hot. Away, 
 Away, you trifler ! — Love ! — I love thee not, 
 I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world 
 To play with mammets, 6 and to tilt with lips: 
 We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns. 
 And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse! — 
 What say'st thou, Kate? what wouldst thou havr 
 with me? 
 
 Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not, indeed ' 
 Well, do not then ; for, since you love me not, 
 I will not love myself. Do you not love me ? 
 Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest or no. 
 
 Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? 
 And when I am o'horseback, I will swear 
 I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; 
 I must not have you henceforth question me 
 Whither I go, nor reason whereabout: 
 Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude, 
 This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
 I know you wise ; but yet no further wise, 
 Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are; 
 But yet a woman: and for secrecy, 
 No lady closer; for I well believe, 
 Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; 
 And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate! 
 Lady. How ! so far ? 
 
 4 Motto of the Percy family. • Strengthen. 
 
 « Puppets. 
 
384 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 Hot. Not an inch farther. But hark you, Kate ! 
 Whither I go, thither shall you go too ; 
 To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.— 
 Will this content you, Kate 1 
 
 Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's 
 Head Tavern. 
 
 Enter PniNCE Henbt and Poins. 
 P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, 
 and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 
 Poins. Where hast been, Hal ? 
 P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst 
 three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the 
 very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn 
 brother to a leash of drawers ; and can call them all 
 by their Christian names, as — Tom, Dick, and 
 Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, 
 that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am 
 tk-e king of courtesy, and tell me flatly I am no 
 proud Jack, like Falstaff; but a Corinthian, 1 a lad 
 of mettle, a good boy, — by the Lord, so they call 
 me ; and when I am king of England, I shall com- 
 mand all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call 
 —drinking deep, dying scarlet: and when you 
 breathe in your watering, they cry— hem ! and bid 
 you play it off.- -To conclude, I am so good a profi- 
 cient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink 
 with any tinker in his own language during my 
 life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honor, 
 that thou wert not with me in this action. But, 
 sweet Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned, I 
 give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even 
 now in my hand by an under-skinker; 8 one that 
 never spake other English in his life, than — Eight 
 shillings and sixpence, and— You are welcome,- with 
 this shrill addition, — Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint 
 of bastard in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to 
 drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, 
 do thou stand in some by-room, while I question 
 my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the 
 sugar ; and do thou never leave calling — Francis, 
 that his tale to me may be nothing but — anon. — 
 Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent. 
 Poins. Francis! 
 P. Hen. Thou art perfect. 
 Poins. Francis ! {Exit Poins. 
 
 Enter Fbancis. 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into the 
 Pomegranate, Ralph. 
 
 P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. 
 Fran. My lord. 
 
 P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis 1 
 Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to — 
 Poins. {Within.] Francis! 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Five years! by'r lady, a long lease for 
 the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be 
 go valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, 
 and to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from if 
 Fran. lord, sir! I'll be sworn upon all the 
 books in England, I could find it in my heart — 
 Poins. [Within. - ] Francis! 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? 
 Fran. L"t me see, — About Michaelmas next I 
 «ball be— 
 
 Poins. [Within.'] Francis! 
 Fran. Anon.sir. — Pray you, stay a little, my lord. 
 *\ Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : For the su- 
 g-iu- tnou gavest me,- —'twas a pennyworth, was't not? 
 « K wencher. • Tepater. 
 
 Fran. O lord, sir ! I would it had been two. 
 
 P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: 
 ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. 
 
 Poins. [Within.] Francis! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon. 
 
 P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: bu to- 
 morrow, Francis ; or Francis, on Thursday ; or, in 
 deed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, — 
 
 Fran. My lord? 
 
 P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, 
 crystal-button, nott-pated,agate-ring, puke-stocking, 
 caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch, — 
 
 Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean? 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard 9 is your 
 only drink : for, look you, Francis, your white can- 
 vas doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it canno* 
 come to so much. 
 
 Fran. What sir? 
 
 Poins. [Within.] Francis! 
 
 P. Hen. Away, you rogue ; Dost thou not he. 
 them call? 
 
 [Here they loth call him,- the Drawer stands 
 amazed, not knowing which way to go. 
 
 Enter Vintner. 
 
 Vint . What ! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such 
 a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fran.] 
 My lord, old Sir John, with half a dozen more, are 
 at the door ; Shall I let them in ? 
 
 P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open 
 the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins! 
 Re-enter Poms. 
 
 Poins. Anon, anon : nir. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves 
 are at the door ; Shall we be merry ? 
 
 Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark 
 ye ; What cunning match have you made with this 
 jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue? 
 
 P. Hen. I am now of all humors, that have 
 show'd themselves humors, since the old days of 
 goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present 
 twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter Francis, 
 with wine.] What's o'clock, Francis? 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer 
 words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman ! — 
 His industry is — up stairs, and down stairs; uis 
 eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am no>. yet 
 of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north ; he that 
 kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a 
 breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, — 
 Fye upon this quiet life.' 1 want work. — my 
 sweet Harry, says she, how many hast, thou killed 
 to-day ? Give my roan horse a drench, says he; 
 and answers, Some fourteen, an hour after ; a triftt, 
 a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Per- 
 cy, and that damned brawn shall play dame Mor 
 timer his wife. Rivo, says the drunkard. Call in 
 ribs, call in tallow. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Gadshii-i., Bardoi.ph,jwc?Pj;to. 
 
 Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? 
 
 Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven- 
 geance too! marry, and amen! — Give me a cur 
 of sack, boy. — Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew 
 nether-stocks,' and mend them, and foot them too 
 A plague of all cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack, 
 rogue. — Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish 
 of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the 
 sweet tale of the sun ! if thou didst, then beholr- 
 that compound. 
 
 9 A sweet wine. Stockings. 
 
SCKNE IV. 
 
 RING HENRY IV. 
 
 385 
 
 Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: 
 J nere is nothing but roguery to be found in villan- 
 ous man : Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack 
 with lime in it; a villanous coward. — Go thy ways, 
 old Jack; die when thou wilt: if manhood, good 
 manhood, be not forgotten upon the face of the 
 earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not 
 three good men unhanged in England; and one of 
 them is fat, and grows old : God help the while ! 
 a bad world, I say! I would, I were a weaver; I 
 could sing psalms or any thing: A plague of all 
 cowards, I say still. 
 
 P. Hen. How now, wool-sack ? what mutter you? 
 
 Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out of 
 thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all 
 thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, 
 I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince 
 of Wales ! 
 
 /'. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man ! what's 
 the matter] 
 
 Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that; 
 and Poins there ? 
 
 Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me 
 coward, I'll stab thee. 
 
 Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee damn'd ere 
 I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand 
 pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are 
 straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who 
 sees your back: Call you that backing of your 
 friends ? A plague upon such backing ! give me 
 them that will face me. — Give me a cup of sack: 
 — I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped 
 since thou drunk' st last. 
 
 Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, 
 still say I. [He drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. What's the matter? 
 
 Fal. What's the matter? there be four of us here 
 have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. 
 
 F. Hen. Where is it Jack ? where is it ? 
 
 Fal. Where is it ? taken from us it is : a hundred 
 upon poor four of us. 
 
 P. Hen. What, a hundred, man? 
 
 Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword 
 with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 
 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through 
 the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler 
 cut through and through ; my sword hack'd like a 
 hand-saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I 
 was a man ; all would not do. A plague of all cow- 
 ards ! — Let them speak : if they speak more or less 
 than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness. 
 
 P. Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was it? 
 
 Gads. We four set upon some dozen, 
 
 Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord. 
 
 Gads. And bound them. 
 
 Pe/o. No, no, they were not bound. 
 
 Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man 
 of them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 
 
 Gads. As we were sharing, some six o- seven 
 fresh men set upon us, — — 
 
 Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in 
 the other. 
 
 P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all ? 
 
 Fal. All ? I know not what ye call all ; but if I 
 fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of ra- 
 dish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon 
 poor old Jack, then I am no two-legged creature. 
 
 Poins. Pray God, you have not murdered some 
 of them. 
 
 Fal. Nay, that's past praying for: for I have 
 peppered two of them : two, I am sure, I have 
 raw); Iwt logues in buckram suits. I tell thee 
 
 what, Hal, — if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, 
 call me horse. Thou knowest my old waid-— • 
 here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Fourroguex 
 in buckram let drive at me, 
 
 P. Hen. What, four? thou saidstbut two, cveir. 
 now. 
 
 Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 
 
 Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 
 
 Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly 
 thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took 
 all their seven points in my target, thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Seven ? why, there were but four, even 
 now. 
 
 Fal. In buckram. 
 
 Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 
 
 Fal. Seven by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone ; we shall have 
 more anon. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. 
 
 Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to 
 These nine in buckram, that I told thee of, 
 
 P. Hen. So, two more already. 
 
 Fal. Their points being broken, 
 
 Poins. Down fell their hose. 
 
 Fal. Began to give me ground: But I followed 
 me close, came in foot and hand ; and with a 
 thought, seven of the eleven I paid. 
 
 P. Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men 
 grown out of two ! 
 
 Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- 
 begotten knaves, in Kendal 9 green, came at my 
 back, and let drive at me ; — for it was so dark. 
 Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. 
 
 P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
 them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, 
 thou clay-brained guts ; thou knotty-pated fool ; thou 
 whoreson, obscene, greasy, tallow-keech.' 1 
 
 Fal. What, art thou mad ? art thou mad ? is not 
 the truth, the truth ? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men 
 in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst 
 not see thy hand? come tell us your reason ; What 
 sayest thou to this? 
 
 Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 
 
 Fal. What, upon compulsion? No; were I at 
 the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would 
 not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on 
 compulsion ! if reasons were as plenty as black- 
 berries, I would give no man a reason upon com- 
 pulsion, I. 
 
 P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this 
 sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back- 
 breaker, this huge hill of flesh; 
 
 Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you 
 dried neat's tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish, — 
 O, for breath to utter what is like thee ! — you tai- 
 lor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile stand- 
 ing tuck ; 
 
 P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it 
 again: and when thou hast tired thyself in base 
 comparisons, hear me speak but this. 
 
 Poins. Mark, Jack. 
 
 P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four ; you 
 
 bound them, and were masters of their wealth. 
 
 Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.- - 
 Then did wc two set on you four: and, with a 
 word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it 
 yea, and can show it you here in the house : — and 
 Falstaff, you carried you' guts away as nimbly 
 with as quick dexterity, anu roared for mercy, an*' 
 
 » A town in W**moreland famous for making clot*. 
 ' A round lum; if fat. 
 
886 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 still ian and roared, as ever ncard a bull-calf. — ■ 
 What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou 
 hast done; and then say, it was in fight! What 
 iiick, what device, what starting-hole, canst thou 
 now find out, to hido thee from this open and ap- 
 parent shame? 
 
 Pains. Come, lot's hear, Jack; What trick hast 
 thou no-.v ? 
 
 Fat Bv the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that 
 made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters : Was it for 
 me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon 
 the true prince? Why, thou knowest. I am as 
 valiant as Hercules: but beware instinct; the lion 
 will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great 
 matter ; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think 
 the better of myself and thee, during my life. I 
 for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, 
 by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. 
 
 Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-night, 
 
 pray to-morrow. — Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of 
 gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! 
 What, shall we he merry ? shall we have a play 
 extempore ? 
 
 P. Hen. Content; — and the argument shall be 
 thy running away. 
 
 Fat. Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 Host. My lord the prince, 
 
 P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess ? what 
 sayst thou to me? 
 
 Host. Marry, my lord^ there is a nobleman of 
 the court at door, would speak with you : he says, 
 he comes from your father. 
 
 P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a 
 ,-oyal man. and send him back again to my mother. 
 
 Fed. What manner of man is he ? 
 
 Host. An old man. 
 
 Fa!. What doth gravity out of his bed at mid- 
 night ? — Shall I give him his answer? 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythoe, do, Jack. 
 
 Fat. Faith, and I'll send him packing. [Exit. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, sirs; by'r lady, you fought fair ; 
 — so did you, Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you are 
 lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not 
 touch the true prince ; no, — fye ! 
 
 Hard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 
 
 P. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, how came Fal- 
 staff's sword so hacked? 
 
 Peto. Why. he hacked it with his dagger; and 
 said, he would swear truth out of England, but he 
 would make you believe it was done in fight; and 
 persuaded us to do the like. 
 
 Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
 grass to make them bleed : and then to beslubber 
 our garments with it, and to swear it was the blood 
 of true men. I did that I did not this seven year 
 before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 
 
 P. Hen. villain, thou stolest a cup of sack 
 eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the man- 
 ner/ and ever since thou hast blushed extempore : 
 Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou 
 ran'st away; What instinct hadst thou for it? 
 
 Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do 
 you behold these exhalations ? 
 
 P. Hen. I do. 
 
 Bard. What think you they portend? 
 
 P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 5 
 
 Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
 
 P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halte.-. 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 Here comes lean Jack , here comes bare-bone. How 
 
 • In the fact. * Drunkenness and poverty. 
 
 now, my sweet creature of bombast? 8 How long 
 is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own kne»' ? 
 
 Fat. My own knee ? when I was about thy 
 years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist , 
 i 1 could have crept into any alderman's ihumb-ring : 
 A plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up 
 like a bladder. There's villainous news abroad : 
 here was sir John Bracy from your father; you 
 must to the court in the morning. That same mad 
 fellow of the north, Percy ; and he of Wales, that 
 gave Amaimon ' the bastinado, and made Lucifer 
 cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman 
 upon the cross of a Welsh hook, — What, a plague 
 call you him ? 
 
 Pohis. O, Glendower. 
 
 Fat. Owen, Owen; the same; — and his son-in- 
 law, Mortimer; and old Northumberland ; and thai 
 sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o'horse 
 back up a hill perpendicular. 
 
 P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and wit/i 
 his pistol kills a sparrow flying. 
 
 Fat. You have hit it. 
 
 P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 
 
 Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him : 
 he will not run. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to 
 praise him so for running ? 
 
 Fal. O'horseback, ye cuckoo ! but afoot, he will 
 not budge a foot. 
 
 P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 
 
 Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there 
 too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps' 
 more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy fa- 
 ther's beard is turned white with the news; you 
 may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel. 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a ho! 
 June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy 
 maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred. 
 
 Fal. By the mass lad, thou sayest true; it is 
 like, we shall have good trading that way. — But 
 tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou be- 
 ing heir-apparent, could the world pick thee ou' 
 three such enemies again, as that fiend Douglas 
 that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower ? Art, 
 thou not horribly afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill 
 at it? 
 
 P. Hen. Not a whit, i'faith ; I lack some of thy 
 instinct. 
 
 Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, 
 when thou comest to thy father : if thou love me, 
 practise an answer. 
 
 P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and ex- 
 amine me upon the particulars of my life. 
 
 Fal. Shall I? content:— This chair shall be 
 my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion 
 my crown. 
 
 P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy 
 golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious 
 rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown. 
 
 Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite oui 
 of thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup 
 of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be 
 thought I have wept; for I must speak .in passion, 
 and I will do it in king Cambyses' 9 vein. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.' 
 
 Fal. And here is my speech: — Stand aside, no- 
 bility. 
 
 Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith. 
 
 8 Bombast is the stuffing of clothes. 
 1 A demon; who is described as one of the four kings 
 who rule over all the demons in the world. 
 ■ Scotsmen in blue bonnets. 
 8 A character in a Tragedy by T Presto x, 157C 
 ' Obeisance 
 
!*JENJ? IV 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 387 
 
 Fa.. W eep nor, sweet queen, for trickling tears 
 
 are vain 
 Host. 0, the father, how lie holds his countenance! 
 Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful 
 queen, 
 For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 
 
 Host. rare ! he doth it as like one of these har- 
 lotry players, as I ever see. 
 
 Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle- 
 brain. 2 — Harry, I do not only marvel where thou 
 spendest thy time, but also how thou art accom- 
 panied: for though the camomile, the more it is 
 trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more 
 it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my 
 son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own 
 opinion ; but chiefly, a villanous trick of thine eye, 
 and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth 
 warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies 
 the point ; — Why, being son to me, art thou so 
 pointed at ? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove 
 a micher, 3 and eat blackberries ? a question not to 
 be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, 
 and take purses? a question to be asked. There 
 is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, 
 and it is known to many in our land by the name 
 of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, 
 doth defile; so doth the company thou keep'st: 
 for, Harry, now, I do not speak to thee in drink, 
 but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not 
 in words only, but in woes also: — And yet there 
 is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy 
 company, but I know not his name. 
 
 P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your 
 majesty ? 
 
 Fal. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpu- 
 lent ; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most 
 noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, 
 or, by'r-lady, inclining to three-score ; and now I re- 
 member me, his name is Falstaff: if that man 
 should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, 
 Harry, I sec virtue in his looks. If then the tree 
 may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, 
 then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that 
 Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell 
 me now, thou naughty varlet, tell »rr* There hast 
 thou been this month? 
 
 P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king I Do thou 
 stand for me, and I'll play my father. 
 
 Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so 
 majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up 
 by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a poulter's hare. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 
 
 Fal. And here I stand: — -judge, my masters. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, Harry? whence come you? 
 
 Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. The complaints I hear cV' thee are %'ie- 
 ous. 
 
 Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false: — nay, I'll 
 .lckle ye for a young prince, i'faith. 
 
 P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? hence- 
 forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried 
 away from grace : there is a devil haunts thee, in 
 the likeness of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy 
 companion. Why dost thou converse with that 
 trunk of humors, that bolting-hutch 4 of beastliness, 
 that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard J 
 of sack, that stuffed cloak bag of guts, that roasted 
 Manningtree 6 ox with the pudding in his belly, 
 that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father 
 
 3 Name of a strong liquor. » A truant boy. 
 
 4 The machine which separates flour from bran. 
 
 • A leather black-jack to hold beer. 
 
 • In Essex, where a large ox was roasted whole 
 
 ruffian, that vanity in years ? Wherein is he good, 
 but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat ano. 
 cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein 
 cunning, but in craft 7 wherein crafty, but in villany? 
 wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein 
 worthy, but in nothing? 
 
 Fal. I would your grace would take me with 
 you; whom means your grace? 
 
 P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleader 
 of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. 
 
 Fal. My lord, the man I know. 
 
 P. Hen. I know, thou dost. 
 
 Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than 
 in myself, were to say more than I know. That he 
 is old (the more the pity) his white hairs do wit- 
 ness it: but that he is (saving your reverence) a 
 whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and su- 
 gar he a fault, God help the wicked ! If to be old 
 and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I 
 know, is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then 
 Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good 
 lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: 
 but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true 
 Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore 
 more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff', ban- 
 ish not him thy Harry's company ; banish plump 
 Jack, and banish all the world. 
 
 P. Hen. I do, I w 11. [A knocking heard. 
 
 [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph, running. 
 
 Bard. O, my lord, my lord ; the sheriff with a 
 most monstrous watch, is at the door. 
 
 Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play: I have 
 much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 
 Re-enter Hostess, hastily. 
 
 Host. Jesu, my lord, my lord ! — ■ 
 
 Fal. Heigh ! heigh ! the devil rides upon a fid- 
 die-stick: What's the matter? 
 
 Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the 
 door : they are come to search the house. Shall I 
 let them in? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true 
 piece of gold, a counterfeit: thou art essentially 
 mad, without seeming so. 
 
 P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without 
 instinct. 
 
 Fal. I deny your major,- if you will deny the 
 sheriff, so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a 
 cart as well as another man, a plague on my bring- 
 ing up ! I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a 
 halter, as another. 
 
 P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras;— the 
 rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true 
 face, and good conscience. 
 
 Fal. Both which I have had : but their date i« 
 out, and therefore I'll hide me. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Prince and Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. Call in the sheriff'. — 
 
 Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 
 Now, master sheriff: what's your will with me ? 
 
 Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and crj 
 Hath follow'd certain men into this house. 
 
 P. Hen. What men ? 
 
 Sher. One of them is well known, my gracicn. 
 lord, 
 A gross fat man. 
 
 Car. As fat as butter. 
 
 P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not hex 
 For I myself at this time have employ 'd him 
 And, sheriff, I will engage my word to *hee 
 That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time. 
 
388 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act Til 
 
 Send him to answer thee, or any man, 
 For any thing he shall be charged withal: 
 And so let me entreat you leave the house. 
 
 She*- I will, my lord : There are two gentlemen 
 Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 
 
 P. Hen. It may be so: if he have robb'd these men, 
 He shall be answerable; and so, farewell. 
 
 Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 
 
 P. Hen. I think it is good morrow; Is it not 1 ! 
 
 Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. 
 [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. 
 
 P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as 
 Paal's. Go, call him forth. 
 
 Poins. Falstaff! — fast asleep behind the arras, 
 and snorting like a horse. 
 
 P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: 
 Search his pockets. [Poins searches.} What hast 
 thou found? 
 
 Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Let's see what they be : read ihem. 
 
 Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d. 
 Item, Sauce, id. 
 Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. 
 Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. 
 Item, Bread, a half-penny. 
 
 P. Hen. monstrous ! but one half-pennyworth 
 of bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! — What 
 there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more 
 advantage: there let him sleep till day. I'll to the 
 court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and 
 thy place shall be honorable. I'll procure this 
 fat rogue a charge of foot ; and, I know, his death 
 will be a march of twelve-score. The money 
 shall be paid back again with advantage. Be 
 with me betimes in the morning; and so good 
 morrow, Poins. 
 
 Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1. — Bangor. A room in the Archdea- 
 con's House. 
 
 Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and 
 
 Guxhowku. 
 
 Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, 
 And our induction full of prosperous hope. 
 
 Hot. Lord Mortimer — and cousin Glendower — 
 Will you sit down ? — 
 And, uncle Worcester: — A plague upon it! 
 I have forgot the map. 
 
 Gknd. No, here it is. 
 
 Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur : 
 For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
 Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale : and, with 
 A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 
 
 Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears 
 Owen Glendower spoke off. 
 
 Glcnd. I cannot blame him; at my nativity 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
 Of burning cressets: 1 and at my birth, 
 The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shak'd like a coward. 
 
 Hot. Why, so it would have done 
 
 At the same season, if your mother's cat had 
 
 But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born. 
 
 Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 
 
 Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind, 
 
 If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. 
 
 Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth 
 
 did tremble. 
 Hot. 0, then the earth shook to see the heavens 
 on fire, 
 And not in fear of your nativity. 
 Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
 In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth 
 [s with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd 
 By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
 Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving, 
 Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples 8 down 
 *>teeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth, 
 Our grundam earth, having this distemperature, 
 In passion shook. 
 
 Glend. Cousin, of many men 
 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
 To tell you once again, — that at my birth, 
 The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; 
 
 • Lights set cross-ways upon beacons, and also upon 
 folee, which fore used in processions, &c. 8 Tumbles. 
 
 The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 
 Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. 
 These signs have mark'd me extraordinary; 
 And all the courses of my life do show, 
 I am not in the roll of common men. 
 Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea 
 That chides the banks of England, Scotland, 
 
 Wales, — 
 Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me? 
 And bring him out, that is but woman's son 
 Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, 
 And hold me pace in deep experiments. 
 
 Hot. I think there is no man speaks bettei 
 Welsh:— 
 I will to dinner. 
 
 Mort. Peace, cousin Percy ; you will make hin 
 
 mad. 
 Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
 Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man : 
 But will they come, when you do call for them? 
 
 Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command 
 The devil. 
 
 Hot. And I can teach thee, coz. to shame the 
 devil, 
 By telling truth ; Tell truth, and shame the devil. — 
 If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 
 And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence. 
 0, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil. 
 
 Mort. Come, come, 
 No more of this unprofitable chat. 
 
 Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke 
 made head 
 Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye, 
 And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him, 
 Bootless home, and weather-beaten back. 
 
 Hot. Home without boots, and in foul vveathertoo! 
 How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name ? 
 
 Glend. Come, here's the map; Shall we divide 
 our right, 
 According to our three-fold order ta'en? 
 Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
 Into three limits, very equally : 
 England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
 By south and east, is to my part assign'd : 
 All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
 And all the fertile land within that bound, 
 To Owen Glendower: — and dear co?., to you 
 The remnant northward, lying off from Trent: 
 And our indentures /ripartite are drawn: 
 
Scene I 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 3eJ9 
 
 Which being sea.ed interchaiif, ably, 
 
 (A business that this night may execute,) 
 
 To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, 
 
 And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, 
 
 To meet your father, and the Scottish power, 
 
 As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
 
 My father Glendower is not ready yet, 
 
 Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days: 
 
 Within that space, [To Glend.] you may have 
 
 drawn together 
 Your tenants, friends, and neighboring gentlemen. 
 
 Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, 
 lords, 
 And in my conduct shall your ladies come: 
 From whom you now must steal, and take no leave ; 
 For there will be a world of water shed, 
 Upon the parting of your wives and you. 
 
 Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton 
 here, 
 In quantity equals not one of yours : 
 See, how this river comes me cranking in, 
 And cuts me, from the best of all my land, 
 A huge half moon, a monstrous cantle out. 
 I'll have the current in this place damm'd up ; 
 And here the smug and silver Trent shall run, 
 Tn a new channel, fair and evenly : 
 It shall not wind with such a deep indent, 
 To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 
 
 Glend. Not wind] it shall, it must; you see, it 
 doth. 
 
 Mort. Yea, 
 But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up 
 With like advantage on the other side; 
 Gelding 1 the opposed continent as much, 
 \s on the other side it takes from you. 
 
 Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him 
 here, 
 And on this north side win this cape of land ; 
 And then he runs straight and even. 
 
 Hot. I'll have it so; a little charge will do it. 
 
 Glend. I will not have it alter'd. 
 
 Hot. Will not you? 
 
 Glend. No, nor you shall not. 
 
 Hot. Who shall say me nay] 
 
 Glend. Why that will I. 
 
 Hot. Let nie not understand you then, 
 
 Speak it in Welsh. 
 
 Glend. I can speak English, lor' 1 , as well as you ; 
 For I was train'd up in the English court: 
 Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
 Many an English ditty, lovely well, 
 And gave the tongue a helpful ornament; 
 A virtue that was never seen in you. 
 
 Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart : 
 I had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew, 
 Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers: 
 I had rather hear a brazen canstick 3 turn'd, 
 Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ; 
 And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, 
 Nothing so much as mincing poetry; 
 'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. 
 
 Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 
 
 Hot. I do not care : I'll give thrice so much land 
 To any well-deserving friend ; 
 But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me, 
 I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 
 Are the indentures drawn] shall we be gone] 
 
 Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by 
 night : 
 "11 haste the writer, and, withal, 
 Ureak 3 with your wives of your departure hence: 
 
 9 Corner. 
 
 > Candlestick. 
 
 1 Cutting. 
 
 " Rroak the matter 
 
 I am afraid, my daughter will run mad, 
 
 So much she dotcth on her Mortimer. (Ilxii 
 
 Mort. Fye, cousin Percy! how you cvoss mj 
 father ! 
 
 Hot. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers ms 
 With telling me of the moldwarp* and the ant, 
 Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies: 
 And of a dragon and a finless fish, 
 A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, 
 A couching lion, and a ramping cat, 
 And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 
 As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, — 
 He held me, but last night, at least nine hours, 
 In reckoning up the several devils' names, 
 That were his lacqueys : I cried, humph, — and well, 
 
 — go to — 
 But mark'd him not a word. 0, he's as tedious 
 As is a tired horse, a railing wife ; 
 Worse than a smoky house: — I had rather lire 
 With cheese and garliek, in a windmill, far, 
 Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, 
 In any summer-house in Christendom. 
 
 Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; 
 Exceedingly well read, and profited 
 In strange concealments ; valiant as a lion, 
 And wondrous aflable: and as bountiful 
 As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? 
 He holds your temper in a high respect, 
 And curbs himself even of his natural scope, 
 When you do cross his humor ; faith, he does : 
 I warrant you, that man is not alive, 
 Might so have tempted him as you have done, 
 Without the taste of danger and reproof; 
 But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 
 
 Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame; 
 And since your coming hither have done enough 
 To put him quite beside his patience ; 
 You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault: 
 Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood, 
 (And that's the dearest grace it renders you,) 
 Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 
 Defect of manners, want of government, 
 Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain : 
 The least of which, haunting a nobleman, 
 Loseth men's hearts ; and leaves behind a stain 
 Upon the beauty of all parts besides, 
 Beguiling them of commendation. 
 
 Hot. Well, I am school'd ; good manners be your 
 speed ! 
 Here come our wivt s, and let us take our leave. 
 
 Re-enter Gi.tndowek, ivith the Ladies. 
 
 Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me, — 
 My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 
 Glend. My daughter weeps; she will eot pr rt 
 with you, 
 She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. 
 
 Mort. Good father, tell her, — that alie, ai-.d icy 
 aunt Percy, 
 Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 
 
 [Glf.ndoweii speaks to his daughter in Welsh, 
 
 and she answers him in the same. 
 Glend. She's desperate here ; a peevish self-will'd 
 harlotry, 
 One no persuasion can do good upon. 
 
 [Lady M. speaks to Mortimer in Welsh. 
 
 Mort. I understand thy looks ; that pretty We'sV 
 
 Which thou pourest down from these swp]lin§ 
 
 heavens, 
 I am too perfect in ; and, but for shame, 
 In such a parley would I answer thee. 
 
 [Lad* Mortimer svea/u 
 * Molo. 
 
390 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act III 
 
 [ understand thy kisses, and thou mine, 
 
 And that's a feeling disputation: 
 
 But I will never be a truant, love, 
 
 Till I have learn'd thy language ; for thy tongue 
 
 Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, 
 
 Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 
 
 With ravishing division, to her lute. 5 
 
 Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. 
 [Lady Mortimer speaks again. 
 
 Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this. 
 
 Glend. She bids you 
 Upon the wanton rushes lay you down, 
 And rest your gentle head upon her lap. 
 And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, 
 And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep, 
 Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness ; 
 Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep, 
 As is the difference betwixt day and night, 
 The hour before the heavenly harness'd team 
 Begins his golden progress in the east. 
 
 Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her 
 sing: 
 By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 
 
 Glend. Do so; 
 And those musicians that shall play to you, 
 Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence; 
 Yet straight they shall be here : sit, and attend. 
 
 Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: 
 Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in 
 thy lap. 
 
 Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. 
 Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and then 
 the Music plays. 
 
 Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh ; 
 And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous. 
 By'r lady, he's a good musician. 
 
 Lady P. Then should you be nothing but mu- 
 sical ; for you are altogether governed by humors. 
 Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. 
 
 Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, 6 howl 
 in Irish. 
 
 Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken ? 
 
 Hot. No. 
 
 Lady P. Then be still. 
 
 Hot. Neither ; 'tis a woman's fault 
 
 Lady P. Now God help thee ! 
 
 Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. 
 
 Lady P. What's that? 
 
 Hot. Peace! she sings. 
 
 A Welsh SONG, sung by Lady Mortimer. 
 
 Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. 
 
 Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. 
 
 Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! 'Heart, you swear 
 like, a comfit-maker's wife ! Not you, in good sooth; 
 and, As true as I live; and, As God shall mend 
 me; and, As sure as day: 
 And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, 
 As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury. 1 
 Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, 
 A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth, 
 And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, 
 To velvet guards, 8 and Sunday citizens. 
 Come, sing. 
 
 Lady P. I will not sing. 
 
 Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- 
 breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll 
 away within these two hours ; and so come in when 
 ye will. [Exit. 
 
 Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer; you are as 
 slow, 
 
 • A compliment to queen Elizabeth. « Hound. 
 
 • In Moorfield8. * Laced velvet, the fnerv of cockneys. 
 
 As hot lord Percy is on fire to go : 
 
 By this our book's drawn ; we'll but seal, and thei. 
 
 To horse immediately. 
 
 Mori. With all my heart. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, ana 
 
 Lords. 
 
 K. Hen. Lords, give us leave; the prince of 
 Wales, and I, 
 Must have some conference: But be near at hand 
 For we shall presently have need of you. — 
 
 [Exeunt Lords 
 I know not whether God will have it so, 
 For some displeasing service I have done, 
 That in his secret doom out of my blood 
 He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me; 
 But thou dost, in thy passages of life, 
 Make me believe, — that thou art only mark'd 
 For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven, 
 To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else, 
 Could such inordinate, and low desires, 
 Such poor, such bare, such lewd,such mean attempts 
 Such barren pleasures, rude society, 
 As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to, 
 Accompany the greatness of thy blood, 
 And hold their level with thy princely heart? 
 
 P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could 
 Quit all offences with such clear excuse, 
 As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 
 Myself of many I am charged withal : 
 Yet such extenuation let me beg, 
 As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, — 
 Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, 
 By smiling pick-thanks 9 and base newsmongers, 
 I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
 Hath faulty wander'd and irregular, 
 Find pardon on my true submission. 
 
 K. Hen. God pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder, 
 Harry, 
 At thy affections, which do hold a wing 
 Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
 Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost, 
 Which by thy younger brother is supplied ; 
 And art almost an alien to the hearts 
 Of all the court and princes of my blood: 
 The hope and expectation of thy time 
 Is ruin'd ; and the soul of every man 
 Prophetically does fore-think thy fall. 
 Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
 So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, 
 So stale and cheap to vulgar company; 
 Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
 Had still kept loyal to possession; 
 And left me in. reputeless banishment, 
 A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
 By being seldom seen, I could not stir, 
 But, like a comet, I was wondered at : 
 That men would tell their children, This is he: 
 Others would say, — Where? which is BolingbroktJ 
 And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 
 And drcss'd myself in such humility, 
 That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 
 Loud shouts and '.-lutations from their mouths, 
 Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
 Thus did I keep my person fresh and new 
 My presence, like a robe pontifical, 
 Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at: and so my state, 
 Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast; 
 And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 
 The skipping king, he ambled up and down 
 With shallow jesters, and rash bavin 1 wits, 
 » Officious oarasites. ' Brushwood. 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 491 
 
 boon kindled, and soon burh'd: caved his stated; 
 
 Mh.gled his royalty with capering fools; 
 
 Had his great name profaned with their scorns; 
 
 And gave his countenance, against his name, , 
 
 To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push 
 
 Of every beardless vain comparative : 
 
 Grew a companion to the common streets ; 
 
 Enteoff'd minself to popularity: 
 
 That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 
 
 They surfeited with honey; and began 
 
 To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 
 
 More than a little is by much too much. 
 
 So, when he had occasion to be seen, 
 
 He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
 
 Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes, 
 
 As, sick and blunted with community, 
 
 Afford no extraordinary gaze, 
 
 Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 
 
 When it shines seldom in admiring eyes: 
 
 But rather drowz'd, and hung their eyelids down, 
 
 Slept in his face, and rendered such aspect 
 
 As cloudy men use to their adversaries; 
 
 Being with his presence glutted, gorged, and full. 
 
 And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou: 
 
 For thou hast lost thy princely privilege, 
 
 With vile participation; not an eye 
 
 But is a-weary of thy common s : ght, 
 
 Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; 
 
 Which now doth that I would not have it do, 
 
 Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 
 
 P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, 
 Be more myself. 
 
 K. Hen. For all the world, 
 
 As thou art to this hour, was Richard then 
 When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg; 
 And even as I was then, is Percy now. 
 Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, 
 He hath more worthy interest to the state, 
 Than thou, the shadow of succession: 
 For, of no right, nor color like to right, 
 He doth fill fields with harness 5 in the realm ; 
 Turns head against the lion's armed jaws; 
 And, being no more in debt to years than thou, 
 Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on, 
 To bloody battles, and to bruising arms. 
 What never-dying honor hath he got 
 Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds, 
 Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms, 
 Holds, from all soldiers chief majority, 
 And military title capital, 
 
 Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ] 
 Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes, 
 Tnis infant warrior, in his enterprizes 
 Discomfited great Douglas: ta'en him once, 
 Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, 
 To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, 
 And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
 And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, 
 The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, 
 Capitulate 3 against us, and are up. 
 But wherefore do I tellthese news to thee? 
 VVhv, Harry, do I tell thpe of my foes, 
 Which art my ncar'st and dearest 4 enemy? 
 Thou that art like enough, — through vassal fear, 
 Bas o inclination, and the start of spleen, — 
 To light against me under Percy's pay, 
 To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns, 
 To show how much thou art degenerate. 
 
 ?■ Hen. Do not think so; you shall not find it so; 
 And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd 
 Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! 
 I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
 
 ' Armor. ' Combine 4 Most fxl&L 
 
 And in the closing of some glorious day, 
 Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 
 When I will wear a garment all of blood, 
 And stain my favors in a bloody mask, 
 Which wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it 
 And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights. 
 That this same child of honor and renown 
 This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, 
 And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet: 
 For every honor sitting on his helm, 
 'Would they were multitudes; and on my head 
 Vy shames redoubled! for the time will come, 
 
 it I shall make this northern youth exchange 
 Hi-' glorious deeds for my indignities. 
 Pen / is but my factor, good my lord, 
 To eftgross up glorious deeds on my behalf; 
 And I will call him to so strict account, 
 That he shall render every glory up. 
 Yea, even the slightest worship of his lime, 
 Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. 
 This, in the name of God, I promise here: 
 The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform, 
 I do beseech, your majesty may salve 
 The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: 
 If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 
 And I will die a hundred thousand deaths. 
 Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 
 
 K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this 
 Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein 
 
 Enter Blujtt. 
 How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed. 
 
 Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of 
 Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, — 
 That Douglas, and the English rebels, met 
 The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury ; 
 A mighty and a fearful head they are, 
 If promises be kept on every hand, 
 As ever offer'd foul play in a state. 
 
 K. Hey\. The earl of Westmoreland set forth .o d?y 
 With him my son, lord John of Lancaster , 
 For this advertisement, is five days old : — 
 On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set 
 Forward; On Thursday, we ourselves will march: 
 Cur meeting is Bridgnorth : and, Harry, you, 
 Shall march through Glostershire; by which account, 
 Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
 Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet. 
 Our hands are full of business: let's awaj 
 Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's 
 
 Head Tavern. 
 
 Enter Falstaff and Bahdolph. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 
 this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? 
 Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's 
 loose gown ; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. 
 Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am iu 
 some liking; 5 I shall be out of heart, shortly, and 
 then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have 
 not forgotten what the inside of a church is made 
 of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse : the inside 
 i f a church! Company, villanous company, hath 
 been the spoil of me. 
 
 Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot 
 live long. 
 
 Fal. Why, there is it: — come, sing me a bawdy 
 
 song ; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, 
 
 as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough ; swore 
 
 little ; diced, Dot above seven times a week ; went 
 
 * Ttave some flesh. 
 
392 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act (II 
 
 .o a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter — 
 of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or 
 fjur times; lived well, and in good compass: and 
 now I live out of all order, out of all compass. 
 
 Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you 
 must needs be out of all compass: out of all rea- 
 sonable compass, sir John. 
 
 Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my 
 life : Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern 
 in the poop, — but 'tis in the nose of thee ; thou art 
 the knight of the burning lamp. 
 
 Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harr.i 
 
 Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use >1 
 it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a ..<- 
 niento rnori: I never see thy face, but I think upon 
 hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there 
 he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert 
 any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy 
 face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art 
 altogether given over; and wert ind d, but for the 
 light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. — 
 When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch 
 my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an 
 ignis faiutts, or a ball of wildfire, there's no pur- 
 chase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, 
 an everlasting bonfire-light ! Thou hast saved me 
 a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with 
 thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the 
 sack that thou hast drunk me,would have bought me 
 lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in 
 Europe. I have maintained that salamander of 
 yours with fire, any time these two-and-thirty years; 
 Heaven reward me for it! 
 
 Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your 
 belly ! 
 
 Fal. God-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to be 
 heart-burned. 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 How now, dame Partlet the hen V have you in- 
 quired yet who picked my pocket? 
 
 Host. Why, sir John ! what do you think, sir 
 John ? do you think I keep thieves in my house ? 
 I have searched, I have inquired, so has my hus- 
 band, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: 
 the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. 
 
 Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved and 
 lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket 
 was picked: Go to, you are a woman, go. 
 
 Host. Who, III defy thee : I was never called 
 so in mine own house before. 
 
 Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. 
 
 Host. No, sir John ; you do not know me, sir 
 John : I know you, sir John : you owe me money, 
 sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me 
 of it; I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. 
 
 Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given them 
 away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters 
 of them. 
 
 Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of 
 eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, 
 s.r John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and monev 
 lent you, four-and-twenty pound. 
 
 Fal. He had his part of it ; let him pay. 
 
 Host. He ? alas, he is poor ; he hath nothing. 
 
 Fal. How ! poor ? look upon his face ; What call 
 you rich ? let them coin his nose, let them coin his 
 cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you 
 make a younker of me 1 shall I not take mine ease 
 ji mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked ? 
 I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's worth 
 forty mark. 
 « *.riui" - a!'s ship » In the story-book of Reynard the Fox. 
 
 Host. O Jesu ! I have heard the prince tell him, 
 I know hot how oft, that that ring was copper. 
 
 Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, 9 a sneak-cup; 
 and, if he were here, I would cudgel h : m like a 
 'dog if he would say so. 
 
 EnterPmsc-E Hesbi a?idPoisH, marching. Fal- 
 staff meets the Prince, playing on his trun- 
 cheon like a fife. 
 
 Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in mat aoor, 
 i'faith ? must we all march ? 
 
 Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. 
 
 Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. 
 
 P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly! 
 How does thy husband? I love him well, he 's an 
 honest man. 
 
 Host. Good my lord, hear me. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. 
 
 P. Hen. What say'st thou, Jack? 
 
 Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind 
 the arras, and had my pocket picked : this house, 
 is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets. 
 
 P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? 
 
 Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or fouT 
 bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of 
 my grandfather's. 
 
 P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 
 
 Host. So I told him, my lord ; and I said, I heard 
 your grace say so : And my 1< ird, he speaks most 
 vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is: 
 and said, he would cudgel you. 
 
 P. Hen. What ! he did not? 
 
 Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor woman- 
 hood in me else. 
 
 Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stew- 
 ed prune ; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn 
 fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian" may be the 
 deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing. 
 
 go- 
 
 Host. Say, what thing ? what thing ? 
 
 Fal. What thing ? why, a thing to thank God on. 
 
 Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would 
 thou should'st know it ; I am an honest man's wife, 
 and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave 
 to call me so. 
 
 Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a 
 beast to say otherwise. 
 
 Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? 
 
 Fal. What beast? why, an otter. 
 
 P. Hen. An otter, sir John! why an otter? 
 
 Fal. Why, she's neither fish, nor flesh; a man 
 knows not where to have her. 
 
 Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so ; thou 
 or any man knows where to have me, thou k:i?.ve 
 thou ! 
 
 P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he slan- 
 ders thee most grossly. 
 
 Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this 
 other day, you ought him a thousand pound. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound' 1 
 
 Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy 
 love is worth a million ; thou owest me thy love 
 
 Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and 
 said, he would cudgel you. 
 
 Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? 
 
 Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. 
 
 Fal. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper. 
 
 P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper: Darest thou be as 
 good as thy word now? 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art bu! 
 
 * A term of contempt frequently used by Shakspeare. 
 8 A female character, who attends morris-dancers; scn»- 
 rally a man dressed like a woman. 
 
Act IV. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 3J)b 
 
 nan, I dare : but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, 
 »s I tear tbe roaring of the lion's whelp. 
 
 P. Hen. And why not, as the lion ? 
 
 Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion : 
 Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy famer? 
 nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break ! 
 
 P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall 
 about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for 
 faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine : it 
 is filled up with guts, and midriff. Charge an 
 honest woman with picking thy pocket ! Why, thou 
 whoreson, impudent, embossed 1 rascal, if there 
 were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, 
 memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor 
 penny-worth of sugar candy to make thee long 
 winded ; if thy pocket were enriched with any other 
 injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you 
 will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong: 
 Art thou not ashamed? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? thou knowest, in the 
 state of innocency, Adam fell ; and what should 
 poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villany 1 
 Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man ; 
 
 and therefore more frailty. You confess then, 
 
 you picked my pocket? 
 
 P. Hen. It appears so by the story. 
 
 Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee : Go, make ready 
 breakfast ; love thy husband, look to thy servants, 
 cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to 
 any honest reason : thou seest, I am pacified. — 
 Still? —Nay, pr'ythee, begone. [Exit Hostess.] 
 Now, Hal, to the news at court : for the robbery, 
 lad, — How is that answered ? 
 
 P. Hen. 0, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
 angel to thee : — The money is paid back again. 
 
 Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a 
 double labor. 
 
 P. Hen. I am good friends with my fa her, and 
 may do any thing. 
 
 Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou 
 doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. 
 
 Bard. Do, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge 
 of foot. 
 
 Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall 
 I find one that can steal well ? for a fine thief, 
 of the age of two-and-twenty, or thereabouts ! I am 
 heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for 
 these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous ; I 
 laud them, I prftise them. 
 
 P. Hen. Bardolph 
 
 Bard. My lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lan- 
 caster, 
 My brother John ; this to my lord of Westmore- 
 land, — 
 Go, Poins, to horse, to horse ; for thou, and I, 
 
 Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. 
 
 Jack, 
 
 Meet me to-morrow i'the Temple-hall 
 
 At two o'clock i'the afternoon : 
 
 There shalt thou know thy charge ; and there receive 
 
 Money, and order for their furniture. 
 
 The land is burning ; Percy stands on high ; 
 
 And either they, or we, must lower lie. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince, Pours, and BAiiDOLPn, 
 
 Fal. Rare words ! brave world ! Hostess, my 
 
 breakfast ', come : — 
 0, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 
 Enter Hotspuii, Worcester, and Douglas. 
 
 Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking 
 truth, 
 In this fine age, were not thought flattery, 
 Such attribution should the Douglas 3 have, 
 As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
 Should go so general current through the world. 
 By heaven, I cannot flatter ; I defy 
 The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place 
 In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself: 
 Nay, task me to the word ; approve me, lord. 
 
 Doug. Thou art the king of honor: 
 No man so potent breathes upon the ground, 
 But I will beard him. 
 
 Hoi. Do so, and 'tis well : — 
 
 Enter a Messenger, with Letters. 
 What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thank 
 you. 
 
 Mess. These letters come from your father, — 
 
 Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not him- 
 self? 
 
 Mess. He cannot come, my lord; he's grievous 
 sick. 
 
 Hot. Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick, 
 In such a justling time? Who leads his power ? 
 Under whose government come they along ? 
 
 Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. 
 
 War. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed ' 
 
 * Swoln, puflj. 
 
 » This expression is applied by way of p» >eminence to 
 the head of the Diuglas family. 
 
 Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth; 
 And at the time of my departure thence, 
 He was much fear'd by his physicians. 
 
 Wor. I would, the state of time had first been 
 whole, 
 Ere he by sickness had been visited ; 
 His health was never better worth than now. 
 
 Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth 
 infect 
 The very life-blood of our enterprize ; 
 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. — 
 He writes me here, — that inward sickness — 
 And that his friends by deputation could not 
 So soon be drawn ; nor did he think it meet, 
 To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
 On any soul remov'd, but on his own. 
 Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, — 
 That with our small conjunction, we should on, 
 To see how fortune is dispos'd to us : 
 For, as he writes, there is no quailing 3 now; 
 Because the king is certainly possess'd 
 Of all our purposes. What say you to it ? 
 
 Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 
 
 Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: — 
 And yet, in faith, 'tis not : his present want 
 Seems more than we shall find it: — Were it good. 
 To set the exact wealth of all our states 
 All at one cast ? to set so rich a main 
 On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 
 It were not good : for therein should we read 
 The v «.ry bottom and the soul of hope ; 
 
 ' Languishing. 
 SB 
 
S94 
 
 FIRST PA.1T O^ 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 The very list, 4 the very utmost bound 
 Of all our fortunes. 
 
 Doug. Faith, and so we should ; 
 
 Where now remains a sweet reversion : 
 We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 
 Is to come in : 
 A comfort of retirement lives in this. 
 
 Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto 
 If that the devil and mis«hance look big 
 Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 
 
 Wor. But yet, I would ycur father had been 
 here, 
 The quality and hair ' of our attempt 
 Brooks no division : It will be thought 
 By some, that know not why he is away, 
 That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
 Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence ; 
 And think, how such an apprehension 
 May turn the tide of fearful faction, 
 And breed a kind of question in our cause: 
 For well you know, we of the offering side 
 Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement; 
 And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence 
 The eye of reason may pry in upon us : 
 This absence of your father's draws a curtain, 
 That shows the ignorant a kind of fear 
 Before not dreamt of. 
 
 Hot. You strain too far. 
 
 , rather, of his absence make this use ; — 
 .t lends a lustre, and more great opinion, 
 A larger dare to our great enterprize, 
 Than if the earl were here : for men must think, 
 If we, without his help, can make a head 
 To push against the kingdom ; with his help, 
 We shall o'erturn it, topsy-turvy down. — 
 Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 
 
 Doug. As heart can think : there is not such a 
 word 
 Sprie of in Scotland, as this term of fear. 
 Enter Sir Richard Vernon. 
 
 Hoi My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 
 
 Ver. Pri^y God, my news be worth a welcome, 
 lord, 
 .'he earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, 
 Is marching hitherwards ; with him, prince John. 
 
 Hot. No harm : what more ] 
 
 Ver. And further, I have learn'd — 
 
 The king himself in person is set forth, 
 Or hitherwn.rds intended speedily, 
 With strong and mighty preparation. 
 
 Hot. Ke shall be welcome, too. Where is his son, 
 The nimble-footed madcap prince of Wales, 
 And his comrades that daff'd 6 the world aside, 
 And bid it passl 
 
 Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, 
 
 All plum'd like estridges" that wing the wind; 
 Bated 8 like eagles having lately bath'd; 
 Glittering in golden coats, like images; 
 As full of spirit as the month of May, 
 And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; 
 Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
 I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on, 
 His c-uisses 9 on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, — 
 Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
 ind vaulted with such ease into his seat, 
 As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, 
 To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
 And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 
 
 Hot. No more, no more ; worse than the sun in 
 March, 
 
 * Limit, Doundary. » The complexion, ti>s character. 
 
 • Throw contemptuously. * Ostriches. 
 
 ' fresh * Armor foi tj;e thighs. 
 
 This praise dot>i nourish agues. Let them come; 
 
 They come like sacrifices in their trim, 
 
 And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war, 
 
 All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them : 
 
 The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, 
 
 Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire, 
 
 To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, 
 
 And yet not ours : — 'Come, let me talp my horse 
 
 Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt, 
 
 Against the bosom of the prince of Walt 
 
 Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, 
 
 Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down aa — 
 
 0, that Glendower were come ! 
 
 Ver. There is more ne*, 
 
 I learn'd in Worcester as I rode along, 
 He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 
 
 Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. 
 
 Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 
 
 Hot. What may the king's whole b\ttle reach 
 unto? 
 
 Ver. To thirty thousand. 
 
 Hot. Forty let it be ; 
 
 My father and Glendower being both away, 
 The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
 Come, let us make a muster speedily : 
 Doomsday is near ; die all, die merrily. 
 
 Doug. Talk not of dying; I am out of fear 
 Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A public Road near Coventry. 
 Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill 
 me a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march 
 through ; we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night. 
 
 Bard. Will you give me money, captain ? 
 
 Fal. Lay out, lay out. 
 
 Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 
 
 Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labor; and if it 
 make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage. 
 Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end. 
 
 Bard. I will, captain : farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am 
 a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press 
 damnably. I have got in exchange of a hundred 
 and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. 
 I press me none but good householders, yeomen's 
 sons, inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as 
 had been asked twice on the bans ; such a com- 
 modity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil 
 as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver 1 
 worse than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I 
 pressed me none but such toasts and butter, with 
 hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads, 
 and they have bought out their services; and now 
 my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, 
 lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as rag- 
 ged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the 
 glutton's dogs licked his sores: and such as, in- 
 deed, were never soldiers, but discarded, unjust 
 serving-men, younger sons to younger brothers, re- 
 volted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen ; thecankets 
 of a calm world, and a long peace ; ten times more 
 dishonorably ragged than an old-faced ancient :' 
 and such have I to fill up the rooms of them that 
 have bought out their services, that you would think, 
 that I had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, 
 lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff 
 and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, 
 and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and 
 pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such 
 scare-crows. I'll nov march through Coventry with 
 1 Musket » Standard. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 395 
 
 them, that's flat: — Nay, and the villains march 
 wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves 3 on; 
 for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison. 
 There's but a shirt and a half in all my company: 
 and the half shirt is two napkins tacked together, 
 and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat 
 without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, 
 stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red- 
 nose inn-keeper of Daintry. 4 • But that's all one; 
 they'll find linen enough on every hedge. 
 
 Enttr Prince Henry and Westmoreland. 
 
 P. Hen. How now, biown Jack? how now, 
 quilt? 
 
 Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? what a 
 devil dost thou in Warwickshire? — My good lord 
 of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy; I thought your 
 honor had already been at Shrewsbury. 
 
 West. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that 
 I were there, and you too; but my powers are there 
 already: The king, I can tell you, looks for us all; 
 we must away all night. 
 
 Fal. Tut, never fear me ; I am as vigilant as a 
 cat to steal cream. 
 
 P. Hen. I think to steal cream, indeed ; foi thy 
 theft hath already made thee butter. But, tell me, 
 Jack ; Whose fellows are these that come after ? 
 
 Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. 
 
 P. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals. 
 
 Fa!. Tut, tut; good enough to toss; food for 
 powder, food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well 
 as better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 
 
 West. Ay, but sir John, methinks they are ex- 
 ceeding poor and bare; too beggarly. 
 
 Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, — I know not 
 where they had that: and for their bareness, — I 
 am sure they never learned that of me. 
 
 P. Hen. No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three 
 fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste ; 
 Percy is already in the field. 
 
 Fal. What, is the king encamped? 
 
 West. He is, sir John ; I fear we shall stay too 
 long. 
 
 Fal. Well, 
 To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a 
 
 feast, 
 Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 
 Ente?' Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and 
 Vernon. 
 
 Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. 
 
 Wor. It may not be. 
 
 Doug. You give him then advantage. 
 
 Ver. Not a whit. 
 
 Hot. Why say you so ? looks he not for supply ? 
 
 Ver. So do we. 
 
 Hot. His is certain, ours is doubtful. 
 
 Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd ; stir not to-night. 
 
 Ver. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Doug. You do not counsel well ; 
 
 You speak it out of fear and cold heart. 
 
 Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life, 
 (And I dare well maintain it with my life,) 
 If well respected honor bid me on, 
 I hold as little counsel with weak fear, 
 As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives: — 
 Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle, 
 Which of us fears. 
 
 Doug. Yea, or to-night. 
 
 Ver. Content. 
 
 Hot. To-night, say I. 
 1 Fetters. « Daventry, pronou? vi Daintry. 
 
 Ver. Come dme, it may not be. 
 
 I wonder much, being »*er. of such great leading,' 
 That you foresee not what impediments 
 Drag back our expedition : Certain horse 
 Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up: 
 Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; 
 And now their pride and mettle is asleep, 
 Their courage with hard labor tame and dull, 
 That not a horse is half the half himself. 
 
 Hot. So are the horses of the enemy, 
 In general journey-bated and brought low; 
 The better part of ours is full of rest. 
 
 Wor. The number of the king exceedeth ours • 
 For God's sake, cousin, stay till all come in. 
 
 [The Trumpet sounds a parley 
 
 Enter Sir Walter Blunt. 
 
 Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the king, 
 If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect. 
 
 Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt; And 'would 
 
 to God, . 
 You were of our determination! 
 Some of us love you well : and even those some 
 Envy your great deserving, and good name; 
 Because you are not of our quality, 6 
 But stand against us like an enemy. 
 
 Blunt. And God defend but still I should stand so 
 So long as, out of limit, and true rule, 
 You stand against anointed majesty.' 
 But to my charge. — The king hath sent to know 
 The nature of your griefs; 1 and whereupon 
 You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
 Such bold hostility, teaching this duteous land 
 Audacious cruelty : If that the king 
 Have any way your good deserts forgot, — 
 Which he confesseth to be manifold, — 
 He bids you name your griefs; and, with all speed, 
 You shall have your desires, with interest; 
 And pardon absolute for yourself, and these, 
 Herein misled by your suggestion. 
 
 Hot. The king is kind; and, well we know, the 
 
 king 
 Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
 My father, and my uncle, and myself, 
 Did give him that same royalty he wears: 
 And, — when he was not six-and-twenty strong, 
 Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
 A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, — 
 My father gave him welcome to the shore : 
 And, — when he heard him swear, and vow id 
 
 God, 
 He came but to be duke of Lancaster, 
 To sue his livery, 8 and beg his peace; 
 With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal, — 
 My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd. 
 Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too 
 Now, when the lords and barons of the realm 
 Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him, 
 The more and less 9 came in with cap and knee 
 Met him in boroughs, cities, villages ; 
 Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, 
 Laid gifts before him, proffered him their oaths, 
 Gave him their heirs ; as pages followed him, 
 Even at the heels, in golden multitudes. 
 He presently, — as greatness knows itself, — 
 Steps me a little higher than his vow 
 Made to my father, while his blood was pooi 
 Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg ; 
 And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
 Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees. 
 That lie too heavy on the commonwealth : 
 
 s Conduct, experience. « Fellowship. firievane«* 
 
 8 The Jeliverv of bia lands. * The greater and the les* 
 
396 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 At;T V 
 
 Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 
 Over his country's wrongs; and, by this face, 
 This seeming brow of justice, did he win 
 The hearts of all that he did angle for. 
 Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads 
 Of all the favorites, that the absent king 
 In deputation left behind him here, 
 When he was personal in the Irish war. 
 
 Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 
 
 Hot. Then, to the point. 
 
 In short time after, he depos'd the king; 
 
 Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life ; 
 
 And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state: 
 
 To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman, March, 
 
 (Who is. if every owner were well placed, 
 
 Indeed his king,) to be incaged in Wales, 
 
 There without ransom to lie forfeited: 
 
 Disgraced me in my happy victories; 
 
 Sought to entrap me by intelligence; 
 
 Rated my uncle from the coupcil-board ; 
 
 In rage dismiss'd my father from the court ; 
 
 Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong: 
 
 And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out 
 
 This head of safety ; and, withal, to pry 
 
 Into his title, the which we find 
 
 Too indirect for long continuance. 
 
 Blunt. Shall I return this answer to the king? 
 
 Hot. Not so, sir Walter ; we'll withdraw awhile. 
 Go to the king; and let there be impawn'd 
 Some surety for a safe return again, 
 And in the morning early shall mine uncle 
 Bring him our purposes : and so farewell. 
 
 Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and 
 love. 
 
 Hot. And, may be, so we shall. 
 
 Blunt. 'Pray heaven you do ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— York. A Room in the Arch- 
 bishop's House. 
 Enter the Archbishop of York, and a Gentleman. 
 Arch. Hie, good sir Michael ! bear this sealed 
 brief,' 
 With winged haste to the lord mareshal; 
 This to my cousin Scroop ; and all the rest 
 
 To whom they are directed : if you knew 
 
 How much they do import, you would make hast* 
 
 Gent. My good lord, 
 I guess their tenor. 
 
 Arch. Like enough you <Ja 
 
 To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day, 
 Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
 Must 'bide the touch: For, sir, at Shrewsbury. 
 As I am truly given to understand, 
 The king, with mighty and quick-raised power, 
 Meets with lord Harry: and I fear, sir Michael, — 
 What with the sickness of Northumberland, 
 (Whose power was in the first proportion,) 
 And what with Owen Glendower's absence thenct 
 (Who with them was a rated sinew too,' 
 And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies,) 
 I fear the power of Percy is too weak 
 To wage an instant trial with the king. 
 
 Gent. Why, good my lord, you need hot feai 
 there's Douglas, 
 And Mortimer. 
 
 Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. 
 
 Gent. But there is Mordake, Vernon, lord Harr> 
 Percy, 
 And there's my lord of Worcester ; and a head 
 Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 
 
 Arch. And so there is : but yet the king hath 
 drawn 
 The special head of all the land together : — 
 The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster, 
 The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt; 
 And many more corrivals, and dear men 
 Of estimation and command in arms. 
 
 Gent. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well op- 
 pos'd. 
 
 Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear ; 
 And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed : 
 For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
 Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, — 
 
 For he hath heard of our confederacy, 
 
 And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him ; 
 Therefore, make haste : I must go write again 
 To other friends; and so farewell, sir Michael. 
 
 \Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — 77)e King's Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Prince 
 
 John of Lancaster. Sir Walter Blunt, and 
 
 Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 K. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
 Above yon bosky 5 hill ! the day looks pale 
 At his distemperature. 
 
 P. Hen. The southern wind 
 
 Doth play the trumpet to his purposes; 
 And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves, 
 Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day. 
 
 K. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize ; 
 For nothing can seem foul to those that win. — 
 
 Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
 How now, my lord of Worcester? 'tis not well, 
 That you and I should meet upon such terms 
 As now we meet : You have deceiv'd our trust ; 
 And made us doff 3 our easy robes of peace, 
 To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel : 
 This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
 What say you to't? will you again unknit 
 ' I/2*ter. » Woody. » Put off. 
 
 This churlish knot of all-abhorred war — 
 
 And move in that obedient orb again, 
 
 Where you did give a fair and natural lightj 
 
 And be no more an exhaled meteor, 
 
 A prodigy of fear, and a portent 
 
 Of broached mischief to the unborn times? 
 
 Wor. Hear me, my liege : 
 For mine own part, I could be well content 
 To entertain the lag-end of my life 
 With quiet hours ; for, I do protest, 
 I have not sought the day of this dislike. 
 
 K. Hen. You have not sought for it ! how come* 
 it then? 
 
 Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, chcvvet, 5 peace. 
 
 Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to jrn your Uokt 
 Of favor from myself, and all our house ; 
 And yet I must remember you, my lord, 
 We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
 For you, my staff of office did I break 
 In Richard's time; and posted day and night 
 
 4 A strength on which they reckoned. 
 » A chattering bird, a pie. 
 
Scene II 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 397 
 
 To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, 
 When yet you were in place and in account 
 Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
 It was myself, my brother, and his son, 
 That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
 The dangers of the time : You swore to us, — 
 And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, — 
 That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state ; 
 Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n rig-ht, 
 The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster : 
 To this we swore our aid. But, in short space, 
 It rain'd down fortune showering on your head ; 
 And such a flood of greatness fell on you, — 
 What with our help; what with the absent king; 
 What with the injuries of a wanton time ; 
 The seeming sufferances that you had borne ; 
 And the contrarious winds, that held the king 
 So long in his unlucky Irish wars, 
 That all in England did repute him dead, — 
 And, from this swarm of fair advantages, 
 You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
 To gripe the general sway into your hand; 
 Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; 
 And. being fed by us, you used us so 
 As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 
 Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; 
 Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk, 
 That even our love durst not come near your sight, 
 For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing 
 We were enforced, for safety sake, to fly 
 Out of your sight, and raise this present head : 
 Whereby we stand opposed by such means 
 As you yourself have forged against yourself; 
 By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 
 And violation of all faith and troth 
 Sworn to us in your younger enterprize. 
 
 K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articu- 
 lated, 6 
 Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches; 
 To face the garment of rebellion 
 With some fine color, that may please the eye 
 Of tickle changelings, and poor discontents, 
 Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news 
 Of hurly burly innovation : 
 And never yet did insurrection want 
 Such water-colors, to impaint his cause; 
 Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
 Of pellmell havock and confusion. 
 
 P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul, 
 Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 
 If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, 
 The prince of Wales doth join with all the world 
 In praise of Henry Percy; By my hopes, — 
 This present enterprise set off his head, — 
 I do noi think, a braver gentleman, 
 More active-valiant, or more valiant-young, 
 More daring, or more bold, is now alive, 
 To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
 For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
 I have a truant been to chivalry; 
 And so, I hear, he doth account me too: 
 Yet this before my father's majesty, — 
 1 am content, that he shall take the odds 
 Of his great name and estimation; 
 And will, to save the blood on either side, 
 Try fortune with him in a single fight. 
 
 K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we ven- 
 ture thee, 
 Albeit, considerations infinite 
 Do make against it: — No, good Worcester, no,. 
 We love our people well; even those we love, 
 That are misled upon your cousin's part: 
 « Exhibited iu articles 
 
 And, will they take the offer of our grace, 
 Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man 
 Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his: 
 So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
 What he will do : — But if he will not yield. 
 Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, 
 And they shall do their office. So, be gone, 
 We will not now be troubled with reply : 
 We offer fair, take it advisedly. 
 
 [Exeunt Worcester and Vernok 
 
 P. Hen. It will not be accepted, on my life : 
 The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
 Are confident against the world in arms. 
 
 K. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his 
 charge ; 
 For, on their answer, will we set on them : 
 And God befriend us, as our cause is just! 
 
 [Exeunt King, Blunt, and Prince John. 
 
 Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and 
 bestride me, so; 'tis a point of friendship. 
 
 P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
 friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 
 
 Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loath to pay 
 him before his day. What need I be so forward 
 with him that calls not on me ? Well, 'tis no mat- 
 ter; Honor pricks me on. Yea, but how if honor 
 prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can 
 honor set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. 
 Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honor 
 hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honor 1 
 A word. What is in that word, honor ? What in 
 that honor? Air. A trim reckoning! Who 
 hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he 
 feel it ? No. Doth he hear it ? No. Is it insen- 
 sible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live 
 with the living ? No. Why ? Detraction will not 
 suffer it :^-therefore I'll none of it: Honor is a 
 mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— The Rebel Camp. 
 Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
 
 Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, jtii 
 Richard, 
 The liberal kind offer of the king. 
 
 Ver. 'Twere best he did. 
 
 Wor. Then are we all undone 
 
 It is not possible, it cannot be, 
 The king should keep his word in loving us ; 
 He will suspect us still, and find a time 
 To punish this offence in other faults: 
 Suspicion shall be all siuck full of eyes: 
 For treason is but trusted like the fox ; 
 Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up 
 Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
 Look how we can, or sad, or merrily, 
 Interpretation will misquote our looks; 
 And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, 
 The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 
 My nephew's trespass may be well forgot, 
 It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood. 
 And an adopted name of privilege, — 
 A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern 'd by a spleen ■ 
 All his offences live upon my head, 
 And on his father's ; — we did train him on ; 
 And, his corruption being ta'en from us, 
 We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
 Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, 
 In any case, the offer of the king. 
 
 Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll eay, 'tis «< 
 Here comes your cousin. 
 
398 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Aci V 
 
 Enter Hotspur and Douglas; and Officers and 
 Soldiers, behind. 
 
 Hot. My uncle is return'd: — Deliver up 
 My lord of Westmoreland. — Uncle, what news ? 
 
 Wor. The king will bid you battle presently. 
 
 Doug Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 Hot. Lor.l Douglas, go you and tell him so. 
 
 Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Exit. 
 
 War. There is no seeming mercy in the king. 
 
 tTot. Did you beg any? God forbid! 
 
 Wor. I told him gently of our grievances, 
 df his oath-breaking; which he mended thus, — 
 By now forswearing that he is forsworn: 
 He calls us rebels, traitors; and will scourge 
 With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 
 
 Re-enter Douglas. 
 
 Doug. Arm, gentlemen; to arms! for I have 
 thrown 
 A brave defiance in king Henry's teeth, 
 And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it ; 
 Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 
 
 Wor. The prince of Wales stepped forth before 
 the king, 
 And, nephew, challenged you to single tight. 
 
 Hot. O, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads ; 
 And that no man might draw short breath to-day, 
 But I, and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me, 
 How shovv'd his tasking"! seem'd it in contempt] 
 
 Ver. No, by my soul; I never in my life 
 Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, 
 Unless a brother should a brother dare 
 To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
 He gave you all the duties of a man ; 
 Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue ; 
 Spoke your deservings like a chronicle ; 
 Making you ever better than his praise, 
 By still dispraising praise, valued with you: 
 And, which became him like a prince indeed, 
 He made a blushing cital 1 of himself; 
 And chid his truant youth with such a grace, 
 As if he master'd there a double spirit, 
 Of teaching, and of learning, instantly. 
 There did he pause : But let me tell the world, — 
 If he outlive the envy of this day, 
 England did never owe 8 60 sweet a hope, 
 So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 
 
 Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamored 
 Upon his follies ; never did I hear 
 Of any prince, so wild, at liberty :— 
 But, be he as he will, yet once ere night 
 I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, 
 
 That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 
 
 Arm. arm, with speed: And, fellows, soldiers, 
 
 friends. 
 Better consider what you nave to do, 
 Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue, 
 Can lift your blood up with persuasion. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 
 
 Hot. I cannpt read them now. — 
 O gentlemen, the time of life is short ; 
 To spend that shortness basely, were too long, 
 If life did ride upon a dial's point, 
 ^till ending at the arrival of an hour. 
 An if we live, we live to tread on kinga ; 
 If die, brave death, when princes die with us ! 
 Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair, 
 When the intent of bearing them is just. 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, prepare; the king comes on apac. 
 ■' 2ecital. « Own. 
 
 Hoi. I thank him, that he cuts me from my lalt 
 For I profess not talking; Only this — 
 Let each man do his best; and here draw I 
 A sword, whose temper I intend to stain 
 With the best blood that I can meet withal 
 In the adventure of this perilous day. 
 Now, — Esperance P — Percy ! — and set on. — 
 Sound all the lofty instruments of war, 
 And by that music let us all embrace : 
 For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
 A second time do such a courtesy. 
 
 [The Trumpets sound. They embrace, arut 
 exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Plain near Shrewsbury. 
 
 Excursions, and Parties fighting. Alarum to the 
 Battle. Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting. 
 
 Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus 
 Thou crossest me? what honor dost thou seek 
 Upon my head ? 
 
 Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas; 
 
 And I do haunt thee in the battle thus, 
 Because some tell me that thou art a king. 
 
 Blunt. They tell thee true. 
 
 Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath 
 bought 
 Thy likeness; for, instead of thee, king Harry, 
 This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee, 
 Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 
 
 Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot : 
 And thou shalt find a king that will revenge 
 Lord Stafford's death. 
 
 [They fight, and Blunt is slain. 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 Hot. Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holme- 
 don thus, 
 I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. 
 
 Doug. All's done, all's won; here breathless 
 
 lies the king. 
 Hot. Where? 
 Doug. Here. 
 
 Hot. This, Douglas? no, I know this face full 
 well: 
 A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt: 
 Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 
 
 Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes, 
 A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. 
 Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king ? 
 Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. 
 Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats , 
 I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
 Until I meet the king. 
 
 Hot. Up, and away; 
 
 Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt- 
 Other A/arums. Enter Falstaff. 
 Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London. 
 I fear the shot here ; here's no scoring, but upon 
 the pate. — Soft ! who art thou ? Sir Walter Blunt; 
 — there's honor for you: Here's no vanity! — I 
 am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too: God 
 keep lead out of me ! I need no more weight than 
 mine own bowels. — I have led my raggamuffins 
 where they are pepper'd: there's but three of my 
 hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the 
 town's end, to beg during life. But who comes 
 here? 
 
 Enter Prince Henry. 
 P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle hero ? lend me 
 thy sword: 
 Many a • riblenian lies stark and stiff 
 
 The motto of the Percy family, 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 390 
 
 Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, 
 Whose deaths are unrevenged: Pr'ythee, lend thy 
 sword. 
 
 Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe 
 a while. — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in 
 arms, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, 
 I have made him sure. 
 
 P. Hen. He is, indeed; and living to kill thee. 
 Lend me thy sword, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, 
 thou get'st not my sword; but take my pistol, if 
 thou wilt. 
 
 P. Hen. Give it me : What, is it in the case 1 
 
 Fal. Ay, Hal ; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ! there's that will 
 sack a city, [The P nix ex draws out a boi tie of sack. 
 
 P. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally now ? 
 [Throws it at him, and exit. 
 
 Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If 
 he do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I oome 
 in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado ' of me. 
 1 like not such grinning honor, as sir Walter hath: 
 Give me life: which if I can save, so; if not, 
 Wonor comes unlook'd for, and there's an end. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Prince 
 Henry, Prince John, and Westmoreland. 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, 
 Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much : — 
 Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 
 
 P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 
 
 P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up, 
 Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 
 
 K. Hen. I will do so : — 
 My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. 
 
 West. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent. 
 
 P. Hen. Lead me, my lord 1 I do not need your 
 help: 
 And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive 
 The prince of Wales from such a field as this ; 
 Where sta'in'd nobility lies trodden on, 
 And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 
 
 P. John. We breathe too long : — Come, cousin 
 Westmoreland, 
 Our duty this way lies: for God's sake, come. 
 [Exeunt Prince John and Westmoreland. 
 
 P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lan- 
 caster, 
 I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : 
 Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John ; 
 But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 
 
 K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point, 
 With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
 Of such an ungrown warrior. 
 
 P. Hen. 0, this boy 
 
 Lends mettle to us all ! [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Douglas. 
 Doug. Another king! they grow like Hydra's heads: 
 I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
 That wear those colors on them. — What art thou, 
 That counterfeit'st the person of a king ? 
 
 K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves 
 at heart, 
 So many of his shadows thou hast met, 
 And not the very king. I have two boys 
 Seek Percy and thyself, about the field: 
 But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
 I will assay thee ; so defend thvself. 
 
 Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit; 
 And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king: 
 > A piece of meat cut crosswise for the gridiron. 
 
 But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er tkou be, 
 And thus I win thee. 
 
 [They fight; the King being in danger, 
 enter Prince Henry. 
 
 P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art 
 like 
 Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 
 Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms . 
 It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee ; 
 Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. — 
 
 [They fight; Douglass/Km 
 Cheerly, my lord; how fares your grace] — 
 Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succor sent, 
 And so hath Clifton ; I'll to Clifton straight. 
 
 K. Hen. Stay, and breathe a while : — 
 Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ; 
 And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life. 
 In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 
 
 P. Hen. O, heaven ! they did me too much injury, 
 That ever said, I hearken'd for your death. 
 If it were so, I might have let alone 
 The insulting hand of Douglas over you ; 
 Which would have been as speedy in your end, 
 As all the poisonous potions in the world, 
 And sav'd the treacherous labor of your son. 
 
 K. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholaj 
 Gawsey. [Exit King Henry 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 
 Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth 
 
 P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my 
 name. 
 
 Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, then I see 
 
 A very valiant rebel of the name. 
 I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, 
 To share with me in glory any more: 
 Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
 Nor can one England brook a double reign, 
 Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. 
 
 Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
 To end the one of us; And 'would to God, 
 Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 
 
 P. Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee; 
 And all the budding honors on thy crest 
 I'll crop to make a garland for my head. 
 
 Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. 
 
 [They fight. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal ! — Nay, you shall 
 find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 
 Enter Douglas ; he fights ivith Falstaff, loho 
 
 falls down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas. 
 
 Hotspur is wounded, and falls. 
 
 Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth; 
 I better brook the loss of brittle life, 
 Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; 
 They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my 
 
 flesh; 
 
 But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool ; 
 And time, that takes survey of all the world, 
 Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, 
 But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
 Lies on my tongue : — No, Percy, thou art dust, 
 And food for [Dies 
 
 P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy ; Fare thee well, 
 great heart! — 
 Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunK.! 
 When that this body did contain a spirit, 
 A kingdom for it was too small a bound; 
 But now, two paces of the vilest earth 
 Is room enough. — This earth thai Dears thee de*d. 
 
400 
 
 FIRST PART OF K.WG HENRY IV. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
 
 If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
 
 I should not make so dear a show of zeal : — 
 
 But let my favors 5 hide thy mangled face; 
 
 And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
 
 For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
 
 Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! 
 
 Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 
 
 But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! 
 
 [He sees Falstaff on the ground. 
 What! old acquaintance! could not all this flesh 
 Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! 
 1 could have better spared a better man. 
 0, I should have a heavy miss of thee, 
 If I were much in love with vanity. 
 Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
 Though many dearer, jn this bloody fray: — 
 Embowell'd will I see thee by and by ; 
 Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. [Rising slowly.'] Embowelled ! if thou em- 
 bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder 3 me, 
 and cat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time 
 to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid 
 me scot and lot too. Counterfeit] I lie, I am no 
 counterfeit: To die, is to be a counterfeit; for he 
 is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life 
 of a man : but to counterfeit dying, when a man 
 thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true 
 and perfect image of life indeed. The better part 
 of valor is — discretion; in the which better part, 
 I have saved my life. Zounds, I am afraid of this 
 gunpowder Percy, though he be dead : How, if 
 he should counterfeit too, and rise ? I am afraid, he 
 would prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll 
 make him sure: yea. and I'll swear I killed him. 
 Why may not he rise, as well as 1 7 Nothing con- 
 futes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. There- 
 fore, sirrah, [Stabbing him.] with a new wound in 
 your thigh, come you along with me. 
 
 [Takes Hotspur on his back. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John. 
 
 P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast 
 thou flesh'd 
 Thy maiden sword. 
 
 P.John. But, soft! whom have we here? 
 
 Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead? 
 
 P. Hen. I did; I saw him dead, breathless and 
 bleeding 
 
 Upon the ground. 
 
 Art thou alive ? or is it phantasy 
 That plays upon our eyesight ? I pr'ythee, speak; 
 We will not trust our eyes, without our ears: — 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st. 
 
 Fal. No, that's certain ; I am not a double man : 
 but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack. 
 There is Percy : [Throwing the body down.] if 
 your father will do me any honor, so ; if not, let him 
 kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either 
 earl, or duke. I can assure you. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw 
 thee dead. 
 
 Fal. Didst thou? — Lord, lord, how this world 
 is given to lying! — I grant you, I was down, and 
 out of breath ; and so was he : but we rose both at 
 an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury 
 clock. If I may be believed, so; if not, let them, 
 that should reward valor, bear the sin upon their 
 own heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him 
 this wound in the tlvcrh : if the man were alive, and 
 
 "•Bcftrf, with which he covers Percy's &ce. » Salt. 
 
 would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my 
 sword. 
 
 P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. 
 P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brotnef 
 
 John. 
 
 Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back . 
 For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
 I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have. 
 
 [-4 Retreat is sounded 
 The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. 
 Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field, 
 To see what friends are living, who are dead. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John. 
 
 Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that 
 
 rewards me, God reward him ! If I do grow great, 
 
 I'll grow less; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and 
 
 live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. 
 
 [Exit, bearing off the body. 
 
 SCENE V. —Another Part of the Field. 
 
 The Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince 
 Henry, Prince John, Westmoreland, and 
 others,- with Worcester and Vernon, Prisoners 
 
 K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke.— 
 Ill-spirited Worcester! did we not send grace, 
 Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? 
 And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? 
 Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust ? 
 Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
 A noble earl, and many a creature else, 
 Had been alive this hour, 
 If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne 
 Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 
 
 Wor. What I have done, my safety urged me to; 
 And I embrace this fortune patiently, 
 Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 
 
 K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon 
 too: 
 Other offenders we will pause upon. — 
 
 [Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded. 
 How goes the field ? 
 
 P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw 
 The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, 
 The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
 Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the rest ; 
 And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd, 
 That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
 The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace, 
 I may dispose of him. 
 
 K. Hen. With all my heart. 
 
 P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you. 
 This honorable bounty shall belong: 
 Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
 Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free: 
 His valor shown upon our crests to-day, 
 Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, 
 Even in the bosom of our adversaries. 
 
 K. Hen. Then this remains, that we divide our 
 power. — 
 You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 
 Towards York shall bend you, with your deareut 
 
 speed, 
 To n.eet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, 
 Who, as we hear, are busily in arms : 
 Myself, — and you, son Harry, — will towards Wale*, 
 To fight with Glendower, and the earl of Maich 
 Rebellion in this land shall lose his swav, 
 Meeting the check of such anothei day : 
 And since this business so fair is done. 
 Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Ereuni 
 
SECOND PART OP 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henry the Fourth. 
 
 Henry, Prince of Wales, afterwards 
 King Henry V.; 
 
 Thomas, Duke of Clarence; 
 
 Prince John of Lancaster, afterwards i 
 
 (2 Henry V.) Duke o/Bedford ; [■*»«""• 
 
 Prince Humphrey of Glostcr, after- 
 wards (2 Henry V.) Duke of 
 Gloster. 
 
 Earl of Warwick; ~\ 
 
 Earl of Westmoreland; I of the King's 
 
 Gower; I Party. 
 
 Harcourt; J 
 
 Lord Chief Justice of the King's Bench. 
 
 A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice. 
 
 Earl of Northumberland; 
 
 Scroop, Archbishop of York; 
 
 Lord Mowbray ; 
 
 Lord Hastings; 
 
 Lord Bardolph; 
 
 Sib John Qoleyjle; 
 
 Enemies to 
 the King. 
 
 Travers and Morton, Domestics of Northum- 
 berland. 
 
 Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page. 
 
 Poins and Peto, Attendants on Prince Henry 
 
 Shallow and Silence, Country Justices. 
 
 Davy, Servant to Shallow. 
 
 Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull 
 calf, Recruits. 
 
 Fang and Snare, Sheriff's Officers. 
 
 Rumor. 
 
 A Porter. 
 
 A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue. 
 
 Lady Northumberland 
 Lady Percy. 
 Hostess Quickly. 
 Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 Lords and other Attendants.- Officers. Soldier» t 
 Messengers, Drawers, Grooms, <S(C. 
 
 SCENE,— England, 
 
 induction; 
 
 Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle. 
 
 Enter Rumor, painted full of Tongues. 
 
 Rum. Open your ears; For which of you will 
 stop 
 The vent of hearing, when loud Rumor speaks? 
 I, from the orient to the drooping west, 
 Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
 The acts commenced on this ball of earth : 
 Upon my tongues continual slanders ride ; 
 The which in every language I pronounce, 
 Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
 I speak of peace, while covert enmity, 
 Under the smile of safety, wounds the world: 
 \nd who but Rumor, who but only I, 
 Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence; 
 Whilst the big year, swoll'n with some other grief, 
 Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
 And no such matter] Rumor is a pipe 
 Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures; 
 And of so easy and so plain a stop. 
 That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
 The still-discordant wavering multitude, 
 
 r4on 
 
 Can play upon it. But what need I thus 
 
 My well-known body to anatomize 
 
 Among my household 1 Why is Rumor hese 1 
 
 I run before King Harry's victory. 
 
 Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury, 
 
 Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, 
 
 Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
 
 Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I 
 
 To speak so true at first 1 my office is 
 
 To noise abroad, — that Harry Monmouth fell 
 
 Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword : 
 
 And that the king before the Douglas' rage 
 
 Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 
 
 This have I rumor'd through the peasant towns 
 
 Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 
 
 And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, 
 
 Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland, 
 
 Lies crafty-sick: the posts come tiring on, 
 
 And not a man of them brings other news 
 
 Than they have learn'd- of me ; From Rumor's 
 
 tongues 
 They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true 
 
 wrongs. [ExiA 
 
402 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 A.cr L 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 8CENE I — Warkworth. Before Northumber- 
 land's Castle. 
 
 The Porter before the Gate,- Enter Lonn Bar- 
 dolph. 
 
 L. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, hoi — Where 
 
 is the earl ? 
 Port. What shall I say you are? 
 L. Bard. Tell thou the earl, 
 
 That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 
 Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the or- 
 chard ; 
 Please it your honor, knock but at the gate, 
 And he himself will answer. 
 
 Enter Northumberland. 
 
 L. Bard. Here comes the earl. 
 
 North. What news, lord Bardolph? every mi- 
 nute now 
 Should be the father of some stratagem :* 
 The times are wild ; contention, like a horse 
 Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose, 
 And bears down all before him. 
 
 L. Bard. Noble earl; 
 
 I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. 
 
 North. Good, an heaven will! 
 
 L. Bard. As good as heart can wish : — 
 
 The king is almost wounded to the death ; 
 And, in the fortune of my lord your son, 
 Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts 
 Kill'd by the hand of Douglas : young prince John, 
 And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field ; 
 And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John. 
 Is prisoner to your son : 0, such a day, 
 So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won, 
 Came not till now to dignify the times, 
 Since Caesar's fortunes ! 
 
 North. How is this derived? 
 
 Saw you the field ? came you from Shrewsbury ? 
 
 L. Bard, I spake with one, my lord, that came 
 from thence ; 
 A gentleman well bred, and of good name, 
 That freely render'd me these news for true. 
 
 North, Here comes my servant, Travers, whom 
 I sent 
 On Tuesday last to listen after news. 
 
 L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way ; 
 And he is furnish'd with no certainties, 
 More than he haply may retail from me. 
 
 Enter Travers. 
 
 North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come 
 with you? 
 
 Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back 
 With joyful tidings; and, being better hors'd, 
 Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard, 
 A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, 
 That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse : 
 He ask'd the way to Chester; and of him 
 I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. 
 He told me that rebellion had bad luck, 
 And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold : 
 With that he gave his able horse the head, 
 And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
 Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
 Up to the rowel head; and, starting so, 
 He seem'd in running to devour the way, 
 Staying r. » longer question. 
 
 < Important or dreadful event. 
 
 North. ' Ha! Again. 
 
 Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ! 
 Of Hotspur, coldspur? that rebellion 
 Had met ill luck? 
 
 L. Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what:- - 
 
 If my young lord your son have not the day, 
 Upon mine honor, for a silken point ; 
 I'll give my barony : never talk of it. 
 
 North. Why should the gentleman, that rode b^ 
 Travers, 
 Give then such instances of loss? 
 
 L. Bard. Who, he ! 
 
 He was some hilding 3 fellow, that had stol'n 
 The horse he rode on ; and, upon my life. 
 Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news 
 
 Enter Mortox. 
 
 North, Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 
 Foretells the nature of a tragic volume: 
 So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood 
 
 Hath left a witness'd usurpation. 
 
 Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury 1 
 
 Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord; 
 Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask, 
 To fright our party. 
 
 North. How doth my son and brother* 
 
 Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
 Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, 
 So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone, 
 Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, 
 And would have told him, half his Troy was burn' J: 
 But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue, 
 And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it. 
 This thou wouldst say, — Your son did thus, and 
 
 thus; 
 Your brother, thus; so fought the noble Douglas; 
 Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds : 
 But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed, 
 Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, 
 Ending with — brother, son, and all are dead. 
 
 Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet : 
 But, for my lord, your son, 
 
 North. Why, he is dead. 
 
 See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
 He, that but fears the thing he would not know. 
 Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes. 
 That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Mortoi : 
 Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies; 
 And I will take it as a sweet disgrace. 
 And make thee rich for doing me Mich wrong. 
 
 Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid • 
 Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 
 
 North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead 
 I see a strange confession in thine eye : 
 Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin, 
 To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so : 
 The tongue offends not that reports his death: 
 \nd he doth sin, that doth belie the dead: 
 Not he, which says the dead is not alive, 
 ifet the first bringer of unwelcome news 
 Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue 
 Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
 Remember'd knolling a departed friend. 
 
 L. Bard, I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead 
 
 Mor. I am sony, I should force you to believe 
 That which I would to heaven I had rot seen: 
 But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
 » Lace tagged. ' Hilderling, base, cowardly 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 408 
 
 Rend'ring taint quittance, 4 wearied and outbreath'd, 
 To Harry Monmouth : whose swift wrath beat down 
 The never Jaunted Percy to the earth, 
 I loin wnence with life he never more sprung up. 
 [n few, his death, (wuosc spint lent a "fire 
 Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) 
 Being bruited* once, took fire and heat away 
 From the best temper'd courage in his troops: 
 For from his metal was his party steel'd ; 
 Which once in him abated, all the rest 
 Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. 
 And as the thing that's heavy in itself, 
 Upon enforcement, flies with greater speed; 
 60 did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss, 
 Aend to this weight such lightness with their fear, 
 That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, 
 Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, 
 Fly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester 
 Too soon ta'en prisoner: and that furious Scot, 
 The bloody Douglas, whose well-laboring sword 
 Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 
 'Gan vail* his stomach, and did grace the shame, 
 Of those that turn'd their backs; and in his flight, 
 Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
 Is, — that the king hath won ; and hath sent out 
 A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord, 
 Under the conduct of young Lancaster, 
 And Westmoreland: this is the news at full. 
 
 North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. 
 In poison there is physic ; and these news, 
 Having been well, that would have made me sick, 
 Being sick, have in some measure made me well: 
 And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, 
 Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, 
 Impatient 01' his fit, breaks like a fire 
 Oat of his keepers' arms; even so my limbs, 
 Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with grief, 
 Are thrice themselves: hence therefore, thou nice 1 
 
 crutch ; 
 A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel, 
 Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly quoif, 8 
 Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, 
 Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit. 
 Now bind my brows with iron ; and approach 
 The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring, 
 To frown upon the enraged Northumberland ! 
 Let heaven kiss earth ! Now let not nature's hand 
 Keep the wild flood confined ! let order die ! 
 And let this world no longer be a stage, 
 To feed contention in a lingering act ; 
 But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
 Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
 On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
 And darkness be the burier of the dead ! 
 
 Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my 
 
 lord. 
 L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from 
 
 your honor. 
 Mor. The lives of all your loving complices 
 lean on your health; the which if you give o'er 
 To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 
 You cast the event of war, my noble lord, 
 And summ'd the account of chance, before you 
 
 said, — 
 Let us make head. It was your presurmise, 
 That in the dole 9 of blows your son might drop: 
 You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge, 
 More likely to fall in than to get o'er: 
 You were advis'd, his flesh was capable 
 Of wounds, and scars ; and that his forward spirits 
 Would lift him where most, trade of danger ranged ; 
 
 « Return of Wows. 
 • T»et fall. « Trifling 
 
 Cap. 
 
 • Reported. 
 
 • Distribution. 
 
 Yet did you say, — Go forth; and none of this, 
 Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
 The stiff-borne action: What hath then befallen, 
 Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, 
 More than that being which was like to be? 
 
 L. Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss, 
 Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas, 
 That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one: 
 And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd 
 Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd ; 
 And since we are o'erset, venture again. 
 Come, we will all put forth ; body, and goods. 
 
 Mor. 'Tis more than time : And, my most noble 
 lord, 
 I hear for certain and do speak the truth, 
 The gentle archbishop of York is up, 
 With well-appointed powers; he is a man, 
 Who with a double surety binds his followers. 
 My lord your son had only but the corps, 
 But shadows, and the shows of men, to figbjt : 
 For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
 The action of their bodies from their souls: 
 And they did fight with queasiness,' constrain'd, 
 As men drink potions; that their weapons only 
 Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls, 
 This word, rebellion, it hath froze them up, 
 As fish are in a pond; But now the bishop 
 Turns insurrection to religion : 
 Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts, 
 He's follow'd both with body and with mind; 
 And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 
 Of fair king Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones; 
 Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause: 
 Teljs them he doth bestride a bleeding land. 
 Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ; 
 And more, 5 and less, do flock to follow him. 
 
 North. I knew of this before ; but, to speak tru'h, 
 This present grief had wiped it from my mind. 
 Go in with me ; and counsel every man 
 The aptest way for safety, and revenge : 
 Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed ; 
 Never so few, and never yet more need. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— London. A Street. 
 
 Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing 
 his Sword and Buckler. 
 
 Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to 
 my water'? 
 
 Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good 
 healthy water: but, for the party that owed it, he 
 might have more diseases than he knew for. 
 
 Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird 3 at me ; 
 The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, 
 is not able to invent any thing that tends to laugh- 
 ter, more than I invent, or is invented on me ; I am 
 not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is 
 in other men. I do here walk before thee, like a 
 sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but one 
 If the prince put thee into my service for any other 
 reason than to set me off, why then I have no judg- 
 ment. Thou whoreson mandrake, 4 thou art fitter 
 to be worn in my cap, than to wait at my heels. 
 I was never manned with an agate 5 till now : but I 
 will set you neither in gold nor silver, but in vile 
 apparel, and send you back again to your master 
 for a jewel ; the juvenal, the prince your master, 
 whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner haw 
 a beard grow in the palm of my bar. J. Jian he 
 shall get one on his cheek ; and yet he will not stick 
 to say his face is a face-royal : God may finish i> 
 
 » Against their stomachs. a Greater. » Gibe 
 
 4 A root supposed to have the shape of a man. 
 » Alluding to little figures rut in agate 
 
404 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 when hi will, it is not a hair amiss yet : he may 
 keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber shall never 
 earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing 
 as if he had writ man ever since his father was a 
 bachelor. He may keep his own grace, but he is 
 
 almost out of mine, I can assure him. What 
 
 said master Dumbleton about the satin for my short 
 cloak, and slops 1 
 
 Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
 assurance than Bardolph: he would not take his 
 bond and yours; he liked not the security. 
 
 Fal. Let him be damned like a glutton ! may 
 his tongue be hotter! — A whoreson Achitophel! a 
 rascally yea-forsooth knave ! to bear a gentleman in 
 hand, and then stand upon security ! — The whore- 
 son smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high 
 shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles ; and if 
 a man is thorough 6 with them in honest taking up, 
 then they must stand upon — security. I had as 
 lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer 
 to stop it with security. I looked he should have 
 sent me two-and-twenty yards of satin, as I am a 
 true knight, and he sends me security. Well, he 
 may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of 
 abundance, and the lightness of his wife shines 
 through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have 
 his own lantern to light him. Where's Bar- 
 dolph? 
 
 Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your 
 worship a horse. 
 
 Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a 
 horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife 
 in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.' 1 
 
 Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an Attendant. 
 
 Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that com- 
 mitted the prince for striking him about Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. 
 
 Ch. Just. What's he that goes there ? 
 
 Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. 
 
 Ch. Ju.it. He that was in question for the rob- 
 bery ? 
 
 Atten. He, my lord : but he hath since done 
 good service at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear, is now 
 going with some charge to the lord John of Lan- 
 caster. 
 
 Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again. 
 
 Atten. Sir John Falstaff! 
 
 Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. 
 
 Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf. 
 
 Ch. Just. I am sure, he is, to the hearing of any 
 thing good. — Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must 
 epeak with him. 
 
 Atten. Sir John, — ■ 
 
 Fal. What! a young knave, and beg! Is there 
 not wars! is there not employment? Doth not the 
 king lack subjects ? do not the rebels need soldiers ? 
 Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it 
 is worse shame to beg than to be on the worse side, 
 were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell 
 how to make it. 
 
 Atten. You mistake me, sir. 
 
 Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man? 
 netting my knighthooS and my soldiership aside, I 
 <»ad lied in my throat if I had said so. 
 
 After. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood 
 and your soldiership aside; and give me leave to 
 tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any 
 »ther than an honest man. 
 
 Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay aside 
 
 * In their debt. 
 
 ' Alluding to an old proverb : Who goes to Westminster 
 tor a wife, to St. Paul's for a man, and to Smithfield for a 
 ■»cr«e, m&v meet with a whore, a knave, and a jade 
 
 that which grows to me ! If thou get'st any leave oi 
 me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert better 
 be hanged: You hunt-counter,' hence! avaunt! 
 
 Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 
 
 Fal. My good lord ! — God give your lordship good 
 time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad : 
 I heard say, your lordship was sick : I hope, your 
 lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, 
 though not clean past your youth, hath yet some 
 smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of 
 time ; and I most humbly beseech your lordship, to 
 have a reverend care of your health. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before you/ 
 expedition to Shrewsbury. 
 
 Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his majes- 
 ty is returned with some discomfort from Wales. 
 
 Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty : — You would 
 not come when I sent for you. 
 
 Fal. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen 
 into this same whoreson apoplexy. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him ! I pray, let 
 me speak with you. 
 
 Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of 
 lethargy, an't please your lordship; a kind of sleep- 
 ing in the blood, a whoreson tingling. 
 
 Ch. Just. What tell you me of it ? be it as it is. 
 
 Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from 
 study, and perturbation of the brain : I have read 
 the cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of 
 deafness. 
 
 Ch. Just. I think, you are fallen into the dis- 
 ease ; for you hear not what I say to you. 
 
 Fal. Very well, my lord, very well : rather, an't 
 please you, it is the disease of not listening, the 
 malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. 
 
 Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels, would 
 amend the attention of your ears; and I care not, 
 if I do become your physician. 
 
 Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord ; but not so 
 patient: your lordship may minister the potion o" 
 imprisonment to me, in respect of poverty ; but 
 how I should be your patient to follow your pre- 
 scriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scru- 
 ple, or indeed a scruple itself. 
 
 Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters 
 against you for your life, to come speak with me. 
 
 Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel 
 in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live 
 in great infamy. 
 
 Fal, He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live 
 in less. 
 
 Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and youi 
 waste is great. 
 
 Fal. I would it were otherwise; I would my 
 means were greater, and my waist slenderer. 
 
 Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 
 
 Fal. The young prince hath misled me : I am 
 the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. 
 
 Ch, Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed 
 wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a 
 little gilded over your night's exploit on Gadshill : 
 you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er- 
 posting that action. 
 
 Fal, My lord? 
 
 Ch.Jusf. But since all is well, keep it so: wake 
 not a sleeping wolf. 
 
 Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell » 
 fox. 
 
 Ch. Just. What ! ou are as a candle, the bettei 
 part burn out. 
 
 • A carsh-uole or bailiff. 
 
SciNE in. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 Mi 
 
 Fal. A wassel candle," my lord: all tallow: if I 
 •lid say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. 
 Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face, 
 but should have his effect of gravity. 
 Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 
 Ch. Just. You follow the young prince up and 
 down, like his ill angel. 
 
 Fal. Not so, my lord; your ill angel 1 is light; 
 but, I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me 
 without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I 
 grant, I cannot go, I cannot tell :" Virtue is of so 
 little regard in these coster-monger times, that true 
 valor is turned bear-herd : Pregnancy 3 is made a 
 tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving 
 reckonings : all the other gifts appertinent to man, 
 as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth 
 a gooseberry. You, that are old, consider not the 
 capacities of us that are young: you measure the 
 heat of our liver in the bitterness of your galls; 
 and we that are in the vaward 4 of our youth, I 
 must confess, are wags too. 
 
 Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the 
 scroll of youth, that are written down old with all 
 the characters of age ? Have you not a moist eye ? 
 a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a 
 decreasing leg? an increasing belly? Is not your 
 voice broken? your wind short? your chin double ? 
 your wit single? and every part about you blasted 
 with antiquity ? and will you yet call yourself 
 young ? Fye, fye, fye, sir John ! 
 
 Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock 
 in the afternoon, with a white head, and something 
 a round belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with 
 hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my 
 youth further, I will not: the truth is, I am only 
 old in judgment and understanding; and he that 
 will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him 
 lend me the money, and have at him. For the box 
 o'the ear that the prince gave you, — he gave it 
 like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible 
 lord. I have checked him for it; and the young 
 lion repents: marry, not in ashes, and sack-cloth; 
 but in new silk, and old sack. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better 
 companion ! 
 
 Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince ! 
 I cannot rid my hands of him. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and 
 prince Harry : I hear you are going with lord John 
 of Lancaster against the archbishop, and the earl 
 of Northumberland. 
 
 Fal. Ye^. ; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. 
 But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace 
 at home, that our armies join not in a hot day ! for, 
 be the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and 
 I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a 
 hot day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I 
 would I might never spit white again. There is 
 not a dangerous action can peep out his head, but 
 I am thrust upon it : Well, I cannot last ever; But 
 it was always yet the trick of our English nation, 
 if they have a good thing, to make it too common. 
 If you will needs say, I am an old man, you should 
 give me rest. I would to God, my name were not 
 so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to 
 be eaten to death with rust, than to be scoured to 
 nothing with perpetual motion. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, behonest.be honest; And God 
 bless your expedition! 
 
 Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand 
 pound, to furnish me forth? 
 
 * A large candle for a feast. ' The coin called an angel. » A large wooden hammer, so heavy as to require tnre« 
 •Pass current 'Readiness 'Forepart. len to wield it • Anticipate. Profit. 
 
 Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny ; you are 
 too impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well ; 
 Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland. 
 
 [Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant. 
 
 Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three man-beetle. 5 — 
 A man can no more separate age and covetous- 
 ness, than he can part young limbs and lechery : 
 but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches 
 the other ; and so both the degrees prevent 6 my 
 curses. — Boy ! 
 
 Page. Sir? 
 
 Fal. What money is in ny purse ? 
 
 Page. Seven groats and twr/-pence. 
 
 Fal. I can get no remedy against this consump- 
 tion ofthe purse: borrowing only lingers and lingers 
 it out, but the disease is incurable. — Go bear this 
 letter to my lord of Lancaster; this to the prince; 
 this to the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old 
 mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to 
 marry since I perceived the first white hair on my 
 chin : About it; you know where to find me. [Exit 
 Page.] A pox of this gout! or, a gout of this pox! 
 for the one, or the other, plays the rogue with my 
 great toe. It is no matter if I do halt ; I have the 
 wars for my color, and my pension shall seem the 
 more reasonable : A good wit will make use of any 
 thing ; I will turn diseases to commodity. 7 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— York. A Room in the Arch- 
 bishop's Palace. 
 Enter the Archbishop of York, the Lords Has 
 tings, Mowbray, and Bardolph. 
 
 Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and 
 known our means ; 
 And, my most noble friends, I pray you ail, 
 Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes; — 
 And first, lord marshal, what say you to it? 
 
 Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our arms ; 
 But gladly would be better satisfied, 
 How, in our means, we should advance ourselves 
 To look with forehead bold and big enough 
 Upon the power and puissanee of the king. 
 
 Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 
 To five-and-twenty thousand men of choice ; 
 And our supplies live largely in the hope 
 Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
 With an incensed fire of injuries. 
 
 L. Bard. The question then, lord Hastings 
 standeth thus: — 
 Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand 
 May hold up head without Northumberland. 
 
 Hast. With him, we may. 
 
 L. Bard. Ay, marry, there's the point i 
 
 But if without him we be thought too feeble, 
 My judgment is we should not step too far 
 Till we had his assistance by the hand : 
 For, in a theme so bloody-faced as this, 
 Conjecture, expectation, and surmise 
 Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis very true, lord Bardolph ; for, indeed 
 It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 
 
 L. Bard. It was, my lord ; who lined himself 
 with hope, 
 Eating the air on promise of supply, 
 Flattering himself with project of a power 
 Much smaller lhan the smallest of his thoughts 
 And so with great imagination, 
 Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, 
 And, winking, leap'd into destruction. 
 
 Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurl 
 'o lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. 
 
406 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act 11 
 
 L. Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war ; — 
 Indeed the instant action (a cause on foot) 
 Lives so in hope, as in an early spring 
 We see the appearing buds ; which, to prove fruit, 
 Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair, 
 That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, 
 We first survey the plot, then draw the model, 
 And when we see the figure of the house, 
 Then must we rate the cost of the erection ; 
 Which if we find outweighs ability, 
 What do we then, but draw anevv the model 
 In fewer offices; or, at least, desist 
 To build at alii Much more, in this great work, 
 (Which is, almost to pluck a kingdom down, 
 And set another up,) should we survey 
 The plot of situation, and the model ; 
 Consent 8 upon a sure foundation; 
 Question surveyors ; know our own estate, 
 How able such a work to undergo, 
 To weigh against his opposite ; or else, 
 We fortify in paper, and in figures, 
 Using the names of men, instead of men : 
 Like one, that draws the model of a house 
 Beyond his power to build it; who, half through, 
 Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost 
 A naked subject to the weeping clouds, 
 And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 
 
 Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair 
 birth) 
 Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd 
 The utmost man of expectation; 
 [ think, we are a body strong enough, 
 Even as we are, to equal with the king. 
 
 L. Bard. What ! is the king but five-and-twen- 
 ty thousand ! 
 
 Hast. To us, no more; nay, not so much, lord 
 Bardolph. 
 Fot his divisions, as the times do brawl, 
 Are in three heads : one power against the French, 
 And one against Glendower; perforce a third 
 Must take up us: So is the urwSrm king 
 In three divided; and his coffers sound 
 With hollow poverty and emptiness. 
 
 Arch. That he should draw his several strengths 
 together, 
 And come against us in full puissance, 
 Need not be dreaded. 
 
 Hast. If he should do so, 
 
 He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh 
 Baying him at the heels : never fear that. 
 
 L. Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces 
 hither ! 
 
 Hast. The duke of Lancaster and Westmore- 
 land: 
 Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth : 
 But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
 I have no certain notice. 
 
 Arch. Let us on ; 
 
 And publish the occasion of our arms. 
 The commonwealth is sick of their own choice, 
 Their over-greedy love hath surfeited : — 
 An habitation giddy and unsure 
 Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
 thou fond many ! 3 with what loud applause 
 Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 
 Before he was what thou wouldst have him be! 
 And being nowtrimm'd 3 in thine own desires, 
 Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 
 That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
 So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
 Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard ; 
 And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up, 
 And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these times! 
 They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die, 
 Are now become enamor'd on his grave ; 
 Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, 
 When through proud London he came sighing on 
 After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
 Cry'st now, earth, yield us that king again, 
 And take thou this! thoughts of men accurst ! 
 Past, and to come, seem best; things present, worst. 
 
 Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set 
 on ! 
 
 Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be- 
 gone. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Street. 
 
 Enter Hostess; Fang, and his Boy, with her,- and 
 Snaue following. 
 
 Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action] 
 
 Fang. It is entered. 
 
 Host. Where is your yeoman ! 9 Is it a lusty 
 yeoman! will a' stand to't! 
 
 Fang. Sirrah, where's Snare! 
 
 Host. lord, ay ; good master Snare. 
 
 Snare. Here, here. 
 
 Fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Host. Yea, good master Snare ; I have entered 
 him and all. 
 
 Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, 
 for he will stab. 
 
 Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; he stab- 
 bed me in mine own house, and that most beastly ; 
 in good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, 
 if his weapon be out : he will foin' like any devil ; 
 lie will spare neither man, woman, nor child. 
 
 Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his 
 Uirust. 
 
 Host. No, nor I neither: I'll be at your elbow 
 • Aiin-u » Follower ' Thrust. 
 
 Fang. An I but fist him once ; an a' come but 
 within my vice. 4 
 
 Host. I am undone by his going ; I warrant you, 
 he's an infinite thing upon my score : — Good mas- 
 ter Fang, hold him sure ; — good master Snare, let 
 him not escape. He comes continually to Pie- 
 corner, (saving your manhoods,) to buy a saddle; 
 and he's indited to dinner to the Lubbar's Head 
 in Lumbert-street, to master Smooth's the silk- 
 man: I pray ye, since my exion is entered, and 
 my case so openly known to the world, let him be 
 brought in to his answer. A hundred mark is a long 
 loan for a poor lone woman to bear: and I have 
 borne, and borne, and borne ; and have been fub- 
 bed off, and fubbed off, and fubbed off, from this 
 day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. 
 There is no honesty in such dealing ; unless a wo 
 man should be made an ass, and a beast, to bear 
 every knave's wrong. 
 
 Enter Sir John Falstaff, Page, and BAitnoLPH 
 
 Yonder he comes; and that arrant malmsey-nose 
 knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do 
 
 *Foo"«b multitude. 
 
 ♦Gtmii 
 
3CENE I. 
 
 KING HENRY IV 
 
 407 
 
 your offices, master Fang, and master Snare ; do 
 me, do me, do me your offices. 
 
 Fal. How now ? whose mare's dead ? what's the 
 fiiatter ? 
 
 Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mis- 
 tress Quickly. 
 
 Fal. Away, varlets! — Draw, Bardolph; cut me 
 offthe villain's head; throw the quean in the channel. 
 
 Host. Throw me in the channel ? I'll throw thee 
 in the channel. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bas- 
 tardly rogue! — Murder, murder! O thou honey- 
 suckle' villain! wilt thou kill God's officers, and 
 (he king's? O thou honey-seed 6 rogue! thou art a 
 honey-seed; a man-queller, and a woman-queller. 
 
 Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 
 
 Fang. A rescue ! a rescue ! 
 
 Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. — 
 Thou wo't, wo't thou ? thou wo't, wo't thou ? do, 
 do, thou rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed ! 
 
 Fal. Away, you scullion! you rampallion! you 
 fustilarian ! I'll tickle your catastrophe. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended. 
 
 Ch. Just. What's the matter? keep the peace 
 here, ho! 
 
 Host. Good my lord, be good to me ! I beseech you! 
 
 Ch. Just. How now, sir John ? what, are you 
 brawling here? 
 Doth this become your place, your time, and busi- 
 ness : 
 You should have been well on your way to York. — ■ 
 Stand from bin*., fellow; Wherefore hang'st thou 
 on him? 
 
 Host. O my most worshipful lord, an't please 
 your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and 
 he is arrested at my suit. 
 
 Ch. Just. For what sum? 
 
 Host. It is more than for some, my lord ; it is 
 for all, all I have: he hath eaten me out of house 
 and home : he hath put all my substance into that 
 fat belly of his: — but I will have some of it out 
 again, or I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare. 
 
 Fal. I think, I am as like to ride the mare, if I 
 have any vantage of ground to get up. 
 
 Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John ? Fye ! what 
 man of good temper would endure this tempest of 
 exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a 
 poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own? 
 
 Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? 
 
 Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thy- 
 self, and the money too. Thou didst, swear to me 
 upon a parcel-gilt 1 goblet, sitting in my Dolphin- 
 chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, 
 upon Wednesday in Whitsun-week.when the prince 
 broke thy head for liking his father to a singing- 
 man of Windsor: thou didst swear to me then, as 
 I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make 
 me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did 
 not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in 
 then, and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to 
 borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us, she had a 
 good dish of prawns ; whereby thou didst desire to 
 eat some; whereby I told thee, they were ill for a 
 green wound? And didst thou not, when she was 
 gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so fami- 
 liarity with such poor people; saying, that ere long 
 they should call me madam? And didst thou not 
 Kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put 
 thee now to thy book-oath ; deny it, if thou canst. 
 
 Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she 
 says, up and down the town, that her eldest son is 
 ike you: she hath been in good case, and, the 
 
 5 Homicidal 
 
 • Homicide. 
 
 ' Party gilt. 
 
 truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for Nbejo 
 foolish officers, I beseech you, I >pay have redress 
 against them. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted 
 with your manner of wrenching the true cause the 
 false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the 
 throng of words that come with such more than 
 impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from 
 a level consideration ; you have, as it appears to me, 
 practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this wo- 
 man, and made her serve your uses both in purse 
 and person. 
 
 Host. Yea, in troth, my lord. 
 
 Ck. Just. Pr'y thee, peace : — Pay her the debt 
 you owe her, and unpay the villany you have done 
 with her ; the one you may do with sterling money 
 and the other with current repentance. 
 
 Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap 
 without reply. You call honorable boklness, im 
 pudent sauciness : if a man will make court'sy, anc 
 say nothing, he is virtuous: No, my lord, my hum 
 ble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor; 1 
 say to you, I do desire deliverance from these 
 officers, being upon hasty employment in the king's 
 affairs. 
 
 Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do 
 wrong : but answer in the effect of your reputation,* 
 and satisfy the poor woman. 
 
 Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Taking her aside. 
 
 Enter Goweh. 
 
 Ch. Just. Now, master Gower; What news? 
 
 Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry prince ol 
 Wales 
 Are near at hand : the rest the paper tells. 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman; 
 
 Host. Nay, you said so before. 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman ; Come, no mor 
 
 words of it. 
 
 Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I musf 
 be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of 
 my dining-chambers. 
 
 Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking : and 
 for thy walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the story 
 of the prodigal, or the German hunting in water- 
 work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings, 
 and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound, 
 if thou canst. Come, an it were not for thy hu- 
 mors, there is not a better wench in England. — 
 Go, wash thy face, and draw' thy action: Come, 
 thou must not be in this humor with me ; dost not 
 know me ? Come, come, I know thou wast set on 
 to this. 
 
 Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty 
 nobles; i'faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in 
 good earnest, la. 
 
 Fal. Let it alone ; I'll make other shift ; you'll 
 be a fool still. 
 
 Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my 
 gown. I hope you'll come to supper : you'll pay 
 me all together? 
 
 Fal. Will I live?— Go, with her, with her; [To 
 Barkolph.] hook on, hook on. 
 
 Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you 
 at supper? 
 
 Fal. No more words; let's have her. 
 
 [Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers 
 and Page. 
 
 Ch. Just. I have heard better news. 
 
 Fal. What's the news, my good lord ? 
 
 Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night T 
 
 « Snub, check 
 « Withdraw 
 
 » Suitably to your character 
 
408 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. 
 
 Fal. I hope, my lord, all's m*H: What's the 
 news, my lord? 
 
 "h. Just. Come all his forces back? 
 
 Gov). No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred 
 horse, 
 Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 
 Against Northumberland, and the archbishop. 
 
 Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my no- 
 ble lord ? 
 
 Ck. Just. You shall have letters of,rne presently: 
 Come, go along with me, good master Gower. 
 
 Fal. My lord ! 
 . Ch. Just. What's the matter? 
 
 Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me 
 to dinner? 
 
 Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here: I 
 thank you, good sir John. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being 
 you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go. 
 
 Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower? 
 
 Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you these 
 manners, sir John ? 
 
 Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he 
 was a fool that taught them me. — This is the right 
 fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and so part fair. 
 
 Ch. Just. Now the Lord lighten thee ! thou art 
 a great fool. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Street. 
 Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. 
 
 Poins. Is it come to that ? I had thought weari- 
 ness durst not have attached one of so high blood. 
 
 P. Hen. 'Faith, it does me ; though it discolors 
 the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. 
 Doth it not show vilely in me, to desire small beer ? 
 
 Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
 studied, as to remember so weak a composition. 
 
 P. Hen. Belike then, my appetite was not 
 princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember 
 the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these 
 humble considerations make me out of love with 
 my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me, to re- 
 member thy name ? or to know thy face to-morrow ? 
 or to take note how many pair of silk stockings 
 thou hast ; viz. these, and those that were the peach- 
 colored ones ? or to bear the inventory of thy shirts ; 
 as, one for superfluity, and the other for use ? — but 
 that, the tennis-court keeper knows better than I ; 
 for it is a low ebb of linen with thee, when thou 
 keepest not racket there ; as thou hast not done a 
 great while, because the rest of thy low-countries 
 have made a shift to eat up thy holiand : and God 
 Knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of 
 thy linen, 2 shall inherit his kingdom ; but the mid- 
 wives say, the children are not in the fault: where- 
 upon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily 
 strengthened. 
 
 Poins. How ill it follows, after you have labored 
 so hard, you should talk so idly? Tell me, how 
 many good young princes would do so, their fathers 
 being so sick as yours at this time is? 
 
 P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins? 
 
 Poins. Yes ; and let it be an excellent good thing. 
 
 P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
 breeding than thine. 
 
 Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one thing 
 that you will tell. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, I tell thee, — it is not meet that 
 I shou.d be sad, now my father is sick: albeit I 
 could tell to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault 
 * Children wrapt up in his old shirts 
 
 of a better, t" «11 my friend,) I cowld be sad, and 
 sad indeed wo. 
 
 Poins. Very hardly, upon such a subject. 
 
 P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in 
 the devil's book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy 
 and persistency : Let the end try the man. But i 
 tell thee, — my heart bleeds inwardly, that my fath- 
 er is so sick: and keeping such vile company as 
 thou art, hath in reason taken from me all osten 
 tation of sorrow. 
 
 Poins. The reason? 
 
 P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me, it I 
 should weep? 
 
 Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypo- 
 crite. 
 
 P. Hen. It would be every man's thought: and 
 thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man 
 thinks; never a man's thought in the world keeps 
 the road-way better than thine: every man would 
 think me a hypocrite indeed. And what accites 
 your most worshipful thought, to think so ? 
 
 Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd, 
 and so much engraffed to Falstaff. 
 
 P. Hen. And to thee. 
 
 Poins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can 
 hear it with my own ears : the worst that they can 
 say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that 
 I am a proper fellow of my hands; and those two 
 things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here 
 comes Bardolph. 
 
 P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he 
 had him from me Christian; and look, if the fat 
 villain have not transformed him ape. 
 
 Enter Bardolph and Page. 
 
 Bard. 'Save your grace. 
 
 P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [To the Page.] 
 you bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore 
 blush you now ? What a maidenly man at arms 
 are you become ! Is it such a matter, to get a pot- 
 tle-pot's maidenhead? 
 
 Page. He called me even now, my lord, through 
 a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face 
 from the window: at last, I spied his eyes; and, 
 methought, he had made two holes in the ale-wife's 
 new petticoat, and peeped through. 
 
 P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited? 
 
 Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, 
 away ! 
 
 Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away! 
 
 P. Hen. Instruct us, boy : What dream, boy ? 
 
 Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she waH 
 delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore I call him 
 her dream. 
 
 P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation. 
 — There it is, boy. [Gives him money. 
 
 Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kepi 
 from cankers ! — Well, there is sixpence to preserve 
 thee. 
 
 Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among 
 you, the gallows shall have wrong. 
 
 P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? 
 
 Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's 
 coming to town; there's a letter for you. 
 
 Poins. Delivered with good respect. —And how 
 doth the martlemas, 3 your master? 
 
 Bard. In bodily health, sir. 
 
 Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a phy 
 sician ; but that moves not him ; though that be sick 
 it dies not. 
 
 P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familia; 
 
 * Martinmas; St. Martin's day is Nov. 11. 
 
S<*ENE III 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 409 
 
 wiih me as my dog : and he holds his place ; for, 
 look you, how he writes. 
 
 Poms. [Reads.] John Falstaff, knight, Every 
 
 nvm must know that, as oft as he has occasion to 
 name himself. Even like those that are kin to the 
 king; for they never prick their finger, but they 
 say, There is some of the king's blood spilt: How 
 comes that? says he, that takes upon him not to 
 '■onccive : the answer is as ready as a borrower's 
 cap ; J am the king's poor cousin, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will 
 fetch it from Japhet. But the letter: — 
 
 Poins. Sir John FalstaH', knight, to the son of the 
 king nearest his father, Hurry prince of Wales, 
 greeting. — Why, this is a certificate. 
 
 P. Hen. Peace! 
 
 Poins. / will imitate the honorable Roman in 
 brevity: — he sure means brevity in breath ; short- 
 winded. — I commend me to thee, I commend thee, 
 and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; 
 for he misuses thy favors so much, that he swears, 
 thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle 
 times as thou mayst, and so farewell. 
 
 Thine, by yea and no, (tvhich is as much 
 as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Fal- 
 staflf, with my familiars,- Joh n, with my 
 brothers and sisters,- and Sir John, with 
 all Europe. 
 My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make 
 him eat it. 
 
 P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his 
 words. But do you use me thus, Ned T must I 
 marry your sister 1 
 
 Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune ! 
 but I never said so. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the 
 time; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds 
 and mock us. — Is your master here in London T 
 
 Bard. Yes, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Where sups he 1 doth the old boar feed 
 in the ol 1 frank 1 * 
 
 Bard. At the old place, my lord ; in Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. What company] 
 
 Page. Ephesians, my lord ; of the old church. 
 
 P. Hen. Sup any women with him? 
 
 Page. None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, 
 and mistress Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 P. Hen. What pagan may that be? 
 
 Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kins- 
 woman of my master's. 
 
 P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are 
 to the town bull. — Shall we steal upon him, Ned, 
 at supper? 
 
 Poins. I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow 
 you. 
 
 p . Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — >and Bardolph; — no 
 word to your master that I am yet come to town : 
 There's for your silence. 
 
 Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 
 
 Page. And for mine, sir; — I will govern it. 
 
 P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt Baihiolpii 
 and Page.] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some 
 road. 
 
 Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way 
 between Saint Alban's and London. 
 
 P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow 
 himself to-night in his true colors, and not our- 
 selves be seen! 
 
 Coins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, 
 •uid wait upon him at his table as drawers. 
 
 P. Hen. From a god to a bull ? a heavy descen- 
 sion! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren- 
 «Sty. 
 
 tice ? a low transformation ! that shall be mine : for, 
 in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the 
 folly. Follow me, Ned. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Warkworth. Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter Northumberland, Lady Northc mber- 
 
 land, and Lady Percy. 
 
 North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle 
 daughter, 
 Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
 Put not you on the visage of the times, 
 And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. 
 
 Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more : 
 Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. 
 
 North. Alas, sweet wife, my honor is at pawn ; 
 And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 
 
 Lady P. O, yet, for God's sake, go not to these 
 wars ! 
 The time was, father, that you broke your word, 
 When you were more endear'd to it than now ; 
 When your own Fercy, when my heart's dear Harry, 
 Threw many a northward look to see his father 
 Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. 
 Who then persuaded you to stay at home ? 
 There were two honors lost; yours, and youi 
 
 son's. 
 For yours, — may heavenly glory brighten it ! 
 For his — it stuck upon him, as the sun 
 In the grey vault of heaven : and by his light, 
 Did all the chivalry of England move 
 To do brave acts ; he was, indeed, the glass 
 Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. 
 He had no legs, that practised not his gait: 
 And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish. 
 Became the accents of the valiant : 
 For those that could speak low, and tardily, 
 Would turn their own perfection to abuse, 
 To seem like him : So that, in speech, in gait, 
 In diet, in affections of delight, 
 In military rules, humors of blood, 
 He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 
 That fashion'd others. And him, — wondrou* 
 
 him! 
 O miracle of men ! — him did you leave, 
 (Second to none, unseconded by you,) 
 To look upon the hideous god of war 
 In disadvantage; to abide a field, 
 Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name 
 Did seem defensible : — so you left him : 
 Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong, 
 To hold your honor more precise and nice 
 With others, than with him ; let them alone ; 
 The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong: 
 Had my sweet Harry had but half their number*, 
 To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's r.eck. 
 Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 
 
 North. Beshrew your heart 
 
 Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me, 
 With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
 But I must go, and meet with danger there; 
 Or it will seek me in another place, 
 And find me worse provided. 
 
 Lady N O, fly to Scotland, 
 
 Till that the nobles, and the armed commons, 
 Have of their puissance made a little taste. 
 
 Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the 
 king, 
 Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, 
 To make strength stronger ; but for all our loves 
 First let them try themselves; so did your son ■ 
 He was so suffer'd ; so came I a widow , 
 And never shall have length of life enough, 
 To rain upon remembrance with mine eye* 
 20 
 
410 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
 For recordation to my noble husband. 
 
 North. Come, come, go in with me : 'tis with my 
 mind, 
 As with the tide swell'd up unto its height, 
 That makes a still-stand, running neither way. 
 Fain would I go to meet the archbishop, 
 
 But many thousand reasons hold me back: 
 
 [ will resolve for Scotland ; there am I, 
 
 Till time and vantage crave my company. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — London A Room in the Boars 
 
 Head Tavern, in Easlcheap. 
 
 Enter two Drawers. 
 
 1 Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there? 
 apple-Johns ? thou know'st, sir John cannot endure 
 an apple-John. s 
 
 2 Draw. Mass, thou sayest true: The prince 
 once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told 
 him, there were five more sir Johns: and, putting 
 off his hat, said, J tuill now take my leave of these 
 <dx dry, round, old, wither 'd knights. It angered 
 him to the heart; but he hath forgot that. 
 
 1 Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down : 
 And see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise; 6 mis- 
 tress Tear-sheet would fain hear some music. De- 
 spatch : — The room where they supped is too hot ; 
 they'll come in straight. 
 
 2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and 
 master Poins anon : and they will put on two of 
 our jerkins, and aprons; and sir John must not 
 know of it: Bardolph hath brought word. 
 
 1 Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis: 1 It 
 wiL 1 be an excellent stratagem. 
 
 2 Draw. I'll see, if I can find out Sneak. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 Host. I'faith, sweet heart, methinks now you are 
 in an excellent good temperality : your pulsidge 
 beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire : and 
 your color, I warrant you, is as red as any rose: 
 But, i'faith, you have drunk too much canaries; 
 and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it per- 
 fumes the blood ere one can say, — What's this 1 ? 
 How do you now? 
 
 Doll. Better than I was. Hem. 
 
 Host. Why, that's well said ; a good heart's worth 
 gold. Look, here comes sir John. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, singing. 
 
 Fal. When Arthur first in court. — Empty the 
 Jordan. — And ivas a worthy king: [Exit Drawer.] 
 How now, mistress Doll? 
 
 Host. Sick of a calm : yea, good sooth. 
 
 Fal. So is all her sect; an they be once in a 
 calm, they are sick. 
 
 Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort 
 you give me? 
 
 Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. 
 
 Doll. I make them ! gluttony and diseases make 
 them ; I make them not. 
 
 Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you 
 help to make the diseases, Doll: we catch of you, 
 Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, my poor virtue, 
 grant that. 
 
 Doll. Ay, marry; our chains, and our jewels. 
 
 Fal. Your brooches, pearls, and owches,- — for to 
 serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know : 
 To come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, 
 and to surgery bravely ; to venture upon the charged 
 chambers'' bravely: 
 
 » An apple that will ker.p two years. 
 * Sneak was a jrtreet minstrel: a noise of musicians an- 
 ciently signified a concert. 
 
 1 Merry doings. • Small pieces of ordnance. 
 
 JW/. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, har»«{ 
 yourself! 
 
 Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion ; you 
 two never meet, but you fall to some discord: you 
 are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry 
 toasts; you cannot one bear with another's confir- 
 mities. What the good-year ! 9 one must bear, and 
 that must be you: [To Doll.] you are the weaker 
 vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel. 
 
 Doll, Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
 full hogshead ? there's a whole merchant's venture 
 of Bourdeaux stuff in him ; you have not seen a 
 hulk better stuffed in the hold. — Come, I'll be 
 friends with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars; 
 and whether I shall ever see thee again, or no, 
 there is nobody cares. 
 
 Re-enter Drawer. 
 
 Draw. Sir, ancient 1 Pistol's below, and would 
 speak with you. 
 
 Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him 
 not come hither: it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in 
 England. 
 
 Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : no, 
 by my faith; I must live amongst my neighbors; 
 I'll no swaggerers: I am in good name and fame 
 with the very best: — Shut the door;- there comes 
 no swaggerers here : I have not lived all this while, 
 to have swaggering now : — Shut the door, I pray 
 you. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ? — 
 
 Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John ; there 
 comes no swaggerers here. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient. 
 
 Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me ; your 
 ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was 
 before master Tisick, the deputy, the other day ; 
 and, as he said to me, — it was no longer ago than 
 Wednesday last, — Neighbor Quickly, says he; — 
 master Dumb, our minister, was by then ; — Neigh- 
 bor Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil; 
 for, saith he, you are in an ill name; — now he said 
 so, I can tell whereupon \for, says he, you are an 
 honest woman, and well thought on,- therefore take 
 heed what guests you receive: Receive, says he, 
 
 no swaggering companions. There comes none 
 
 here; — you would bless you to hear what he said. 
 — no, I'll no swaggerers. 
 
 Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheat 
 er, 2 he; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy 
 grey-hound : he will not swagger with a Barbary 
 hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of ro 
 sistance. — Call him up, drawer. 
 
 Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar nc 
 honest man my house, nor no cheater: But I do 
 not love swaggering ; by my troth, I am the worse, 
 when one says — swagger: feel, masters, how I 
 shake ; look you, I warrant you. 
 
 Doll. So you do, hostess. 
 
 Host. Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere 
 an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. 
 Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 
 
 Pist. 'Save you, sir John! 
 
 Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I 
 charge you with a cup of sack: do you discharge 
 upon mine hostess. 
 
 Pist. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with 
 two bullets. 
 
 Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall haratv 
 offend her. 
 
 Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bulle-.a" 
 
 • Mrs. QuicklyV blunder for goujere, i. e. pox. 
 1 Ensign. * fiatuster. 
 
S«.£NE IV. 
 
 KING HENRZ IV. 
 
 41 J 
 
 HI ilrink no mo'e than will do me good, for no 
 man's pleasure, 1 
 
 Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy; I will 
 charge you. 
 
 Doll. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy compa- 
 nion. What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, 
 lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! 
 I am meat for your master. 
 
 Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. 
 
 Boll. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy 
 bung, away ! by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in 
 your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle 
 with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! you bas- 
 ket-hilt stale juggler, you ! — Since when, I pray 
 you, sir! — What, with two points 3 on your shoul- 
 der! much!' 
 
 Pist. I will murder your ruff for this. 
 
 Fed. No more, Pistol ; I would not have you go 
 off here : discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. 
 
 Host. No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet 
 captain. 
 
 Doll. Captain ! thou abominable damned cheater, 
 art thou not ashamed to be called — captain? If 
 captains were of my mind, they would truncheon 
 you out, for taking their names upon you before 
 you have earned them. You a captain, you slave ! 
 for what ? for tearing a poor whore's ruffin a bawdy- 
 house ? — He a captain ! Hang him, rogue ! He lives 
 upon mouldy stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A 
 captain ! these villains will make the word captain 
 as odious as the word occupy ; which was an ex- 
 cellent good word before it was ill-sorted : therefore, 
 captains had need look to it. 
 
 Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 
 
 Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. 
 
 Pist. Not I: tell thee what, corporal Bardolph; — 
 I could tear her: — I'll be revenged on her. 
 
 Page. Pray thee, go down. 
 
 Pist. I'll see her damned first ; — to Pluto's damn- 
 ed lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tor- 
 tures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down ! 
 down, dogs ! down, faitors ! 5 Have we not Hiren 
 here !" 
 
 Host. Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very 
 late, i'faith: I beseek you now, aggravate your 
 choler. 
 
 Pist. These be good humors, indeed ! Shall pack- 
 horses, 
 And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, 
 Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, 
 Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,' 
 And Trojan Greeks] nay, rather damn them with 
 King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. 
 Shall we fall foul for toys? 
 
 Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter 
 words. 
 
 Bard. Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to 
 a brawl anon. 
 
 Pist. Die men, like dogs ; give crowns like pins ; 
 Have we not Hiren here ? 
 
 Host. 0' my word, captain, there's none such 
 here. What the good-year ! do you think I would 
 deny her? for God's sake, be quiet. 
 
 Pist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis: 8 
 Gome, give's some sack. 
 
 Si fortuna me tormenta, sperato me con- 
 tenta. — 
 Fear we broadsides ? no, let the fiend give fire : 
 
 ' Laces, marfcs of his commission. 
 
 * An expression of disdain. & Traitors, rascals. 
 
 c A quotation from a play of G. Peele's. 
 
 " B'under for Hannibal. 
 
 e Parody of a line in the Battle of Alcasar, an old play. 
 
 Give me some sack; — and, sweetheart, lie thoy 
 there. '[Laying down his sword. 
 
 Come we to full points here; and are et citera. 
 nothing? 
 
 Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 
 
 Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: 9 What! we 
 have seen the seven stars. 
 
 Doll. Thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure 
 such a fustian rascal. 
 
 Pist. Thrust him down stairs! know we not 
 Galloway nags? 1 
 
 Fal. Quoit 5 him down, Bardolph, like a shove- 
 groat shilling: nay, if he do nothing but speak 
 nothing, he shall be nothing here. 
 
 Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 
 
 Pist. What! shall we have incision? shall we 
 
 imbrue ? [Snatching up his sword. 
 
 Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful 
 
 days ! 3 
 Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
 Untwine the sisters three ! Come, Atropos, I say ! 
 
 Host. Here's goodly stuff toward ! 
 
 Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 
 
 Doll. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. 
 
 Fal. Get you down stairs. 
 
 [Drawing, and driving Pistol out. 
 
 Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear 
 keeping house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and 
 
 frights. So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, 
 
 alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your 
 naked weapons. [Exeunt Pistol arcafBAiuioLPH. 
 
 Doll. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal is 
 gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you. 
 
 Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought, 
 he made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. Have you turned him out of doors ? 
 
 Bard. Yes. sir. The rascal's drunk: you have 
 hurt him, sir, in the shoulder. 
 
 Fal. A rascal ! to brave me ! 
 
 Doll. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, 
 poor ape, how thou sweat'st! Come, let me wipe 
 thy face; — come on, you whoreson chops: — Ah, 
 rogue ! i'faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as 
 Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten 
 times better than the nine worthies. Ah, villain ! 
 
 Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue in a 
 blanket. 
 
 Doll. Do, if thou darcst for thy heart: if thou 
 dost, I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets. 
 Enter Music. 
 
 Page. The music is come, sir. 
 
 Fal. Let them play: — Play, sirs. — Sit on my 
 knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave! the rogue 
 fled from me like quicksilver. 
 
 Doll. I'faith, and thou followedst him like a 
 church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew 
 boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o'days, and 
 foining o'nights, and begin to patch up thine old 
 body for heaven ? 
 
 Enter behind, Prtixci: Hknui and Poixs, dit 
 guised like Drawers. 
 
 Fal. Peace, good Doll ! Do not speak like a 
 death's head : do not bid me remember mine end 
 
 Doll. Sirrah, what humor is the prince of 1 
 
 Fal. A good shallow young fellow: he wouM 
 have made a good pantler, he Would have chipped 
 bread well. 
 
 Doll. They say, Poins has a good wit. 
 
 » Fist. 
 * Throw. 
 
 • Common haekuies. 
 
 1 Part of an ancient *>ng. 
 
412 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act li 
 
 1 
 
 Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his 
 wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard : there is no 
 more conceit in him, than is in a mallet. 
 
 Doll Why does the prince love him so then? 
 
 Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness ; 
 
 at your back ; and spoke it on purpose to try im 
 patience. 
 
 Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou 
 wast within hearing. 
 
 P. Hen. I sha'/ drive you then to confess the 
 
 and he plays at quoits well ; and eats conger and j wilful abuse ; and then I know how to handle you, 
 fennel ; and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dra- 
 gons ; and rides the wild mare with the boys ; and 
 jumps upon joint-stools; and swears with a good 
 grace; and wears his boot very smooth, like unto 
 the sign of the leg ; and breeds no bate with telling 
 of discreet stories, and such other gambol faculties 
 he hath, that show a weak mind and an able body, 
 for the which the prince admits him : for the prince 
 himself is such another ; the weight of a hair will 
 turn the scales between their avoirdupois. 
 
 F. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have 
 his ears cut off! 
 
 Poins. Let's beat him before his whore. 
 P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his 
 poll clawed like a parrot. 
 
 Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so j 
 many years outlive performance? 
 Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 
 
 P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc- 
 tion ! what says the almanac to that ? 
 
 Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon ' his 
 man, be not lisping to his master's old tables; his 
 note-book, his counsel-keeper. 
 
 Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 
 Doll. Nay, truly ; I kiss thee with a most con- 
 stant heart. 
 
 Fal. I am old, I am old. 
 
 Doll. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy 
 young boy of them all. 
 
 Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle s of? I shall 
 receive money on Thursday : thou shalt have a cap 
 to-morrow. A merry song, come: it grows late, 
 we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me, when I am gone. 
 
 Doll. By my troth, thou'lt set me a weeping, an 
 thou say est so: prove that ever I dress my self hand- 
 
 uome till thy return. Well, hearken the end. 
 
 Fal. Some sack, Francis. 
 
 P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. 
 Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's? — And art 
 not thou Poins his brother? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
 what a life dost thou lead ? 
 
 Fal. A better than thou ; I am a gentleman, thou 
 art a drawer. 
 
 P. Hen. Very true, sir ; and I come to draw you 
 mt by the ears. 
 
 Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace ! by 
 my troth, welcome to London.— Now the Lo:h1 
 bless that sweet face of thine ! O Jesu, are you i 
 come from Wales? 
 
 Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majes- 
 ty, — by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art 
 welcome. 
 
 [Leaning his hand upon Doll. 
 Doll. How ! you fat fool, I scorn you. 
 Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your 
 revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take 
 not the. heat. 
 
 P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you; how 
 vilely did you speak of me even now, before this 
 honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman? 
 
 Host. 'Blessing o'your good heart ! and so she 
 is, by my troth. 
 
 Fal. Didst thou hear me ? 
 
 P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honor; no abuse. 
 P. Hen. Not? to dispraise me; and call me — 
 pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what? 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal. 
 Poins. No abuse? 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned, 
 none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the 
 wicked might not fall in love with him : — in which 
 doing I have done the part of a careful friend, and 
 a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks 
 for it. No abuse, Hal; — none, Ned, none; — no, 
 boys, none. 
 
 P. Hen. See, now, whether pure fear, and en- 
 tire cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this vir- 
 tuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is she of the 
 wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wcked? Or 
 is the boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, 
 whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked ? 
 Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 
 Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph ir- 
 recoverable : and his face is Lucifer's privy kitchen, 
 where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For 
 the boy, — there is a good angel about him ; but the 
 devil outbids him too. 
 
 P. Hen. For the women, 
 
 Fal. For one of them, — she is in hell already, 
 and burns, poor soul! For the other, — I owe her 
 money; and whether she be damned for that, I 
 know not. 
 
 Host. No, I warrant you. 
 Fal. No, I think thou art not ; I think, thou art 
 quit for that: Marry, there is another indictment 
 upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy 
 house, contrary to the law; for the which, I think, 
 thou wilt howl. 
 
 Host. All victuallers do so : What's a joint of 
 mutton or two in a whole Lent? 
 
 P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, — 
 
 Doll. W r hat says your grace? 
 Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
 against. 
 
 Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the 
 door there, Francis. 
 
 Enter Peto. 
 P. Hen. Peto, how now ? what news ? 
 Peto. The king, your father, is at Westminster , 
 And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, 
 Come from the north: and, as I came along, 
 I met, and overtook, a dozen captains, 
 Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, 
 And asking every one for sir John Falfttaff. 
 
 P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame, 
 So idly to profane the precious time : 
 When tempest of commotion, like the south, 
 Borne with black vapor, doth begin to melt, 
 And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
 Give me my sword and cloak: — Falstaff. good 
 night. 
 [Ex. P. Henry, Poins, Peto, and Baud. 
 Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the 
 night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked 
 [Knocking heard.'] More knocking at the door? 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph 
 How now? what's the matter? 
 
 when you ran away by Gads-hill : you knew, I was 
 « An urtrouonuca] term. » A short cloak. 
 
 Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently 
 A dozen captains stay at door for you. 
 
Act HI. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 413 
 
 Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.] 
 Farewell, hostess; — Farewell, Doll. — You see, my 
 good wenches, how men of merit are sought after : 
 the undescrver ma}' sleep, when the man of action 
 is called on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be no* 
 sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. 
 
 Doll. I cannot speak ; — If my heart be not ready 
 to burst : — Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. 
 
 Fal. Farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Falstaff, and Bardolph. 
 
 Host. Well, fare thee well: I have Known thee 
 these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but 
 an honester, and truer-hearted man, — Well, far*= 
 thee well. 
 
 Bard. [ Within.] Mistress Tear-sheet. 
 
 Host. What's the matter! 
 
 Bard. [Within.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come 
 to my master. 
 
 Host. O run, Doll, run ; run, good Doll. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henrt in his Night-gown iviih a 
 
 Page. 
 
 K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of 
 Warwick ; 
 But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, 
 And well consider of them : Make good speed. — 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 How many thousand sf my poorest subjects 
 Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep, 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
 That tkou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulncss ! 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 
 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; 
 Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, 
 Under the canopies of costly state, 
 And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody ] 
 thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile, 
 In loathsome beds; and Ieav'st the kingly couch, 
 A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell ! 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; 
 And in the visitation of the winds 
 Who take the ruffian billows by the top, 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them 
 With deaf 'ning clamors in the slippery clouds, 
 That, with the hurly," death itself awakes ? 
 Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
 And, in the calmest and most stillest night, 
 With all appliances and means to boot, 
 Deny it to a king 1 Then, happy low, 1 lie down ! 
 Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
 EnterW arwick and Surrey. 
 
 War. Many good morrows to your majesty ! 
 
 K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords ? 
 
 War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 
 
 K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my 
 lords. 
 Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you 1 
 
 War. We have, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. Then you perceive the body of our 
 kingdom, 
 How foul it. is; what rank diseases grow, 
 And with what danger, near the heart of it. 
 
 War. It is but as a body, yet, distemper'd ; 
 Which to his former strength may be restor'd, 
 
 With good advice, and little medicine: 
 
 My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 
 
 A". Hen. O heaven ! that one might read tin; book 
 of fate ; 
 And see the revolution of the times 
 Mike mountains level, and the continent 
 
 • Xeise. 
 
 * These In lowly situations. 
 
 (Weary of solid firmness) melt itself 
 
 Into the sea ! and, other times, to see 
 
 The beachy girdle of the ocean 
 
 Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances mock. 
 
 And changes fill the cup of alteration 
 
 With divers liquors ! 0, if this were seen, 
 
 The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through 
 
 What perils past, what crosses to ensue, — 
 
 Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
 
 'Tis not ten years gone, 
 
 Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends 
 
 Did feast together, and, in two years after, 
 
 Were they at wars : It is but eight years, since 
 
 This Percy was the man nearest my soul ; 
 
 Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs. 
 
 And laid his love and life under my foot : 
 
 Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
 
 Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 
 
 (You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,) 
 
 [To Warwick. 
 When Richard, — with his eye brimfull of tears, 
 Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, — 
 Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy ? 
 Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which 
 My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne,- — 
 Though then, heaven knows, I had no such in- 
 tent; 
 But that necessity so bow'd the state, 
 
 That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss: 
 
 The time shall come, thus did he follow it. 
 The time ivill come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shall break into conniption; — so went on, 
 Foretelling this same time's condition, 
 And the division of our amity. 
 
 War. There is a history in all men's lives, 
 Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd : 
 The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, 
 With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
 As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds, 
 And weak beginnings, lie intreasured. 
 Such things become the hatch and brood of time ■ 
 And, by the necessary form of this, 
 King Richard might create a perfect guess, 
 That great Northumberland, then false to him, 
 Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness; 
 Which should not find a ground to root upon. 
 Unless on you. 
 
 K. Hen. Are these things then necessities * 
 Then let us meet them like necessities: 
 And that same word even now cries out on u&. 
 They say, the bishop and Northumberland 
 Are fifty thousand strong. 
 
 War. It cannot be, my lord 
 
 Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo, 
 The numbers of the fear'd:— Please it your grace 
 To go to bed ; upon my life, i /y lord, 
 The powers that you already lave sent forth 
 Shall bring this prize in very easily. 
 
*14 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act III 
 
 To comfort you the more, I have received 
 A certain instance, that Glendower is dead. 
 Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill ; 
 And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add 
 Unto your sickness. 
 
 K. Hen. I will take your counsel : 
 
 And, were these inward wars once out of hand, 
 We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Court before Justice Shallow's 
 
 House in Gloucestershire. 
 Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting,- Motjldt, 
 
 Shadow, Waht, Feeble, Bull-calf, and Ser- 
 vants behind. 
 
 Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give me 
 your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir; an early 
 stirrer, by the rood. 8 And how doth my good 
 cousin Silence 1 
 
 Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 
 
 Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? 
 and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god- 
 daughter EllenT 
 
 SU. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. 
 
 Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin 
 William is become a good scholar : He is at Oxford, 
 still, is he not] 
 
 Sil. Indeed, sir; to my cost. 
 
 Shal. He must then to the inns of court, shortly : 
 I was once of Clement's Inn ; where, I think, they 
 will talk of mad Shallow yet. 
 
 Sil. You were called — lusty Shallow, then, cousin. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing ; and 
 I would have done any thing indeed, and roundly 
 too. There was I, and little John Doit of Stafford- 
 shire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pick- 
 bone, and Will Squele, a Cotswold man, — you had 
 not four such swinge-bucklers in all the inns of 
 court again : and I may say to you, we knew where 
 the bona-robas were. Then was Jack Falstaff, 
 now sir John, a boy; and page to Thomas Mow- 
 bray, duke of Norfolk. 
 
 Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither 
 anon, about soldiers] 
 
 Shal. The same sir John, the very same; I saw 
 him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when 
 he was a crack, 9 not thus high: and the very same 
 day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruit- 
 erer, behind Gray's Inn. O, the mad days that I 
 kave spent ! and to see how many of mine old ac- 
 quaintance are dead ! 
 
 Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 
 
 Shal. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very sure; 
 death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain to all ; all 
 shall die. — How a good yoke of bullocks at Stam- 
 ford fair] 
 
 Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there. 
 
 Shal. Death is certain. — Is old Double of your 
 town living yet] 
 
 Sil. Dead, sir. 
 
 Shal. Dead ! — See, see ! — he drew a good bow ; 
 — And dead! — He shot a fine shoot: — John of 
 Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on 
 his head. Dead ! — he would have clapped 'i the 
 clout at twelve score; 1 and carried you a forehand 
 shaft at fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it 
 
 would have done a man's heart good to see. 
 
 How a score of ewes now ] 
 
 Sil. Thereafter as they be ; a score of good ewes 
 may be worth ten pounds. 
 
 Shal. And is old Double dead ! 
 
 » Cross • Boy. 
 
 « Hit th« white mark at twelve score yards. 
 
 Enter Bahdolph, and one with him. 
 
 Sil. Here come two of sir John Falstaff's men 
 as I think. 
 
 Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I be- 
 seech you, which is justice Shallow ] 
 
 Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor esquire 
 of this county, and one of the king's justices of the 
 peace: What is your good pleasure with me] 
 
 Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you ■ 
 my captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall 2 gentleman,, 
 by heaven, and a most gallant leader. 
 
 Shal. He greets me well, sir ; I knew him a good 
 backsword man : How doth the good knight] may 
 I ask, how my lady his wife doth ] 
 
 Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accommo- 
 dated than with a wife. 
 
 Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is well 
 said indeed too. Better accommodated ! — it is good ; 
 yea, indeed, it is: good phrases are surely, and ever 
 were, very commendable. Accommodated ! — it 
 comes from accommodo ,- very good ; a good phrase. 
 
 Bard. Pardon me, sir: I have heard the word. 
 Phrase, call you it ] By this good day, I know not 
 the phrase: but I will maintain the word with my 
 sword, to be a soldier-like word, and a word of ex- 
 ceeding good command. Accommodated ; that is, 
 when a man is, as they say, accommodated: or 
 when a man is, — being, — whereby, — he may be 
 thought to be accommodated, which is an excellent 
 thing. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Shal. It is very just : — Look, here comes good 
 sir John. — Give me your good hand, give me your 
 worship's good hand: By my troth, you look well, 
 and bear your years very well : welcome, good sir 
 John. 
 
 Fal. I am glad to see you well, good master 
 Robert Shallow : — Master Sure-card, as I think. 
 
 Shal. No, sir John ; it is my cousin Silence, in 
 commission with me. 
 
 Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you 
 should be of the peace. 
 
 Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 
 
 Fal. Fye! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, havt 
 you provided me here half a dozen sufficient men] 
 
 Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit] 
 
 Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 
 
 Shal. Where's the roll ] where's the roll ? where's 
 the roll] — let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so 
 Yea, marry, sir — Ralph Mouldy: — let them ap 
 
 pear as I call ; let them do so, let them do so. 
 
 Let me see ; where is Mouldy ] 
 
 Moul. Here, an't please you. 
 
 Shal. What think you, sir John : a good limbec 
 fellow: young, strong, and of good friends. 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Mouldy] 
 
 Moul. Yea, an't please you. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i'faith! things 
 that are mouldy, lack use: Very singular good !-- 
 In faith, well said, sir John ; very well said. 
 
 Fal. Prick him. [To Shallow. 
 
 Moul. I was pricked well enough before, an you 
 could have let me alone: my old dame will be un- 
 done now, for one to do her husbandry, and her 
 drudgery: you need not to have pricked me; there 
 are other men fitter to go out than I. 
 
 Fal. Go to; peace, Mouldy, you shall go. Moul- 
 dy, it is time you were spent. 
 
 Moul. Spent! 
 
 Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside : Know 
 * Brave- 
 
SCENI II 
 
 KING HENRY IV 
 
 415 
 
 you where you are.- — For the other, sir John: — 
 '«»t me see; — Simon Shadow! 
 
 Fal. Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under: 
 he's like to be a cold soldier. 
 Shal. Where's Shadow ? 
 
 Shad. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou ? 
 
 Shad. My mother's son, sir. 
 
 Fal. Thy mother's son ! like enough, and thy 
 father's shadow : so the son of the female is the 
 shadow of the male : It is often so, indeed ; but not 
 much of the father's substance. 
 
 Shal. Do you like him, sir John? 
 
 Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, — prick him ; 
 -for we have a number of shadows to fill up the 
 muster-book. 
 
 Shal. Thomas Wart ! 
 
 Fal. Where's he? 
 Wart. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Wart? 
 
 Wart. Yea, sir. 
 
 Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 
 
 Shal. Shall I prick him, sir John ? 
 
 Fal. It were superfluous: for his apparel is built 
 upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon 
 pins: prick him no more. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha! — you can do it, sir; you can 
 do it: I commend you well. — Francis Feeble! 
 
 Fee. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble ? 
 
 Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 
 
 Shal. Shall I prick him, sir? 
 
 Fal. You may : but if he had been a man's tailor, 
 he would have pricked you. — Wilt thou make as 
 many holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done 
 in a woman's petticoat? 
 
 Fee. T will do my good will, sir; you can have 
 no more. 
 
 Fal. Well, said, good woman's tailor ! well said, 
 courageous Feeble ! Thou wilt be as valiant as the 
 wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. — 
 Prick the woman's tailor well, master Shallow; 
 deep, master Shallow. 
 
 Fee. I would, Wart might have gone, sir. 
 
 Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor ; that thou 
 might'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I can- 
 not put him to a private soldier, that is the leader of 
 so many thousands : Let that suffice, most forcible 
 Feeble. 
 
 Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 
 
 Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. — 
 Who is next ? 
 
 Shal. Peter Bull-calf of the green! 
 
 Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf. 
 
 Bull. Here, sir. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow! — Come, prick 
 me Bull-calf till he roar again. 
 
 Bull. O lord ! good my lord captain, — 
 
 T'al. What, dost thou roar before thou art 
 » ickod ? 
 
 Bull. lord, sir! I am a diseased man. 
 
 Fal. What disease hast thou ? 
 
 Bull. A whoreson cold, sir; a cough, sir; which 
 I caught with ringing in the king's affairs, upon his 
 coronation-day, sir. 
 
 Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown ; 
 we will have away thy cold; and I will take such 
 order, that thy friends shall ring for thee. — Is here 
 all? 
 
 Shal. Here is two more called than your num- 
 bet ? you m ust have but four here, sir ; — and so, I 
 yiay you, go in with me to dinner. 
 
 Fal. Come, I will gc irink with you, but I can- 
 
 not tarry dinner. I am glad to %et you, in good 
 troth, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. 0, sir John, do you remember since we lay 
 all night in the windmill in Saint George's fields? 
 
 Fal. No more of that, good master Shallow, no 
 more of that. 
 
 Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane 
 Night-work alive ? 
 
 Fal. She lives, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. She never could away with me. 
 
 Fal. Never, never: she would always say, she 
 could not abide master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. 
 She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her 
 own well? 
 
 Fal. Old, old, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Nay, she must be old ; she cannot choose 
 but be old ; certain she's old ; and had Robin 
 Night-work by old Night-work, before I came to 
 Clement's Inn. 
 
 Sil. That's fifty-five year ago. 
 
 Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen 
 that that this knight and I have seen ! — Ha, sit 
 John, said I well? 
 
 Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight, 
 master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have : 
 in faith, sir John, we have; our watch-word was, 
 Hem, boys/ — Come, let's to dinner; come, let's to 
 dinner: — O, the days that we have seen! — Come, 
 come. [Ex. Falstafp, Shallow, and Silence 
 
 Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my 
 friend; and here is four Harry ten shillings in 
 French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had 
 as lief be hanged, sir, as go : and yet, for mine owr 
 part, sir, I do not care ; but, rather because I ana 
 unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire tc 
 stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care, foi 
 mine own part, so much. 
 
 Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Moul. And good master corporal captain, for my 
 old dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody 
 to do any thing about her, when I am gone : and 
 she is old, and cannot help herself: you shall have 
 forty, sir. 
 
 Bard. Go to; stand aside. 
 
 Fee. By my troth, I care not; — a man can die 
 but once; — we owe God a death; — I'll ne'er bear a 
 base mind; — an't be my destiny, so; an't be not, 
 so: no man's too good to serve his prince ; and, let it 
 go which way it will, he that dies this year, is quit 
 for the next. 
 
 Bard. Well said; thou'rt a good fellow. 
 
 Fee. 'Faith, I'll bear no base mind. 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff and Justices. 
 
 Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have? 
 
 Shal. Four, of which you please. 
 
 Bard. Sir, a word with you: — I have three pound 
 to free Mouldy and Bull-calf. 
 
 Fal. Go to ; well. 
 
 Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have ? 
 
 Fal. Do you choose for me. 
 
 Shal. Marry then, — Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble, 
 and Shadow. 
 
 Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf: For you, Mouldy, 
 stay at home, still ; you are past service : — and foi 
 your part. Bull-calf, — grow till you come unto it, 
 I will none of you. 
 
 Shal. Sir John, sir John, do net yourself wrong ; 
 they are your likeliest men, and I would have you 
 served with the best. 
 
 Fal. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how tc 
 
416 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 •hoose a man] Care I for the limb, the thewes, the 
 stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give 
 me the spirit, master Shallow. — Here's Wart ; — 
 vou see what a ragged appearance it is : he shall 
 charge you, and discharge you, with the motion of 
 a pewterer's hammer ; come off, and on, swifter than 
 he that gibbets-on the brewer's bucket. And this 
 same half-faced fellow, Shadow, — give me this 
 man ; he presents no mark to the enemy ; the foe- 
 man may with as great aim level at the edge of a 
 penknife : And, for a retreat, how swiftly will this 
 Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off! O, give me 
 the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put 
 me a caliver 3 into Wart's hand, Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse ; * thus, thus, thus. 
 
 Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So : — 
 very well : go to : — very good : — exceeding good. 
 — 0, give me always a little, lean, old, chapped, 
 bald shot. — Well said, i'faith, Wart ; thou art a 
 good scab : hold, there's a tester for thee. 
 
 Shal. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do 
 it right. I remember at Mile-end green, (when I 
 lay at Clement's Inn, — I was then sir Dagonet in 
 Arthur's show, 5 ) there was a little quiver fellow, and 
 'a would manage you his piece thus: and 'a would 
 about and about, and come you in, and come you 
 in : rah, tah, tah, would 'a say ; bounce would 'a 
 say; and away again would 'ago, and again would 
 'a come : — I shall never see such a fellow. 
 
 Fal. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. 
 —God keep you, master Silence ; I will not use 
 many words with you : — Fare you well, gentlemen 
 both: I thank you : I must a dozen mile to-night. 
 — Bardolph, give the soldiers coats. 
 
 Shal. Sir John, heaven bless you and prosper 
 your affairs, and send us peace ! As you return, visit 
 my house; let our old acquaintance be renewed: 
 peradventure, I will with you to the court. 
 
 Fal. I would you would, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Go to; I have spoke at a word. Fare yoo 
 well. [Exeunt Shallow and Silence 
 
 Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar* 
 dolph; lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardolph. 
 Recruits, <^c] As I return, I will fetch off these 
 justices: I do see the bottom of justice Shallow 
 Lord, lord, how subject we old men are to this vice 
 of lying ! This same starved justice hath done noth- 
 ing but prate to me of the wildness of his youth, 
 and the feats he hath done about Turnbull-strcet; 1 
 and every third word a lie, duer paid to tho hearer 
 than the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at 
 Clement's Inn, like a man made after supper of 
 a cheese-paring : when he was naked, he was, for 
 all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fan- 
 tastically carved upon it with a knife: he was so 
 forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were 
 invisible: he was the very Genius of famine; yet 
 lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called him 
 — mandrake : he came ever in the rearward of the 
 fashion; and sung those tunes to the over-scutched 
 huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, and 
 sware — they were his fancies, or his good-nights. 8 
 And now is this Vice's dagger' become a squire ; 
 and talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he 
 had been sworn brother to him : and I'll be sworn 
 he never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard ; and 
 then he burst his head, for crowding among the 
 marshal's men. I saw it; and told John of Gaunt, 
 he beat his own name : ' for you might have truss'd 
 him, and all his apparel, into an eel-skin : the case 
 of a treble haut-boy was a mansion for him, a court; 
 and now has he land and beeves. Well ; I will be 
 acquainted with him, if I return : and it shall go 
 hard, but I will make him a philosopher's two stones 
 to me : If the young dace be a bait for the old pike, 
 I see no reason, in the law of naiure, but I may 
 snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Forest in Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbrat, 
 Hastings, and others. 
 
 Arch. What is this forest calFd 1 
 
 Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your 
 grace. 
 
 Arch. Here stand, my lord, and send discoverers 
 forth, 
 To know the numbers of our enemies. 
 
 Hast. We have sent forth already. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis well done. 
 
 My friends and brethren in these great affairs, 
 I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd 
 New-dated letters from Northumberland ; 
 Their cold intent, tenor, and substance thus: 
 Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 
 As might hold sortance 6 with his quality, 
 The which he could not levy ; whereupon 
 He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, 
 To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers, 
 That your attempts may overlive the hazard, 
 \nd fearful meeting of their opposite. 
 
 Moivb. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch 
 ground, 
 ^nd dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 » Musket. 
 
 • An exbibit\on of nr..hery- 
 
 ' March. 
 
 • Be r'uitable. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Hast. Now, what news ' 
 
 Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, 
 
 In goodly form comes on the enemy: 
 
 And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number 
 
 Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. 
 
 Mowb. The just proportion that we gave them out. 
 
 Let us sway on, and face them in the field. 
 
 Enter Westmoreland. 
 
 Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here ? 
 
 Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 West. Health and fair greeting from our general, 
 The prince, lord John, and duke of Lancaster. 
 
 Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace: 
 What doth concern your coming"?' 
 
 West. Then, my lord, 
 
 Unto your grace do I in chief address 
 The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
 Came like itself, in base and abject routs, 
 Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage, 
 And countenanced by boys and beggary; 
 I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd, 
 In his true, native, and most proper shape, 
 You, reverend father, and these noble lords, 
 Had not been here, to dress the ugly form 
 Of base and bloody insurrection 
 
 ' In Clerkcn\» ell. • Titles of little poems. 
 
 » A wooden dagger like that used t- the modern harl* 
 • quin. < Gaunt ^n, slenrte*. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 41 
 
 WitL your fair honors. You, lord archbishop, — 
 Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd; 
 Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd; 
 Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd ; 
 Whose white investments figure innocence, 
 The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, — 
 Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, 
 Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, 
 Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war? 
 Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood, 
 Your pens to lances ; and your tongue divine 
 To a loud trumpet, and a point of war? 
 
 Arch. Wherefore do I this ? so the question stands. 
 Briefly to this end : — We are all diseased ; 
 And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours, 
 Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, 
 And we must bleed for it: of which disease 
 Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
 But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland, 
 I take not on me here as a physician ; 
 Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, 
 Troop in the throngs of military men ; 
 But. rather, show a while like fearful war, 
 To diet rank minds, sick of happiness; 
 And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop 
 Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
 I have in equal balance justly weigh'd 
 What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we 
 
 suffer, 
 And find our griefs 5 heavier than our offences. 
 We see which way the stream of time doth run, 
 And are enforced from our most quiet sphere 
 By the rough torrent of occasion : 
 And he.ve the summary of all our griefs, 
 When time shall serve, to show in articles: 
 Which, long ere this, we offer'd to the king, 
 And might by no suit gain our audience: 
 When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs, 
 We are denied access unto his person 
 Even by those men that most have done us wrong. 
 The dangers of the days but newly gone, 
 (Whose memory is written on the earth 
 With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples 
 Of every minute's instance, (present now,) 
 Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms : 
 Not to break peace, or any branch of it ; 
 But to establish here a peace indeed, 
 Concurring both in name and quality. 
 
 West. When ever yet was your appeal denied ? 
 Wherein have you been galled by the king? 
 What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you? 
 That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
 Of forged rebellion with a seal divine, 
 And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? 
 
 Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth, 
 To brother born a household cruelty, 
 I make my quarrel in particular. 
 
 West. There is no need of any such redress; 
 Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. 
 
 Mowb. Why not to him, in part; and to us all, 
 That feel the bruises of the days before; 
 And suffer the condition of these times, 
 To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
 Upon our honors? 
 
 West. O my good lord Mowbray, 
 
 Construe the times to their necessities, 
 And you shall say indeed, — it is the time, 
 And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
 Yet, for your part, it not appears to me, 
 Either from the king, or in the present time, 
 That you should have an inch of any ground 
 Yo build a grief on; Were you not rcstor'd 
 » Grievances. 
 
 To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories, 
 
 Your noble and right-well remembered father's? 
 
 Mowb. What thing, in honor, had my father lost. 
 That need to be reviv'd, and breath 'd in me? 
 The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then, 
 Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him : 
 And then, when Harry Bolingbroke and he. — 
 Being mounted, and both roused in their seats, 
 Their neighing coursers daring of the spur, 
 Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down 
 Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel 
 And the loud trumpet blowing them together; 
 Then, then, when there was nothing could have 
 
 staid 
 My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
 O, when the king did throw his warder 3 down, 
 His own life hung upon the staff he threw : 
 Then threw ae down himself; and all their lives, 
 That by incl ctment, and by dint of sword, 
 Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 
 
 West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know 
 not what: 
 The earl of Hereford was reputed then 
 In England the most valiant gentleman ; 
 Who knows, on whom fortune would then have 
 
 smiled ? 
 But if your father had been victor there, 
 He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry : 
 For all the country, in a general voice, 
 Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers, and love, 
 Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on, 
 And bless'd and graced indeed, more than the king 
 But this is mere digression from my purpose. — 
 Here come I from our princely general, 
 To know your griefs; to tell you from his graoo, 
 That he will give you audience : and wherein 
 It shall appear that your demands are just, 
 You shall enjoy them ; every thing set off, 
 That might so much as think you enemies. 
 
 Mowb. But he hath forced us to compel this offer; 
 And it proceeds from policy, not love. 
 
 West. Mowbray, you overween, 4 to take it so ; 
 This offer comes from mercy, not from fear: 
 For, lo ! within a ken, 6 our army lies : 
 Upon mine honor, all too confident 
 To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
 Our battle is more full of names than yours, 
 Our men more perfect in the use of arms, 
 Our armor all as strong, our cause the best; 
 Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good :— 
 Say you not then, our offer is compell'd. 
 
 Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley 
 West. That argues but the shame of your offence 
 A rotten case abides no handling. 
 
 Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission. 
 In very ample virtue of his father, 
 To hear, and absolutely to determine 
 Of what conditions we shall stand upon? 
 
 West. That is intended 8 in the general's name 
 I muse, 1 you make so slight a question. 
 
 Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, tLl» 
 schedule ; 
 For this contains our general grievances: — 
 Each several article herein redress'd ; 
 All members of our cause, both here and hence, 
 That are insinew'd to this action, 
 Acquitted by a true substantial form; 
 And present execution of our wills 
 To us, and to our purposes consign'd.* 
 We come within our awful banks again, 
 And knit our powers to the arms of peace. 
 
 » Truncheon. 
 * Sight. 
 
 ♦ Think too highly 
 j I Jerstood. « WondVi 
 
418 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 West, i his will I show the general. Please you, 
 lords, 
 Tn sight of both our battles we may meet: 
 And either end in peace, which heaven so frame ! 
 Or to the place of difference call the swords 
 Which must decide it. 
 
 Arch. My lord, we will do so. [Exit West. 
 
 Mowb. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me 
 That no conditions of our peace can stand. 
 
 Hast. Fear you not that: if we can make our peace 
 Upon such large terms, and so absolute, 
 As our conditions shall consist upon, 
 Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. 
 
 Mowb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such, 
 That every slight and false-derived cause, 
 Yea, every idle, nice, 8 and wanton reason, 
 Shall, to the king, taste of this action : 
 That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love, 
 We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind, 
 That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff, 
 And good from bad find no partition. 
 
 Arch. No, no, my lord; Note this, — the king 
 is weary 
 Of dainty and such picking" 1 grievances: 
 For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death, 
 Revives two greater in the heirs of life. 
 And therefore will he wipe his tables 1 clean; 
 And keep no tell-tale to his memory, 
 That may repeat and history his loss 
 To new remembrance: For full well he knows, 
 He cannot so precisely weed this land, 
 As his misdoubts present occasion : 
 His foes are so enrooted with his friends, 
 That, plucking to unfix an enemy, 
 He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. 
 So that this land, like an offensive wife, 
 That hath enraged him on to offer strokes ; 
 As he is striking, holds his infant up. 
 And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm 
 That was uprear'd to execution. 
 
 Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods 
 On late offenders, that he now doth lack 
 The very instruments of chastisement : 
 So that his power, like to a fangless lion, 
 May offer, but not hold. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis very true ; — 
 
 And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal, 
 If we do now make our atonement well, 
 Our peace will, like a broken limb united, 
 Grow stronger for the breaking. 
 
 Mowb. Be it so. 
 
 Here is return'd my lord of Westmoreland. 
 Re-enter Westmokeiand. 
 
 West. The prince is here at hand: Pleaseth your 
 lordship, 
 To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies'? 
 
 Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name then 
 set forward. 
 
 Arch. Before, and greet his grace: — my lord, we 
 come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter, from one side, Mowbray, the Arch- 
 bishop, Hastings, and others: from the other 
 side, PnixcE John of Lancaster, Westmore- 
 land, Officers, and Attendants. 
 P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my 
 cousin Mowbray : — 
 Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop; — 
 And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. — 
 
 « Trivial. 
 
 • Book foi lnemorauduma. 
 
 » Insignificant. 
 
 My lord of York, it better snow'd with you, 
 
 When that your flock, assembled by the bell 
 
 Encircled you to hear with reverence 
 
 Your exposition on the holy text; 
 
 Thai now to see you here an iron man. 
 
 Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, 
 
 Turning the word to sword, and life to death. 
 
 That man that sits within a monarch's heart. 
 
 And ripens in the sunshine of his favor, 
 
 Would he abuse the countenance of the kin?. 
 
 Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach. 
 
 In shadow of such greatness! With you, lord bishop. 
 
 It is even so : — Who hath not heard it spoken, 
 
 How deep you were within the books of God! 
 
 To us, the speaker in his parliament; 
 
 To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself; 
 
 The very opener and intelligencer, 
 
 Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, 
 
 And our dull workings: O, who shall believe, 
 
 But you misuse the reverence of your place ; 
 
 Employ the countenance and grace of heaven, 
 
 As a false favorite doth his prince's name, 
 
 In deeds dishonorable 1 You have taken up, 
 
 Under the counterfeited zeal of God, 
 
 The subjects of his substitute, my father; 
 
 And, both against the peace of heaven and him, 
 
 Have here up-swarm'd them. 
 
 Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, 
 
 I am not here against your father's peace : 
 But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, 
 The time misorderd doth, in common sense, 
 Ciowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form, 
 To hold our safety up. I sent your grace 
 The parcels and particulars of our grief; 
 The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the 
 
 court, 
 Whereon this Hydra son of war is born : 
 Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep, 
 With grant of our most just and right desires; 
 And true obedience, of this madness cured, 
 Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 
 
 Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
 To the last man. 
 
 Hast. And though we here fall dow». 
 
 We have supplies to second our attempt; 
 If they miscarry, theirs shall second them : 
 And so, success 2 of mischief ahall be born; 
 And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up, 
 Whiles England shall have generation. 
 
 P. John. You are too shallow, Hastings, much 
 too shallow, 
 To sound the bottom of the after-times. 
 
 West. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them di- 
 rectly, 
 How far-forth you do like their articles'? 
 
 P. John. I like them all, and do allow 3 them well. 
 And swear here by the honor of my blood, 
 My father's purposes have been mistook; 
 And some about him have too lavishly 
 Wrested his meaning and authority. — 
 My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd; 
 Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, 
 Discharge your powers unto their several counties, 
 As we will ours : and here, between the armies 
 Let's drink together friendly, and embrace ; 
 That all their eyes may bear those tokens home, 
 Of our restored love, and amity. 
 
 Arch. I take your princely word for these redresses 
 
 P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my word: 
 And thereupon I drink unto your grace. 
 
 Hast. Go, captain, [To an Officer.'] and dek>«» 
 
 to the army 
 » Puoce&gion. « Appro?*. 
 
SCENF 111. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 4IH 
 
 This news of peace ; let them have pay, and part : 
 T know it will well please them ; Hie thee, captain. 
 
 [Exit Officer. 
 Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. 
 West. I pledge your grace : And, if you knew 
 what pains 
 I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace, 
 You would drink freely : but my love to you 
 Shall show itself more openly hereafter. 
 Arch. I do not doubt you. 
 West. I am glad of it : — 
 
 Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. 
 Mowb. You wish me health in very happy sea- 
 son; 
 For I am, on the sudden, something ill. 
 
 Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry ; 
 But heaviness foreruns the good event. 
 
 West. Therefore be merry, coz; since sudden 
 sorrow 
 Serves to say thus, — some good thing comes to- 
 morrow. 
 Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 
 Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be 
 true. [Shouts within. 
 
 P. John. The word of peace is render'd ; Hark, 
 
 how they shout! 
 Mowb. This had been cheerful after victory. 
 Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest; 
 For then both parties nobly are subdued, 
 And neither party loser. 
 
 P. John. Go, my lord, 
 
 And let our army be discharged too. — 
 
 [Exit Westmoreland. 
 And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains 
 March by us ; that we may peruse the men 
 We should have cop'd withal. 
 
 Arch. Go, good lord Hastings. 
 
 And, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march by. 
 
 [Exit Hastings. 
 P John. I trust, my lord, we shall lie to-night 
 together. — 
 
 Re-enter Westmoreland. 
 Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ? 
 West. The leaders, having charge from you to 
 stand, 
 Will not go off until they hear you speak. 
 P. John. They know their duties. 
 Re-enter Hastings. 
 Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already : 
 Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take their 
 
 courses 
 East, west, north, south; or, like a school broke up, 
 Each hurries towards his home, and sporting-place. 
 West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the 
 which 
 I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : — 
 And you, lord archbishop, — and you, lord Mowbray, 
 Of capital treason I attach you both. 
 
 Mowb. Is this proceeding just and honorable? 
 Wait. Is your assembly so? 
 Arch. Will you thus break your faith? 
 P. John. I pawn'd thee none : 
 
 I promis'd you edress of these same grievances, 
 Whereof you dw complain ; which, by mine honor, 
 I will perform with a most Christian care. 
 But, for you, rebels, — look to taste the due 
 Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. 
 Most shallowly did you these arms commence, 
 Fondly* brought here, and foolishly sent hence. — 
 Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray; 
 Heaven, and not we, have safety fought to-<lay. — 
 4 Foolishly. 
 
 Some guard these traitors to the block cf death, 
 Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Part of the Forest. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions: Enter Falstaff and 
 Colevile, meeting. 
 
 Fal. What's your name, sir ? of what condi- 
 tion are you ; and of what place, I pray ? 
 
 Cole. I am a knight, sir; and my name is— 
 Colevile of the dale. 
 
 Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name; a knight 
 is your degree; and your place, the dale: Colevile 
 shall still be your name, — a traitor your degree ■ 
 and the dungeon your place, — a place deep enough 
 so shall you still be Colevile of the dale. 
 
 Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? 
 
 Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. 
 Do ye yield, sir ? or shall I sweat for you ? If I dc 
 sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep 
 for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, 
 and do observance to my mercy. 
 
 Cole. I think you are sir John Falstaff: and, in 
 that thought, yield me. 
 
 Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this 
 belly of mine ; and not a tongue of them all speaks 
 any other word but my name. An I had but a belly 
 of any indifferency, I were simply the most active 
 fellow in Europe : My womb, my womb, my womb 
 undoes me. — Here comes our general. 
 Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmore- 
 land, and others. 
 P. John. The heat is past, follow no further now; - 
 Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. — 
 [Exit Westmoreland. 
 Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while ? 
 When every thing is ended, then you come : 
 These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, 
 One time or other break some gallows' back. 
 
 Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should 
 be thus; I never knew yet, but rebuke and i heck was 
 the reward of valor. Do you think me a swallow. 
 an arrow, or a bullet ? have I, in my poor and old 
 motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded 
 hither with the very extremest inch of possibility : 
 I have foundered nine-score and odd posts: and 
 here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and 
 immaculate valor, taken sir John Colevile of the 
 dale, a most furious knight and valorous enemy : 
 But what of that ? he saw me, and yielded ; that I 
 may justly say with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome,' 
 — I came, saw, and overcame. 
 
 P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your 
 deserving. 
 
 Fal. I know not ; here he is, and here I yield 
 him : and I beseech your grace let it be booked 
 with the rest of this day's deeds; or by the Lord, 
 I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine 
 own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my 
 foot: To the which course, if I be enforced, if you 
 do not all show like gilt two-penees to me; and I, 
 in the clear sky of fame, o'ershining you as much 
 as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, 
 which shew like pins' heads to her ; believe not thr 
 word of the noble: Therefore let me have right, 
 and let desert mount. 
 
 P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount. 
 Fal. Let it shine then. 
 P. John. Thine's too thick to shine. 
 Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that maj 
 do me good, and call it what you will. 
 • Julius CiiRir. 
 
420 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 P. John. la thy name Colevile? 
 
 Cole. It i s > m y I° r d- 
 
 P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 
 
 fal. And a famous true subject took him. 
 
 Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are, 
 That led me hither : had they been ruled by me, 
 You should have won them dearer than you have. 
 
 Fal. I know not how they sold themselves : but 
 thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away; and 
 I thank thee for thee. 
 
 Re-enter Westmoreland. 
 
 P. John. Now, have you left pursuit 1 
 
 West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. 
 
 P.John. Send Colevile, with his confederates, 
 To York, to present execution : 
 Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you guard him sure. 
 [Exeunt some with Colevile. 
 And now despatch we toward the court, my lords ; 
 I hear, the king my father is sore sick : 
 Our news shall go before us to his majesty,— 
 Which, cousin, you shall bear, — to comfort him ; 
 And we with sober speed will follow you. 
 
 Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to 
 go through Glostershire ; and, when you come to 
 court, stand my good lord, 'pray, in your good 
 report. 
 
 P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff: I, in my con- 
 dition, 6 
 Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. I would, you had but the wit: 'twere better 
 than your dukedom. — Good faith, this same young 
 sober-blooded boy doth not love me ; nor a man 
 cannot make him laugh ; — but that's no marvel, he 
 drinks no wine. There's never any of these de- 
 mure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth 
 so over-cool their blood, and making many fish- 
 meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sick- 
 ness ; and then, when they marry, they get wenches: 
 they are generally fools and cowards ; — which some 
 of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good 
 sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It as- 
 cends me into the brain ; dries me there all the fool- 
 ish, and dull, and crudy vapors which environ it ; 
 makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive,' full of 
 nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes ; which deliv- 
 ered o'er to the voice, (the tongue,) which is the 
 birth, becomes excellent wit. The second proper- 
 ty of your excellent sherris is, — the warming of 
 the blood ; which, before cold and settled, left the 
 liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusil- 
 lanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms 
 it, and makes it course from the inwards to the 
 parts extreme. It illumineth the face ; which, as a 
 beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little 
 kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital com- 
 noners, and inland petty spirits, muster me all to 
 heir captain, the heart ; who, great, and puffed up 
 vith thv> retinue, doth any deed of courage : and 
 his valor comes of sherris : So that skill in the 
 weapon is nothing, without sack; for that sets it 
 %-work: and learning, a mere hoard of gold, kept 
 by a devil; till eack commences u and sets it in 
 act and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry 
 is valiant : for the cold blood he did naturally in- 
 herit o r . his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and 
 bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with 
 excellent endeavor of drinking good, and good 
 Btore of fertile sherris ; that he is become very hot 
 and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first 
 h'uman principle I would teach them should be, — to 
 
 * In my present temper. ' Inventive. 
 
 Brings it into action 
 
 forswear thin potations, and addict themselves tc 
 sack. 
 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 How now, Bardolph ? 
 
 Bard. The army is discharged all. and gone. 
 
 Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire 
 and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, es- 
 quire ; I have him already tempering between mv 
 finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal witL 
 him. 9 Come away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Westminster. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince Hum- 
 phrey, Warwick, and others. 
 K. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give success- 
 ful end 
 To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, 
 We will our youth lead on to higher fields, 
 And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
 Our navy is address'd, 1 our power collected, 
 Our substitutes in absence well invested, 
 And every thing lies level to our wish : 
 Only, we want a little personal strength ; 
 And pause us, till these rebels now afoot, 
 Come underneath the yoke of government. 
 
 War. Both which we doubt not but your majesty 
 Shall soon enjoy. 
 
 K. Hen. Humphrey, my son of Gloster 
 
 Where is the prince your brother ? 
 
 P. Humph. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord 
 
 at Windsor. 
 K.Hen. And how accompanied 1 ? 
 P. Humph. I do not know, my lord. 
 
 K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, 
 
 with him 1 
 P. Humph. No, my good lord, he is in presence 
 
 here. 
 Cla. What would my lord and father] 
 K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of 
 Clarence. 
 How chance, thou art not with the prince, thj 
 
 brother 1 
 He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas; 
 Thou hast a better place in his affection, 
 Than all thy brothers ; cherish it, my boy ; 
 And noble offices thou mayst effect 
 Of mediation, after I am dead, 
 Between his greatness and thy other brethren: — 
 Therefore omit him not; blunt not his love 
 Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, 
 By seeming cold, or careless of his will, 
 For he is gracious, if he be observ'd ; 2 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 Open as day for melting charity : 
 Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint ; 
 As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd : 
 Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
 When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth : 
 But, being moody, give him line and scope; 
 Till that his passions, like a whale on ground, 
 Confound themserVes with working. Learn this 
 
 Thomas, 
 And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends ; 
 A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in ; 
 That the united vessel of their blood, 
 Mingled with venom of suggestion, 
 (As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,) 
 
 • An allusion to the old use of sealing with soft wax. 
 1 Ke«dy, prepared. * Has attention »hown hire 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 421 
 
 Shu 11 never leak, though it do work as strong 
 As aconituni,' or rash gunpowder. 
 
 Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love. 
 
 K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, 
 Thomas? 
 
 Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in London. 
 
 K. Hen. And how accompanied ? canst thou tell 
 that? 
 
 Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers. 
 
 K. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds ; 
 And he, the noble image of my youth, 
 Is overspread with them : Therefore my grief 
 Stretches itself beyond the hour of death ; 
 The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape, 
 In forms imaginary, the unguided days, 
 And rotten times, that you shall look upon 
 When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
 For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, 
 When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, 
 When means and lavish manners meet together, 
 O, with what wings shall his affections fly 
 Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay ! 
 
 War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: 
 The prince but studies his companions, 
 Like a strange tongue: wherein, to gain the language, 
 'Tis needful that the most immodest word 
 Be look'd upon, and learned : which once attain'd, 
 Your highness knows, comes to no further use, 
 But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms, 
 The prince will, in the perfectness of time, 
 Cast off his followers : and their memory 
 Shall as a pattern or a measure live, 
 By which his grace must mete the lives of others ; 
 Turning past evils to advantages. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave 
 her comb 
 In the dead carrion. — Who's here? Westmoreland ? 
 Enter Westmoreland. 
 
 West. Health to my sovereign! and new happiness 
 Added to that that I am to deliver ! 
 Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand : 
 Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all, 
 Are brought to the correction of your law ; 
 There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed, 
 But peace puts forth her olive every where. 
 The manner how this action hath been borne, 
 Here at more leisure may your highness read ; 
 With every course, in this particular. 4 
 
 K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer- 
 bird, 
 Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
 The lifting up of day. Look! here's more news. 
 Enter Harcoukt. 
 
 Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ; 
 And when they stand against you, may they fall 
 As those that I am come to tell you of! 
 The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, 
 With a great power of English, and of Scots, 
 Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown: 
 The manner and true order of the fight, 
 This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
 
 K. Hen. And wherefore should these good news 
 make me sick ? 
 Will fortune never come with both hands full, 
 But write her fair words still in foulest letters? 
 She either gives a stomach, and no food, — 
 Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast, 
 And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich, 
 That have abundance, and enjoy it not. 
 I should rejoice now at this happy news ; 
 
 » Wolf's bane, a poisonous herb. 
 
 « Xbe detail contained in prince John's letter. 
 
 And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy : — 
 O me ! come near me, now I am much ill. [Swoona. 
 
 P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty ! 
 
 Cla. O, my royal father! 
 
 West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look 
 up! 
 
 War. Be patient, princes; you do know, these fits 
 Are with his highness very ordinary. 
 Stand from him, give him air ; he'll straight be well. 
 
 Cla. No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs; 
 The incessant care and labor of his mind 
 Hath wrought the mure, s that should confine it in, 
 So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. 
 
 P. Humph. The people fear me ; 6 for they do 
 observe 
 Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature; 
 The seasons change their manners, as the year 
 Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them 
 over. 
 
 Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between :' 
 And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
 Say, it did so, a little time before 
 That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died 
 
 War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 
 
 P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end. 
 
 K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence 
 Into some other chamber : softly, 'pray. 
 
 [They convey the King into an inner part 
 of the room, and place him on a bed. 
 Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends; 
 Unless some dull 9 and favorable hand 
 Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
 
 War. Call for the music in the other room. 
 
 K. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here 
 
 Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 
 
 War. Less noise, less noise. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry. 
 
 P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence ! 
 
 Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
 
 P. Hen. How now ! rain within doors, and none 
 abroad ! 
 How doth the king? 
 
 P. Humph. Exceeding ill. 
 
 P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet? 
 
 Tell it him. 
 
 P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it 
 
 P. Hen. If he be sick 
 With joy, he will recover without physic. 
 
 War. Not so much noise, my lords: — sweet 
 prince, speak low; 
 The king your father is dispos'd to sleep. 
 
 Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room. 
 
 War. Will't please your grace to go along with us? 
 
 P. Hen. No; I will sit and watch here by the 
 king. [Exeunt all but P. Henry. 
 
 Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow. 
 Being so troublesome a bedfellow? 
 polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
 That keep'st the ports' of slumber open wide 
 To many a watchful night ! — sleep with it now ! 
 Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet, 
 As he, whose brow, with homely biggin ' bound. 
 Snores out the watch of night. O majesty ! 
 When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
 Like a rich armor worn in heat of day. 
 That scalds with siffety. By his gates of breath 
 There lies a downy feather, which stirs not: 
 Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
 Perforce must move. — My gracious lord! my 
 father!— 
 
 * Wall. « Make me afraid 
 1 An historical fact, on Oot. 12, 1411. 
 
 • Melancholy, soothing * Qataa. < C*p- 
 
422 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 ActIT 
 
 This sleep is sound indeed; this is a sleep 
 That from this golden rigoP hath divorced 
 So many English kings. Thy due, from me, 
 Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood ; 
 Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
 Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously; 
 My due, from thee, is this imperial crown ; 
 Which, as immediate from thy place and blood, 
 Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, — 
 
 [Putting it on his head. 
 Which heaven shall guard : And put the world's 
 
 whole strength 
 Into one giant arm, it shall not force 
 This lineal honor from me : This from thee 
 Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. Warwick! Gloster! Clarence! 
 Re-enter Warwick, and the rest. 
 Cla. Doth the king call ] 
 
 War. What would your majesty] How fares 
 
 your grace? 
 K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my 
 
 lords] 
 Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege, 
 Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 
 
 K. Hen. The prince of Wales ] Where is he 1 
 let me see him: 
 He is not here. 
 
 War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 
 P. Humph. He came not through the chamber 
 
 where we stay'd. 
 K. Hen. Where is the crown ] who took it from 
 
 my pillow] 
 War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. 
 K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence : — go, 
 seek him out; 
 Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose 
 
 My sleep my death] 
 
 Find him, my lord of Warwick; chide him hither. 
 [Exit Warwick. 
 This part of his conjoins with my disease, 
 And helps to end me. — See, sons, what things you 
 
 are! 
 How quickly nature falls into revolt, 
 When gold becomes her object! 
 For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
 Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains 
 
 with care, 
 Their bones with industry ; 
 For this they have engrossed and piled up 
 The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ; 
 For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
 Their sons with arts, and martial exercises: 
 When, like the bee, tolling 3 from every flower 
 The virtuous sweets; 
 Our thighs packed with wax, our mouths with 
 
 honey, 
 We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees, 
 Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste 
 Yield his engrossments 4 to the ending father. — 
 
 Re-enter Warwick. 
 Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
 Till his friend sickness hath determin'd 5 me] 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, 
 Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ; 
 With such a deep demeanor in. great sorrow, 
 That tyranny, which never quafY'd but blood, 
 Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
 With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
 K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the 
 crown ] 
 
 'ircle. 
 
 Accuiaulatifcs. 
 
 * Taking toll. 
 ' Ended. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry. 
 Lo, where he comes. — Come hither to me, Harry: — 
 Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 
 
 [Exeunt. Clarence, Prince Humphrey, 
 Lords, 4"C 
 P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again 
 K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that 
 thought : 
 I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
 Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, 
 That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honors 
 Before thy hour be ripe ] O foolish youth ! 
 Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
 Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
 Is held from falling with so weak a wind, 
 That it will quickly drop: my day is dim. 
 Thou hast stolen that, which, after some few hours, 
 Were thine without offence; and, at my death, 
 Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 6 
 Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not, 
 And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. 
 Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts; 
 Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 
 To stab at half an hour of my life. 
 What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ] 
 Then get thee gone ; and dig my grave thyself; 
 And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, 
 That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
 Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse, 
 Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head: 
 Only compound me with begotten dust; 
 Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms, 
 Pluck down my officers, break my decrees; 
 For now a time is come to mock at form, 
 Harry the Fifth is crown'd: — Up, vanity! 
 Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence ! 
 And to the English court assemble now, 
 From every region, apes of idleness! 
 Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum : 
 Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, 
 Revel the night; rob, murder, and commit 
 The oldest sins the newest kind of ways *• 
 Be happy, he will trouble you no more : 
 England shall double gild his treble guilt; 
 England shall give him office, honor, might: 
 For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks 
 The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
 Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
 
 my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
 When that my care could not withhold thy riots, 
 What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care ] 
 
 O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants! 
 
 P. Hen. O pardon me, my liege! but for my 
 tears, [Kneeling 
 
 The moist impediments unto my speech, 
 
 1 had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke, 
 Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard 
 The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
 And He that wears the crown immortally, 
 Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more, 
 Than as your honor, and as your renown, 
 Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
 (Which my most true and inward duteous spirit 
 Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending! 
 Heaven witness with me, when I here came in. 
 And found no course of breath within your majesty 
 How cold it struck my heart ! if I do feign, 
 
 O, let me in my present wildness die, 
 And never live to show the incredulous world 
 The noble change that I have purposed! 
 Coming to look on you, thinking you deaa, 
 • Confirmed my t ■ iron. 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 4»1 
 
 (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) 
 
 ( spake unto the crown, as having sense, 
 
 And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending, 
 
 Hath fed upon the body of my fat her,- 
 
 Therefore, thou, best of gold, art ivorst of gold, 
 
 Other, less fine in carat? is more precious, 
 
 Preserving life in med'cine potable: 
 
 But thou, most fine, most honor 1 d, most t-enown'd, 
 
 Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal 
 
 liege, 
 Accusing it, I pui it on my head ; 
 To try with it, — as with an enemy, 
 That had before my face murder'd my father, — 
 The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
 But if it did infect my blood with joy, 
 Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; 
 If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
 Did, with the least afYection of a welcome, 
 Give entertainment to the might of it, 
 Let God for ever keep it from my head ! 
 And make me as the poorest vassal is, 
 That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 
 
 K. Hen. O my son ! 
 Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence, 
 That thou mightst win the more thy father's love, 
 Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
 Come hither, Harry; sit thou by my bed, 
 And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
 That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son, 
 Bj "what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, 
 I met this crown ; and I myself know well, 
 How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
 To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
 Better opinion, better confirmation : 
 For all the soil of the achievement goes 
 With me into the earth. It seem'd in me, 
 But as an honor snatch'd with boisterous hand ; 
 And I had many living, to upbraid 
 My gain of it by their assistance ; 
 Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, 
 Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears, 
 Thou seest, with peril I have answer'd : 
 For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
 Acting that argument ; and now my death 
 Changes the mode : for what in me was purchas'd," 
 Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort; 
 So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
 Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do, 
 
 Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are gretn : 
 And all thy friends, which thou must make thy 
 
 friends, 
 Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; 
 By whose fell working I was first advanced, 
 And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
 To be again displaced : which to avoid 
 I cut them off; and had a purpose now 
 To lead out many to the Holy Land ; 
 Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 
 Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, 
 Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds 
 With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out 
 May waste the memory of the former days. 
 More would I, but my lungs are wasted so, 
 That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
 How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! 
 And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 
 
 P. Hen. My gracious liege, 
 You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
 Then plain, and right, must my possession be: 
 Which I, with more than with a common pain, 
 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 
 
 Enter PniNCE John of Lancaster, Warwick, 
 Lords, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of 
 Lancaster. 
 
 P. John. Health, peace, and happiness to my 
 royal father! 
 
 K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, 
 son John ; 
 But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
 From this bare, wither'd trunk ; upon thy sight, 
 
 My worldly business makes a period. 
 
 Where is my lord of Warwick? 
 
 P. Hen. My lord of Warwick ! 
 
 K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong 
 Unto the lodging where I first did swoon \ 
 
 War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lo-d. 
 
 K. Hen. Laud be to God ! — even there my lifa 
 must end. 
 It hath been prophesied to me many years, 
 I should not die but in Jerusalem ; 
 Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land: — 
 But, bear me to that chamber; there I'll lie; 
 In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Exevtit. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Gloucestershire. A Hall in Shal- 
 low's House. 
 
 Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page. 
 
 Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away 
 to-night. What, Davy, I say ! 
 
 Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow. 
 
 Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be ex- 
 cused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; there is no 
 excuse shrill serve; you shall not be excused. — 
 Why, Davy ! 
 
 Enter Davy. 
 
 Davy- Here, sir. 
 
 Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy; 
 let me see: — yea, marry, William cook, bid him 
 come hither. — Sir John, you shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Marry, sir, thus ; — those precepts 9 cannot 
 
 ' A term used in describing the fineness of gold. 
 
 • Purchase, in Sbakspeare. frequently means stolen gooU 
 
 » Warrants 
 
 be served : and, again, sir, — Shall we sow the head 
 land with wheat? 
 
 Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William 
 cook ; Are there no young pigeons ? 
 
 Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's 
 
 note, for shoeing and plough-irons. 
 
 Shal. Let it be cast, 1 and paid : — sir John, you 
 shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must 
 needs be had. — And, sir, do you mean to stop any 
 of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other 
 day at Hinckley fair ? 
 
 Shal. He shall answer it: Some pigeons, 
 
 Davy; a couple of short-legged hens; a joint of 
 mutton ; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tel' 
 William cook. 
 
 Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir? 
 
 Shal. Yes, Davy, I will use him well; A friend 
 i'the court is better than a penny in purse Use 
 1 Cast up. 
 
424 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act V. 
 
 his men well, Davy; for they are arrant knaves, 
 and will backbite. 
 
 Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir; 
 tor they have marvellous foul linen. 
 
 Shal. Well conceited, Davy. About thy busi- 
 ness, Davy. 
 
 Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William 
 Visor of Wincot, against Clement Pcrkes of the hill. 
 
 Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against 
 that Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my 
 knowledge. 
 
 Davy. I grant your worship, that he is a knave, 
 sir : but yet, God forbid, sir, but a knave should 
 have some countenance at his friend's request. An 
 honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when 
 a knave is not. I have served your worship truly, 
 sir, this eight years ; and if I cannot once or twice 
 in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest 
 man, I have but a very little credit with your wor- 
 ship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir ; there- 
 fore, I beseech your worship, let him be counte- 
 nanced. 
 
 Shal. Go to; I say, he shall have no wrong. 
 Look about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where are you, 
 sir John 1 Come, off with your boots. — Give me 
 your hand, master Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 
 
 Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind mas- 
 ter Bardolph: — and welcome, my tall fellow. [To 
 thf Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow. 
 
 Fal. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow. 
 Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph 
 and Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, I should 
 make four dozen of such bearded hermit's staves as 
 master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the 
 semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his: 
 They, by observing him, do bear themselves like 
 foolish justices ; he, by conversing with them, is 
 turned into a justice-like serving man; their spirits 
 are so married in conjunction with the participation 
 af society, that they flock together in consent, like 
 so many wild-geese. If I had a suit to master 
 Shallow, I would humor his men with the impu- 
 tation of being near their master: if to his men, 
 I would curry with master Shallow, that no man 
 could better command his servants. It is certain, 
 that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, is 
 caught as men take diseases, one of another: there- 
 fore, let men take heed of their company. I will 
 devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep 
 prince Harry in continual laughter, the wearing- 
 out of six fashions, (which is four terms, or two 
 actions,) and he shall laugh without intervallums. 
 O, it is much, that a lie, with a slight oath, and a 
 jest, with a sad brow, 2 will do with a fellow that 
 never had the ache in his shoulders ! O, you shall 
 see him laugh till his face be like a wet cloak ill 
 laid up. 
 
 Shal. [Within.'] Sir John! 
 
 Fal. I come, master Shallow; I come, master 
 Shallow. [Exit Falstaff. 
 
 SCENE II.— Westminster. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 Enter Warwick, and the Lord Chief Justick. 
 War. How now, my lord chief Justice ? whither 
 
 away 1 
 Ch. Just. How doth the king? 
 War. Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended. 
 Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 
 War. He's walk'd the way of nature ; 
 
 And, to our purposes, he lives no more. 
 a A jerious face. 
 
 Ch. Just. I would his majesty had called me 
 with him : 
 The service that I truly did his life, 
 Hath left me open to all injuries. 
 
 War. Indeed, I think the young king loves you 
 not. 
 
 Ch. Just. I know he doth not; and do arm mysell, 
 To welcome the condition of the time ; 
 Which cannot look more hideously upon me . 
 Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 
 
 Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey, Cla 
 hknce, Westmoreland, and others. 
 
 War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry 
 O, that the living Harry had the ceinper 
 Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen ! 
 How many nobles then should hold their places, 
 That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort ! 
 
 Ch. Just. Alas ! I fear, all will be overturn 'd. 
 
 P. John. Good-morrow, cousin Warwick. 
 
 P. Humph. Cla. Good-morrrow, cousin. 
 
 P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to 
 speak. 
 
 War. We do remember; but our argument 
 Is all too heavy to admit such talk. 
 
 P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath 
 made us heavy ! 
 
 Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier ! 
 
 P. Humph. 0, good my lord, you have loot a 
 friend indeed: 
 And I dare swear, you borrow not that face 
 Of seeming sorrow; it is, sure, your own. 
 
 P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace 
 to find, 
 You stand in coldest expectation : 
 I am the sorrier; 'would 'twere otherwise. 
 
 Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John Falstaff 
 fair; 
 Which swims against your stream of quality. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in 
 honor, 
 Led by the impartial conduct of my soul; 
 And never shall you see, that I will beg 
 A ragged and forestall'd remission. — 
 If truth and upright innoeency fail me, 
 I'll to the king my master that is dead, 
 And tell him who hath sent me after him. 
 
 War. Here comes the prince. 
 
 Enter King Henrv V. 
 
 Ch. Just. Good-morrow ; and heaven save youi 
 majesty ! 
 
 King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, 
 Sits not so easy on me as you think. — 
 Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear; 
 This is the English, not the Turkish court ; 
 Not Amurath an A murath 3 succeeds, 
 But Harry, Harry: Yet be sad, good brothers, 
 For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you 
 Sorrow so royally in you appears, 
 That I will deeply put the fashion on, 
 And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad; 
 But entertain no more of it, good brothers, 
 Than a joint burden laid upon us all. 
 For me, by Heaven, I bid you be assur'd, 
 I'll be your father and your brother too; 
 Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. 
 Yet weep, that Harry's dead; and so will I: 
 But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears, 
 By number, into hours of happiness. 
 
 P. John, <$-c. We hope no other from your majesty 
 
 ^ Emperor of the Turks, died in 15%; his son, who nw 
 cecded him, had all his brothers strangled 
 
Sc;KNE III. 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 425 
 
 King. You all look strangely on me : — and you 
 most; [To the Chief Justice. 
 
 tfou are, I think, assui'd, I love you not. 
 
 Ch. Just. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, 
 Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 
 
 King. No! 
 How might a prince of my great hopes forget 
 So great indignities you laid upon me ? 
 What! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
 The immediate heir of England! Was this easy? 
 May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten? 
 
 Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father; 
 The image of his power lay then in me: 
 And, in the administration of his law, 
 Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, 
 Your highness pleased to forget my place, 
 The majesty and power of law and justice, 
 The image of the king whom I presented, 
 And struck me in my very scat of judgment; 
 Whereon, as an offender to your father, 
 I gave bold way to my authority, 
 And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
 Be you contented, wearing now the garland, 
 To have a son set your decrees at nought; 
 To pluck down justice from your awful bench; 
 To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword 
 That guards the peace and safety of your person : 
 Nay, more: to spurn at your most royal image, 
 And mock your workings in a second body. 
 Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours ; 
 Be now the father, and propose a son : 
 Hear your own dignity so much profaned, 
 See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted, 
 Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd : 
 And then imagine me taking your part, 
 And, in your power, soft silencing your son: 
 After this cold considerance, sentence me; 
 And, as you are a king, speak in your state,' 
 What I have done that misbecame my place, 
 My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 
 
 King. You are right, Justice, and you weigh 
 this well; 
 Therefore still bear the balance and the sword ; 
 And I do wish your honors may increase, 
 Till you do live to see a son of mine 
 Offend you, and obey you, as I did. 
 So shall I live to speak my father's words : — 
 Happy am I, that have a man so bold, 
 That dares do justice on my proper son; 
 And not less happy, having such a son, 
 That would deliver tip his greatness so 
 Into the hands of justice. — You did commit me: 
 For which I do commit into your hand 
 The unstain'd sword that you have used to bear; 
 With this remembrance, — That you use the same 
 With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit, 
 As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand; 
 You shall be as a father to my youth : 
 My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear; 
 And I will stoop and humble my intents 
 
 I\> your well-practis'd, wise directions. 
 
 And. princes all, believe me, I beseech you; — 
 My father is gone wild into his grave, 
 For in his tomb lie my affections; 
 And with his spirit sadly I survive, 
 To mock the expectation of the world ; 
 To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out 
 Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down 
 After my seeming. The tide of blood in me 
 Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now : 
 Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea : 
 Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, 
 « In your regal character and office. 
 
 And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
 Now call we our high court of parliament: 
 And let us choose such limbs of noble council. 
 That the great body of our state may go 
 In equal rank with the best govern'd nation; 
 That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 
 
 As things acquainted and familiar to us ; 
 
 In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. 
 
 [To the Lord Chief Jcstich 
 Our coronation done, we will accite,* 
 As I before remember'd, all our state : - 
 And (God consigning to my good intents) 
 No prince nor peer, shall have just cause to say, — 
 Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Gloucestershire. The Garden of 
 Shallow's House. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolpii, 
 the Page, and Datt. 
 
 Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard: where, in 
 an arbor, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own 
 grafting, with a dish of carraways, and so forth; — 
 come, cousin Silence ; — and then to bed. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, 
 and a rich. 
 
 Shal. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beg- 
 gars all, sir John: — marry, good air. — Spread, 
 Davy; spread, Davy; well said, Davy. 
 
 Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he is 
 your serving-man, and your huebandman. 
 
 Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good 
 varlet, sir John. — By the mass, I have drunk too 
 much sack at supper : — A good varlet. Now sit 
 down, now sit down : — come, cousin. 
 Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, — we shall 
 Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, 
 
 [Singing. 
 And praise heaven for the merry year,- 
 When flesh is cheap and females dear, 
 And lusty lads roam here and there, 
 So merrily, 
 And ever among so merrily. 
 Fal. There's a merry heart! — Good master Si- 
 lence, I'll give you a health for that anon. 
 
 Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy. 
 Davy. Sweet sir, sit; [Seating Bardolph and 
 the Page at another table.} I'll be with you anon ; — 
 
 most sweet sir, 'sit. Master page, good master 
 
 page, sit: proface.'* What you want m meat, we'll 
 have in drink. But you must bear; the heart's 
 all. [Exit. 
 
 Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph:- -and my 
 little soldier there, be merry. 
 
 Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife's as all; 
 
 [Singing 
 For women are shrews, both short and tall, 
 'Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all. 
 
 And welcome merry shrove-tidc. 
 Be merry, be merry, iSfC. 
 Fal. I did not think master Silence had been a 
 man of this mettle 
 
 Sil. Who, I? I have been merry twice and once, 
 ere now. 
 
 Re-enter Datt. 
 
 Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats ' for you 
 [Setting them before Bardolph. 
 Shal. Davy,— 
 
 Davy. Your worship? — I'll be with you straight 
 [To Bard.] — A cup of wine, sir? 
 
 • Summon. • Italian, much good mav it do yo» 
 
 Armies cr-vumm^r •ailed russetines. 
 2D 
 
426 
 
 SECOND PARI OF 
 
 Act V. 
 
 Sil. A cup of wine, that's brisk and fine, 
 
 [Singing. 
 And drink unto the lady mine,- 
 And a merry heart lives long-a. 
 
 Fal Well said, master Silence, 
 
 Sil. And we shall be merry; — now comes in 
 the sweet of the night. 
 
 Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence. 
 
 Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come; 
 
 Til pledge you a mile to the bottom. 
 
 Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome : If thou wantest 
 any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. — 
 Welcome, my little tiny thief; [To the Page.] and 
 welcome, indeed, too. — I'll drink to master Bar- 
 dolph, and to all the cavaleroes about London. 
 
 Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 
 
 Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, — 
 
 Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together. 
 Ha! will you not, master Bardolph? 
 
 Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot. 
 
 Shal. I thank thee : — The knave will stick by 
 thee, I can assure thee that: he will not out: he is 
 true bred. 
 
 Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir. 
 
 Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing : 
 be merry. [Knocking heard.~\ Look who's at door 
 there : Ho ! who knocks ? [Exit Davy. 
 
 Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 
 
 [To Silence, who drinks a bumper. 
 
 Sil. Do me right, [Singing. 
 
 And dub me knight:* 
 Samingo* 
 Is't not so ? 
 
 Fal. Tis so. 
 
 Sil. Is't so ? Why, then say, an old man can do 
 somewhat. 
 
 Re-enter Davy. 
 
 Davy. An it please your worship, there's one Pistol 
 come from the court with news. 
 
 Fal. From the court ! let him come in. — ■ 
 Enter Pistol 
 How now, Pistol ? 
 
 Pist. God save you, sir John! 
 
 Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol 1 
 
 Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to 
 good. — Sweet knight, thou art now one of the 
 greatest men in the realm. 
 
 Sil. By'r lady, I think 'a be; but goodman Puff 
 of B arson. 
 
 Pist. Puff! 
 Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! — 
 Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, 
 And helter-skelter have I rode to thee; 
 And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, 
 And golden times, and happy news of price. 
 
 Fal. Ipr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of 
 •'.his world. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base ! 
 I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 
 
 Fal. base Assyrian knight, what is thy news ? 
 Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. 
 
 Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings. 
 
 Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons ? 
 And shall good news be baffled? 
 Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 
 
 Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breed- 
 ing. 
 
 Pist. Why then, lament therefore. 
 
 Shal. Give me pardon, sir; — If, sir, you come 
 
 • He who drank a bumper on his knees, to the health of 
 his mistress, was dubbed a knight for the evening. 
 
 » It should bo Domingc : it is part of a song in one of 
 Na£b.e'3 plays 
 
 with news from the court, I take it, there is Ymi 
 two ways; either to utter them, or to conceal them. 
 I am, sir, under the lung, in some authority. 
 
 Pist. Under which king, Bezonian ? speak, or die. 
 
 Shal. Under king Harry. 
 
 Pist. Harry the fourth ? or fifth! 
 
 Shal. Harry 'he fourth. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for thine office.!— 
 
 Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ; 
 Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth : 
 When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig me, like 
 The bragging Spaniard. 
 
 Fal. What ! is the old king dead ? 
 
 Pist. As nail in door : the things I speak, are just. 
 
 Fal. Away, Bardolph ; saddle my horse. — Master 
 Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the 
 land, 'tis thine. — Pistol, I will double-charge thee 
 with dignities. 
 
 Bard. O joyful day ! — I would not take a knight- 
 hood for my fortune. 
 
 Pist. What? I do bring good news? 
 
 Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master 
 Shallow, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am 
 fortune's steward. Get on thy boots; we'll rido 
 all night: — O, sweet Pistol: — Away Bardolph 
 [Exit Baiid.] — Come, Pistol, utter more to me, 
 and withal, devise something, to do thyself good.— 
 Boot, boot, master Shallow; I know, the young 
 king is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses ; 
 the laws of England are at my commandment. 
 Happy are they which have been my friends; and 
 woe to my lord chief Justice! 
 
 Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! 
 Where is the life that late lied? say they: 
 Why, here it is; Welcome these pleasant days. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— London. A Street. 
 
 Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly, 
 and Doll Thau-sheet. 
 
 Host. No, thou arrant knave ; I would I might 
 die, that I might have thee hanged : thou hast drawn 
 my shoulder out of joint. 
 
 1 Bead. The constables have delivered her over 
 to me ; and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, 
 I warrant her : There hath been a man or two late- 
 ly killed about her. 
 
 Doll. Nut-hook, nut-hook, 1 you lie. Come on; 
 I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged ras- 
 cal ; an the child I now go with, do miscarry, thou 
 hadst better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou pa- 
 per-faced villain ! 
 
 Host. the Lord, that sir John were come ! he 
 would make this a bloody day to somebody. But 
 I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry ! 
 
 1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of 
 cushions 3 again ; you have but eleven now. Come. 
 I charge you both go with me; for the man is dead, 
 that you and Pistol beat among you. 
 
 Doll. I'll tell thee what, thou thin man in a cen- 
 ser! I will have you as soundly swinged for this, 
 you blue-bottle rogue ! a you filthy famished cor- 
 rectioner! if you be not swinged, I'll forswear half- 
 kirtles.' 
 
 1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, 
 come. 
 
 Host. 0, that right should thus overcome might ! 
 Well; of sufferance comes ease. 
 
 Doll. Come, you rogue, come ; biing me to a 
 justice. 
 
 1 A term of reproach for a catchpoll. 
 
 » To stuff her out to counterfeit pregnancy. 
 
 3 Beadles usually wore a blue livery. « Short cloak* 
 
Scene V 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 42? 
 
 Host. Ay ; come, you starved blood-hound. 
 Doll. Goodman death! goodman bones ! 
 Host. Thou atomy, thou ! 
 Doll. Come, you thin thing ; come, you rascal ! 
 1 Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A public Place near Westminster 
 
 Abbey 
 
 Enter two Grooms, strewing Rushes. 
 
 1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 
 
 2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 
 
 1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come 
 from the coronation: Despatch, despatch. 
 
 [Exeunt Grooms. 
 Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, 
 and the Page. 
 Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow; 
 I will make the king do you grace: I will leer upon 
 him, as 'a comes by; and do but mark the counte- 
 nance that he will give me. 
 
 Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 
 Fal. Come here, Pistol; stand behind me. — 0, 
 if I had had time to have made new liveries, I would 
 have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of 
 you [To Shallow.] But 'tis no matter; this poor 
 shjw doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to 
 see him. 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. 
 Shdl. It doth so. 
 Fal. My devotion. 
 Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 
 Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and not 
 to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience 
 to shift me. 
 
 Shal. It is most certain. 
 
 Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating 
 with desire to see him: thinking of nothing else; 
 putting all affairs else in oblivion ; as if there were 
 nothing else to be done, but to see him. 
 
 Pist. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est: * 
 'Tis all in every part. 
 Shal. 'Tis so indeed. 
 
 Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, 
 And make thee rage. 
 
 Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
 Is in base durance, and contagious prison; 
 Haul'd thither 
 
 By most mechanical and dirty hand : — 
 Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's 
 
 snake, 
 For Doll is in ; Pistol speaks nought but truth. 
 Fal. I will deliver her. 
 
 [Shouts within, and the Trumpets sound. 
 
 Pist. There roar'd the sea, the trumpet-clangor 
 
 sounds. 
 
 Enter the King and his Train, the Chief Justice 
 
 among them. 
 
 Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal ! 
 
 Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most 
 
 royal imp of fame ! 
 Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 
 King. My lord chief Justice, speak to that vain 
 
 man. 
 Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you what 
 
 'tis you speak? 
 Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my 
 
 heart ! 
 King. I know thee not, old man : Fall to thy 
 prayers ; 
 How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester! 
 » : Ti3 aJl in all. and all in every part. 
 
 I have long dream'd of such a kind of man, 
 So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane: 
 But, being awake, I do despise my dream. 
 Make less thy body, hence, 6 and more thy grace, 
 Leave gormandizing; know, the grave doth gape 
 For thee thrice wider than for other men : 
 Reply not to me with a fool-bom jest ; 
 Presume not, that I am the thing I was : 
 For heaven doth know, so shall the world percc ve 
 That I have turn'd away my former self; 
 So will I those that kept my company. 
 When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
 Approach me ; and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
 The tutor and the feeder of my riots ; 
 Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, — 
 As I have done the rest of my misleaders, — 
 Not to come near our person by ten miles. 
 For competence of life, I will allow you, 
 That lack of means enforce you not to evil : 
 And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
 We will, — according to your strength, and quali 
 
 ties, — 
 Give you advancement, — Be it your charge, my 
 
 lord, 
 To see perform'd the tenor of our word. — 
 Set on. [Exeunt King, and his Train 
 
 Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand 
 pound. 
 
 Shal. Ay, marry, sir John ; which I beseech you 
 to let me have home with me. 
 
 Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do 
 not you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for in private 
 to him : look you, he must seem thus to the world 
 Fear not your advancement ; I will be the man yet 
 that shall make you great. 
 
 Shal. I cannot perceive how; unless you giv* 
 me your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I 
 beseech you, good sir John, let me have five hundred 
 of my thousand. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that 
 you heard, was but a color. 
 
 Shal. A color, I fear, that you will die in, sir John. 
 
 Fal. Fear no colors; go with me to dinner. 
 
 Come, lieutenant Pistol; — come, Bardolph: — I 
 
 shall be sent for soon at night. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice. 
 Officers, &c 
 
 Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John Falstaff to the Fleet ; 
 Take all his company along with him. 
 
 Fal. My lord, my lord, 
 
 Ch. Just. I cannot now speak : I will hear you 
 soon. 
 Take them away. 
 
 Pist. Sifortuna me tormenta, spero me contenta. 
 [Exeunt Fal., Shal., Pist., Bard., Page, 
 and Officers. 
 P.John. I like (his fair proceeding of the king's; 
 He hath intent, his wonted followers 
 Shall all be very well provided for ; 
 But all are banish'd, till their conversations 
 Appear moie wise and modest to the world. 
 Ch.Just. And so they are. 
 P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my 
 
 lord. 
 Ch. Just. He hath. 
 
 P. John. I will lay odds, — that ere this yeal 
 expire, 
 We bear our civil swords and native fire, 
 As far as France: I heard a bird so sing, 
 Whose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. 
 Come, will you hence? [Exeunt 
 
 • Henceforward. 
 
428 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV. 
 
 Act V 
 
 EPILOGUE —Spoken by a Dancer. 
 
 First, my fear; then, my court'sy,- last, my 
 speech. My fear is, your displeasure,- my court'sy, 
 my duty; and my speech, to beg your pardons. If 
 you look for a good speech now, you undo me.- for 
 what I have to say is of mine own making; and 
 what, indeed, I sfiould say, will, I doubt, prove 
 mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so 
 to the venture; — Be it known to you, (as it is very 
 well,) I was lately here in the end of a displeasing 
 play, to pray your patience for it, and to promise 
 you a better. I did mean, indeed, to pay you with 
 this,- which, if, like an ill venture, it come unlucki- 
 ly home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors, lose. 
 Here, I promised you, 1 would be, and here I com- 
 mit my body to your mercies: bate me some, and 
 I will pay you some, and as most debtors do, 
 promise you infinitely. 
 
 If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, 
 will you command me to use my legs? and yet 
 that were but light payment, — to dance out of 
 
 your debt. But a good conscience will make any 
 possible satisfaction, and so will I. All the gen- 
 tlewomen here have forgiven me,- if the gentlemen 
 will not, then the gentlemen do not agree with the 
 gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such 
 \ an assembly. 
 
 One word more, I beseech you. If you be not 
 too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author 
 will continue the story, with sir John in it, and 
 make you merry with fair Katharine of France: 
 where, for any thing 1 know, Falstaff shall die of 
 a sweat, unless already he be killed with your hard 
 opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this u 
 not the man. My tongue is weary,- when my legs 
 are too, I will bid you good night: and so kneel 
 down before you,- — but, indeed, to pray fyr the 
 queen.' 
 
 ' Most of the ancient interludes conclude with a praye 
 for the king or queen. Hence, perhaps, tho Vivant Rea m 
 E'ffina, »t th* bottom of our modern play-hills. 
 
KING HENRY V. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Siwb Henry the Fifth* 
 
 Dlkx of Cluster, > B hm tQ the Kin 
 
 Ddke of Bedford, ^ 
 
 Duke of Exeter, Uncle to the King. 
 
 Duke of York, Cousin to the King. 
 
 Earls of Salisbury, Westmoreland, and 
 
 Warwick. 
 Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 Bishop of Ely. 
 
 Earl of Cambridge,} Conspirators against the 
 
 LohdScroop \ V Ki * 
 
 Sir Thomas (jiiey, ) 
 
 Sir Thomas Erpinuham, Gower, Fluellen, 
 
 Macmorris, Jamy, Officers in King 
 
 Henry's army. 
 Bates, Court, Williams, Soldiers in the same. 
 Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, formerly Servants to 
 
 Falstaff, now Soldiers in the same. 
 Boy, Servant to them. 
 
 A Herald. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Charles the Sixth, King of France. 
 
 Lewis, the Dauphin. 
 
 Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bourboh 
 
 The Constable of France. 
 
 Rambuhes, and Grandpre, French Lords. 
 
 Governor of Harfleur. 
 
 Montjoy, a French Herald. 
 
 Ambassadors to the King of England. 
 
 Isabel, Queen o/" France. 
 Katharine, Daughter q/*Charies and Isanei. 
 Alice, a Lady attending on the Princess Katharine 
 Quickly, Pistol's Wife, an Hostess. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Sol 
 diers, Messengers, and Attendants. 
 
 The SCENE, at the beginning of the play, lies in England; but afterwards wholly in France. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 O, for a muse of fire lhat would ascend 
 The brightest heaven of invention ! 
 A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, 
 And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
 Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, 
 Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, 
 Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and 
 
 fire, 
 Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, 
 The flat unraised spirit, that hath dared, 
 On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth 
 So great an object: Can this cockpit hold 
 The vasty fields of France, or may we cram 
 Within the wooden O,' the very casques,' 
 That did affright the air at Agincourt? 
 O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may 
 
 « An allusion to the circular form of the theatre. 
 • Helmets. 
 
 £429] 
 
 Attest, in nttic place, a million ; 
 
 And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, 
 
 On your imaginary forces' work: 
 
 Suppose, within the girdle of these walls, 
 
 Are now confined two mighty monarchies, 
 
 Whose high upreared and abutting fronts 
 
 The^perilous narrow ocean parts asunder. 
 
 Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts; 
 
 Into a thousand parts divide one man, 
 
 And make imaginary puissance: 
 
 Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them 
 
 Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth : 
 
 For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, 
 
 Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times; 
 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 
 Into an hour-glass; For the which supply, 
 
 Admit me Chorus to this history ; 
 
 Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, 
 
 Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play 
 
 » Powers of fancy 
 
430 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. An Ante-chamber in the 
 
 King's Palace. 
 Enter the Archbishop of Canterbttrt, and 
 Bishop of Ely. 
 Cmt. My lord, I'll tell you,— that self bill is 
 urged, 
 Which, in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign, 
 Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd, 
 But ths>* the scambling and unquiet time 
 Did push it out of further question. 
 
 Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now ? 
 Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against 
 us, 
 We lose the better half of our possession : 
 For all the temporal lands, which men devout 
 By testament have given to the church, 
 Would they strip from us; being valued thus, — 
 As .much as would maintain to the king's honor, 
 Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights; 
 Six thousand and two hundred good esquires; 
 And, to relief of lazars, and weak age, 
 Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil, 
 A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied; 
 And to the coffers of the king beside, 
 A thousand pounds by the year: Thus runs the bill. 
 Ely. This would drink deep. 
 Cunt. 'Tvvould drink the cup and all. 
 
 Ely. But what prevention? 
 Cant. The king is full of grace and fair regard. 
 Ely. And a true lover of the holy church. 
 Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not. 
 The breath no sooner left his father's body, 
 But that his wildness, mortified in him, 
 Seem'd to die too: yea, at that very moment, 
 Consideration like an angel came, 
 And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ; 
 Leaving his body as a paradise, 
 To envelop and contain celestial spirits. 
 Never was such a sudden scholar made: 
 Never came reformation in a flood, 
 With such a heady current, scouring faults; 
 Nor never hydra-headed wilfulness 
 So soon did lose his seat, and all at once, 
 /Vs in this king. 
 Ely. We are blessed in the change. 
 
 Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, 
 And, all-admiring, with an inward wish 
 You would desire, the king were made a prelate : 
 Hear him uebate of commonwealth affairs, 
 You would say, — it hath been all-in-all his study: 
 List 4 his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
 A fearful battle render'd you in music: 
 Turn him to any cause of policy, 
 The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, 
 Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks", 
 The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, 
 And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, 
 To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences; 
 So that the art and practic part of life 
 Must be the mistress to this theoric. 
 Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it 
 Since his addiction was to courses vain : 
 His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow, 
 His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports; 
 And never noted in him any study, 
 A.ny retirement, any sequestration 
 From open haunts and popularity. 
 * Listen to. 
 
 Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettto 
 And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, 
 Neighbor'd by fruit of baser quality: 
 And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation 
 Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt, 
 Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, 
 Unseen, yet crescive 8 in his faculty. 
 
 Cant. It must be so : for miracles are ceas'd 
 And therefore we must needs admit the means 
 How things are perfected. 
 
 Ely. But, my good lord, 
 
 How now for mitigation of this bill 
 Urged by the commons ? Doth his majesty 
 Incline to it, or no ? 
 
 Cant. He seems indifferent, 
 
 Or, rather, swaying more upon our part, 
 Than cherishing the exhibiters against us 
 For I have made an offer to his majesty,- 
 Upon our spiritual convocation; 
 And in regard of causes now in hand, 
 Which I have open'd to his grace at large, 
 As touching France, — to give a greater sum 
 Than ever at one time the clergy yet 
 Did to his predecessors part withal. 
 
 Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord \ 
 Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty; 
 Save, that there was not time enough to hear 
 (As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done) 
 The severals, and unhidden passages, 
 Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms; 
 And, generally, the crown and seat of France, 
 Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather. 
 Ely. What was the impediment that broke this off? 
 Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant, 
 Crav'd audience : and the hour, I think, is come, 
 To give him hearing : Is it four o'clock ? 
 Ely. It is 
 
 Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy; 
 Which I could, with a ready guess, declare, 
 Before the Frenchman spoke a word of it. 
 
 Ely. I'll wait upon you ; and I long to bear it. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room of Stale in the same. 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, Bedford, Exe 
 
 ter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and Attend- 
 ants. 
 
 K. Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canter 
 bury? 
 
 Exe. Not here in presence. 
 
 K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle. 
 
 West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege ? 
 
 K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would be re- 
 solv'd, 
 Before we hear him, of some things of weight, 
 That task our thoughts concerning us and France. 
 Enter the Ahchbishop of Canterbury and Bi- 
 shop of Ely. 
 
 Cant. God, and his angels, guard your sacred 
 throne, 
 And make you long become it! 
 
 K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. 
 
 My learned lord, we pray you to proceed ; 
 And justly and religiously unfold, 
 Why the law Salique, that they have in France, 
 Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim. 
 And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, 
 » Increasing. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY V 
 
 431 
 
 That you should fashion, wrest or bow your reading, 
 Or nicely charge your understanding soul 
 With opening titles miscreate, whose right 
 Suits not in native colors with the truth ; 
 For God doth know, how many, now in health, 
 Shall drop their blood in approbation 
 Of what your reverence shall incite us to: 
 Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, 
 How you awake the sleeping sword of war; 
 We charge you in the name of God, take heed : 
 For never two such kingdoms did contend, 
 Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops 
 Are every one a woe, a sore complaint, 
 'Gainst him,whose wrongs give edge unto the swords 
 That make such waste in brief mortality. 
 Under this conjuration, speak, my lord: 
 And we will hear, note, and believe in heart, 
 That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd 
 Ap pure as sin with baptism. 
 
 Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, — -and 
 you peers, 
 That owe your lives, your faith, and services, 
 To this imperial throne; — There is no bar 
 To make against your highness' claims to France, 
 But this which they produce from Pharamond, — 
 In terrain Salicam mutieres ne succedant, 
 No woman shall succeed in Salique land: 
 Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze," 
 To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 
 The founder of this law and female bar. 
 Yet their own authors faithfully affirm, 
 That the land Salique lies in Germany, 
 Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe: 
 Where Charles the great, having subdued the Sax- 
 ons, 
 There left behind and settled certain French ; 
 Who, holding in disdain the German women, 
 For some dishonest manners of their life, 
 Establish'd there this law, — to wit, no female 
 Should be inheretrix in Salique land ; 
 Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala, 
 Is at this day in Germany call'd — Meisen. 
 Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law 
 Was not devised for the realm of France: 
 Nor did the French possess the Salique land 
 Until four hundred one-and-tvventy years 
 After defunction of king Pharamond, 
 Idly suppos'd the founder of this law: 
 Who died within the year of our redemption — 
 Four hundred twenty six; and Charl^a the great 
 Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French 
 Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
 Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, 
 King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, 
 Did, as heir-general, being descended 
 Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair, 
 Make claim and title to the crown of France. 
 Hugh Capet also, — that usurp'd the crown 
 Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male 
 Of the true line and stock of Charles the great, — 
 To fine 1 his title with some show of truth, 
 (Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,) 
 Convey'd himselP as heir to the lady Lingare, 
 Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son 
 To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son 
 Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth, 
 Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
 Could not keep quiet in his conscience, 
 Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 
 That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother, 
 Was lineal of the lady Ermcngare, 
 Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain: 
 • Explain. ' Make showy or specious. * Derived his title. 
 
 By the which marriage, the line of Charles the great 
 Was re-united to the crown of France. 
 So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 
 King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, 
 King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear 
 To hold in right and title of the female : 
 So do the kings of France unto this day ; 
 Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law, 
 To bar your highness claiming from the female ; 
 And rather choose to hide them in a net, 
 Than amply to imbare 9 their crooked titles 
 Usurp'd from you and your progenitors. 
 
 K. Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make 
 this claim? 
 
 Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ! 
 For in the book of Numbers it is writ, — 
 When the son dies, let the inheritance 
 Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord. 
 Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag; 
 Look back unto your mighty ancestors: 
 Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb, 
 From whom you claim ! invoke his warlike spirit, 
 And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince* 
 Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 
 Making defeat on the full power of France; 
 Whiles his most mighty father on a hill 
 Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp 
 Forage in blood of French nobility. 1 
 O noble English, that could entertain 
 With half their forces the full pride of France; 
 And let another half stand laughing by, 
 All out of work, and cold for action ! 
 
 Ely. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead 
 And with your puissant arm renew their feats; 
 You are their heir, you sit upon their throne ; 
 The blood and courage, that renowned them, 
 Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege 
 Is in the very May-morn of his youth, 
 Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. 
 
 Ext. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth 
 Do all expect that you should rouse yourself, 
 As did the former lions of your blood. 
 
 West. They know your grace hath cause, and 
 means, and might; 
 So hath your highness; never king of England 
 Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects ; 
 Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, 
 And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 
 
 Cant. 0, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, 
 With blood, and sword, and fire to win your right: 
 In aid whereof, we of the spirituality 
 Will raise your highness such a mighty sum, 
 As never did the clergy at one time 
 Bring in to any of your ancestors. 
 
 K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the 
 French; 
 But lay down our proportions to defend 
 Against the Scot, who will make road up«n us 
 With all advantages. 
 
 Cant. Thev of those marches, 7 gracious sovereign, 
 Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
 Our inland from the pilfering borderers. 
 
 K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatcl.ers 
 only, 
 But fear the main intendment 3 of the Scot, 
 Who hath been still a giddy neighbor to us; 
 For you shall read that my great grandfather 
 Never went with his forces into France, 
 But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
 Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, 
 
 • Lay open. « At the battle of Creasy 
 
 » The borders of England and Scotland. 
 » General disposition. 
 
432 
 
 KING HENRY v 
 
 Act L 
 
 With ample and brim fulness of his force; 
 Galling the gleaned land with hot essays; 
 Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns ; 
 That England, being empty of defence, 
 Hath shook, and trembled at the ill neighborhood. 
 
 Cant. She hath been then more fear'd' than 
 harm'd, my liege: 
 For hear her but exampled by herself,— 
 When all her chivalry hath been in France, 
 And she a mourning widow of her nobles, 
 She hath herself not only well defended, 
 But taken, and impounded as a stray, 
 The king of Scots, whom she did send to France, — 
 To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings; 
 And make your chronicle as rich with praise, 
 As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
 With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. 
 
 West. But there's a saying, very old and true, — 
 
 If that you will France win, 
 Then with Scotland first begin: 
 
 For once the eagle England being in prey, 
 
 To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 
 
 Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs ; 
 
 Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat, 
 
 To spoil and havoc more than she can eat. 
 
 Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home : 
 Vet that is but a curs'd necessity ; 
 Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, 
 And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
 While that the armed hand doth fight abroad, 
 The advised head defends itself at home: 
 For government, though high, and low, and lower, 
 Put into parts, doth keep in one concent; 
 Congruing * in a full and natural close, 
 Like music. 
 
 Cant. True : therefore doth heaven divide 
 
 The state of man in divers functions, 
 Setting endeavor in continual motion ; 
 To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, 
 Obedience : for so work the honey bees ; 
 Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach 
 The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
 They have a king, and officers of sorts : 6 
 Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; 
 Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; 
 Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 
 Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; 
 Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
 To the tent-royal of their emperor: 
 Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
 The singing masons building roofs of gold; 
 The civil citizens kneading up the honey ; 
 The poor mechanic porters crowding in 
 Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; 
 The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum, 
 Delivering o'er to executors 1 pale 
 The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,— 
 That many things, having full reference 
 To one concent, may work contrariously; 
 As many arrows, loosed several ways, 
 Fly to one mark ; 
 
 As many several ways meet in one town ; 
 As many fresh streams run in one self sea; 
 As many lines close in the dial's centre ; 
 So may a thousand actions, once afoot. 
 End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
 Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. 
 Divide your happy England into four; 
 Whereof take you one quarter into France, 
 And vou withal shall make all Gallia shake. 
 
 1 Frightened. 
 
 • Different degrees. 
 
 ' Agreeing. 
 ' Executioners. 
 
 If we, with thrice that power left at home, 
 Cannot defend our own door from the dog, 
 Let us be worried ; and our nation lose 
 The name of hardiness, and policy. 
 
 K. Hen. Call in the messengers, sent from the 
 dauphin. 
 [Exit an Attendant. The King ascends his Throne, 
 Now are we well resolv'd : and, — by God's help. 
 And yours, the noble sinews of our power, — 
 France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, 
 Or break it all to pieces: Or there we'll sit, 
 Ruling in large and ample dupery," 
 O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms' 
 Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
 Tombless, with no remembrance over them : 
 Either our history shall, with f'.ll mouth, 
 Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave, 
 Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, 
 Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. 
 
 Enter Ambassadors of France. 
 Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure 
 Of our fair cousin dauphin ; for we hear, 
 Your greeting is from him, not from the king. 
 
 Amb. May it please your majesty, to give us lea's 
 Freely to render what we have in charge ; 
 Or shall we sparingly show you far off 
 The dauphin's meaning and our embassy 1 
 
 K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king ; 
 Under whose grace our passion is a subject, 
 As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons: 
 Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness 
 Tell us the dauphin's mind. 
 
 Amb. Thus then, in few. 
 
 Your highness, lately sending into France, 
 Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
 Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third 
 In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
 Says, — that you savor too much of your youth ; 
 And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France, 
 That can be with a nimble galliard 9 won ; 
 You cannot revel into dukedoms there : 
 He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, 
 This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this, 
 Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim, 
 Hear no more of you. This the dauphin speaks. 
 
 K. Hen. What treasure, uncle! 
 
 Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. We are glad, the dauphin is so pleasant 
 with us; 
 His present, and your pains, we thank you for : 
 When we have match'd our rackets to these balls. 
 We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, 
 Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard :' 
 Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrang- 
 ler, 
 That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
 With chaces. 2 And we understand him well, 
 How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, 
 Not measuring what use we made of them. 
 We never valued this poor seat 3 of England; 
 And therefore, living hence,' did give ourself 
 To barbarous license ; As 'tis ever common, 
 That men are merriest when they are from home 
 But tell the dauphin, — I will keep my state; 
 Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness, 
 When I do rouse me in my throne of France: 
 For that I have laid by my majesty, 
 And plodded like a man for working-days; 
 But I will rise there with so full a glory, 
 
 • Dominion. • An ancient dance 
 
 1 A place in the tennis-court, into which the ball it 
 sometimes struck. » A term at tennis. * The Mirone 
 
 • Withdrawing from the court. 
 
Act II Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 433 
 
 That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
 Yea., strike the dauphin blind to look on us. 
 And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his 
 Hath turned his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul 
 •Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance 
 That shall fly with them: for many a thousand 
 
 widows 
 Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; 
 Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down ; 
 And some are yet ungotten, and unborn, 
 That shall have cause to curse the dauphin's scorn. 
 But this lies all within the will of God, 
 To whom I do appeal ; and in whose name, 
 Tell you the dauphin, I am coming on, 
 To venge me as I may, and to put forth 
 My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. 
 So, get you hence in peace; and tell the dauphin, 
 His jest will savor but of shallow wit, 
 
 When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it. - 
 
 Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeimt Ambassadors. 
 
 Exe. This was a merry message. 
 
 K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it 
 [Descends from his Throne 
 Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour, 
 That may give furtherance to our expedition : 
 For we have now no thought in us but France; 
 Save those to God, that run before our business. 
 Therefore, let our proportions for these wars 
 Be soon collected ; and all things thought upon, 
 That may, with reasonable swiftness, add 
 More feathers to our wings ; for, God before, 
 We'll chide this dauphin at his father's door. 
 Therefore, let every man now task his thought, 
 That this fair action may on foot be brought. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, 
 And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies ; 
 Now thrive the armorers, and honor's thought 
 Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
 They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse; 
 Following the mirror of all Christian kings, 
 With winged heels, as English Mercuries. 
 For now sits Expectation in the air; 
 And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, 
 With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, 
 Promis'd to Harry, and his followers. 
 The French, advis'd by good intelligence 
 Of this most dreadful preparation, 
 Shake in their fear ; and with pale policy 
 Seek to divert the English purposes. 
 England ! — model to thy inward greatness, 
 Like little body with a mighty heart, — 
 What might'st thou do, that honor would thee do, 
 Were all thy children kind and natural! 
 But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out 
 A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 
 With treacherous crowns: and three corrupted 
 
 men, — 
 One, Richard earl of Cambridge ; and the second, 
 Henry lord Scroop of Masham; and the third, 
 Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland, — 
 Have, for the gilt s of France, (O guilt, indeed !) 
 Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; 
 And by their hands this grace of kings must die, 
 (If hell and treason hold their promises,) 
 fire he take ship for France, and in Southampton. 
 Linger your patience on ; and well digest 
 The abuse of distance, while we force a play. 
 The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
 The king is set from London ; and the scene 
 fs now transported, gentles, to Southampton: 
 There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: 
 And thence to France shall we convey you safe, 
 And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
 To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may, 
 We'll not offend one stomach with our play. 
 But, till the king come forth, and not till then, 
 Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit. 
 8CENE I. — London. Before Quickly's House 
 in Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter Nym and Bardolph. 
 Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. 
 • Gold. 
 
 Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends 
 yet? 
 
 Nym. For my part, I care not; I say little: but 
 when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; — but 
 that shall be as it may. I dare not fight ; but I will 
 wink, and hold out mine iron: It is a simple one; 
 but what though? it will toast cheese; and it will 
 endure cold as another man's sword will: and 
 there's the humor of it. 
 
 Bard. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you 
 friends; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to 
 France ; let it be so, good corporal Nym. 
 
 Nym. 'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's 
 the certain of it ; and when I cannot live any longer, 
 I will do as I may : that is my rest, 6 that is the 
 rendezvous of it. 
 
 Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married 
 to Nell Quickly : and, certainly, she did you wrong ; 
 for you were troth-plight to her. 
 
 Nym. I cannot tell ; things must be as they may: 
 men may sleep, and they may have their throats 
 about them at that time ; and some say, knives have 
 edges. It must be as it may: though patience be 
 a tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be 
 conclusions. Well, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife ; 
 — good corporal, be patient here. — How now, mine 
 host Pistol ? 
 
 Pist. Base tike,' call'st thou me — host! 
 Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term ; 
 Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 
 
 Quick. No, by my troth, not long : for we cannot 
 lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen, 
 that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but 
 it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight 
 [Nym draws his sword.'] well-a-day, Lady, if he 
 be not drawn now ! Lord ! here's corporal Nym's 
 — now shall we have wilful adultery and murder 
 committed. Good lieutenant Bardolph, --good 
 corporal, offer nothing here. 
 
 Nym. Pish ! 
 
 Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick- 
 ear'd cur of Iceland! 
 
 Quick. Good corporal Nym, show the valor of > 
 man, and put up thy swjrd. 
 
 1 Determination. 
 
 •Do*. 
 
434 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act li 
 
 Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you 
 tolus. [Sheathing his sword. 
 
 Pist. Solus, egregious dog ? O viper vile ! 
 The solus in thy most marvellous face ; 
 The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat, 
 And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy; 9 
 And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! 
 I do retort the solus in thy bowels: 
 For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 
 And flashing fire will follow. 
 
 Nym. I am not Barbason; 9 you cannot conjure 
 me. I have a humor to knock you indifferently 
 well : If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour 
 you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: If 
 you would walk off, I would prick your guts a 
 little, in good terms, as I may ; and that's the hu- 
 mor of it. 
 
 Pist. O braggard vile, and damned furious wight ! 
 The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; 
 Therefore exhale.' [Pistol anrfNiM draw. 
 
 Bard. Hear ine, hear me, what I say : — he that 
 strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, 
 as I am a soldier. \_Draivs. 
 
 Pist. An oath of mickle might: and fury shall 
 abate. 
 Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give ; 
 Thy spirits are most tall. 
 
 Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, 
 in fair terms; that is the humor of it. 
 
 Pist. Coup le gorge, that's the word? — I thee 
 defy again. 
 
 hound of Crete, 2 think'st thou my spouse to get? 
 No; to the spital 3 go, 
 
 And from the powdering tub of infamy, 
 Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 4 
 Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse: 
 
 1 have, and I will hold, the quondam 1 Quickly 
 For the only she ; and — Pauca, there's enough. 
 
 Enter the Boy. 
 
 Boy. Mine host, Pistol, you must come to my 
 master, — and you, hostess; — he is very sick, and 
 would to bed. — Good Bardolpb. put thy nose be- 
 tween his sheets, and do the office of a warming 
 pan: 'faith, he's very ill. 
 
 Bard. Away, you rogue. 
 
 Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pud- 
 Jing one of the#e days ; the king has killed his heart. 
 Good husband, come home presently. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Quickly and Boy. 
 
 Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? We 
 must to France together; Why, the devil, should 
 we keep knives to cut one another's throats? 
 
 Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food 
 howl on! 
 
 Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won 
 cf you at betting? 
 
 Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 
 
 Num. That now I will have; that's the humor 
 of it. 
 
 Pist. As manhood shall compound; Push home. 
 
 Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first 
 thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. 
 
 Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have 
 their course. 
 
 Bard. Corporal Nym, an diou wilt be friends, be 
 friends: an thou wilt not, why then be enemies 
 with me too. Pr'ythee, put up. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of 
 vou at betting? 
 
 • Par Dieu! ° Name of a demon. ' Breathe your last. 
 » Bk>od-hound. 'Hospital. 
 
 1 Of Oreaaida'* nature, see the play of Troilus and Cres- 
 mdi. » formerly. 
 
 Pist. A noble 6 shalt thou have, and presert poy 
 And liquor likewise will I give to thee, 
 And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood 
 I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ;— 
 Is not this just? — for I shall sutler be 
 Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my noble ? 
 
 Pist. In cash most justly paid. 
 
 Nym. Well, then, that's the humor of it. 
 Re-enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Quick. As you ever came of women, come in 
 quickly to sir John : Ah, poor heart ! he is so shaked 
 of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most la- 
 mentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. 
 
 Nym. The king hath run bad humors on the 
 knight, that's the even of it. 
 
 Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ; 
 His heart is fracted and corroborate. 
 
 Nym. The king is a good king : but it must be ae 
 it may; he passes some humors, and careers. 
 
 Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, 
 we will live. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — Southampton. A Council-Chamber 
 
 Enter Exeter, Bedford, and Westmoreland. 
 
 Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these 
 
 traitors. 
 Exc. They shall be apprehended by and by. 
 West. How smooth and even they do bear them 
 selves ! 
 As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, 
 Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. 
 
 Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, 
 By interception which they dream not of. 
 
 Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, 
 Whom he hath cloy'd and graced with princely fa- 
 
 vers, — 
 That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell 
 His sovereign's life to death and treachery! 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter King Henry, Scroop, 
 Cambridge, Grey, Lords, ant? Attendants. 
 K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will 
 aboard. 
 My lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord ol 
 Masham, — 
 
 And you, my gentle knight, give me youi 
 
 thoughts : 
 Think you not, that the powers we bear with us, 
 Will cut their passage through the force of Franco 
 Doing the execution, and the act, 
 For which we have in head ' assembled them ? 
 Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do hia 
 
 best. 
 K. Hen. I doubt not that : since we are well per- 
 suaded, 
 We carry not a heart with us from hence, 
 That grows not in a fair consent with ours ; 
 Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish 
 Success and conquest to attend on us. 
 
 Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd, and 
 lov'd, 
 Than is your majesty ; there's not, I think, a subject, 
 That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
 Under the sweet shade of your government. 
 
 Grey. Even those, that were your father's enemies. 
 Have steep'd their galls in honey ; and do serve you 
 With hearts create of duty and of zeal. 
 
 K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thank- 
 fulness ; 
 And shall forget the office of our hand, 
 « A coin, value six shillings and eight-pence. * Forne 
 
ScBNE II. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 485 
 
 Sooner than quittance of desert and merit, 
 According to the weight and worthiness. 
 
 Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil ; 
 And labor shall refresh itself with hope : 
 To do your grace incessant services. 
 
 K. Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter, 
 Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 
 That rail'd against our person : we consider, 
 It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
 And, on his more advice, we pardon him. 
 
 Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security: 
 Let him he punish'd, sovereign ; lest example 
 Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 
 
 K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 
 
 Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. 
 
 Grey. You show great mercy, if you give him life, 
 After the taste of much correction. 
 
 K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me 
 Are heavy orisons 9 'gainst this poor wretch. 
 If little faults, proceeding on distemper, 
 Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye, 
 When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and di- 
 gested, 
 Appear before us ? — We'll yet enlarge that man, 
 Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, — in their 
 
 dear care, 
 And tender preservation of our person, — 
 Would have him punish'd. And now to our 
 
 French causes; 
 Who are the late 1 commissioners? 
 
 Cam. I one, my lord; 
 Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 
 
 Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 
 
 Grey. And me, my royal sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge, there 
 is yours ; — 
 There yours, lord Scroop of Masham ; — and, sir 
 
 knight, 
 Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: — 
 Read them ; and know, I know your worthiness. — 
 My lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle. Exeter, — 
 We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentle- 
 men? 
 What see you in those papers, that you lose 
 So much complexion ? — look ye, how they change ! 
 Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you 
 
 there, 
 That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood 
 Out of appearance ? 
 
 Cam. I do confess my fault : 
 
 And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 
 
 Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal. 
 
 K. Hen. The mercy, that was quick 2 in us but late, 
 By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd : 
 You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; 
 For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, 
 As dogs upon their masters, worrying them. — 
 See you, my princes, and my noble peers, 
 These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge 
 
 • here, — 
 
 You know, how apt our love was, to accord 
 To furnish him with all appertinents 
 Belonging to his honor; and this man 
 Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd 
 And sworn unto the practices of France, 
 To kill us here in Hampton: to the which, 
 This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
 Than Cambridge is, — hath likewise sworn: — But 0! 
 What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop ; thou cruel, 
 Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature! 
 Thou, that didst bear the key of all my counsels, 
 
 • Recompense. 
 Lately appointed. 
 
 • Prayers. 
 » Living. 
 
 That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, 
 
 That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, 
 
 Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use 1 
 
 May it be possible, that foreign hire 
 
 Could out of thee extract one spark of evil, 
 
 That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange, 
 
 That though the truth of it stands off as gross 
 
 As black from white, my eye will scarcely see iU 
 
 Treason, and murder, ever kept together, 
 
 As two yoke-devils sworn to cither's purpose, 
 
 Working so grossly in a natural cause, 
 
 That admiration did not whoop at them : 
 
 But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst hring in 
 
 Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder : 
 
 And whatsoever cunning fiend it was, 
 
 That wrought upon thee so preposterously, 
 
 H'ath got the voice in hell for excellence: 
 
 And other devils, that suggest by treasons, 
 
 Do botch and bungle up damnation 
 
 With patches, colors, and with forms being fetch'd 
 
 From glistering semblances of piety ; 
 
 But he, that temper'd' thee, bade thee stand up, 
 
 Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do trea 
 
 son, 
 Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 
 If that same demon, that hath gull'd thee thus, 
 Should with his lion gait, 4 walk the whole world, 
 He might return to vasty Tartar 5 back, 
 And tell the legions — I can never win 
 A soul so easy as that Englishman's. 
 O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
 The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful 1 
 Why, so didst thou : Seem they grave and learned? 
 Why, so didst thou : Come they of noble family ? 
 Why, so didst thou : Seem they religious ? 
 Why, so didst thou : Or are they spare in diet ; 
 Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger; 
 Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood ; 
 Garnish'd anddeck'd in modest complement; 6 
 Not working with the eye, without the ear, 
 And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither? 
 Such, and so finely bolted," didst thou seem : 
 And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
 To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued, 
 With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; 
 For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
 Another fall of man. — Their faults are open, 
 Arrest them to the answer of the law ; — 
 And God acquit them of their practices ! 
 
 Exc. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name 
 of Richard earl of Cambridge. 
 
 I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
 Henry lord Scroop of Masham. 
 
 I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
 Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland. 
 
 Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd^ 
 And I repent my fault, more than my death; 
 Which I beseech your highness to forgive, 
 Although my body pay the price of it. 
 
 Cam. For me — the gold of France did not 
 seduce; 
 Although I did admit it as a motive, 
 The sooner to effect what I intended: 
 But heaven be thanked for prevention; 
 Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, 
 Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me. 
 
 Grey. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
 At the discovery of most dangerous treason, 
 Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, 
 Prevented from a damned enterprise : 
 My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign 
 
 » Rendered thee pliable. 
 
 « Accomplishment. 
 
 4 Pace. step. 
 ' Sifted. 
 
136 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act II 
 
 K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear 
 
 your sentence. 
 You have conspired against our royal person, 
 Toiii'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his 
 
 coffers 
 Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death ; 
 Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, 
 His princes and his peers to servitude, 
 His subjects to oppression and contempt, 
 And his whole kingdom unto desolation. 
 Touching our person, seek we no revenge: 
 But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, 
 Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws 
 We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, 
 Poor miserable wretches, to your death: 
 The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you 
 Patience to endure, and true repentance 
 Of all your dear offences ! — Bear them hence. 
 
 [Exeunt Conspirators, guarded. 
 Now, lords, for France ; the enterprize whereof 
 Shall be to you, as us, like glorious. 
 We doubt not of a fair and lucky war; 
 Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
 This dangerous treason, lurking in our way, 
 To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now, 
 But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
 Then forth, dear countrymen ; let us deliver 
 Our puissance into the hand of God, 
 Putting it straight in expedition. 
 Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance: 
 No king of England, if not king of France. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE III. — Mrs. Quickly's House in Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, Nxm, Bardolph, 
 and Boy. 
 
 Quick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me 
 bring thee to Staines. 
 
 Pist. No; for my manly heart doth yearn. 8 — 
 Bardolph, be blithe; — Nym, rouse thy vaunting 
 
 veins ; 
 Boy, bristle thy courage up; forFalstaff he is dead, 
 And we must yearn therefore. 
 
 Bard. 'Would, I were with him, wheresome'er 
 he is, either in heaven, or in hell ! 
 
 Quick. Nay, sure, he's not in hell ; he's in Ar- 
 thur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 
 'A made a finer end, and went away, an it had been 
 any christom 9 child ; 'a parted even just between 
 twelve and one, e'en at turning o'the tide : for after 
 I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with 
 flowers, and smile upon his fingers ends, I knew 
 there was but one way ; for his nose was as sharp 
 as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields. How 
 now, sir John? quoth I: what, man! be of good 
 cheer. So 'a cried out — God, God, God ! three or 
 four times: now I, to comfort him, bid him, 'a 
 should not think of God; I hoped, there was no 
 need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet: 
 So, 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put 
 my hand into the bed, and felt them, and they were 
 as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and 
 50 upward, and upward, and all was as cold as 
 ray stone. 
 
 Nym. They say, he cried out of sack. 
 
 Quirk. Ay, that 'a did. 
 
 Bard. And of women. 
 
 Quick. Nay, that 'a did not. 
 
 Boy. Yes, that 'a did ; and said, they were devils 
 mcarnate. 
 
 Quick. 'A could never abide carnation : 'twas a 
 color he never liked. 
 
 Grieve. • A child not more than a month old. 
 
 Boy. 'A said once, the devil would have hiu 
 about women. 
 
 Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle wo 
 men: but then he was rheumatic ' and talked of 
 the whore of Babylon. 
 
 Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick 
 upon Bardolph's nose ; and a' said, it was a black 
 soul burning in hell-fire ? 
 
 Bard. Well, the fuel is gone, that maintained 
 that fire : that's all the riches I got in his service. 
 
 Nym. Shall we shog off] the king will be gone 
 from Southampton. 
 
 Pist. Come, let's away. — My love, give me thv 
 lips. 
 Look to my chattels, and my moveables: 
 Let senses rule ; the word is, Pitch and pay ; 
 Trust none ; 
 
 For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer cakes, 
 And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck; 
 Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. 
 Go, clear thy crystals. — Yoke-fellows in arms, 
 Let us to France ! like horse-leeches, my boys ; 
 To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! 
 
 Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. 
 
 Pist. Touch her soft mouth and march. 
 
 Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her 
 
 Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humor of it; 
 but, adieu. 
 
 Pist. Let housewifery appear; keep close, 1 
 thee command. 
 
 Quick. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— France. A Room in the French 
 
 King's Palace. 
 Enter the French King attended,- the Dauphin, the 
 Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and others. 
 
 Fr. King. Thus come the English with full 
 power upon us; 
 And more than carefully it us concerns, 
 To answer royally in our defences. 
 Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne, 
 Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, — 
 And you, prince dauphin, — with all swift despatch, 
 To line, and new repair, our towns of war, 
 With men of courage, and with means defendant: 
 For England his approaches makes as fierce, 
 As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 
 It fits us then, to be as provident _ . 
 
 As fear may teach us, out of late examples 
 Left by the fatal and neglected English 
 Upon our fields. 
 
 Dau. My most redoubted father, 
 
 It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe : 
 For peace itself should not so dull 2 a kingdom, 
 (Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in 
 
 question.) 
 But that defences, musters, preparations, 
 Should be maintained, assembled, and collected, 
 As were a war in expectation. 
 Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth, • 
 To view the sick and feeble parts of France : 
 And let us Jo it with no show of fear; 
 No, with no more, than if we heard that England 
 Were busied with a Whitsun morrice-dance : 
 For, Hi)- good liege, she is so idly king'd, 
 Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
 By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth 
 That fear attends her not. 
 
 Con. O peace, prince dauphia 
 
 You are too much mistaken in this king: 
 Question your grace the late ambassadors,— 
 
 • Mrs. Quickly means lunatic. 
 ' Render it callous, insensible. 
 
 _J 
 
SCKNE IV 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 43? 
 
 With what great state he heard their embassy, 
 How well supplied with noble counsellors, 
 How modest in exception, 3 and, withal, 
 How terrible in constant resolution, — 
 And you shall find his vanities fore-spent 
 Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly; 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
 That shall first spring, and be most delicate. 
 
 Dau. Well,' 'tis not so, my lord high constable, 
 But though we think it so, it is no matter: 
 In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh 
 The enemy more mighty than he seems, 
 So the proportions of defence are fill'd; 
 Which, of a weak and niggardly projection, 
 Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting 
 A little cloth. 
 
 Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong ; 
 And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. 
 The. kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; 
 And he is bred out of that bloody strain,* 
 That haunted us in our familiar paths: 
 Witness our too much memorable shame, 
 When Cressy battle fatally was struck, 
 And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand 
 Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales; 
 Whiles that his mountain sire, — on mountain 
 
 standing, 
 Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, — 
 Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him 
 Mangle the work of nature, and deface 
 The patterns that by God and by French fathers 
 Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
 Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear 
 The native mightiness and fate of him. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Ambassadors from Henry king of England 
 Do crave admittance to your majesty. 
 
 Fr. King. We'll give them present audience. Go, 
 and bring them. 
 
 [Exeunt Mess, and certain Lords, 
 fou see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. 
 
 Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit : for coward 
 dogs 
 Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to 
 
 threaten, 
 Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, 
 Take up the English short ; and let them know 
 Of what a monarchy you are the head : 
 Selt-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
 As self-neglecting. 
 
 Re-enter Lords, with Exeter and Train. 
 
 Fr. King. From our brother England 1 
 
 Exe. From him : and thus he greets your ma- 
 jesty. 
 He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
 That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
 The borrowed glories, that, by gift of heaven, 
 By law of nature, and of nations, 'long 
 To^him, and to his heirs; namely, the crown, 
 And all wide-stretched honors that pertain, 
 By custom and the ordinance of times, 
 Vnto the crown of France. That you may know, 
 Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claim, 
 
 * In making objections 
 
 * Lineage. 
 
 Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days, 
 Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked, 
 He sends you this most memorable line, 
 
 [Gives a paper. 
 In every branch truly demonstrative ; 
 Willing you overlook this pedigree : 
 And, when you find him evenly deriv'd 
 From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, 
 Edward the third, he bids you then resign 
 Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held 
 From him, the native and true challenger. 
 
 Fr. King. Or else, what follows 1 
 
 Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide the crown 
 Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it: 
 And therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, 
 In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove; 
 (That, if requiring fail, he will compel ;) 
 And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, 
 Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy 
 On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war 
 Opens his vasty jaws: and on your head 
 Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries, 
 The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans, 
 For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, 
 That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. 
 This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message , 
 Unless the dauphin be in presence here, 
 To whom expressly I bring greeting too. 
 
 Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this further : 
 To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
 Back to our brother England. 
 
 Dau. For the dauphin, 
 
 I stand here for him ; What to him from England T 
 
 Exe. Scorn and defiance ; slight regard, contempt, 
 And any thing that may not misbecome 
 The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
 Thus says my king: and, if your father's highness 
 Do not, in grant of all demands at large. 
 Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, 
 He'll call you to so hot an answer for it, 
 That caves and womby vaultages of France 
 Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock 
 In second accent of his ordnance. 
 
 Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply, 
 It is against my will : for I desire 
 Nothing but odds with England: to that end, 
 As matching to his youth and vanity, 
 I did present him with those Paris balls. 
 
 Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, 
 Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe : 
 And, be assur'd, you'll find a difference, 
 (As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,) 
 Between the promise of his greener days, 
 And these he masters now : now he weighs time, 
 Even to the utmost grain ; which you shall read 
 In your own losses, if he stay in France. 
 
 Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind 
 at full. 
 
 Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king 
 Come here himself to question our delay; 
 For he is footed in this land already. 
 
 Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd wilh 
 fair conditions : 
 A night is but small breath, and little pause, 
 To answer matters of this consequence. 
 
 [Eaeunt 
 
las 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 act m 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 Chor. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene 
 flies, 
 [n motion of no less celerity 
 Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen 
 The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
 Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet 
 With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. 
 Play with your fancies ; and in them behold, 
 Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing : 
 Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give 
 To sounds confus'd : behold the threaden sails, 
 Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, 
 Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, 
 Breasting the lofty surge : O, do but think, 
 You stand upon the rivage,' and behold 
 A city on the inconstant billows dancing; 
 For so appears this fleet majestical, 
 Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow ! 
 Grapple your minds to sternage 8 of this navy ; 
 And leave your England, as dead midnight, still, 
 Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, 
 Or past, or not arriv'd to, pith and puissance: 
 For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
 With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
 These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? 
 Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege : 
 Behold the ordnance on their carriages, 
 With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. 
 Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes 
 
 back; 
 Tells Harry — that the king doth offer him 
 Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, 
 Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
 The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner, 
 With linstock 1 now the devilish cannon touches, 
 
 [Alarum; and Chambers' go off. 
 And down goes all before them. Still be kind, 
 And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Harfleur. 
 Alarums. EnterYLmo Henry.Exeter, Bedford, 
 Glosteh, and Soldiers, with Scaling Ladders. 
 
 K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, 
 once more ; 
 Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
 In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, 
 As modest stillness and humility : 
 But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
 Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 Disguise fail nature with hard-favor'd rage ; 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; 
 Let it pry through the portage of the head, 
 Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it, 
 As fearfully, as doth a galled rock 
 O'crhang and jutty 9 his confounded" base, 
 Pwill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
 I\ o-.» set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To his full height ! — On, on, you noblest English, 
 Whose blood is fet'from fathers of war-proof ! 
 Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
 Have, ir. these parts, from morn till even fought, 
 
 ' Bank or shore. « Sterns of the ships. 
 
 7 tie staff which holds the match used in firing cannon. 
 Small pieces of ordnance. 
 
 » A mole to withstand the vncroachment of the tide. 
 
 » Wirn, wasted • Fetched. 
 
 And shcath'd their swords for lack of argument 
 
 Dishonor not your mothers ; now attest, 
 
 That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you ! 
 
 Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
 
 And teach them how to war! — And you, good 
 
 yeomen, 
 Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
 The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
 That you are worth your breeding; which I doubf 
 
 not; 
 For there is none of you so mean and base, 
 That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 
 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
 Straining upon the start. The game's afoot ; 
 Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 
 Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and saint George! 
 [Exeunt. Alarum, and Chambers go off. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Forces pass over,- then enter Ntm, Bardolph, Pis- 
 tol, and Boy. 
 
 Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the 
 breach ! 
 
 Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are 
 too hot ; and, for mine own part, I have not a case 
 of lives : the humor of it is too hot, that is the very 
 plain-song of it. 
 
 Pist. The plain-song is most just ; for humors 
 do abound; 
 Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die ; 
 And sword and shield, 
 In bloody field, 
 Doth win immortal fame. 
 Boy. 'Would I were in an alehouse in London! 
 I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety,. 
 Pist. And I : 
 
 If wishes would prevail with me, 
 My purpose should not fail with me, 
 But thither would I hie. 
 Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing 
 on bough. 
 
 Enter Fltjellen. 
 Flu. Got's plood! — Up to the preaches, you 
 rascals ! will you not up to the preaches 1 
 
 [Driving them forwara. 
 Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould! 
 Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage ! 
 Abate thy rage, great duke ! 
 Good bawcock, bate thy rage! use lenity, sweet 
 chuck ! 
 Nym. These be good humors! — your honor 
 wins bad humors. 
 
 [Exeunt Ntm, Pistol, and Bardolph, 
 
 followed by Flu ell ex. 
 
 Boy. As young as I am, I have observed tnese 
 
 three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but 
 
 all they three, though they would serve me, could 
 
 not be man to me : for, indeed, three such antics 
 
 do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, — he is 
 
 white-livered, and red-faced ; by the means whereof, 
 
 'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, — he 
 
 hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword : by the 
 
 means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps whole 
 
 weapons. For Nym, — he hath heard that men 
 
 of few words are the best 1 men ; and therefore by 
 
 scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought 
 
 * Matter, suhject. * Brareat. 
 
Scene XL. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 4*9 
 
 i. coward ; but his few bad words are match'd with 
 as few good deeds; for 'a never broke any man's 
 head but his own ; and that was against a post, when 
 he was drunk. They will steal any thing and call 
 it — purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case; bore it 
 avelve leagues, and sold it for three half-pence. — 
 Nym, and Bardolph, are sworn brothers in niching, 
 and in Calais they stole a fire shovel : I knew, by 
 that piece of service, the men would carry coals. 5 
 They would have me as familiar with men's pockets 
 as their gloves or their handkerchiefs : which makes 
 much against my manhood, if I should take from 
 another's pocket, to put into mine ; for it is plain 
 pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and 
 seek some better service : their villany goes against 
 my weak stomach. [Exit Boy. 
 
 Re-enter Fluellen, Gower following. 
 
 Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently 
 to the mines ; the duke of Gloster would speak with 
 you. 
 
 Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke, it is not 
 so good to come to the mines : For, look you, the 
 mines is not according to the disciplines of the war ; 
 the concavities of it is not sufficient ; for, look you, 
 th' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, 
 look you) is dight 6 himself four yards under the 
 countermines: by Cheshu, I think, 'a will plow up 
 all, if there is not better directions. 
 
 Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of 
 the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irish- 
 man ; a very valiant gentleman, i'faith. 
 
 Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not ? 
 
 Gow. I think it be. 
 
 Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 'orld: I 
 will verify as much in his peard: he has no more 
 directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look 
 you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. 
 
 Enter Macmorris and Jamt, at a distance. 
 
 Gow. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, 
 captain Jamy, with him. 
 
 Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gen- 
 tleman, that is certain ; and of great expedition, and 
 knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my particular 
 knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will 
 maintain his argument as well as any military man 
 in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of 
 the Romans. 
 
 Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. 
 
 Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy. 
 
 Gow. How now, captain Macmorris? have you 
 quit the mines] have the pioneers given o'er? 
 
 Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done: the work ish 
 give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my 
 hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work 
 ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed 
 up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. 
 O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill 
 done! 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will 
 you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with 
 you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines 
 of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, 
 look you, and friendly communication ; partly, to 
 satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, 
 look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of 
 the military discipline ; that is the point. 
 
 Jamy. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud captains 
 bath : and I sail quit" you with gud leve, as I may 
 [tick occasion ; that sail I, marry. 
 
 Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save 
 me, the day is hot, and tne weather, and the wars, 
 ' Pocket affronts. • Digged. ' Requite, answer. 
 
 and the king, and the dukes; it is no time to dis- 
 course. The town is beseeched, and the trumpe' 
 calls us to the breach ; and we talk, and, by Chris'i, 
 do nothing; 'tis shame for us all: so God sa 1 ine, 
 'tis shame to stand still : it is shame, by my hand . 
 and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done 
 and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la. 
 
 Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take 
 themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile 
 ligge i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and 
 aile pay it as valorously as I may, that sail I surelv 
 do, that is the breff and the long : Marry, I wad full 
 fain heard some question 'tween you tway. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, 
 under your correction, there is not many of your 
 nation 
 
 Mac. Of my nation ? What ish my nation " ish 
 a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal? 
 What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? 
 
 Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise 
 than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I 
 shall think you do not use me with that affability as 
 in discretion you ought to use me, look you ; being 
 as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of 
 wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other 
 particularities. 
 
 Mac. I do not know you so good a man as my- 
 self: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. 
 
 Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each 
 other. 
 
 Jamy. Au ! that's a foul fault. 
 
 [A Parley sounded. 
 
 Gow. The town sounds a parley. 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more 
 better opportunity to be required, look you, I will 
 be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of 
 war; and there is an end. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Before the Gates o/Harfleur. 
 The Governor and some Citizens on the Walls,- thi 
 
 English Forces below. Enter King Henry 
 
 and his Train. 
 
 K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the town? 
 This is the latest parle we will admit : 
 Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves : 
 Or, like to men proud of destruction, 
 Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier, 
 (A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) 
 If I begin the battery once again, 
 I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, 
 Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
 The gates of mercy shall be all shut up; 
 And the flesh'd soldier — rough and hard of heart,— 
 In liberty of bloody hand, shall range 
 With conscience wide as hell ; mowing like grass 
 Your fresh-air virgins, and your flowering infants 
 What is it then to me, if impious war, — 
 Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends,— 
 Do, with his smirch 'd 8 complexion, all fell 9 feats 
 Enlink'd to waste and desolation ? 
 What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, 
 If your pure maidens fall into the hand 
 Of hot and forcing violation ? 
 What rein can hold licentious wickedness, 
 When down the hill he holds his fierce career ? 
 We may as bootless 1 spend our vain command 
 Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil, 
 As send precepts to the Leviathan 
 To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleui 
 Take pity of your town, and of your people, 
 Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; 
 W l iTes yet the cool and temperate wind of grai c 
 Soiled. * Cruel » Without s-coes». 
 
440 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Verblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
 
 Of deadly murder, spoil, and villany. 
 
 If not, why, in a moment, look to see 
 
 The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
 
 Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; 
 
 Your fathers taken by the silver beards, 
 
 And their most reverend heads dashed to the walls; 
 
 Your naked infants spitted upon pikes; 
 
 Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd 
 
 Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 
 
 At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
 
 What say youl will you yield, and this avoid? 
 
 Or, guilty in deience, be thus destroy'dl 
 
 Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end : 
 The dauphin, whom of succor we entreated, 
 Returns us — that his powers are not yet ready 
 To 'raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king, 
 We yield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy: 
 Enter our gates; dispose of us, and ours; 
 For we no longer are defensible. 
 
 K. Hen. Open your gates. — Come, uncle Exeter, 
 Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, 
 And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French: 
 Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, — 
 The winter coming on, and sickness growing 
 Upon our soldiers, — we'll retire to Calais. 
 To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest; 
 To-morrow for the march are we addrest. 5 
 
 [Flourish. The King, Sfc, enter the Town. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Rouen. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Katharine and Alice. 
 Kath. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre, et tu par- 
 ies bien le language. 
 
 Alice. Un peu, madame. 
 
 Kath. Je te prie,nienseignez,- ilfaut quej'ap- 
 prenne a parler. Comment appellez vous la main, 
 en Anglais? 
 
 Alice. La main? elle est appellee, de hand. 
 Kath. De hand. Et les doigts? 
 Alice. Les doigts? mafoy,je oublie les doigts,- 
 mais je me souviendray. Les doigts? je pense, 
 qu'ils sont appelles de fingres ; ouy, de fingres. 
 
 Kath. La main, de hand ; les doigts, de fingres. 
 Je pense, que je suis le bon escolier. J' ay gagne 
 deux mots a" Anglais vistement. Comment appelr 
 k: vous les ongles? 
 
 Alice. Les ongles? les appellons, de nails. 
 Kath. De nails. Escoutez,- diles moy, si jeparle 
 bien ; de hand, de fingres, de nails. 
 
 Alice. Cest bien dit, madame; il est fort bon 
 Anglois. 
 
 Kath. Dites moy en Anglois, le bras. 
 Alice. De arm, madame. 
 Kath. Et le coude. 
 Alice. De elbow. 
 
 Kath. De elbow. Je m'en faitz la repetition de 
 tous les mots, que vous m'avez appris des a present. 
 Alice. 11 est trop difficile, madame, com me je 
 pense. 
 
 Kath. Excusez moy, Alice,- escoutez.- De hand, 
 de fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. 
 Alice. De elbow, madame. 
 Kath. Seigneur Dieu.' je m'en oublie,- De el- 
 bow. Comment appellez vous le col? 
 Alice. De neck, madame. 
 Kath. De neck : Et le menton? 
 ilice. De chin. 
 
 Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck : le menton, de sin. 
 Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur,- en verite 
 wws prono7tces h>* mots aussi droict que les natifs 
 ? Angleterre 
 
 'Prepared. 
 
 Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre pat to 
 grace de Dieu,- et en peu de temps. 
 
 Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce quejc von* 
 ay enseignee? 
 
 Kath. No?i, je reciieray a vous prcmptement 
 De hand, de fingTe, de mails. 
 
 Alice. De nails, madame. 
 
 Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow. 
 
 Alice. Sauf vostre honneur, de elbow 
 
 Kath. Ainsi disje,- de elbow, de neck, et de sin 
 Comment appellez vous le pieds et la robe? 
 
 Alice. De foot, madame,- et de con. 
 
 Kath. De foot, et de con? Seigneur Dieu/ 
 ces sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, 
 et impudique, et non pour les dames d' honneur 
 d'user.- Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devent 
 les seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde. II 
 faut de foot, et de con, neant-moins. Jercciterai 
 une autre fois ma lecon ensemble : De hand, de 
 fingre, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de neck, de sin 
 de foot, de con. 
 
 Alice. Excellent, madame.' 
 
 Kath. Cest assez pour une foist allons nous a 
 disner. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Rouen. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter the French King, the Dauphin, Duke of 
 Bouhbon, the Constable of France, and others. 
 Fr. King. 'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river 
 
 Some. 
 Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, 
 Let us not live in France : let us quit all, 
 And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 
 
 Dau. Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of as, 
 The emptying of our fathers' luxury, 6 
 Our scions put in wild and savage stock, 
 Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, 
 And overlook their grafters'! 
 
 Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman 
 bastards ! 
 Mort de ma vie! if they march along 
 Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom, 
 To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
 In that nook-shotten 1 isle of Albion. 
 
 Con. Dieu de battailles! whe^o have they thi* 
 mettle 1 
 Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ! 
 On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
 Killing their fruit with frowns'! Can sodden water 
 A drench for sur-rein'd 9 jades, their barley broth, 
 Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat! 
 And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, 
 Seem frosty 1 O, for honor of our land, 
 Let us not hang like roping icicles 
 Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people 
 Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields; 
 Poor — we may call them, in their native lords. 
 
 Dau. By faith and honor, 
 Our madams mock at us; and plainly ^say, 
 Our mettle is bred out; and they will give 
 Their bodies to the lust of English youth, 
 To new-store France with bastard warriors. 
 Bour. They bid us — to the English dancing 
 schools, 
 And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos,-' 
 Saying our grace is only in our heels, 
 And that we are most lofty runaways. 
 
 Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald 7 spee«! 
 him hence; 
 Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.— 
 Up, princes ; and with spirit of honor edg'd, 
 
 « Lust. 
 
 • Orer-ridden. 
 
 ' Shooting into promontoriwf 
 * Dances. 
 
SCFNE V\ 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 44 
 
 More sharper than your swords, hie to the field : 
 Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; 
 You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, 
 Vlcncoti, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; 
 Jacques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont, 
 13 sauuiont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, 
 Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; 
 High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights, 
 For your great seats, now quit you of great shames, 
 Bai Harry England, that sweeps through our land 
 With pennons 1 painted in the blood of Harfleur: 
 Rush on his host as doth the melted snow 
 Upon the vallies; whose low vassal servt 
 The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon: 
 Go down upon him, — you have power enough, — 
 And in a captive chariot, into Rouen 
 Bring him our prisoner. 
 
 Con. This becomts the great. 
 
 Sorry am I, his numbers are so few, 
 His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march; 
 For, I am sure, when he shall see our army, 
 He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear, 
 And, for achievement, offer us his ransom. 
 
 Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on 
 Montjoy : 
 And let him say to England, that we send 
 To know what willing ransom he will give. — 
 Prince dauphin, you shall 6tay with us in Rouen. 
 
 Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 
 
 Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with 
 us. — 
 Now forth, lord constable, and princes all; 
 And quickly bring us word of England's fall. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— The English Camp in Picardy. 
 Enter Gower and Fluellen. 
 
 Gove, How now, captain Fluellen ? come you 
 from the bridge? 
 
 Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent service 
 xmimitted at the pridge 
 
 Gow Is the duke of Exeter safe? 
 
 Flu The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as 
 Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honor 
 with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my 
 .ife, and my livings, and my uttermost powers: he 
 is not, (Got be praised, and plessed !) any hurt in 
 the 'orld; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, 
 with excellent discipline. There is an ensign there 
 it the pridge, — I think in my very conscience, he 
 is as valiant as Mark Antony ; and he is a man 
 of no estimation in the 'orld : but I did see him do 
 gallant service. 
 
 Gow. What do you call him ? 
 
 Flu. He is called — ancient Pistol. 
 • Gow. I know him not. 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 
 Flu. Do you not know him? Here comes the 
 man. 
 
 Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favors : 
 The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 
 
 Flu. Ay, I praise Got; and I have merited some 
 ove at his hands. 
 
 Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, 
 Of buxom valor, hath, — by cruel fate, 
 And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
 That goddess blind, 
 That stands upon the rolling restless stone, — 
 
 Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune 
 >s painted plind, with a muffler 3 befort her eyes, to 
 
 • Pendants, small flags. 
 
 » A fold of linen which partially covered the faw»- 
 
 signify to you that fortune is plind: And she h 
 painted also with a wheel; to signify to you, which 
 is the moral of it, that she is turning, and incon- 
 stant, and variations, and mutabilities; and her 
 foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, 
 which rolls, and rolls, and rolls; — In good truth, 
 the poet is make a most excellent description of 
 fortune: fortune, look you, is an excellent moral. 
 
 Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on 
 him; 
 For he hath stol'n a pix," and hanged must 'a be. 
 A damned death ! 
 
 Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free, 
 And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate : 
 But Exeter hath given the doom of death, 
 For pix of little price. 
 
 Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice ; 
 And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
 With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach; 
 Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. 
 
 Flu. Ancient Pistol. I do partly understand your 
 meaning. 
 
 Pist. Why then, rejoice therefore. 
 
 Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to re- 
 joice at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I 
 would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and 
 put him to executions ; for disciplines ought to be 
 used. 
 
 Pist. Die and be damned; and figo for thy 
 friendship ! 
 
 Flu. It is well. 
 
 Put. The fig of Spain V [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Flu. Very good. 
 
 Gow. Why this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; 
 I remember him now; a bawd, a cutpurse. 
 
 Flu. I'll assure you, 'a utter'd as prave 'ords at 
 the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day: 
 But it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that 
 is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. 
 
 Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue ; that now 
 and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his 
 return into London, under the form of a soldier. 
 And such fellows are perfect in great commanders' 
 names : and they will learn you by rote, where ser- 
 vices were done ; — at such and such a sconce,* at 
 such a breach, at such a convoy : who came off 
 bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms 
 the enemy stood on : and this they con perfectly in 
 the phrase of war, which they trick up with new- 
 tuned oaths: And what a beard of the general's 
 cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among 
 foaming bottles and ale-wash'd wits, is wonderful 
 to be thought on ! but you must learn to know such 
 slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellous 
 mistook. 
 
 Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower ; — I do per- 
 ceive he is not the man that he would gladly make 
 show to the 'orld he is ; if I find a hole in his coat, 
 I will tell him my mind. [Dnu:. heard.] Hark 
 you, the king is coming; and I must speak with 
 him from the pridge. 
 
 Enter Kings Henky, Gloster, and Soldiers. 
 
 Flu. Got pless your majesty! 
 
 K. Hen. How now, Fluellen ? earnest thou from 
 the bridge ? 
 
 Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of 
 Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge: 
 The French is gone off, look you ; and there is gal- 
 lant and most prave passages: Marry, tb' athversary 
 
 5 A small box in which were kept the consecrated w* 
 fers. 
 
 4 An allusion to the custom in Spain and Italy of {fir- 
 ing poisoned figs. « An entrenchment hastily thrown up. 
 2 E 
 
442 
 
 KING HENR* V. 
 
 Act II 
 
 was have possession of the pridge; but he is en- 
 forced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master 
 of the pridge: I can tell your majesty, the duke is 
 ti prave man. 
 
 K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen 1 
 Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been 
 very great, very reasonable great: marry, for my 
 part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but 
 one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, 
 one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man : his 
 face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and 
 flames of fire; and his lips plows at his nose, and it 
 is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and some- 
 times red; but his nose is executed, and his fire's out. 
 K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so 
 C'".t off: and we give express charge, that in our 
 marches through the country, there be nothing 
 compelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid 
 for; none of the French upbraided, or abused in 
 disdainful language ; For when lenity and cruelty 
 play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soon- 
 est winner. 
 
 Tucket sounds. Enter Montjot. 
 
 Mont. You know me by my habit. 
 K. Hen. Well then, I know thee : What shall I 
 know of thee 1 
 
 Mont. My master's mind. 
 K. Hen. Unfold it. 
 
 Mont. Thus says my king: — Say thou to Harry 
 of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but 
 sleep; Advantage is abetter soldier, than rashness. 
 Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur; 
 but that we thought not good to bruise an injury, 
 till it were full ripe : — now we speak upon our cue, 6 
 and our voice is imperial : England shall repent his 
 folly, see his weakness, and admire our sufferance. 
 Bid him, therefore, consider of his ransom ; which 
 must proportion the losses we have borne, the sub- 
 jects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested ; 
 which, in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would 
 bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too 
 poor; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of 
 his kingdom too faint a number; and for our dis- 
 grace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, but a 
 weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add — 
 d«fiance: and tell him, for conclusion, he hath be- 
 trayed his followers, whose condemnation is pro- 
 nounced. So far my king and master ; so much my 
 office. 
 
 K. Hen. What is thy name 1 I know thy quality. 
 Mont. Montjoy. 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee 
 back, 
 And tell thy king, — I do not seek him now; 
 But could be willing to march on to Calais 
 Without impeachment:' 1 for, to say the sooth, 
 (Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
 Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,) 
 My people are with sickness much enfeebled ; 
 My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have 
 Almost no better than so many French; 
 Who, when they were in health. I tell thee, herald, 
 1 thought upon one pair of English legs 
 Did inarch three Frenchmen. — Yet, forgive me, God, 
 That I do brag thus ! — this your air of France 
 Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent. 
 Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am; 
 \ty ransom, is this frail and worthless trunk; 
 My army, but a weak and sickly guard; 
 v et God before," tell him we will come on, 
 
 • In proper time. 
 
 HinJcrance. 
 
 Tben us^l for God being my guide. 
 
 Though France himself, and such another neigh- 
 bor, 
 Stand in our way. There's for thy labor, Montjo* 
 Go, bid thy master well advise himself: 
 If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd 
 We shall your tawny ground with your red oloo 
 Discolor : and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
 The sum of all our answer is but this: 
 We would not seek a battle, as we are; 
 Nor, as we are, we say, we will not shun it ; 
 So tell your master. 
 
 Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high, 
 ness. [Eadt Moktjot, 
 
 Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now. 
 K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not ip 
 theirs. 
 March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night ;- 
 Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves; 
 And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. — The French Camp near Agincourt 
 Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Raj» 
 bures, the Duke of Orleans, Dauphin, ana 
 others. 
 
 Con. Tut ! I have the best armor of the work' 
 — 'Would it were day. 
 
 Or I. You have an excellent armor ; but let my 
 horse have his due. 
 
 Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 
 Orl. Will it never be morning 1 
 Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high 
 constable, you talk of horse and armor, — 
 
 Orl. You are as well provided of both, as any 
 prince in the world. 
 
 Dau. What a long night is this ! 1 will not 
 
 change my horse with any that treads rat on four 
 pasterns. Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth, as if 
 his entrails were hairs !" le cheval volant, the Pe- 
 gasus, qui a les narines de feu.' When I bestride 
 him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the 
 earth sings when he touches it ; the basest horn of 
 his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. 
 Orl. He's of the color of the nutmeg. 
 Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast 
 for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull 
 elements of earth and water never appear in him, 
 but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts 
 him : he is, indeed, a horse ; and all other jades you 
 may call — beasts. 
 
 Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute ind 
 excellent horse. 
 
 Dau. It is the prince of palfreys ; his neigh is 
 like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance 
 enforces homage. 
 
 Orl. No more, cousin. 
 
 Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from 
 the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, 
 vary deserved praise on my palfrey : it is a theme 
 as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent 
 tongues, and my horse is argument for them all : 
 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a 
 sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the work' 
 (familiar to us, and unknown) to lay apart their 
 particular functions, and wonder at him I once 
 writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus: Wonder 
 of nature, — 
 
 Orl. I have heard a sonnet oegin so to one's 
 mistress. 
 
 Dau. Then did they imitate that which I composed 
 to my courser ; for my horse is my mistress. 
 Orl. Your mistress bears well. 
 
 * Alluding to the bounding of tennis-balls, which were 
 stuffed with hair. 
 
\ct I V Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY V 
 
 443 
 
 D(j>; Me well; which is the prescript praise and 
 fi'fe-.tion of a good ai.d particular mistress. 
 
 Cm. Ma joy.' the other day, methought, your 
 rr.h'.ress shrewdly shook your back. 
 
 Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. 
 Con. Mine was not bridled. 
 
 Dau. O ! then, belike, she was old and gentle ; 
 and you rode, like a kerne l of Ireland, your French 
 hose off, and in your strait trossers. 5 
 
 Con. You have good judgment in horseman- 
 ship. 
 
 Dau. Be warned by me then : they that ride so, 
 and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather 
 have my horse to my mistress. 
 
 Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 
 
 Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears 
 her own hair. 
 
 Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I 
 had a sow to my mistress. 
 
 Dau. he chien est retourne a son propre vomis- 
 sement, et la truie lavee au bourbier: thou makest 
 use of any thing. 
 
 Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress ; 
 or any such proveib, so little kin to the purpose. 
 
 Ram. My lord constable, the armor, that I saw 
 in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon 
 it] 
 
 Con. Stars, my lord. 
 
 Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 
 
 Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 
 
 Dau. That may be, for you bear a many super- 
 fluously ; and 'twere more honor, some were away. 
 
 Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; who 
 would trot as well, were some of your brags dis- 
 mounted. 
 
 Dau. 'Would I were able to load him with his 
 desert ! Will it never be day ] I will trot to-morrow 
 a mile, and my way shall be paved with English 
 faces. 
 
 Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced 
 out of my way : But I would it were morning, for 
 I would fain be about the ears of the English. 
 
 Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty 
 English prisoners'? 
 
 Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere 
 you have them. 
 
 Dau. 'Tis midnight ; I'll go arm myself. [Exit. 
 
 Orl. The dauphin longs for morning. 
 
 Ram. He longs to eat the English. 
 
 Con. I think, he will eat all he kills. 
 
 Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant 
 prince. 
 
 Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out 
 the oath. 
 
 Or!. He is, simply, the most active gentleman of 
 France. 
 
 Con. Doing is activity : and he will still be doing. 
 
 Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. 
 
 Con. Nor will do none to-morrow ; he will keep 
 Uiat good name still. 
 
 Orl. I know him to be valiant. 
 
 Con. I was told that by one that knows him 
 better than you. 
 
 Orl. What's he] 
 
 Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, 
 he cared not who knew it. 
 
 Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. 
 
 Con. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body 
 saw it, but his lackey : 'tis a hooded valor ; and, 
 when it appears, it wiil bate/ 
 
 Orl. Ill-will never said well. 
 
 Con. I will cap that proverb with — There is flat 
 tery in friendship. 
 
 Orl. And I will take up that with — Give the 
 devil his due. 
 
 Con. Well placed ; there stands your friend foi 
 the devil: have at the very eye of that proverb, 
 with — A pox of the devil. 
 
 Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how much 
 — A fool's bolt is soon shot. 
 
 Con. You have shot over. 
 
 Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie 
 within fifteen hundred paces of your tent. 
 
 Con. Who hath measured the ground] 
 
 Mess. The lord Grandpre. 
 
 Con. A valiant and most expert gentlcman.- 
 Would it were day ! — Alas, poor Harry of Eng- 
 land ! — he longs not for the dawning, as we do. 
 
 Orl. What a wretched and peevish 5 fellow is this 
 king of England, to mope with his fat-brained fol- 
 lowers so far out of his knowledge ! 
 
 Con. If the English had any apprehension, they 
 would run away. 
 
 Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any 
 intellectual armor, they could never wear such 
 heavy head-pieces. 
 
 Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant 
 creatures ; their mastiffs are ofunmatchable courage. 
 
 Orl. Foolish curs! that run winking into the 
 mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads 
 crushed like rotten apples: You may as well say, — 
 that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on 
 the lip of a lion. 
 
 Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with 
 the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, 
 leaving their wits with their wives : and then give 
 them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they 
 will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. 
 
 Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of 
 beef. 
 
 Con. Then we shall find to-morrow — they have 
 only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it 
 time to arm : Come, shall we about it ] 
 
 Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, — 
 by ten, 
 We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time, 
 When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, 
 Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
 From camp to camp, through the foul womb of nigh? 
 The bum of cither army stilly' sounds, 
 rh'tt the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
 
 1 Soldier * Trowsers. ' Gently, lowly. | 
 
 The secret whispers of each other's watoh : 
 Fire answers fire ; and through their paly flames 
 Each battle sees the other's umber'd 6 face : 
 Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
 Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents, 
 
 * An equivoque in terms in falconry : he means bU 
 valor is hid from every body but his lackey, and when M 
 appears it will fall off. 
 
 » Foolish. • Discolo"<id by the gleam of the fire* 
 
444 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act TV 
 
 The armorers, accomplishing the knights, 
 ^ith busy hammers closing rivets up, 
 Give dreadful note of preparation. 
 The. country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
 Proud of their numbers, and secure in s«ul, 
 The confident and over-lusty 1 French 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice; 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
 So tediously away. The poor condemned English, 
 Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
 Sit patiently, and inly ruminate 
 The morning's danger; and their gesture sad, 
 Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
 Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
 So many horrid ghosts. 0, now, who will behold 
 The royal captain of this ruin'd band, 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 
 Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head ! 
 For forth he goes, and visits all his host; 
 Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile; 
 And calls them — brothers, friends, and countrymen. 
 Upon his royal face there is no note, 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him; 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color 
 Unto the weary and all-watched night: 
 But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint, 
 With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; 
 That every wretch, pining and pale before, 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks : 
 A largess universal, like the sun, 
 His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
 Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all, 
 Behold, as may unworthiness define, 
 A little touch of Harry in the night: 
 And so our scene must to the battle fly: 
 Where (0 for pity !) we shall much disgrace, — 
 With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 
 Right ill-dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous, — 
 The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see; 
 Minding 8 true things, by what their mockeries be. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I.— The English Camp at Agincourt. 
 Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gi.oster. 
 K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in great 
 danger ; 
 The greater therefore should our courage be. — 
 Good morrow, brother Bedford. — God Almighty ! 
 There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would men observingly distil it out; 
 For our bad neighbor makes us early stirrers, 
 Which is both healthful, and good husbandry: 
 Besides, they are our outward consciences, 
 And preachers to us all; admonishing, 
 That we should dress us fairly for our end. 
 Thus may we gather honey from the weed, 
 And make a moral of the devil himself. 
 
 Enter Ehpingham. 
 Good-morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham : 
 A good soft pillow for that good white head 
 Were better than a churlish turf of France. 
 Erp. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me 
 better, 
 Since I may say — now lie I like a king. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their present 
 pains, 
 Upon example ; so the spirit is eased : 
 And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, 
 T ho organs, though defunct and dead before, 
 ' Orer-eaucy. • Calling to remembrance. 
 
 Break up their drowsy grave, and newly mov t 
 With casted slough' and fresh legerity. 1 
 Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas. — Brothers both, 
 Commend me to the princes in our camp; 
 Do my good-morrow to them ; and anon, 
 Desire them all to my pavilion. 
 
 Glo. We shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Bedford 
 
 Erp. Shall I attend your grace! 
 
 K. Hen. No, my good knight 
 
 Go with my brothers to my lords of England: 
 I and my bosom must debate a while, 
 And then I would no other company. 
 
 Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry 
 [Exit Erpingham, 
 
 K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ! thou speakest 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 
 Pist. Qui va Id? 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Pist. Discuss unto me ; Art thou officer ; 
 Or art thou base, common, and popular I 
 
 K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 
 
 Pist. Trailest thou the puissant pike ? 
 
 A'. Hen. Even so: What are you? 
 
 Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 
 
 K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. 
 
 Pist. The king's a bawcoek, and a heart of gold, 
 A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
 Of parents good, of fist most valiant: 
 I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings 
 I love the lovely bully. What's thy name ? 
 
 K. Hen. Harry le Roy. 
 
 Pist. Le Ruy! a Cornish name : art thou of Cor- 
 nish crew? 
 
 K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 
 
 Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen ? 
 
 K.Hen. Yes. 
 
 Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate, 
 Upon saint David's day. 
 
 K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap 
 that day, lest he knock that about yours. 
 
 Pist. Art thou his friend? 
 
 K. Hen. And his kinsman too. 
 
 Pist. The figo for thee then ! 
 
 K. Hen. I thank you : God be with you. 
 
 Pist. My name is Pistol called. [Exit 
 
 K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 
 Enter Fluellen and Gower, severally. 
 
 Goto. Captain Fluellen! 
 
 Flu. So! in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak 
 lower. It is the greatest admiration, in the univer- 
 sal 'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes 
 and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would 
 take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey 
 the Great, you shall find. I warrant you, that there 
 is no tiddle taddle, or pibble nabble, in Pompey's 
 camp; I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies 
 of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, 
 and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be 
 otherwise. 
 
 Gow. Why, the enemy is loud ; you heard him 
 all night. 
 
 Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a 
 prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that wn 
 should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and 
 prating coxcomb; in your own conscience now? 
 
 Gow. I will speak lower. 
 
 Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will 
 [Exeunt Gower and Fluellen 
 
 Slough is the skin which serpents annua 11 > throw cfi 
 
 1 Lightness, nimbleness. 
 
Scene 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 445 
 
 K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, 
 There is much care and valor in this Welshman. 
 
 Ente" Bates, Court, and Williams. 
 
 Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morn- 
 ing which breaks yonder ? 
 
 Bates. I think it be : but we have no great cause 
 to desire the approach of day. 
 
 Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, 
 but, I think, we shall never see the end of it. — 
 Who goes there ? 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Will. Under what captain serve you ? 
 
 K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. 
 
 Will. A good old commander, and a most kind 
 gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our estate? 
 
 A". Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that 
 look to be washed off the next tide. 
 
 Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king ? 
 
 K. Hen. No : nor it is not meet he should. For, 
 though I speak it to you, I think, the king is but a 
 man, as I am : the violet smells to him, as it doth 
 to me ; the element shows to him, as it doth to me ; 
 all his senses have but human conditions : 2 his ce- 
 remonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but 
 a man; and though his affections are higher mount- 
 ed than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with 
 the like wing; therefore, when he sees reason of 
 fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the 
 same relish as ours are : Yet, in reason, no man 
 should possess him with any appearance of fear, 
 lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army. 
 
 Bates. He may show what outward courage he 
 will : but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could 
 wish himself in the Thames up to the neck: and 
 so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, 
 so we were quit here. 
 
 A". Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience 
 of the king; I think, he would not wish himself 
 any where, but where he is. 
 
 Bates. Then, 'would he were here alone; so 
 should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor 
 men's lives saved. 
 
 K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to 
 wish him here alone : howsoever you speak this, to 
 feel other men's minds : Methinks, I could not die 
 any where so contented as in the king's company ; 
 his cause Ireing just, and his quarrel honorable. 
 
 Will, That's more than we know. 
 Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after ; 
 for we know enough, if we know we are the king's 
 subjects ; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to 
 the king wipes the crime of it out of us. 
 
 Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king 
 himself hath a heavy reckoning to make ; when all 
 those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a 
 battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry 
 all — We died at such a place; some swearing; 
 some, crying for a surgeon ; some, upon their wives 
 left poor behind them ; some, upon the debts they 
 owe ; some, upon their children rawly 3 left. I am 
 afeard there are few die well, that die in battle; for 
 how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when 
 blood is their argument? Now, if these men do 
 not die well, it will be a black matter for the king 
 that led them to it; whom to disa »y, were against 
 all proportion of subjection. 
 
 X. Hen. So, if a son that is by his father sent 
 about merchandize, do sinfully miscarry upon the 
 sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, 
 should be imposed upon his father that sent him : 
 or if a servant, ender his master's command, trans- 
 
 * Qualities. 'Suddenly. 
 
 porting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and 
 die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the 
 business of the master the author of the servant's 
 damnation: — But this is not so: the king is not 
 bound to answer the particular endings of his so 1 
 diers, the father of his son, nor the master of his 
 servant: for they purpose not their death, when 
 they purpose their services. Besides, there is no 
 king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to 
 the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with aJ 
 unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on 
 them the guilt of premeditated and contrived mur- 
 der; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken 
 seals of perjury ; some, making the wars their bul- 
 wark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of 
 peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men 
 have defeated the law, and outrun native punish- 
 ment,' though they can outstrip men, they have no 
 wings to fly from God: war is his beadle, war is 
 his vengeance; so that here men are punished, for 
 before-breach of the king's laws, in now the king's 
 quarrel: where they feared the death, they have 
 borne life away ; and where they would be safe, 
 they perish : Then if they die unprovided, no more 
 is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was 
 before guilty of those impietioE for the which they 
 are now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's ; 
 but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore 
 should every soldier in the wars do as every sick 
 man in his bed, wash every mote out of his con- 
 science : and dying so, death is to him advantage 
 or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein 
 such preparation was gained: and, in him that es- 
 capes, it were not sin to think, that making God 
 so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see 
 his greatness, and to teach others how they should 
 prepare. 
 
 Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill 
 is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. 
 Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me, 
 and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 
 
 K. Hen, I myself heard the king say, he would 
 not be ransomed. 
 
 Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; 
 but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, 
 and we ne'er the wiser. 
 
 K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his 
 word after. 
 
 Will. 'Mass, you'll pay' him then! That's a peri- 
 lous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private 
 displeasure can do against a monarch ! you may a? 
 well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning 
 in hi« face with a peacock's feather. You'll never 
 trust his word after ! come, 'tis a foolish saying. 
 
 K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round; I 
 should be angry with you if the time were conve- 
 nient. 
 
 Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. 
 K. He?i. I embrace it. 
 Will. How shall I know thee again? 
 K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I wili 
 wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thoudarestac 
 knowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. 
 
 Will. Here's my glove ; give me another of thine. 
 K. Hen. There. 
 
 Will. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever 
 thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, This in 
 my glove, by this hand, I will *ake thee a box on 
 the ear. 
 
 K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it 
 Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 
 
 * t. e. Punishment in their native country. 
 
 * lo pay here signifies to brint; to acount, to punish 
 
44G 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 K. Hen. Well, 1 will do it, though I take thee 
 in the king's company. 
 
 Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well. 
 
 Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; 
 we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell 
 how to reckon. 
 
 K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty 
 French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear 
 them on their shoulders : But it is no English trea- 
 son to cut French crowns; and, to-morrow, the king 
 himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers. 
 
 Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, 
 Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and 
 Our sins, lay on the king; — we must bear all. 
 O hard condition! twin-bovn with greatness, 
 Subjected to the breath of every fool, 
 Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! 
 What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, 
 That privata men enjoy ? 
 And what have kings, that privates have not too, 
 Save ceremony, save general ceremony? 
 And what art thou, thou idle ceremony ? 
 What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more 
 Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers? 
 What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in? 
 
 ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 
 What is the soul of adoration? 
 
 Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, 
 
 Creating awe and fear in other men ? 
 
 Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 
 
 Than they in fearing. 
 
 What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, 
 
 But poison'd flattery ? 0,be sick, great greatness, 
 
 And bid thy ceremony givr- thee cure ! 
 
 Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out 
 
 With titles blown from adulation? 
 
 Will it give place to flexure and low bending? 
 
 Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's 
 
 knee, 
 Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, 
 That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 
 
 1 am a king, that find thee ; and I know, 
 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, 
 The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
 The inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl, 
 The farced" title running 'fore the king, 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world, 
 No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, 
 Not all these, laid in bed majestical, 
 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave ; 
 Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind. 
 Gets him to rest,cramm'd with distressful bread; 
 Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ; 
 But, like a lackey, from the rise to set, 
 Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night, 
 Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn, 
 Doth rise, and help Hyperion 1 to his horse; 
 And follows so the ever-running year 
 With profitable labor, to his grave: 
 And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 
 Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, 
 Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 
 The slave, a member of the country's peace, 
 Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots, 
 What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, 
 Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 
 Enter Erfingham. 
 Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your ab- 
 sence, 
 Seek through your camp to find you. 
 
 « Farced is stuffed. The tumid puffy titles with which 
 » king's name is introduced. ' The sun. 
 
 K. Hen. '>Vod old knight, 
 
 Collect them all together at my ier.l : 
 I'll be before thee. 
 
 Erp. I shall do't, <ny lord. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. God of battles! steel my soldier*' 
 hearts ! 
 Possess them not with fear; take from them now 
 The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numle^s 
 Pluck their hearts from them!— Not to-day, lord, 
 
 not to-day, think not upon the fault 
 My father made in compassing the crown ! 
 
 1 Richard's body have interred new : 
 
 And on it have bestow'd mora contrite tears, 
 Than from it issued forced drops of blood. 
 Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, 
 Who twice a day their wither 'd hands hold up 
 Toward heaven, to pardon blood; 'aid I have built 
 Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
 Sing still for Richard's soul. Mote will I do: 
 Though all that I can do, is nothing worth : 
 Since that my penitencr. comes after all, 
 Imploring pardon. 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. My liege! 
 
 K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice? — .Ay 
 
 I know thy errand, I will go with thee : — 
 The day, my friends, md all things stay for me. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.-- fhe French Camp. 
 Enter Dauphin, Orlfans.Rambures, andothers 
 Orl. The sun doth old our armor; up, my lords. 
 Dau. Montez a cl-.iial: — My horse! valet.' lac~ 
 
 quay! — ha ! 
 Orl. brave spirit ! 
 
 Dau. Via.' 3 — les i.aux et la terre 
 
 Orl. Rien puis?— -V air et le feu 
 
 Dau. del.' cousin Orleans. 
 
 Enter Constable. 
 Now, my lord constable ! 
 
 Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service 
 
 neigh. 
 Dau. Mount thRm, and make incision in then 
 hides; 
 That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, 
 And dout 9 them with superfluous courage: Ha! 
 Ram. W 7 hat, will you have them weep our 
 horses' blood? 
 How shall we then behold their natural tears l 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. The English are embattled, you French 
 
 peers. 
 Con. To horse, you gallant princes ! straight to 
 horse ! 
 Do but behold yon poor and starved band, 
 And your fair show shall suck away their souls, 
 Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. 
 There is not work enough for all our hands; 
 Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins, 
 To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, 
 That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, 
 And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on 
 
 them, 
 The vapor of our valor will o'erturn them. 
 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, 
 That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants, — 
 Who, in unnecessary action, swarm 
 About our squares of battle, — were enough 
 To purge this field of such a lidding 1 foe; 
 
 8 An old encouraging exclamation. 
 
 * Do them out, extinguish them - Mean, (efpicabl* 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 447 
 
 Though we, upon this mountain's basis by, 
 Took stand for idle speculation: 
 But thai our honors must not. What's t<? say] 
 A very little little let us do, 
 And all is done. Then let the trumpet sounu 
 The tucket-sonuance,' and the note to mount : 
 For our approach shall so much dare the field, 
 That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. 
 Enter Grandpre. 
 Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of 
 
 Frai ce? 
 JTon island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
 Ill-favofdly become the morning field : 
 Their ragged curtains 3 poorly are let loose, 
 And our air shakes them passing scornfully. 
 Big ?\Tars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, 
 And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. 
 Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, 
 With torch-staves in their hand: and their poor 
 
 jades 
 Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips ; 
 m hc gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes ; 
 And in their pale dull mouths, the gimmal 4 bit 
 Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless ; 
 And their executors, the knavish crows, 
 Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour. 
 Description cannot suit' itself in words, 
 To demonstrate the life of such a battle 
 In life so lifeless as it shows itself. 
 
 Con. They have said their prayers, and they 
 
 stay for death. 
 Dan. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh 
 
 suits, 
 And give their fasting horses provender, 
 And after fight with them ? 
 
 Con. I stay but for my guard; On, to the field : 
 I will the banner from a trumpet take, 
 And use it for my haste. Come, come away! 
 The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The English Camp. 
 Enter the English Host; Gloster, Bedford, 
 
 Exeter, Salisbury, and Westmoreland. 
 
 Glo. Where is the king? 
 
 Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. 
 
 West. Of fighting men they have full three-score 
 thousand. 
 
 Exe . There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh. 
 
 Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fearful odds. 
 God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge: 
 If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven, 
 Then joyfully, — my noble lord of Bedford, — 
 My dear lord Gloster, — and my good lord Exeter, — 
 And my kind kinsman, — warriors all, adieu! 
 
 Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury: and good luck 
 go with thee! 
 
 Exe. Farewell, kind lord ; fight valiantly to-day ; 
 And yet T do thee wrong, to mind thee of it, 
 For thou art framed of the firm truth of valor. 
 
 [Exit Salisbury. 
 
 Bed. He is as full of valor as of kindness: 
 Princely in both. 
 
 Wesi. O that we now had here 
 
 Enter King Henry. 
 But one ten thousand of those men in England, 
 That do no work to-day ! 
 
 A'. Hen. What's he that wishes so? 
 
 My cousin Westmoreland? — No, my fair cousin: 
 If we are mark'd to die, we are enough 
 To do our country loss, and if to live, 
 
 * The name of an introductory flourish on the trumpet. 
 » Colore. « Ring. 
 
 The fewer men, the greater share of honor. 
 God will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. 
 3y Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; 
 Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost; 
 It yearns* me not, if men my garments wear : 
 Such outer things dwell not in my desires: 
 But, if it be a sin to covet honor, 
 I am the most offending soul alive. 
 No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: 
 God's peace ! I would not lose so great an honor, 
 As one man more, methinks, would share from me, 
 For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more : 
 Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, 
 That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, 
 Let him depart; his passport shall be made, 
 And crowns for convoy put into his purse: 
 We would not die in that man's company, 
 That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
 This day is called — the feast of Crispian: 
 He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
 Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, 
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian : 
 He, that shall live this day, and see old age, 
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends, 
 And say — to-morrow is saint Crispian: 
 Then will he strip his sleeves, and show his scars, 
 And say, these wounds I had on Crispian's day. 
 Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, 
 But he'll remember, with advantages, 
 What feats he did that day: Then shall our names 
 Familiar in their mouths as household words, — 
 Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, 
 Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — 
 Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd: 
 This story shall the good man teach his son; 
 And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
 From this day to the ending of the world, 
 But we in it shall be remembered: 
 We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; 
 For he, to-day, that sheds his blood with me, 
 Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, 
 This day shall gentle his condition: 6 
 And gentlemen in England, now a-bed, 
 Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here ; 
 And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaka 
 That fought with us upon saint Crispin's day. 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed. 
 The French are bravely in their battle set, 
 And will with all expedience charge on us. 
 
 K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. 
 
 West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward 
 now ! 
 
 K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from 
 England, cousin ? 
 
 West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I 
 alone, 
 Without more help, might fight this battle out ! 
 
 K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd fiv« 
 thousand men ; 
 Which likes me better, than to wish us one. — 
 You know your places: God be with you all ' 
 Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 
 
 Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, kins 
 Harry, 
 If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, 
 Before thy most assured overthrow : 
 For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, 
 Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy. 
 The constable desires thee — tho>) wilt mind ' 
 
 » Grieves. « i. t. Thi.° day shall advaneo hire, to tht 
 
 rank of a gentleman. ' Kemir-t 
 
448 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act 
 
 Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls 
 
 May make a peaceful and a sweet retire 
 
 From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor 
 
 bodies 
 Must lie and fester 
 
 K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now ? 
 
 Mont. The constable of France. 
 
 K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back ; 
 Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. 
 Good God! why should they mock poor fellows 
 
 thus? 
 The man, that once did sell the lion's skin 
 While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him. 
 A many of our bodies shall, no doubt, 
 Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust, 
 Shall witness live in brass of this day's work; 
 And those that leave their valiant bones in France, 
 Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, 
 They shall be famed ; for there the sun shall greet 
 
 them, 
 And draw their honors reeking up to heaven; 
 Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, 
 The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. 
 Mark then a bounding valor in our English; 
 That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, 
 Break out into a second course of mischief, 
 Killing in relapse of mortality. 
 Let me speak proudly : — Tell the constable, 
 We are but warriors for the working-day : 
 Our gayness, and our gilt, 8 are all besmirch'd * 
 With rainy marching in the painful field: 
 There's not a piece of feather in our host, 
 (Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,) 
 And time hath worn us into slovenry: 
 But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim: 
 And my poor soldiers tell me — yet ere night 
 They'll be in fresher robes ; or they will pluck 
 The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads, 
 And turn them out of service. If they do this, 
 (As, if God please, they shall,) my ransom then 
 W ill soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labor ; 
 Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald; 
 They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints. 
 Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them, 
 Shall yield them little, tell the constable. 
 
 Mont I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well: 
 Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for 
 ransom. 
 
 Enter the Duke of York. 
 York My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 
 The leading of the vaward. 1 
 
 K. Hen. Take it, brave York. — Now, soldiers, 
 march away: — 
 And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarums: Excursio7is. Enter French Soldier, 
 Pistol, and Boy. 
 
 Pist. Yield, cur. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Jc pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme 
 de bcnne qualitc. 
 
 Pist. Quality, call you me? — Construe me, art 
 Uiou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss. 
 
 Fr. Sol. O seigneur DieuJ 
 
 Pist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman: — 
 Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark ; — 
 D signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, 5 
 
 • Gilding. ' » Soiled. « Vanguard. 
 
 * Ad eld cant word for a sword, so called from a famous 
 «v>ri 'utler of the name of Fox. 
 
 Except, O signieur, thou do give to me 
 Egregious ransom. 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0, prennez misericorde! ayez pitie d> 
 moy. 
 
 Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys, 
 For I will fetch thy rim' out of thy throat, 
 In drops of crimson blood. 
 
 Fi. Sol. Est il impossible d'eschappcr le force 
 de ton bras? 
 
 Pist. Brass, cur! 
 Thou damned and luxurious' mountain goat, 
 Ofler'st me brass? 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0, pardonnez moy! 
 
 Pist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of moys? — 
 Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French, 
 What is his name. 
 
 Boy. Escoutez: Comment estes vous appelle? 
 
 Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 
 
 Boy. He says his name is — master Fer. 
 
 Pist. Master Fer, I'll fer him, and firk 5 him, and 
 ferret him : — discuss the same in French unto him. 
 
 Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and fer- 
 ret, and firk. 
 
 Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, Mo7isieurP 
 
 Boy. 77 me commande de vous dire que vous 
 faites vous prest,- car ce soldat icy est dipose toute 
 a cefte heure de couper vostre gorge. 
 
 Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant, 
 Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; 
 Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0,je vous suppliepour I 'amour deDieu, 
 me pardonner.' Je suis gentilhomme de bonne mai- 
 son.- gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cents 
 escus. 
 
 Pist. What are his words ? 
 
 Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gen 
 tleman of a good house; and, for his ransom, he 
 will give you two hundred crowns. 
 
 Pist. Tell him, — my fury shall abate, and I 
 The crowns will take. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Petit inonsieur, que dit-il? 
 
 Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement, de 
 pardonner aucun prisonnier,- neantmoins, pour 
 les escus que vous I'avez promis, il est content de 
 vous donner la liberie, le franchisement. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille re- 
 merciemens: et je m'estime heureux que je suis 
 tombe entre les mains d 'un chevalier, je pense, 
 le plus brave, valiant, et tres distingue seigneur 
 d'Angleterre. 
 
 Pist- Expound unto me, boy. 
 
 Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand 
 thanks : and he esteems himself happy that he hath 
 fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most 
 brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of 
 England. 
 
 Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. — 
 Follow me, cur. [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitai?ie. 
 
 [Exit French Soldier. 
 I did never know so full a voice issue from so 
 empty a heart : but the saying is true,' — The empty 
 vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and 
 Nym, had ten times more valor than this roaring 
 devil i'the old play, that every one may pare his 
 nails with a wooden dagger ; and they are both 
 hanged; and so would this be, if he durst steal any 
 thing adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, 
 with the luggage of our camp: the French might 
 have a good prey of us, if he knew of it ; for ther« 
 is none to guard it but boys. [Exit 
 
 » The diaphragm. « Lascivious. ' ChastiM 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 KING HLJJRY V. 
 
 44!» 
 
 SCENE V.— Another Part of the Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarums, Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, 
 
 Constable, Ram bu res, and others 
 
 Con. O diable! 
 
 Orl. seigneur/ — le jour est perdu, tout est 
 perdu.' 
 
 Dau. Mort de ma vie.' all is confounded, all ! 
 Reproach and everlasting shame 
 Sits mocking in our plumes. — meschante fortune! 
 Do not run away. [A short Alarum. 
 
 Con. Why all our ranks are broke. 
 
 Dau. O perdurable 6 shame ! — let's stab ourselves. 
 Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for? 
 
 Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom ? 
 
 Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but 
 shame ! 
 Let us die instant: Once more back again; 
 And he that will not follow Bourbon now, 
 Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand, 
 Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door, 
 Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,' 
 His fairest daughter is contaminate. 
 
 Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! 
 Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives 
 Unto these English, or else die with fame. 
 
 Orl. We are enough, yet living in the field, 
 To smother up the English in our throngs, 
 If any order might be thought upon. 
 
 Bour. The devil take order now ; I'll to the 
 throng ; 
 Let life be short ; else, shame will be too long. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Enter King Henrt, and Forces,- 
 Exeter, and others. 
 K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice valiant 
 
 countrymen : 
 But all's not done, yet keep the French the field. 
 Exe. The duke of York commends him to your 
 
 majesty. 
 K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle 1 thrice, within this 
 
 hour, 
 I saw him down ; thrice up again, and fighting-, 
 From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. 
 
 Exe. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie, 
 Larding the plain: and by his bloody side, 
 (Yoke-fellow to his honor-owing wounds,) 
 The noble earl of Suffolk also lies. 
 Suffolk first died : and York, all haggled over, 
 Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd, 
 And takes him by the beard ; kisses the gashes, 
 That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; 
 And cries aloud, — Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk/ 
 My soul shall thine keep company to heaven: 
 Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast; 
 As, in this glorious and well-foughten field, 
 We kept together in our chivalry/ 
 Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up : 
 He smil'd me in the face, raught 8 me his hand, 
 And, with a feeble gripe, says, — Dear my lord, 
 Commend my service to my sovereign. 
 So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck 
 He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips ; 
 A.nd so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd 
 A testament of noble-ending love. 
 The pretty and sweet manner of it forced 
 Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd; 
 But I had not so much of man in me, 
 But all my mother came into mine eyes, 
 And gave me up to tears. 
 Lasting. ' i. e. Who has no more gentility. » Reached. 
 
 K. Hen. I blame you not; 
 
 For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
 With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. — 
 
 [Alarum 
 But, hark ! what new alarum is this same 1 
 The French have reinforced their scattered men : — 
 Then every soldier kill his prisoner ; 
 Give the word through. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VII.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Fluellen and Gower. 
 
 Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 'tis expressly 
 against the law of arms : 'tis as arrant a piece of 
 knavery, mark you now, as can be offer'd in the 
 'orld : In your conscience now, is it not] 
 
 Gow. 'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive 
 and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, 
 have done this slaughter: besides, they have burned 
 and carried away all that was in the king's tent; 
 wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused 
 every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a 
 gallant king ! 
 
 Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain 
 Gower. What call you the town's name, where 
 Alexander the pig was porn ? 
 
 Gow. Alexander the great. 
 
 Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? The 
 pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the 
 magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the 
 phrase is a little variations. 
 
 Gow . I think, Alexander the great was born in 
 Macedon ; his father was called — Philip of Mace- 
 don ; as I take it. 
 
 Flu. I think it is in Macedon, where Alexander 
 is porn. I tell you, captain, — If yon look in the 
 maps of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the 
 comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, 
 that the situations, look you, is both alike. There 
 is a river in Macedon ; and there is also moreover 
 a river at Monmouth : it is called Wye, at Mon- 
 mouth ; but it is out of my prains, what is the 
 name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like 
 as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons 
 in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry 
 of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well ; 
 for there is figures in all things. Alexander, (God 
 knows, and you know,) in his rages, and his furies, 
 and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and 
 his displeasures, and his indignations, and also be 
 ing a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales 
 and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus. 
 
 Gow. Our king is not like him in that ; he never 
 killed any of his friends. 
 
 Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take 
 tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and 
 finished. I speak but in the figures and compari 
 sons of it: As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus, 
 being in his ales and his cups ; so also Harry Mon- 
 mouth, being in his right wits and his goot judg 
 ments, is turn away the fat knight with the great 
 pelly-doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and 
 knaveries, and mocks; I am forget his name. 
 
 Gow. Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Flu. That is he : I can tell you there is goot mer 
 born at Monmouth. 
 
 Gow. Here comes his majesty. 
 
 Alarum. Enter King Henrt, with a part of the 
 English Forces,- Warwick, Gloster, Exeter. 
 and others. 
 K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to Fian'-« 
 
 Until this instant. — Take a trumpet, herald ; 
 
 Ride thou unto the horsemen on von hill. 
 
150 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Av T 1\ 
 
 If they will fight with us, bid them come down, 
 Or void the field ; they do offend our sight : 
 It* they'll do neither, we will come to them ; 
 And make them skirr 9 away as swift as stones 
 Enforced from the old Assyrian slings: 
 Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have ; 
 And not a man of them, that we shall take, 
 Shall taste our mercy : — Go, and tell them so. 
 
 Enter Montjot. 
 
 Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my 
 
 liege. 
 
 Glo. His eyes are humbler than they used to be. 
 K.Hen. How now, what means this, herald? 
 know'st thou not, 
 That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom ? 
 Com'st thou again for ransom ? 
 
 Mont. No, great king: 
 
 I come to thee for charitable licence, 
 That we may wander o'er this bloody field, 
 To book our dead, and then to bury them; 
 To sort our nobles from our common men; 
 For many of our princes (woe the while !) 
 Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
 (So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs 
 In blood of princes;) and their wounded steeds 
 Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage, 
 Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, 
 Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king, 
 To view the field in safely, and dispose 
 Of their dead bodies. 
 
 K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 
 
 I know not, if the day be ours or no ; 
 For yet a many of your horsemen peer, 
 And gallop o'er the field. 
 
 Mont. The day is yours. 
 
 K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength 
 for it!— 
 What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by? 
 Mont. They call it — Agincourt. 
 K. Hen. Then call we this— the field of Agincourt, 
 Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 
 
 Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't 
 please your majesty, and your great uncle Edward, 
 the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the 
 chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. 
 A'. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 
 Flu. Your majesty says very true: If your ma- 
 jesty is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot 
 service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing 
 leeks in their Monmouth caps; which your ma- 
 jesty knows to this hour, is an honorable padge of 
 the service ; and, I do believe, your majesty takes 
 no scorn to wear the leek upon saint Tavy's day. 
 
 K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honor : 
 For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 
 
 Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your 
 majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell 
 you that : Got pless it and preserve it, as long as 
 it pleases his grace, and his majesty too ! 
 A". Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 
 Flu. By Cheshu, I am your majesty's country- 
 man, I care not who know it; I will confess it to 
 all the 'orld: I need not to be ashamed of your 
 majesty, praised be Got, so long as your majesty is 
 an honest man. 
 
 K. Hen. God keep me so — our heralds go with 
 him. 
 Bring me just notice of the numbers dead 
 On both our parts. — Call yonder fellow hither. 
 
 [Points to Williams. Exeunt Montjot 
 and others. 
 
 Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. 
 K. Hen. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove a 
 thy cap 1 
 
 Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage ol 
 one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 
 A". Hen. An Englishman ? 
 Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that 
 swagger'd with me last night : who. if 'a live, and 
 ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to 
 take him a box o' the ear: or, if 1 can see my glove 
 in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, no 
 would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out soundly. 
 K. Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen 1 is il 
 fit this soldier keep his oath? 
 
 Flu. He is a craven 1 and a villain else, an't please 
 your majesty, in my conscience. 
 
 K. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman ot 
 great sort, 3 quite from the answer of his degree. 
 
 Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the 
 tevil is, as Lucifer and Beelzebub himself, it is ne- 
 cessary, look your grace, that he keep bis vow and 
 his oath : if he be perjured, see you now, his repu- 
 tation is as arrant a villain, and a Jack-sauce, 3 as 
 ever his plack shoe trod upon Got's ground nnd his 
 earth, in my conscience, la. 
 
 K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou 
 meet'st the fellow. 
 
 Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 
 K. Hen. Who servest thou under ? 
 Will. Under captain Gower, my liege. 
 Flu . Gower is a goot captain : and is good know- 
 ledge and literature in the wars. 
 
 K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 
 Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this favor 
 for me, and stick it in thy cap: When Alcn^on and 
 myself were down together, I plucked this glove 
 from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a 
 friend to Alenijon, and an enemy to our person ; if 
 thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou 
 dost love rne. 
 
 Flu. Your grace does me as great honors as can 
 be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would 
 fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall 
 find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all ; but 
 I would fain see it once ; an please Got of his grace, 
 that I might see it. 
 
 K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower ? 
 Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you 
 K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him 
 to my tent. 
 
 Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, — and my brother 
 Gloster, 
 Follow Fluellen closely at the heels: 
 The glove, which I have given him for a favor, 
 May, haply, purchase him a box o' the ear; 
 It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should 
 Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick 
 If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge 
 By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) 
 Some sudden mischief may arise of it ; 
 For I do know Fluellen valiant, 
 And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder. 
 And quickly will return an injury : 
 Follow, and see there be no harm between them. 
 Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VIII.— Before King Henry's Pavilion. 
 
 Enter Goweii and Williams 
 
 Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain 
 
 > Coward. * High rank. * For saucy Jack 
 
Scene VIII 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 4F.I 
 
 Enter Flueleen. 
 Flu Got's will and his pleasure, captain. I pe- 
 *eech you now, come apace to the king: there is 
 more goot toward you, peradventure, than is in your 
 knowledge to dream of. 
 
 Will. Sir, know you this glove? 
 
 Flu. Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove. 
 
 Will. I know this ; and thus I challenge it. 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the 
 universal 'orld, or in France, or in England. 
 Gow. How now, sir? you villain! 
 Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn ? 
 Flu. Stand away, captain Gower; I will give 
 treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. 
 Will. lam no traitor. 
 
 Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. — I charge you, in 
 his majesty's name, apprehend him ; he's a friend of 
 the duke Alengon's. 
 
 Enter Warwick and Glosteh. 
 
 War. How now ! how now ! what's the matter ? 
 
 Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be 
 
 Got for it !) a most contagious treason come to light, 
 
 look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. 
 
 Here is his majesty. 
 
 Enter King Henry and Exeter. 
 K. Hen. How now, what's the matter? 
 Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, 
 look your grace, has struck the glove which your 
 majesty is take out of the helmet of Alencon. 
 
 Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is the 
 fellow of it: and he, that I gave it to in change, 
 promised to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike 
 him, if he did : I met this man with my glove in 
 his cap, and I have been as good as my word. 
 
 Flu. Your majesty, hear now, (saving your ma- 
 jesty's manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, 
 lousy knave it is: I hope your majesty is pear me 
 testimony, and witness, and avouchments, that this 
 is the glove of Alencon, that your majesty is give 
 me, in your conscience now. 
 
 K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier ; Look, here 
 
 is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st 
 
 to strike ; and thou hast given me most bitter terms. 
 
 Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer 
 
 for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld. 
 
 K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction ? 
 
 Will. All offences, my liege, come from the heart: 
 
 never came any from mine, that might offend your 
 
 majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse. 
 Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you 
 appeared to me but as a common man ; witness the 
 night, your garments, your lowliness; and what 
 your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech 
 you, take it for your own fault, and not mine: for 
 had you been as I took you for, I made no offence ; 
 therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me. 
 K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with 
 crowns, 
 And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow; 
 And wear it for an honor in thy cap, 
 Till I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns: — 
 And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 
 Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has 
 mettle enough in his pelly : — Hold, there is twelve 
 pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and 
 keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, 
 and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter 
 for you. 
 
 Will. I will none of your money. 
 
 Flu. It is with a gootwill ; I can tell you, it wil. 
 serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore 
 should you be so pashful ? your shoes is not so goot 
 'tis a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it 
 
 Enter an English Herald. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, herald; are the dead number'd? 
 Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd 
 French. [Delivers a Paper. 
 
 K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, 
 
 uncle ? 
 Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the 
 king; 
 John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt: 
 Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires, 
 Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 
 
 K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 
 French, 
 That in the field lie slain : of princes in this number, 
 And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead, 
 One hundred twenty-six: added to these, 
 Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, 
 Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, 
 Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights 
 So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, 
 There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 
 The rest are — princes, barons, lords, knights 
 
 'squires, 
 And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
 The names of those their nobles that lie dead, — 
 Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France; 
 Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France; 
 The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures; 
 Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard 
 
 Dauphin ; 
 John duke of Alencon ; Antony duke of Brabant, 
 The brother to the duke of Burgundy; 
 And Edward duke of Bar; of lusty earls, 
 Grandpre, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix, 
 Beaumont, and Marie, Vaudemont, and Leetrale : 
 
 Here was a royal fellowship of death ! 
 
 Where is the number of our English dead? 
 
 [Herald presents another Paper 
 Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, 
 Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam, esquire : 
 None else of name : and, of all other men, 
 But five-and-twenty. O God, thy arm was here, 
 And not to us, but to thy arm alone, 
 Ascribe we all. — When, without stratagem, 
 But in plain shock, and even play of battle, 
 Was ever known so great and little loss, 
 On one part and on the other? — Take it, God, 
 For it is only thine ! 
 
 Exe. 'Tis wonderful ! 
 
 K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village : 
 And be it death proclaimed through our host, 
 To boast of this, or take that praise from God, 
 Which is his only. 
 
 Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to 
 tell how many is killed ? 
 
 K. Hen. Yes, captain, but with this acknowledg- 
 ment, 
 That God fought for us. 
 
 Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot 
 K. Hen. Do we all holy rites ; 
 Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deurn, 
 The dead with charity enclos'd in clay, 
 We'll then to Calais; and to England then; 
 Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
152 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 Cuor. 'N ouchsafe to those that have not read the 
 story 
 That I may prompt them: and of such as have, 
 I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
 Of time," of numbers, and due course of things, 
 Which cannot in their huge and proper life 
 Be here presented. Now we bear the king 
 Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen, 
 Heave him away upon your winged thoughts, 
 Athwart the sea : Behold, the English beach 
 Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, 
 Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd 
 
 sea, 
 Which, like a mighty whiffler' 'fore the king, 
 Seems to prepare his way: so let him land; 
 And, solemnly, see him set on to London. 
 So swift a pace hath thought, that even now 
 You may imagine him upon Blackheath: 
 Where that his lords desire him, to have 5 borne 
 His bruised helmet, and his bended sword, 
 .Before him, through the city : he forbids it, 
 Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride; 
 Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, 
 Quite from himself, to God. But now behold, 
 In the quick forge and working-house of thought, 
 How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
 The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort, — 
 Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
 With the plebeians swarming at their heels, — 
 Go forth, and fetch their conquering Cssar in: 
 As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, 6 
 Were now the general of our gracious empress' 
 (As, in good time, he may) from Ireland coming, 
 Bringing rebellion broached* on his sword, 
 How many would the peaceful city quit, 
 To welcome him! much more, and much more cause, 
 Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ; 
 (As yet the lamentation of the French 
 Invites the king of England's stay at home: 
 The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 
 To order peace between them ;) and omit 
 All the occurrences, whatever chanced, 
 Till Harry's back-return again to France: 
 There must we bring him ; and myself have play'd 
 The interim, by remembering you — 'tis past. 
 Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance 
 After your thoughts, straight back again to France. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. — France. An English Court of Guard. 
 Enter Fluellen and Goweu. 
 
 Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your 
 leek to-day 1 Saint Davy's day is past. 
 
 Flu. There is occasions and causes why and 
 wherefore in all things; I will tell you, as my 
 friend, captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beg- 
 garly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, — which you 
 and yourself, and all the 'orkl, know to be no bet- 
 ter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, — 
 ne is come to me, and prings me pread and salt 
 yesterday, look you, and pid me eat my leek: it 
 was in a place where I could not breed no conten- 
 
 * An officer who walks first in processions. 
 
 « «'. e. To order it to be borne. • Similitude. 
 
 ' The earl of Essex : n the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 • Spitted, transfixed. 
 
 tions with him; but 1 will be so pold as to wear it 
 in my cap till I see him once again, and then I 
 will tell him a little piece of my desires. 
 Enter Pistol. 
 Gow. Why, here he comes swelling like a turkey- 
 cock. 
 
 Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his 
 turkey-cocks. — Got pless you, ancient Pistol ! you 
 scurvy, lousy knave, Got pless you ! 
 
 Pist. Ha ! art thou Bedlam ? dost thou thirst 
 base Trojan, 
 To have me fold up Parca's fatal web? 
 Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 
 
 Flu. I pescech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, 
 at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, 
 to eat, look you, this leek ; because, look you, you do 
 not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, 
 and your digestions, does not agree with it, I 
 would desire you to eat it. 
 
 Pint. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. 
 
 Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.'] 
 Will be so goot, scald knave, as eat it ? 
 
 Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 
 
 Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's 
 will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time, 
 and eat your victuals ; come, there is sauce for it. 
 [Striking him again.] You called me yesterday, 
 mountain-squire ; but I will make you to-day a 
 squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to ; if you 
 can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. 
 
 Gow. Enough, captain : you have astonished him. 
 
 Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of 
 my leek, or I will peat his pate four days : — Pite, I 
 pray you ; it is goot for your green wound, and 
 your ploody coxcomb. 
 
 Pist. Must I bite? 
 
 Flu. Yes, certainly ; and out of doubt, and out 
 of questions too, and ambiguities. 
 
 Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; 
 I eat, and eke I swear — 
 
 Flu. Eat, I pray you: Will you have some 
 more sauce to your leek ? there is not enough 
 leek to swear by. 
 
 Pist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see, I eat. 
 
 Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. 
 Nay, 'pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot 
 for your proken coxcomb. When you take occa- 
 sions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at 
 them ; that is all. 
 
 Pist. Good. 
 
 Flu. Ay, leeks is goot: — Hold you, there is a 
 groat to heal your pate. 
 
 Pist. Me a groat ! 
 
 Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth you shall take it* 
 or I have another leek in my pocket, which you 
 shall eat. 
 
 Pist. I take th} T groat, in earnest of revenge. 
 
 Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in 
 cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy 
 nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and 
 keep you, and heal your pate. [Exit, 
 
 Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 
 
 Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly 
 knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, — 
 begun upon an honorable respect, and worn as a 
 memorable trophy of predeceased valor, — and dare 
 not avouch in your deeds any of your words ! I have 
 
ScENK L. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 453 
 
 seen you gleeking" and galling at this gentleman 
 twice or thrice. You thought, because he could 
 not speak English in the native garb, he could not 
 therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it 
 otherwise ; and henceforth, let a Welsh correction 
 teach you a good English condition. 1 Fare ye well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife 3 with me 
 now? 
 News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital, 3 
 »}* iii.Uauy of France; 
 And there my rendezvous is quite cut off*. 
 Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
 Honor is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn, 
 A.nd something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 
 To England will I steal, and there I'll steal: 
 And patches will I get unto these scars, 
 And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Troyes in Champagne. An Apart- 
 ment in the French King's Palace. 
 
 Enteral one door, Kin g Henry, Bedford, Glos- 
 ter, Exeter, Warwick, Westmoreland, 
 and other Lords ; at another, the French King, 
 Queen Isabel, the Princess Katharine, 
 Lords, Ladies, Sfc.,- the Duke of Burgundy, 
 and his Train. 
 
 K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are 
 met! 
 Unto our brother France, — and to our sister, 
 Health and fair time of day : — joy and good wishes 
 To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine; 
 And (as a branch and member of this royalty, 
 By whom this great assembly is contrived) 
 We do salute you, duke of Burgundy; — 
 And, princes French, and peers, health to you all ! 
 
 Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face, 
 Most worthy brother England ; fairly met : — 
 So are you, princes English, every one. 
 
 Q. ha. So happy be the issue, brother England, 
 Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, 
 As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; 
 Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
 Against the French, that met them in their bent, 
 The fatal balls of murdering basilisks; 
 The venom of such looks, we fairly hope, 
 Have lost their quality; and that this day 
 Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love. 
 
 K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear. 
 
 Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. 
 
 Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, 
 Great kings of France and England ! That I have 
 
 labor'd 
 With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavors, 
 To bring your most imperial majesties 
 Unto this bar 4 and royal interview, 
 Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. 
 Since then my office hath so far prevail'd, 
 That face to face, and royal eye to eye, 
 You have congreeted ; let. it not disgrace me, 
 If I demand, before this royal view, 
 What rub, or what impediment, there is, 
 Why, that the naked, poor, and mangled peace, 
 Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, 
 Should not. in this best garden of the world, 
 Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage! 
 Alas ! she hath from France too long been chas'd ; 
 And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, 
 Corrupting in its own fertility. 
 Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
 
 » Scoffing, sneering. ' Temper. 
 
 • For jilt ' Hospital. • Barrier. 
 
 Unpruned dies: her hedges even-pleach'd, — 
 Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair, — 
 Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas, 
 The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, 
 Doth root upon; while that the coulter rusts, 
 That should deracinate 5 such savagery : 
 The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
 The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, 
 Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
 Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems, 
 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, 
 Losing both beauty and utility. 
 And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedge* 
 Defective in their natures, grow to wildness; 
 Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children, 
 Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, 
 The sciences that should become our country ; 
 But grow, like savages, — as soldiers will, 
 That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 
 To swearing, and stern looks, diffus'd 6 attire, 
 And every thing that seems unnatural: 
 Which to reduce into our former favor, 1 
 You are assembled: and my speech entreats, 
 That I may know the let," why gentle peace 
 Should not expel these inconveniences, 
 And bless us with her former qualities. 
 
 K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the 
 peace, 
 Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
 Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
 With full accord to all our just demands; 
 Whose tenors and particular effects 
 You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. 
 
 Bur. The king hath hetrd them ; to the which, 
 as yet, 
 There is no answer made. 
 
 K. Hen. Well then, the peace, 
 
 Which you before so urged, lies in his answer. 
 
 Fr. King. I have but with a cursorary eye 
 O'er-glanced the articles: pleaseth your grace 
 To appoint some of your council presently 
 To sit with us once more, with better heed 
 To re-survey them, we will, suddenly, 
 Pass our accept, and peremptory answer. 
 
 K. Hen. Brother, we shall. — Go, uncle Exeter,- - 
 And brother Clarence, — and you, brother Gloster,- — 
 Warwick, — and Huntingdon, — go with the king : 
 And take with you free power to ratify, 
 Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
 Shall see advantageable for our dignity, 
 Any thing in, or out of, our demands; 
 And we'll consign thereto. — Will you, fair sister, 
 Go with the princes, or stay here with us? 
 
 Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them , 
 Haply, a woman's voice may do some good, 
 When articles, too nicely urged, be stood on. 
 
 K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here 
 with us; 
 She is our capital demand, comprised 
 Within the fore-rank of our articles. 
 
 Q. Isa. She hath good leave. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Henry, Katharinf., 
 and her Gentlewoman. 
 
 K. Hen. Fair Katharine, and most fuir! 
 
 Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier term*, 
 Such as will enter at a lady's ear, 
 And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? 
 
 Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me : I <*anno» 
 speak your England. 
 
 K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me 
 soundly with your French heart, I will be glad *>' 
 
 » Force up by the roots. 
 1 Appearanco. 
 
 6 Extravagant 
 • Hinderaueo. 
 
1M 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 liear you confess it brokenly with your English 
 tongue. Do you like me, Kate? 
 
 Kath. Pardonnez moy, I cannot tell vat is— likeme. 
 
 K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you 
 are like an angel. 
 
 Kath. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les 
 anges ? 
 
 Alice. Ouy, vrayment, (sauf vostre grace,) ainsi 
 dit-il. 
 
 K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine ; and I must 
 not blush to affirm it 
 
 Kath. bon Dieu! les langues des hommes 
 sont pleines des tromperies. 
 
 K. Hen. What says she, fair one] that the 
 tongues of men are full of deceits ? 
 
 Alice. Ouy,- dat de tongues of de mans is be full 
 of deceits : dat is de princess. 
 
 K. Hen. The princess is the better English- 
 woman. I'faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy 
 understanding: I am glad, thou canst speak no 
 better English ; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst 
 find me such a plain king, that thou wouldst think, 
 I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no 
 ways to mince it in love, but directly to say — I love 
 you : then, if you urge me further than to say — Do 
 you, in faith ? I wear out my suit. Give me your 
 answer; i'faith, do; and so clap hands and a bar- 
 gain : How say you, lady ? 
 
 Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, me understand well. 
 
 K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, 
 or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me : 
 for the one, I have neither words nor measure ; and 
 for the other, I have no strength in measure, 9 yet a 
 reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a 
 lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with 
 my armor on my back, under the correction of 
 bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap for a 
 wife. Or, if I might buffet for my love, or bound 
 my horse for her favors, I could lay on like a 
 butcher, and sit like ajack-an-apes, never off: but, 
 before God, I cannot look greenly,' nor gasp out 
 my eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protesta- 
 tion ; only downright oaths, which I never use till 
 urged, nor never break for urging. If thou canst 
 love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not 
 worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for 
 love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy 
 cook. I speak to thee plain soldier : If thou canst 
 love me for this, take me : if not, to say to thee — 
 that I shall die, is true ; but — for thy love, by the 
 Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou 
 livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoin- 
 ed 1 constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, 
 because he hath not the gift to woo in other places : 
 for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme 
 themselves into ladies' favors — they do always rea- 
 son themselves out again. What ! a speaker is but 
 a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will 
 fall;* a straight back will stoop; a black beard will 
 turn white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair face 
 will wither; a full eye will wax hollow : but a good 
 heart, Kate, is the sun and moon; or rather the 
 sun, and not the moon ; for it shines bright, and 
 never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou 
 would have such a one, take me : And take me, 
 take a soldier ; take a soldier, take a king : And 
 what say est thou then to my love ? speak, my fair, 
 and fairly, I pray thee. 
 
 Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy 
 A France ? 
 
 » In dancing. l i. c. Like a young lover, awkwardly. 
 > He means, resembling a plain piece of metal, which 
 >as not ret rect' cd an? impression » Fall »way. 
 
 K. Hen. No ; it is not possible, you should love 
 the enemy of France, Kate; but in loving me, you 
 should love the friend of France ; for I love France 
 so well, that I will not part with a village of it ; I 
 will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is 
 mine, and I am yours, then yours is France, and 
 you are mine. 
 
 Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 
 
 K.Hen. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; 
 which, lam sure, will hang upon my tongue like a 
 new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly 
 to be shook off. Quandfay laposscssion de France, 
 et quandvous avez la possession de moi, (let me see. 
 what then 1 Saint Denis be my speed !) — done 
 vostre est France, et vous estes mienne. It is as easy 
 for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom, as to speak 
 so much more French : I shall never move thee in 
 French, unless it be to laugh at me. 
 
 Kath. Sauf vostre honneur,le Francois que vous 
 parlez, est meilleur que VAnglois lequel jeparle. 
 
 K. Hen. No, faith, is't not, Kate : but thy speak- 
 ing of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, 
 must needs be granted to be much at one. But, 
 Kate, dost thou understand thus much English ? 
 Canst thou love me? 
 
 Kath. I cannot led. 
 
 K. Hen. Can any of your neighbors tell, Kate ? 
 I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me: and 
 at night when you come into your closet, you'll 
 question this gentlewoman about me ; and I know, 
 Kate, you will, to her, dispraise those parts in me, 
 that you love with your heart : but, good Kate, 
 mock me mercifully ; the rather, gentle princess, 
 because I love thee cruelly. If ever thou be'st mine, 
 Kate, (as I have a saving faith within me, tells me, 
 — thou shalt,) I get thee with scambling, and thou 
 must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder: 
 Shall not thou and I, between Saint Denis and 
 Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half 
 English, that shall go to Constantinople, and take 
 the Turk by the beard ? shall we not ? what sayest 
 thou, flower-de-luce? 
 
 Kath. I do not know dat. 
 
 K. Hen. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now tc 
 promise: do but now promise, Kate, you will en- 
 deavor for your French part of such a boy ; and, for 
 my English moiety, take the word of a king, and 
 a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Cath- 
 arine du monde, man Ires chere et divine deesse? 
 
 Kath. Your majeste 'avefausse French enough to 
 deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, fye upon my false French ! By 
 mine honor, in true English, I love thee, Kate : by 
 which honor I dare not swear, thou lovest me ; 
 yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, 
 notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect 
 of my visage. Now beshrew my father's ambition ! 
 he was thinking of civil wars when he got me ; there- 
 fore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an 
 aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I 
 fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder 1 wax. the 
 better I shall appear: my comfort is, that old age, 
 that ill-layer up of beauty, can do no more spoil 
 upon my face : thou hast me, if thou hast me, at 
 the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear 
 me, better and better; and therefore tel' me, most 
 fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your 
 maiden blushes ; avouch the thoughts of your heart 
 with the looks of an empress ; take me by the han 
 and say — Harry of England, I am thine : which 
 word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, 
 but I will tell thee aloud — England is thine, Ire- 
 land is thine. France is thine, and Henry Plant* 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 4ftsi 
 
 genet is thine ; who, though I speak it before his 
 face, if he he not fellow with the best king, thou 
 shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, 
 your answer in broken music; for thy voice is 
 music, and thy English broken : therefore, queen 
 of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken 
 English, Wilt thou have me? 
 
 Kath. Dat is, as it shall please de roy monpere. 
 K. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it 
 shall please him, Kate. 
 
 Kath. Den it shall also content me. 
 K. Hen. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I 
 call you — my queen. 
 
 Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez; 
 ma foy.jeneveux point que voas abbaissez vostre 
 grandeur, en baisant la main d'une vostre i?i- 
 digne serviteur; excusez moy, je vous supplie, 
 mon tres puissant seigneur. 
 
 X. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 
 Kath. Les dames, et demoiselles, pour estre 
 baisees devant leur nopces, il n' est pas la coiltume 
 de France. 
 
 K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says 
 she"! 
 
 ^.lice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of 
 France, — I cannot tell what is baiser, en English. 
 K. Hen. To kiss. 
 
 Alice. Your majesty entendre better que moy. 
 " K. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids in 
 France to kiss before they are married, would she 
 say 1 
 
 Alice. Ouy, vrayment. 
 
 K. Hen. 0, Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great 
 kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined 
 within the weak list 4 of a country's fashion: we are 
 the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that 
 follows our places, stops the mouths of all find- 
 faults; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice 
 fashion of your country, in denying me a kiss: 
 therefore, patiently, and yielding. [Kissing her.] 
 You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate : there is 
 more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in 
 the tongues of a French council ; and they should 
 sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general 
 petition of monarchs. Here comes your father. 
 
 Enter the French King and Queen, Burgundy, 
 Bedford, Glostkh, Exeter, Westmoreland, 
 and other French and English Lords. 
 
 Bur. God save your majesty ! my royal cousin, 
 teach you our princess English 1 
 
 K. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, 
 how perfectly I love her ; and that is good English. 
 
 Bur. Is she not apt 1 
 
 K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz; and my con- 
 dition 5 is not smooth : so that, having neither the 
 voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so 
 conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will 
 appear in his true likeness 
 
 Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I an- 
 swer you for that. If you would conjure in her, 
 you must make a circle: if conjure up love in her, 
 in his true likeness, he must appear naked, and 
 blind: Can you blame her then, being a maid yet 
 rosed over with the virgin crimson of modesty, if 
 «he deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in 
 her naked seeing self! It were, my lord, a hard 
 condition for a maid to consign to. 
 
 K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield; as love 
 tk blind, and enforces. 
 
 Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when 
 they see not what they do. 
 
 • Slight barrier. • Temper. 
 
 K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin 
 to consent to winking. 
 
 Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if 
 you will teach her to know my meaning : for maids, 
 well summered and warm kept, are like flies at 
 Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have theii 
 eyes; and then they will endure handling, which 
 before would not abide looking on. 
 
 K. He?i. This moral 6 ties me over to time, and 
 a hot summer; and so I will catch the fly, your 
 cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too. 
 
 Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 
 
 K. Hen. It is so: and you may, some of you 
 thank love for my blindness ; who cannot see many 
 a fair French city, for one fair French maid that 
 stands in my way. 
 
 Fr. Ki?ig. Yes, my lord, you see them perspec 
 tively, the cities turned into a maid ; for they are 
 all girdled with maiden walls, that war hath never 
 entered. 
 
 K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife ? 
 
 Fr. King. So please you. 
 
 K. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities you 
 talk of, may wait on her: so the maid, that stood 
 in the way of my wish, shall show me the way to 
 my will. 
 
 Fr. King. We have consented to all terms of 
 reason. 
 
 K. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England? 
 
 West. The king hath granted every article: 
 His daughter, first; and then, in sequel, all, 
 According to their firm proposed natures. 
 
 Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this :• 
 Where your majesty demands. — That the king of 
 France having any occasion to write for matter of 
 grant, shall name your highness in this form, and 
 with this addition, in French, — Notre tres cher filz 
 Henry, roy d'Angleterre, heritier de France,- and 
 thus in Latin, — Prasclarissimus films noster Hen- 
 ricus, rex Anglise, # hxres Francise. 
 
 Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied 
 But your request shall make me let it pass. 
 
 K. Hen. I pray you, then, in love and dear al- 
 liance, 
 Let that one article rank with the rest: 
 And, thereupon, give me your daughter. 
 
 Fr. King. Take her, fair son ; and from her blood 
 raise up 
 Issue to me : that the contending kingdoms 
 Of France and England, whose very shores look 
 
 pale 
 With envy of each other's happiness, 
 May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunction 
 Plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord 
 In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
 His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France 
 
 All. Amen! 
 
 K. Hen. Now welcome, Ka^: — and bear me 
 witness all, 
 That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. 
 
 [Flourish, 
 
 Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all marriages, 
 Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one! 
 As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
 So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal, 
 That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, 
 Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, 
 Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, 
 To make divorce of their incorporate league ; 
 That English may as French, French Englishmen 
 Receive each other! — God speak this Amen! 
 All. Amen! 
 
 * Application. 
 
«56 
 
 A'. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Act 9 
 
 Hen. Prepare we for our marriage: — on 
 which day, 
 My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, 
 And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. — 
 Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ! 
 And may our oaths well kept and prosp'rous be ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Chohtts. 
 Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen, 
 
 Our bending 1 author hath pursu'd the story; 
 In little room confining mighty men, 
 
 Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. 
 * t. e. Bae^ual tc the weight of the subject, 
 
 Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd 
 
 This star of England: fortune made his swo.d; 
 By which the world's best garden 8 he achiev'd, 
 
 And of it left his son imperial lord. 
 Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king 
 
 Of France and England, did this king succeed- 
 Whose state so many had the managing, 
 
 That they lost France, and made his England 
 bleed : 
 Which oft our stage hath shown ; and for theii 
 
 sake, 
 In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [Exit 
 ■ town. 
 
FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henry the Sixth. 
 
 Dukf. of Gloster, Uncle to the King, and Pro- 
 tector. 
 
 Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, and Re- 
 gent of France. 
 
 Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, great Un- 
 cle to the King. 
 
 Henry Beaufort, great Uncle to the King, Bi- 
 shop of Winchester, and afterwards Car- 
 dinal. 
 
 ,'ohs Beaufort, Earl of Somerset; afterwards 
 Duke. 
 
 Richard Plantagenet, eldest Son of Richard, 
 late Earl of Cambridge ; afterwards Duke 
 of York. 
 
 Sarl of Warwick. 
 
 Earl of Salisbury. 
 
 Earl of Suffolk. 
 
 Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl of Shrewsbury. 
 
 John Talbot, his Son. 
 
 Edward Mortimer, Earl of March. 
 
 Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer. 
 
 Sir John Fastolfe. 
 
 Sir William Lucy. 
 
 Sir William Glansdale. 
 
 Sir Thomas Gargraye. 
 
 Mayor of London. 
 
 Woodyille, Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 Vernon, of the White Rose, or York Faction. 
 
 Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster Factimi. 
 
 Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of 
 France. 
 
 Reignier, Duke of Anjou, and titular King of 
 Naples. 
 
 Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Duke of Alencon. 
 
 Governor of Paris. 
 
 Bastard of Orleans. 
 
 Master-Gunner of Orleans, and his Son. 
 
 General of the French Forces in Bourdeaux. 
 
 A French Sergeant. 
 
 A Porter. 
 
 Margaret, Daughter to Reignier; afterwards mar- 
 ried to King Henry. 
 
 Countess of Auvergne. 
 
 Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan of Arc 
 
 Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers 
 Soldiers, Messengers, and several Atten- 
 dants both on the English and French. 
 
 SCENE, partly in England, and partly in France. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Dead March. Corpse of King Henry the Fifth 
 discovered, lying in state,- attended on by the 
 Dukes of Bedford, Gloster, and Exeter; 
 the Earl of Warwick, the Bishop of Win- 
 chester, Heralds, £[C. 
 
 Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day 
 to night! 
 Comets, importing change of times and states, 
 Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky; 
 And with them scourge the bad revolting stars, 
 That have consented unto Henry's death! 
 Himry the Fifth, too famous to live long ! 
 England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. 
 
 Glo. England ne'er had a king until his time. 
 Virtue he had, deserving to command : 
 His brandish'd aword did blind men with his beams ; 
 His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings; 
 His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire, 
 More dazzled and drove back his enemies, 
 Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces. 
 T4571 
 
 What should I say ? his deeds exceed all speech, 
 He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered. 
 
 Exe. We mourn in black; Why inouniwe not 
 
 in blood? 
 Henry is dead, and never shall revive: 
 Upon a wooden coffin we attend; 
 And death's dishonorable victory 
 We with our stately presence glorify, 
 Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
 What I shall we curse the planets of mishap 
 That plotted thus our glory's overthrow? 
 Or shall we think the subtle-witted French 
 Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him 
 By magic verses' have contrived his end'' 
 
 Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of 
 
 kings. 
 Unto the French the dreadful judgment-day 
 So dreadful will not be, as was his sight. 
 The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought ■ 
 The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 
 
 1 There was a notion long prevalent, that life might be 
 taken away by metrical charms. 
 2F 
 
158 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act 1. 
 
 Glo. The church ! where is it 1 Had not church- 
 men pray'd, 
 His thread of life had not so soon decay'd: 
 None do you like but an effeminate prince, 
 Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 
 
 Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector ; 
 And lookest to command the prince, and realm. 
 Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe, 
 More than God, or religious churchmen may. 
 
 Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh, 
 And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st, 
 Except it be to pray against thy foes. 
 
 Bed. Cease, cease these jars, and rest your 
 minds in peace ! 
 Let's to the altar : — Heralds, wait on us : — 
 Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms ; 
 Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. — 
 Posterity, await for wretched years, 
 When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck; 
 Our isle be made a nourish 4 of salt tears, 
 And none but women left to wail the dead. — 
 Henry the Fifth ! thy ghost I invocate ; 
 Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! 
 Combat with adverse planets in the heavens ! 
 A far more glorious star thy soul will make, 
 
 Than Julius Csesar, or bright 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My honorable lords, health to you all ! 
 Sad tidings bring I to you out of France, 
 Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture: 
 Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans, 
 Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost. 
 
 Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Hen- 
 ry's corse? 
 Speak softly ; or the loss of those great towns 
 Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. 
 
 Glo. Is Paris lost 1 is Rouen yielded up ? 
 If Henry were recall'd to life again, 
 These news would cause him once more yield the 
 ghost. 
 
 Exc. How were they lost 1 ? what treachery was 
 us'd? 
 
 Mess. No treachery; but want of men and money. 
 Among the soldiers this is muttered. — 
 That here you maintain several factions; 
 And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought, 
 You are disputing of your generals. 
 One would have lingering wars with little cost ; 
 Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings; 
 A third man thinks, without expense at all, 
 By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd. 
 Awake, awake, English nobility ! 
 Let not sloth dim your honors, new-begot : 
 Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; 
 Of England's coat one half is cut away. 
 
 Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral, 
 These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. 
 
 Bed. Me they concern ; regent I am of France: — 
 Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France. — 
 Away with these disgraceful wailing robes ! 
 Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes, 
 To weep their intermissive miseries. 3 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 2 Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad 
 mischance, 
 France is revolted from the English quite ; 
 Except some petty towns of no import: 
 The dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims; 
 The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd; 
 
 * Nurse was anciently so spelt. 
 
 » t. r [Their .mi^rics which have had only a short inter- 
 mission, 
 
 Reignier, duke of Anjou. doth take his pait; 
 The duke of Alencon flieth to his side. 
 
 Exe. The dauphin crowned king • all fly to him .' 
 O, whither shall we fly from this reproach ? 
 
 Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats- 
 Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out. 
 
 Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forward 
 ness? 
 An army have I muster'd in my thoughts, 
 Wherewith already France is over-run. 
 
 Enter a third Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My gracious lords, — to add to your la 
 ments, 
 Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse,— 
 I must inform you of a dismal fight, 
 Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. 
 
 Win. What ! wherein Talbot overcame 1 is't so 1 
 
 3 Mess. O, no ; wherein lord Talbot was o'er- 
 thrown ; 
 The circumstance I'll tell you more at large. 
 The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord, 
 Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 
 Having full scarce six thousand in his troop, 
 By three-and-twenty thousand of the French 
 Was round encompassed and set upon ; 
 No leisure had he to enrank his men; 
 He wanted pikes to set before his archers: 
 Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of 
 
 hedges, 
 They pitched in the ground confusedly, 
 To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 
 More than three hours the fight continued ; 
 Where valiant Talbot, above human thought. 
 Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. 
 Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand hit. 
 Here, there, and every where, enraged he slew . 
 The French exclaim'd the devil was in arms ; 
 All the whole army stood agaz'd on him: 
 His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, 
 A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain, 
 And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 
 Here had the conquest fully been sealed up, 
 If sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the cowar. 
 He being in the vaward (placed behind 
 With purpose to relieve and follow them,) 
 Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke. 
 Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ; 
 Enclosed were they with their enemies: 
 A base Walloon, to win the dauphin's grace, 
 Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back ; 
 Whom all France, with their chief assembled 
 
 strength, 
 Durst not presume to look once in the face. 
 
 Bed. Is Talbot slain 1 then I will slay myself, 
 For living idly here, in pomp and ease, 
 Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid, 
 Unto his dastard foe-man is betray'd. 
 
 3 Mess O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner, 
 And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford; 
 Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took likewise. 
 
 Bed. His ransom there is none but I shall pay 
 I'll hale the dauphin headlong from his throne, 
 His crown shall be the ransom of my friend; 
 Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. — ■ 
 Farewell, my masters; to my task will I; 
 Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make, 
 To keep our great saint George's feast withal : 
 Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take, 
 Whose bloody deeds shall make ali Europe quake. 
 
 3 Mess. So you had need ; for Orleans is besieg'd J 
 The English army is grown weak and faint: 
 The earl of Salisbury craveth supply, 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 459 
 
 And hardly keeps his men from mutiny, 
 •Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 
 
 Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry 
 sworn ; 
 Either to quell the dauphin utterly, 
 Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 
 
 Bed. I do remember it; and here take leave, 
 To go about my preparation. [Exit. 
 
 Glo. I'll to the Tower, with all the haste I can, 
 To view the artillery and munition; 
 And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [Exit. 
 
 Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is, 
 Being ordain'd his special governor; 
 And for his safety there I'll best devise. [Exit. 
 
 Win. Each hath his place and function to attend : 
 I am left out; for me nothing remains. 
 But long I will not be Jack-out-of-ofhce ; 
 The king from Eltham I intend to send, 
 And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— France. Before Orleans. 
 Enter Cuaiii.es, with his Forces,- Alen con, 
 
 Reignier, and others. 
 Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the 
 heavens, 
 80 in the earth, to this day is not known : 
 Late did he shine upon the English side; 
 Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. 
 What towns of any moment, but we have 1 
 At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans ; 
 Other whiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts, 
 Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 
 
 Alen. They want their porridge, and their fat 
 bull-beeves : 
 Either they must be dieted like mules, 
 And have their provender tied to their mouths, 
 Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. 
 Reig. Let's raise the siege: Why live we idly 
 here? 
 Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear: 
 Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury; 
 And he may well in fretting spend his gall, 
 Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war. 
 Char. Sound, sound alarum; we will rush on 
 them. 
 Now for the he nor of the forlorn French: 
 Him I forgive my death, that killeth me, 
 When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Alarums,- Excursions,- afterwards a Retreat. 
 
 Re-enter Charles, Alencon, Reignier, and 
 
 others. 
 
 Char. Who ever saw the like? what men have I? — 
 
 Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! — I would ne'er have fled, 
 
 But that they left me 'midst my enemies. 
 
 Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide; 
 He fighteth as one weary of his life. 
 The other lords, like lions wanting food, 
 Do rush upon us as their hungry prey.* 
 
 Alen. Froissard, a countryman of ours, records, 
 England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, 
 During the time Edward the Third did reign. 
 More truly now may this be verified; 
 For none but Samsons, and Goliasses, 
 It sendeth forth to skirmish. One to ten ! 
 Lean raw-bon'd rascals ! who would e'er suppose 
 They had such courage and audacity ? 
 
 Char. Let's leave this town ; for they are hair- 
 brain'd slaves, 
 And hunger will enforce them to be more eager: 
 Of old I know them; rather with their teeth 
 The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege. 
 * i. e. The prey for which they are hungry. 
 
 Reig. I think by some odd gimmals* or device, 
 Their arms are set, like clock? still to strike on ; 
 Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do. 
 By my consent., we'll e'en let them alone. 
 
 Alen. Be it so. 
 
 Enter the Bastard of Orleans. 
 
 Bast. Where's the prince dauphin"! I have new* 
 for him. 
 
 Char. Bastard 6 of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. 
 
 Bast. Methinks, your looks are sad, your cheer' 
 appall'd; 
 Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ? 
 Be not dismay'd, for succor is at hand: 
 A holy maid hither with me I bring, 
 Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, 
 Ordained is to raise this tedious siege, 
 And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
 The spirit of deep prophecy she hath, 
 Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome; 
 What's past, and what's to come, she can descry. 
 Speak, shall I call her in? Believe my words, 
 For they are certain and unfallible 
 
 Char. Go, call her in: [Exit Bastard.] But, 
 first, to try her skill, 
 Reignier, stand thou as dauphin in my place: 
 Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern :- 
 By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. 
 
 [Retires. 
 Enter La Pccelle, Bastard of Orleans, and others. 
 
 Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these won- 
 d'rous feats ? 
 
 Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile 
 me? — 
 Where is the dauphin? — come, come from behind; 
 I know thee well, though never seen before. 
 Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me: 
 In private will I talk with thee apart: — 
 Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while. 
 
 Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. 
 
 Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's 
 daughter, 
 My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. 
 Heaven, and our lady gracious, hath it pleas'd 
 To shine on my contemptible estate: 
 Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs, 
 And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks. 
 God's mother deigned to appear to me; 
 And, in a vision full of majesty, 
 Will'd me to leave my base vocation, 
 And free my country from calamity : 
 Her aid she promis'd and assur'd success: 
 In complete glory she reveal'd herself; 
 And, whereas I was black and swart before, 
 With those clear rays which she infus'd on me, 
 That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see. 
 Ask me what question thou canst possible, 
 And I will answer unpremeditated: 
 My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st. 
 And thou shall find that I exceed my sex 
 Resolve on this:" Thou shalt be fortunate, 
 If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. 
 
 Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high 
 terms ; 
 Only this proof I'll of thy valor make, — 
 In single combat thou shalt buckle with me* 
 And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true ; 
 Otherwise, I renounce all confidence. 
 
 Puc. I am prepared : here is my keen-edg'd sword, 
 Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side; 
 
 5 A gimmal is a piece of jointed work, where one piet* 
 moves within another; here it is taken st large for an en 
 gine. « This was not in former times a term of reproach 
 * Countenance B» firmly persuaded of it. 
 
1G0 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Acr 
 
 The which at Touraine, in saint Katharine's 
 
 church-yard, 
 Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth. 
 
 Char. Then come o'God's name, I fear no woman. 
 Puc. And, while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man. 
 
 [They fight. 
 Char. Stay, stay thy hands ; thou art an Amazon, 
 And tightest with the sword of Deborah. 
 
 Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too 
 
 weak. 
 Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must 
 help me: 
 Impatiently I burn with thy desire; 
 My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd. 
 Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, 
 Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be; 
 'Tis the French dauphin sueth to thee thus. 
 Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love, 
 For my profession's sacred from above: 
 When I have chased all thy foes from hence, 
 Then will I think upon a recompence. 
 
 Char. Meantime, look gracious on thy prostrate 
 
 thrall. 
 Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 
 Alen. Doubtless he shrives this woman to her 
 smock ; 
 Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 
 Reig. Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no 
 
 mean? 
 Alen. He may mean more than we poor men 
 do know. 
 These women are shrewd tempters with their 
 tongues. 
 Reig. My lord, where are you? what devise 
 you on 1 ? 
 Shall we give over Orleans, or no? 
 
 Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants ! 
 Fight till the last gasp; I will be your guard. 
 Char. What she says, I'll confirm ; we'll fight it 
 
 out. 
 Puc. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. 
 This night the siege assuredly I'll raise: 
 Expect saint Martin's summer 3 halcyon days, 
 Since I have entered into these wars. 
 Glory is like a circle in the water, 
 Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, 
 Till, by broad spreading, it disperse .o no.ight. 
 With Henry's death, the English ciide ends; 
 Dispersed arc the glories it included. 
 Now am I like that proud insulting ship, 
 Which Caesar and his fortune bare at once, 
 
 Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? 
 Thou with an eagle art inspired then. 
 Helen, the mother of great Constantine, 
 Nor yet saint Philip's daughters,' were like thee. 
 Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, 
 How may I reverently worship thee enough 1 
 Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege. 
 Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our 
 honors ; 
 Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. 
 Char. Presently we'll try: — Come, let's away 
 about it: 
 No prophet will I trust if she prove false. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— London. Hill before the Tower. 
 
 Enter, at the Gates, the Duke of Gloster, with 
 his Serving-men, in blue Coats. 
 Glo. I am come to survey the Tower this day ; 
 Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance.' 
 
 Expect prosperity after misfortune. 
 • Meaning the four daughters of Philip mentioned : i 
 Acts, xxi. i a Theft. 
 
 Where be these warders, that they wait not heie' 
 Open the gates ; Gloster it is that calls. 
 
 TServants knoch 
 1 Ward. [Within."] Who is there that knock? 
 so imperiously? 
 
 1 Serv. It is the noble duke of Gloster. 
 
 2 Ward. [ Within.] Whoe'er he be, you may not 
 
 be let in. 
 
 Serv. Answer you so the lord protector, villains ? 
 
 1 Ward. [Within.] The Lord protect him! so 
 we answer him : 
 We do no otherwise than we are will'd. 
 
 Glo. Who willed you? or whose will stands, but 
 mine? 
 There's none protector of the realm but I.- - 
 Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize : 
 Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms' 1 
 Servants rush at the Tower Gates. Enter, to tht 
 Gates, Woodtilie, the Lieutenant. 
 
 Wood. [Within.] What noise is this ? what trai- 
 tors have we here? 
 
 Glo. Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear? 
 Open the gates ; here's Gloster, that would enter. 
 
 Wood. [ Within.] Have patience, noble duke ; I 
 may not open ; 
 The cardinal of Winchester forbids : 
 From him I have express commandment, ' 
 That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in. 
 
 Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore 
 me? 
 Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate, 
 Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? 
 Thou art no friend to God, or to the king: 
 Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly. 
 
 1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector; 
 Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not 
 
 quickly. 
 Enter Winchester, attended by a Train of Ser- 
 vants, in tawny Coats. 
 
 Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey? what 
 means this? 
 
 Glo. Piel'd priest, 3 dost thou command me to bo 
 shut out? 
 
 Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor,' 
 And not protector of the king or realm. 
 
 Glo. Stand back : thou manifest conspirator ; 
 Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord : 
 Thou, that giv'st whores indulgences to sin : 
 I'll canvass* thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, 
 If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 
 
 Win. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot 
 This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
 To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 
 
 Glo. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back 
 Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth, 
 I'll use, to carry thee out of this place. 
 
 Win. Do what thou dar'st ; I beard thee to thy face 
 
 Glo. What? am T dar'd, and bearded to my face? — 
 Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; 
 Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware yo lrbeard; 
 [Gloster and his men attack the Bishop 
 I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly : 
 Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat; 
 In spite of pope or dignities of church, 
 Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. 
 
 Win. Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope. 
 
 Glo. Winchester goose,' I cry — a rope ! a rope ! — 
 Now beat them hence : Why do you let them stay ? — 
 Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array.— 
 Out, tawny coats! — out, scarlet 1 hypocrite! 
 
 3 Alluding to his shaven crown. 4 Traitor. » Sift. 
 s A strumpet. ' An allusion to the Bishop's hab ; ! 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 461 
 
 Here a great Tumult. In the midst of it, enter the 
 Mayor of London, and Officers. 
 
 May. Fye, lords! that you, being supreme ma- 
 gistrates, 
 Thus contunieliously should break the peace ! 
 
 Glo. Peace, mayor: thou know'st little of my 
 wrongs . 
 Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
 Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use. 
 
 Win. Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens; 
 One that still motions war, and never peace, 
 O'ercharging your free purses with large fines; 
 That seeks to overthrow religion, 
 Because he is protector of the realm : 
 And would have armor here out of the Tower, 
 To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. 
 
 Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but 
 blows. [Here they skirmish again. 
 
 May. Nought rests for me, in this tumultuous 
 strife, 
 But to make open proclamation: — 
 Come, officer; as loud as e'er thou canst. 
 Off. All manner of men, assembled here in arms 
 
 this day, against God's peace and the king's, 
 
 we charge and command yon, in his highness' 
 
 name) to repair to your several dwelling-places; 
 
 and not to wear, handle, or use, any sword, 
 
 weapon, or dagger, henceforward, upon pain 
 
 of death. 
 
 Glo. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: 
 But we shall meet and break our minds at large. 
 
 Win. Gloster, we'll meet ; to thy dear cost, be sure : 
 Thy heart-blood I will have, for this day's work. 
 
 May. I'll call for clubs, 8 if you will not away : — 
 This cardinal is more haughty than the devil. 
 
 Glo. Mayor, farewell ; thou dost but what thou 
 may st. 
 
 Win. Abominable Gloster! guard thy head; 
 For I intend to have it ere long. [Exeunt. 
 
 May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will 
 depart. 
 Good God ! that nobles should such stomachs' bear ! 
 I myself fight not once in forty year. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— France. Before Orleans. 
 Enter on the Walls, the Master-Gunner, andhis Son. 
 
 M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is 
 besieged ; 
 And how the English have the suburbs won. 
 
 Son. Father, I know ; and oft have shot at them, 
 Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'dmy aim. 
 
 M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd 
 by me: 
 Chief master-gunner am I of this town ; 
 Something I must do, to procure me grace: 
 The prince's espials 1 have informed me, 
 How the English, in the suburbs close intrench'd, 
 Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars 
 In yonder tower, to overpeer the city ; 
 And thence discover, how, with most advantage, 
 They may vex us, with shot, or with assault. 
 To intercept this inconvenience, 
 A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have placed; 
 And fully even these three days have I watch'd, 
 If I could see them. Now boy, do thou watch, 
 For I can stay no longer. 
 If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; 
 And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit. 
 
 Son. Father, I warrant you ; take you no care ; 
 ['11 never trouble you, if I may spy them. 
 
 • That is, for peace-officers armed with clubs or staves. 
 
 • Pride. « Spies. 
 
 Enter, in an upper Chamber of a Tower, the Lords 
 
 Salisbury c»ig?Talbot, Sin William Glans- 
 
 dali:. Sin Thomas Gargrave, and others. 
 
 Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again return'd ' 
 How wert thou handled, being prisoner'? 
 Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd t 
 Discourse, Ipr'ythee, on this turret's top. 
 
 Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner, 
 Called — the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles ; 
 For him I was exchanged and ransomed. 
 But with a baser man of arms by far, 
 Once, in contempt, they would have barter 'd me : 
 Which I, disdaining, scorn'd; and craved death 
 Rather than I would be so piled esteem'd. 3 
 In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd. 
 But, ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart! 
 Whom with my bare fists I would execute, 
 If I now had him brought into my power. 
 
 Sal. Yet tell'st thou not, how thou wert enter- 
 tain'd. 
 
 Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious 
 taunts. 
 In open market-place produced they me, 
 To be a public spectacle to all ; 
 Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
 The scare-crow that affrights our children so. 
 Then broke I from the officers that led me ; 
 And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground. 
 To hurl at the beholders of my shame. 
 My grisly countenance made others fly; 
 None durst come near for fear of sudden death. 
 In iron walls they deem'd me not secure ; 
 So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread, 
 That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steel, 
 And spurn in pieces posts of adamant ; 
 Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had, 
 That walk'd about me every minute-while; 
 And if I did but stir out of my bed, 
 Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 
 
 Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd 
 But we will be revenged sufficiently. 
 Now is it supper-time in Orleans : 
 Here through this grate, I can count every one, 
 And view the Frenchmen how they fortify ; 
 Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee. — 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, 
 Let me have your express opinions, 
 Where is best place to make our battery next. 
 
 Gar. I think, at the north gate ; for there stand 
 lords. 
 
 Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of the bridge. 
 
 Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd, 
 Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. 
 
 [Shot from the Town. Salisbury and 
 Sir Thomas GARGRAVEya//. 
 
 Sal. Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners ! 
 
 Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man ! 
 
 Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly h-Uli 
 cross'd us? 
 Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak 
 How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men? 
 One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck ofl 
 Accursed tower! accursed fatal hand, 
 That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy ! 
 In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame: 
 Henry the Fifth he first train 'd to the wars; 
 Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up 
 His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field 
 Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury ? though thy speecn aotfi 
 
 fail, 
 One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace 
 The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. — 
 » So stripped of honor*. 
 
462 
 
 FIRST PART Of 
 
 Act I 
 
 Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive, 
 If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! — 
 Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it. — 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life? 
 Speak unto Talbot; nay, look up to him. 
 Salisbury, cheer thy spirit, with this comfort; 
 
 Thou shalt not die, whiles 
 
 He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me ; 
 As who should say, When lam dead and gone, 
 Remember to avenge me on the French. — 
 Piantagenet, I will; and Nero-like, 
 Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn: 
 Wretched shall France be only in my name. 
 
 [Thunder heard; afterwards an Alarum. 
 What stir is this? What tumult's in the heavens? 
 Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have ga- 
 thei'd head: 
 The dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, — 
 A holy prophetess, new risen up, — 
 Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 
 
 [Salisbury groans. 
 Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan ! 
 It irks his heart, he cannot be revenged. 
 Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you : — 
 Pucelle or puzzel, 3 dolphin or dogfish, 
 Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels, 
 And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. 
 Convey me Salisbury into his tent, 
 And then we'll try what dastard Frenchmen dare. 
 [Exeunt, bearing out the Bodies. 
 
 SCENE V.— Before one of the Gates of Orleans. 
 
 Alarum. Skirmishi?igs. Talbot pursueth the 
 Dauphin, and drivethhim in: then enter Joan 
 la Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. 
 Then enter Talbot. 
 
 Tal. Where is my strength, my valor, and my 
 force ? 
 
 Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them; 
 
 A woman, clad in armor, chase th them. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle. 
 
 Here, here she comes : I'll have a bout with 
 
 thee; 
 Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee : 
 Blood will I draw on thee, 4 thou art a witch, 
 And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv st. 
 Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace 
 thee. [They fight. 
 
 Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail ? 
 My breast I'll burst with straining of my courage. 
 And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder, 
 But I will chlstise this high-minded strumpet. 
 
 Puc. Talbot, farewell ; thy hour is not yet come : 
 I must go victual Orleans forthwith. 
 O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. 
 Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men ; 
 Help Salisbury to make his testament: 
 Phis day is ours, as many more shall be. 
 
 [Pucelle enters the Town, with Soldiers. 
 
 1 Dirty wench. 
 
 • The superstition of those times taught, that he who 
 «>'jrf draw a witch's hlood was free from her power. 
 
 Tal. My thoughts are whirled like a polter'i 
 wheel , 
 I know not where I am, nor what I do; 
 A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal, 
 Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists: 
 So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench 
 Are from their hives, and houses, driven away. 
 They called us, for our fierceness, English dogs ; 
 Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 
 
 [A short Alarum 
 Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight. 
 Or tear the lions out of England's coat; 
 Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead: 
 Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf, 
 Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard, 
 As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves. 
 
 [Alarum. Another Skirmish 
 It will not be: — Retire into your trenches: 
 You all consented unto Salisbury's death, 
 For none would strike a stroke in his reveage. — 
 Pucelle is entered into Orleans, 
 In spite of us, or aught that we could do. 
 O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! 
 The shame hereof will make me hide my head. 
 
 [Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and hit 
 Forces, <SfC. 
 
 SCENE VI.— The same. 
 
 Enter on the Walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reio 
 nier, Alencon, and Soldiers. 
 
 Puc. Advance our waving colors on the walls; 
 Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves : — 
 Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 
 
 Char. Divinest creature, bright Astrsa's daughter 
 How shall I honor thee for this success? 
 Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, 
 That one day bloom'd, and fruitful were the next 
 France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess ! — 
 Recover'd is the town of Orleans: 
 More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state. 
 
 Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the 
 town? 
 Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires, 
 And feast and banquet in the open streets, 
 To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 
 
 Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and 
 
 j°y> 
 
 When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. 
 Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won 
 For which, I will divide my crown with her: 
 And all the priests and friars in my realm 
 Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise. 
 A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear, 
 Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was: 
 In memory of her, when she is dead, 
 Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
 Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius, 
 Transported shall be at high festivals 
 Before the kings and queens of France. 
 No longer on saint Denis will we cry, 
 But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
 Come in ; and let us b:\nquet royally, 
 After this golden day of victory. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeun 
 
\cr 11. SCENE I 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 463 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 
 Enier to the Gates, a French Sergeant, and two 
 Sentinels. 
 
 Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant : 
 If any noise, or soldier, you perceive, 
 Near to the walls, by some apparent sign, 
 Let us have knowledge at the court of guard. 6 
 
 1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant.] 
 Thus are poor servitors 
 (When others sleep upon their quiet beds) 
 Constraint to watch in darkness, rain, and cold. 
 
 Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burg vsnt,and Forces, 
 with scaling Ladders,- their Drums beating a 
 dead March. 
 
 Tal. Lord regent, — and redoubted Burgundy, — 
 By whose approach, the regions of Artois, 
 Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us, — 
 This happy night the Frenchmen are secure, 
 Having all day carous'd and banqueted : 
 Embrace we then this opportunity ; 
 As fitting best to quittance their deceit, 
 Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery. 
 
 Bed. Coward of France ! — how much he wrongs 
 his fame, 
 Despairing of his own arm's fortitude, 
 To join with witches, and the help of hell. 
 
 Bur. Traitors have never other company. — 
 But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure T 
 Tal. A maid, they say. 
 
 Bed. A maid ! and be so martial ? 
 
 Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere 
 long ; 
 If underneath the standard of the French, 
 She carry armor, as she hath begun. 
 
 Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with 
 spirits : 
 God is our fortress; in whose conquering name, 
 Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 
 Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot; we will follow thee. 
 Tal. Not all together; better far, I guess, 
 That we do make our entrance several ways; 
 That, if it chance the one of us do fail, 
 The other yet may rise against their force. 
 Bed, Agreed ; I'll to yon corner. 
 Bur. And I to this. 
 
 Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his 
 grave. — 
 Now, Salisbury ! for thee, and for the right 
 Of English Henry, shall this night appear 
 How much in duty I am bound to both. 
 [The English scale the walls, crying St. George ! 
 
 A Talbot ! and all enter by the Town. 
 Sent. [ Within.] Arm, arm ! the enemy doth make 
 assault ! 
 The French leap over the Walls in their Shirts. 
 Enter, several ways, Bastard, Alencon, Reig- 
 nier, half ready, and half unready. 
 Alen. How now, my lords 1 what, all unready so ? 
 Bast. Unready ] ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. 
 Reig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our 
 beds, 
 Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. 
 
 Alen. Of all exploits, since first I followed arms, 
 Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprize 
 More venturous, or desperate than this. 
 • The same as guard room. 
 
 Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 
 
 Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favor hira. 
 
 Alen. Here cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped. 
 Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 
 
 Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. 
 
 Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame 1 
 Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, 
 Make us partakers of a little gain, 
 That now our loss might be ten times so much 1 
 
 Rue. Wherefore is Charles impatient with hi* 
 friend I 
 At all times will you have my power alike 1 
 Sleeping, or waking, must I still prevail, 
 Or will you blame and lay the fault on me! — 
 Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been good, 
 This sudden mischief never could have fall'n. 
 
 Char. Duke of Alencon, this was your default; 
 That, being captain of the watch to-night, 
 Did look no better to that weighty charge. 
 
 Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept. 
 As that whereof I had the government, 
 We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd 
 
 Bast. Mine was secure. 
 
 Reig. And so was mine, my lord 
 
 Char. And, for myself, most part of all this night 
 Within her quarter, and mine own precinct, 
 I was employ'd in passing to and fro, 
 About relieving of the sentinels: 
 Then how, or which way, should they first break in 
 
 Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case 
 How, or which way; 'tis sure, they found some plae* 
 But weakly guarded, where the breach was made 
 And now there rests no other shift but this, — 
 To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd, 
 And lay new platforms 6 to endamage them. 
 Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying A 
 Talbot! A Talbot! They fly, leaving thii- 
 
 Clothes behind. 
 
 Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. 
 The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ; 
 For I have loaden me with many spoils, 
 Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II— Orleans.— Within the Town. 
 
 Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, 
 
 and others. 
 
 Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, 
 Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth, 
 Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 
 
 [Retreat sounded 
 
 Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury; 
 And here advance it in the market-plaee, 
 The middle centre of this cursed town. — 
 Now I have paid my vow unto his soul ; 
 For every drop of blood was drawn from him, 
 There hath at least five Frenchmen died to nigh.i 
 And, that hereafter ages may behold 
 What ruin happen'd in revenge of him, 
 Within their chiefest temple I'll erect 
 A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd 
 Upon the which, that every one may read. 
 Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans 
 The treacherous manner of his mournful death 
 And what a terror he had been to France. 
 But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
 I muse 1 we met not with the dauphin's grace , 
 • Plans, schemes. Wonder. 
 
4G4 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act Jt 
 
 His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc; 
 Nor any of his false confederates. 
 
 Bed. 'Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight 
 began, 
 Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds, 
 They did, amongst the troops of armed men, 
 Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 
 
 Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern, 
 For smoke, and dusky vapors of the night) 
 A m sure I scar'd the dauphin and his trull ; 
 When arm in arm they both came swiftly running, 
 Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, 
 That could not live asunder day or night. 
 After that things are set in order here, 
 We'll follow them with all the power we have. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. All hail, my lords ! which of this princely 
 train 
 Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts 
 So much applauded through the realm of France? 
 
 Tal. Here is the Talbot ; who would speak with 
 himl 
 
 Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, 
 With modesty admiring thy renown, 
 By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe 
 To visit her poor castle where she lies ; a 
 That she may boast she hath beheld the man 
 Whose glory fills the world with loud report. 
 
 Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then, I see, our wars 
 Will turn into a peaceful comic sport, 
 When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. — 
 You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 
 
 Tal. Ne'er trust me then ; for, when a world of 
 men 
 Could not prevail with all their oratory, 
 Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd: — 
 And therefore tell her, I return great thanks ; 
 And in submission will attend on her. — 
 Will not your honors bear me company ? 
 
 Bed. No, truly, it is more than manners will: 
 And I have heard it said, — Unbidden guests 
 Are often welcomest when they are gone. 
 
 Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, 
 I mean to prove this lady's courtesy. 
 Come hither, captain. [Whispers.] — You perceive 
 my mind. 
 
 Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Auvergne. Court of the Castle. 
 Enter the Countess and her Porter. 
 
 Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge ; 
 And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me. 
 
 Port. Madam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall outright, 
 [ shall as famous be by this exploit, 
 As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death. 
 Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight, 
 And his achievements of no less account: 
 Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears, 
 To give their censure 9 of these rare reports. 
 Enter Messenger and Talbot. 
 
 Mess. Madam, 
 According as your ladyship desired, 
 By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. 
 
 Count. And he is welcome. What! is this the man? 
 
 Mess, \fadam, it is. 
 
 Count Is this the scourge of France ? 
 
 Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad, 
 That with his name the mothers still their babes'? 
 • see report is fabulous an . false : 
 
 • Dwells 8 Opinion. 
 
 I thought, I should have seen some Heicules, 
 
 A second Hector, for his grim aspect, 
 
 And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs. 
 
 Alas ! this is a child, a silly dwarf: 
 
 It cannot be, this weak and writhled 1 shrimp 
 
 Should strike such terror to his enemies. 
 
 Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you : 
 But, since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
 I'll sort some other time to visit you. 
 
 Count. What means he now? — Go, ask him whi 
 ther he goes. 
 
 Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot ; for my lady crave« 
 To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 
 
 Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief. 
 I go to certify her, Talbot's here. 
 
 Re-enter Porter, with Keys. 
 
 Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 
 
 Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ? 
 
 Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord • 
 
 And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
 Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me, 
 For in my gallery thy picture hangs: . 
 But now the substance shall endure the like; 
 And I will chain these legs and arms of thine, 
 That hast by tyranny, these many years, 
 Wasted our country, slain our citizens, 
 And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 
 
 Tal. Ha, ha. ha ! 
 
 Count. Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall 
 turn to moan. 
 
 Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond^- 
 To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, 
 Whereon to practise your severity. 
 
 Count. Why, art not thou the man? 
 
 Tal. I am indeed. 
 
 Count. Then have I substance too. 
 
 Tal. No, no, I am but shadow of myself: 
 You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here , 
 For what you see, is but the smallest part 
 And least proportion of humanity: 
 I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, 
 It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, 
 Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. 
 
 Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;* 
 He will be here, and yet he is not here : 
 How can these contrarieties agree? 
 
 Tal. That will I show you presently. 
 
 He winds a Horn. Drums heard; then a Peal of 
 Ordnance. The Gales being forced, enter Soldiers. 
 
 How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded, 
 That Talbot is but shadow of himself? 
 These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength. 
 With which he yoketh your rebellious necks, 
 Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns, 
 And in a moment makes them desolate. 
 
 Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse: 
 I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited,' 
 And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
 Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath; 
 For I am sorry, that with reverence 
 I did not entertain thee as thou art. 
 
 Tal. Be not dismay 'd, fair lady ; nor misconstrue 
 The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
 The outward composition of his body. 
 What you have done hath not offended me: 
 No other satisfaction do I crave, 
 But only (with your patience) that we may 
 Taste of your wine, and see what catcs you have 
 For soldiers' stomachs always si.rve them well. 
 
 1 Wrinkled. 
 » For a purpose. 
 
 » Foolish. 
 
 * Noire*!, reported. 
 
Scene IV 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 465 
 
 Count. With all my heart: and think me honored 
 To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— London. The Temple Garden. 
 Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and 
 
 Warwick ; Richard Plantagenet, Vkrnon, 
 
 and another Lawyer. 
 
 Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means 
 this silence ? 
 Dare no man answer in a case of truth'? 
 
 Suf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud ; 
 The garden here is more convenient. 
 
 Plan. Then say at once, If I maintain'd the truth ; 
 Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error] 
 
 Suf. 'Faith, I have been a truant in the law; 
 And never yet could frame my will to it; 
 And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. 
 
 Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be- 
 tween us. 
 
 War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher 
 pitch, 
 Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, 
 Between two blades, which bears the better temper, 
 Between two horses, which doth bear him best, 
 Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye, 
 I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment: 
 But in these nice sharp quillets of the law, 
 Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 
 
 Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance : 
 The truth appears so naked on my side, 
 That any purblind eye may find it out. 
 
 Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, 
 So clear, so shining, and so evident, 
 That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 
 
 Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd and so loath to 
 speak, 
 In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts: 
 Let him, that is a true-born gentleman, 
 And stands upon the honor of his birth, 
 If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
 From off this briar pluck a white rose with me. 
 
 Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
 Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 
 
 War. I love no colors ; * and, without all color 
 Of base insinuating flattery, 
 I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. 
 
 Suf. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset ; 
 And say withal, I think he held the right. 
 
 Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen: and pluck no 
 more, 
 Till you conclude — that he, upon whose side 
 The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree, 
 Shall yield the other in the right opinion. 
 
 Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected ; 6 
 If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 
 
 Plan. And I. 
 
 Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, 
 I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, 
 Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
 
 Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; 
 Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red, 
 And fall on my side so against your will. 
 
 Ver. If I, my lord, for my. opinion bleed, 
 Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, 
 And keep me on the side where still I am 
 
 Som. Well, well, come on: Who else? 
 
 Law. Unless my study and my books be false, 
 The argument you held, was wrong in you; 
 
 [To Somerset. 
 In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. 
 
 Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument ? 
 
 • Deceits; a play on the word. 6 Proposed. 
 
 Som. Here in my scabbard, meditating that, 
 Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. 
 
 Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do ' junterfeit our 
 roses ; 
 For pale they look with fear, as witnessing 
 The truth on our side. 
 
 Som. No, Plantagenet, 
 
 'Tis not for fear ; but anger, — that thy cheeks 
 Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses, 
 And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 
 
 Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset 1 
 
 Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet 1 
 
 Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing to maintain his truth- 
 Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 
 
 Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding 
 roses, 
 That shall maintain what I have said is true, 
 Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 
 
 Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my ,:and, 
 I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. 
 
 Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. 
 
 Plan. Proud Poole, I will ; and scorn both him 
 and thee. 
 
 Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. 
 
 Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole ! 
 We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. 
 
 War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, 
 Somerset; 
 His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, 
 Third son to the third Edward king of England; 
 Spring crestless yeomen'' from so deep a root? 
 
 Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege,' 
 Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 
 
 Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain my 
 words 
 On any plot of ground in Christendom : 
 Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge, 
 For treason executed in our late king's days] 
 And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted, 
 Corrupted, and exempt 9 from ancient gentry 1 
 His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood : 
 And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman. 
 
 Plan. My father was attached, not attainted; 
 Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor; 
 And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset, 
 Were growing time once ripen'd to my will. 
 For your partaker Poole, and you yourself. 
 I'll note you in my book of memory, 
 To scourge you for this apprehension: ' 
 Look to it well ; and say you are well warn'd. 
 
 Som. Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still 
 And know us, by these colors, for thy foes ; 
 For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. 
 
 Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose, 
 As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, 
 Will I for ever, and my faction wear; 
 Until it wither with me to my grave, 
 Or flourish to the height of my degree. 
 
 Suf Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambit'on . 
 And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Exit. 
 
 Som. Have with thee, Poole. — Farewell, ambi- 
 tious Richard. [Exit 
 
 Plan. How I am braved, and must perforce en 
 dure it! 
 
 War. This blot, that they object against youj 
 house, 
 Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, 
 Call'd for the truce of Winchester ami Glostei . 
 And, if thou be not then created York, 
 I will not live to be accounted Warwick. 
 
 ' i. e. Those who have no right to arms. 
 
 • The Temple, being a religious house, was a sanctuary 
 
 * Exclude i. » Opinion 
 
 I 
 
*06 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act U 
 
 Mean time, in signal of my love to thee, 
 Against p.-uud Somerset, and William Poole, 
 Will 1 upoi* tl.y party wear this rose: 
 And here I prophesy, — This brawl to-day. 
 Grown to this faction, in tho Temple garden, 
 Shall send between the red rose and the white, 
 A thousand souls to death and deadly ni ht. 
 
 Plan. Good master Verncn, I am bound to you, 
 That you on my behalf would plucK. a flower. 
 
 Ver. In your behalf still will I weur the same. 
 
 haw. And so will I. 
 
 Plan. Th mks, gentle sir. 
 Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say, 
 This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Room in the Tower 
 
 Enter Mortimer, brought in a Chair hy iw\ 
 Keepers. 
 Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, 
 Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. — 
 Even like a man new haled from the rack, 
 So fare my limbs with long imprisonment: 
 And these grey locks, the pursuivants 3 of death, 
 Nestor-like aged, in an age of care, 
 Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer. 
 These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, 
 Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent: 3 
 Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief, 
 And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
 That droops his sapless branches to tne ground : — 
 Yet are these feet, — whose strengthless stay is numb, 
 Unable to support this lump of clay, — 
 Swift-winged with desire to get a grave, 
 As witting I no other comfort have. — 
 But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? 
 
 1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come. 
 We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber; 
 And answer was return'd, that he will come. 
 
 Mor. Enough ; my soul shall then be satisfied. — 
 Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
 Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
 (Before whose glory I was great in arms,) 
 This loathsome sequestration have I had ; 
 And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, 
 Depriv'd of honor and inheritance: 
 But now, the arbitrator of despairs, 
 Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
 With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence; 
 I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd, 
 That so he might recover what was lost. 
 Enter Richard Plantagenet. 
 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is 
 
 come. 
 Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend ! Is he 
 
 come 1 
 Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used, 
 Your nephew, late-despised Richard comes. 
 
 Mm. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, 
 And in his bosom spend my latter gasp : 
 O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks, 
 That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. — 
 \nd now* declare, sweet stem from York's great 
 
 stock, 
 Why didst thou say — of late thou wert despis'd 1 
 Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine 
 arm 1 
 And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. 4 
 This day, in argument upon a case, 
 Smie words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me: 
 \mong which terms he used his lavish tongue, 
 
 * Pursuivants are officers who attend upon heralds, 
 i End. * Uneasiness, discontent. 
 
 And did upbraid me with my father's death; 
 Which obloquy sets bars before my tongue, 
 Else with the like I had requited him: 
 Therefore, good uncle, — for my father's sake, 
 In honor of a true Plantagenet, 
 And for alliance' sake, — declare the cause 
 My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head. 
 
 Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison J 
 me, 
 And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth, 
 W T ithin a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, 
 Was cursed instrument of his decease. 
 
 Plan. Discover more at large what cause that waa 
 For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. 
 
 Mor. I will ; if that my fading breath permit, 
 And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
 Henry the Fourth, grandfather to this king, 
 Dcpos'd his cousin Richard, Edward's son, 
 The first-begotten, and the lawful heir 
 Of Edward king, the third of that descent: 
 During whose reign, the Percies of the north, 
 Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
 Endeavor'd my advancement to the throne : 
 The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this, 
 W T aB — for that (young king Richard thus remov rl 
 Leaving no heir begotten of his body) 
 I was the next by birth and parentage; 
 For by my mother I derived am 
 From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son 
 To king Edward the Third, whereas he, 
 From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, 
 Being but fourth of that heroic line. 
 But mark ; as, in this haughty great attempt, 
 They labored to plant the rightful heir, 
 I lost my liberty, and they their lives. 
 Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,- 
 Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, — did reign, 
 Thy father, earl of Cambridge, — then deriv'd, 
 From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York,— 
 Marrying my sister, that thy mother was, 
 Again, in pity of my hard distress, 
 Levied an army ; weening * to redeem, 
 And have install'd me in the diadem : 
 But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl, 
 And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers, 
 In whom the title rested, were suppress'd. 
 
 Plan. Of which, my lord, your honor is the lasi. 
 
 Mor. True ; and thou seest, that I no issue have ; 
 And that my fainting words do warrant death: 
 Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather: 
 But yet be wary in thy studious care. 
 
 Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with m*-: 
 But yet, methinks, my father's execution 
 Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. 
 
 Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic; 
 I Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
 And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd. 
 But now thy uncle is removing hence; 
 As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd 
 With long continuance in a settled place. 
 
 Plan. O, uncle, 'would some part of my youiifc 
 years 
 Might but redeem the passage of your age ! 
 
 Mor. Thou dost then wrong me ; as the slaugh 
 .■rer doth, 
 Whir 1 giveth many wounds, when one will kill. 
 Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good; 
 Only, give order for my funeral"; 
 And so farewell ; and fair be all thy hopes . 
 And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war ! [Dies. 
 
 Plan. And peace, no war, befal thy parting soul' 
 In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage, 
 » Thinking. 
 
Act III. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI 
 
 4<?7 
 
 And, like a hermit, overpass'd thy days. — 
 Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast; 
 And what I do imagine, let that rest. — 
 Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself 
 Will see his burial better than his life. — 
 
 [Exeunt Keepers, bearing out Mortimer 
 Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer 
 
 Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort:-- 
 
 And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, 
 
 Which Somerset hath offered to my house,- - 
 
 I doubt not, but with honor to redress; 
 
 And therefore haste I to the parliament ; 
 
 Either to be restored to my blood, 
 
 Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Parliament House. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Glos- 
 ter, Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk ;the 
 Bishop of Winchester, Richard Plantaoe- 
 net, and others. Gloster offers to put up a 
 Bill; e Winchester snatches it, and tears it. 
 
 Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, 
 With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, 
 Humphrey of Gloster] if thou canst accuse, 
 Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, 
 Do it without invention suddenly ; 
 4s I with sudden and extemporal speech 
 Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 
 
 Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands 
 my patience, 
 Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonor'd me. 
 Think not, although in writing I preferr'd 
 The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes, 
 That therefore I have forged, or am not able 
 Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
 No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness, 
 Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks, 
 That very infants prattle of thy pride. 
 Thou art a most pernicious usurer: 
 Froward by nature, enemy to peace; 
 Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems 
 A man of thy profession, and degree ; 
 \nd for thy treachery, what's more manifest, 
 In that, thou laid'st a trap to take my life, 
 As well at London bridge, as at the Tower] 
 Besides, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted, 
 The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt 
 From envious malice of thy swelling heart. 
 
 Win. Gloster, I do defy thee. — Lords, vouchsafe 
 To give me hearing what I shall reply. 
 If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, 
 As he will have me, how am I so poor] 
 Or how haps it, I seek not to advance 
 Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling' 
 And for dissension, who preferreth peace 
 More than I do, — except I be provok'd 7 
 No, good my lords, it is not that offends; 
 It is not that, that hath incens'd the duke: 
 It is, because no one should sway but he ; 
 No- one, but he, should be about the king; 
 And that engenders thunder in his breast, 
 And makes him roar these accusations forth. 
 But he shall know, I am as good 
 
 Glo. As good 7 
 
 Thou bastard of my grandfather! — 
 
 Win. Ay, lordly sir ; For what are you, I pray, 
 But one imperious in another's throne] 
 
 Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest 7 
 
 Win. And am I not a prelate of the church 7 
 
 Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, 
 KnA useth it to patronage his theft. 
 
 Win. Unreverent Gloster! 
 
 Glo. Thou art reverent 
 
 Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. 
 »'. t. Articles of Accusation. 
 
 Win. This Rome shall remedy. 
 
 War. Roam thither, then 
 
 Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 
 
 War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 
 
 Som. Methinks, my lord should be religious, 
 And know the office that belongs to such. 
 
 War. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler 
 It fittcth not a prelate so to plead. 
 
 Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near 
 
 War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that 1 
 Is not his grace protector to the king 7 
 
 Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue ; 
 Lest it be said, Speak, siri-ah, when you should, 
 Must your bold verdict enter talk ivith lords? 
 Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester 
 The special watchmen of our English weal; 
 I would prevail, if prayers might prevail, 
 To join your hearts in love and amity. 
 0, what a scandal is it to our crown, 
 That two such noble peers as ye should jar! 
 Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell, 
 Civil dissension is a viperous worm; 
 That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. — 
 
 [A noise within,- Down with the tawny coats!] 
 What tumult's this 7 
 
 War. An uproar, I dare warrant, 
 
 Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 
 
 [A noise again,- Stones ! Stones !] 
 
 Enter the Mayor of London, attended. 
 
 May. O, my good lords. — and virtuous Henry, 
 Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
 The bishop's and the duke of Gloster's men, 
 Forbidden late to carry any weapon. 
 Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones; 
 And, banding themselves in contrary parts, 
 Do pelt so fast at one another's pate, 
 That many have their giddy brains knock'd out. 
 Our windows are broke down in every street, 
 And we, for fear, compcll'd to shut our shops. 
 
 Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of Gloster 
 and Winchester, with bloody pates. 
 
 K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, 
 To hold your slaughtering hands, and keep the peace 
 Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife. 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, if we be 
 
 Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 
 
 2 Serv Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. 
 
 [Skirmish again. 
 Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil 
 And set this unaccustom'd fight aside. 
 
 3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be anmj 
 Just and upright; and, for your royal birth, 
 Inferior to none but to his majesty ■ 
 
 And ere that we will suffer such a prince, 
 
 So kind a father of the commonweal, 
 
 To be disgraced by an inkliorn mate, 
 
 We, and our wives, and children, all will fight. 
 
 And have our bodies slaughter'd bv our foes. 
 
468 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act Hi 
 
 ] Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails 
 Shall pitch a field, when we are dead. 
 
 [Skirmish again. 
 
 Glo Stay, stay, I say! 
 
 And, if you love me, as you say you do, 
 Let me persuade you to forbear a while. 
 
 K. Hen. O how this discord doth afflict my soul ! 
 Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold 
 My sighs and tears, and will not once relent ? 
 Who should be pitiful, if you be not ? 
 Or who should study to prefer a peace 
 If holy churchmen take delight in broils ? 
 
 War. My lord protector, yield ; — yield, Winches- 
 ter; — - 
 Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, 
 To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. 
 You see what mischief, and what murder too, 
 Hath been enacted through your enmity; 
 Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 
 
 Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield. 
 
 Glo. Compassion on the king commands me 
 stoop ! 
 Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest 
 Should ever get that privilege of me. 
 
 War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke 
 Hath banish'd moody, discontented fury, 
 As by his smoothed brows it doth appear: 
 Why look you still so stern, and tragical ? 
 
 Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. 
 
 K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you 
 preach, 
 That malice was a great and grievous sin : 
 And will not you maintain the thing you teach, 
 But prove a chief offender in the same? 
 
 War. Sweet king! — the bishop hath a kindly gird. 1 
 For shame, my lord of Winchester! relent; 
 What, shall a child instruct you what to do? 
 
 Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee ; 
 Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give. 
 
 Glo. Ay ; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart. — 
 See here, my friends, and loving countrymen; 
 This token serveth for a flag of truce, 
 Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers; 
 So help me God, as I dissemble not ! 
 
 Win. So help me God, as I intend it not. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, 
 How joyful am I made by this contract! — 
 Away, my masters ! trouble us no more ; 
 But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 
 
 1 Serv. Content! I'll to the surgeon's. 
 
 2 Serv. And so will I. 
 
 3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern 
 
 affords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, <$rc. 
 
 War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign, 
 Which, in the right of Richard Plantagenet, 
 We do exhibit to your majesty. 
 
 Glo. Well urged, my lord of Warwick; — for, 
 sweet prince, 
 An if your grace mark every circumstance, 
 You have great reason to do Richard right : 
 Especially, for those occasions 
 At Eltham-place I told your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force: 
 Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is, 
 That Richard be restored to his blood. 
 
 War. Let Richard be restored to his blood; 
 So shall his father's wrongs be reconipens'd. 
 
 Win. A.s will the rest, so willeth Winchester. 
 
 K. Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone, 
 But all the whole inheritance I give, 
 That doth belong unto the house of York, 
 FiCii. whence you spring by lineal descent. 
 * Feels an emotion of kindnesg. 
 
 Flan Thy humble servant vows obedienco. 
 And humble service, till the point of death. 
 
 K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee h.^. : m 
 my foot; 
 And, in reguerdon" of that duty done, 
 I girt thee with the valiant sword of York. 
 Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet; 
 And rise created princely duke of York. 
 
 Plan. And so thrive Richard, as thy fori ma; 
 fall! 
 And as my duty springs, so perish they 
 That grudge one. thought against your mdj/sty ! 
 
 All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty Juke o* 
 York! 
 
 Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of i r ork 
 
 [Asidt 
 
 Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty, 
 To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France : 
 The presence of a king engenders love 
 Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friend'i ; 
 As it disanimates his enemies. 
 
 K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Hen 
 ry goes; 
 For friendly counsel cuts off many foes. 
 
 Glo. Your ships already are in readiness. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Exeteh 
 
 Exe. Ay, we may march in England, o.in France 
 Not seeing what is likely to ensue: 
 This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers, 
 Burns under feigned ashes of forged love, 
 And will at last break out into a flame: 
 As fester'd members rot but by degrees, 
 Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away, 
 So will this base and envious discord breed. 
 And now I fear that fatal prophecy, 
 Which, in the time of Henry, named the fifth, 
 Was in the mouth of every sucking babe, 
 That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all 
 And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all: 
 Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish 
 His days may finish ere that hapless time. [Exit 
 
 SCENE II.— France. Before Rouen. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed 
 like Countrymen, with Sacks upon their backs. 
 
 Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, 
 Through which our policy must make a breach: 
 Take heed, be wary how you place your words; 
 Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men, 
 That come to gather money for their corn. 
 If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,) 
 And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
 I'll by a sign give notice to our friends, 
 That Charles the dauphin may encounter them. 
 
 1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, 
 And we be lords and rulers over Rouen; 
 Therefore we'll knock. [Knocks. 
 
 Guard. [Within.] Qui est Id? 
 
 Puc. Paisa?is, pauvres gens de France : 
 Poor market-folks, that come to sell their corn. 
 
 Guard. Enter, go in : the market-bell is rung. 
 [Opens the Gates. 
 
 Puc. Now Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the 
 ground. [Pucelle, $c. enter the City 
 
 Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, Alencon, 
 and Forces. 
 Char. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem 
 And once again we'll sleep secure in Rouen. 
 
 Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants J 
 Now she is there, how will she specify 
 Where is the best and safest passage iD ? 
 
 8 Recompense. • Confederates in stratagem* 
 
SOENE II. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 4m> 
 
 A/en. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower ; 
 Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is, — 
 No way to that,' for weakness, which she enter'd. 
 
 filter La. Pucelle on a Battlement,- holding out 
 a Torch burning. 
 
 Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch, 
 That joinelh Roiien unto her countrymen; 
 But burning fatal to the Talbotites. 
 
 Bast. See, noble Charles ! the beacon of our 
 friend, 
 The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 
 
 Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
 A prophet to the fall of all our foes ! 
 
 Alen. Defer no time, Delays have dangerous ends ; 
 Enter, and cry — The Dauphin! — presently, 
 And then to execution on the watch. [They enter. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Talbot, and certain English. 
 Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with 
 thy tears, 
 If Talbot but survive thy treachery. — 
 Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress, 
 Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares, 
 That hardly we escaped the pride of France. 
 
 [Exeunt to the Town. 
 Alarum,- Excursions. Enter from the Town Bed- 
 foud, brought in sick, in a Chair, with Tal- 
 bot, Burgundy, and the English Forces. — 
 Then enter, on the Walls, La Pucelle, 
 Charles, Bastard, Alen§on, and others. 
 Puc. Good morrow, gallants ! want ye corn for 
 bread ? 
 T think, the duke of Burgundy will fast, 
 Before he'll buy again at such a rate : 
 Twas full of darnel'; Do you like the taste? 
 
 Bur. Scoff on, vile fiend, and shameless cour- 
 tezan ! 
 I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own, 
 And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 
 Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before 
 
 that time. 
 Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this 
 
 treason ! 
 Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard ? break 
 a lance, 
 And run a tilt at death within a chair 1 
 
 Tul. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite, 
 Encompass'd with thy lustful paramours! 
 Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age, 
 And twit with cowardice a man half dead ? 
 Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again, 
 Or else let Talbot perish with this shame. 
 
 Puc. Are yon so hot, sir! — Yet, Pucelle, hold 
 thy peace ; 
 [f Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. — 
 
 [Talbot, and the rest, consult together. 
 
 God speed the parliament ! who shall be the speaker? 
 
 Tal. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field ? 
 
 Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for 
 
 fools, 
 
 To try if that our own be ours, or no. 
 
 Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
 Out unto thee, Alencon, and the rest; 
 Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out? 
 Alen. Signior, no. 
 
 Tal. Signior, hang! — base mulctee ' of France! 
 Like peasant foot-boys do they keep tuc walls; 
 Vnd dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 
 Puc. Captains, away: let's get us from the 
 walls; — 
 For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks. — 
 < i. t No way equal to that. 
 
 God be wi' you my lord ! we came, sir, but to tell 
 
 you 
 That we are here. 
 
 [Exeunt La Pucelle, Sfc.f.'om the Walls. 
 
 Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long, 
 Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame !- - 
 Vow, Burgundy, by honor of thy house, 
 (Prick'd on by public wrongs, sustain'd in France,) 
 Either to get the town again, or die: 
 And I, — as sure as English Henry lives, 
 And as his father here was conqueror; 
 As sure as in this late betrayed town 
 Great Cceur-de-lion's heart was buried; 
 So sure I swear to get the town, or die. 
 
 Bur. My vows are equal partners with thy vows 
 
 Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince, 
 The valiant duke of Bedford: — Come, my lord, 
 We will bestow you in some better place, 
 Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age. 
 
 Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonor me: 
 Here will I sit before the walls of Roiien, 
 And will be partner of your weal, or woe. 
 
 Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuado 
 you. 
 
 Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once I read, 
 That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick, 
 Came to the field, and vanquished his foes: 
 Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts, 
 Because I ever found them as myself. 
 
 Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! — 
 Then be it so : — Heavens keep old Bedford safe ! — 
 And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 
 But gather we our forces out of hand, 
 And set upon our boasting enemy. 
 
 [Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, and Forces 
 leaving Bedford, and others. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Sir John Fas- 
 tolfe, and a Captain. 
 Cap. Whither away, sir John Fastolfe, in such 
 
 haste ? 
 Fast. Whither away ? to save myself by flight ; 
 We are like to have the overthrow again. 
 
 Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot? 
 
 Fast. Ay, 
 
 All the Talbots in the world to save my life. [Exit. 
 
 Cap. Cowardly knight! ill fortune follow thee' 
 
 [Exit 
 Retreat: Excursions. Enter from the Town, La 
 Pucelle, Alencon, Charles, <$fC, and exeunt, 
 .flying- 
 Bed. Now, q uiet soul, depart when heaven please 
 For I have seen our enemies' overthrow. 
 What is the trust or strength of foolish men? 
 They, that of late were daring with their scoffs 
 Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 
 
 [Dies, and is carried off in his Chair- 
 
 Alarum: Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and others 
 
 Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again ' 
 This is a double honor, Burgundy: 
 Yet, heavens have glory for this victory ! 
 
 Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy 
 Enshrines thee in his heart; and there erects 
 Thy noble deeds, as valor's monument. 
 
 Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is PuceU> 
 now? 
 I think, her old familiar is asleep: 
 Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his 
 
 gleeks ? a 
 What, all a-mort? 3 Roiien hangs her head for grief 
 That such a valiant company are fled. 
 
 » gcoffe. Quite disp : iited. 
 
470 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Aci ill 
 
 Now will we take some order' in the town, 
 Placing therein some expert officers ; 
 And then depart to Paris, to the king: 
 For there young Harry, with his nobles, lies. 
 
 Bur. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy. 
 
 Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget 
 The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd, 
 But see his exequies 5 fulfill'd in Rouen, 
 A braver soldier never couched lance, 
 A gentler heart did never sway in court: 
 But kings, and mightiest potentates, must die; 
 For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Plai7is near the City. 
 
 Enter Charles, the Bastard, Alencon, La 
 Pucelle, and Forces. 
 
 Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
 Nor grieve that Rouen is so recovered: 
 Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, 
 For things that are not to be remedied. 
 Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while. 
 And like a peacock sweep along his tail; 
 We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train, 
 If dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd. 
 
 Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto. 
 And of thy cunning had no diffidence ; 
 One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 
 
 Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies, 
 And we will make thee famous through the world. 
 
 Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place, 
 And have thee reverenced like a blessed saint; 
 Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. 
 
 Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan devise: 
 By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words, 
 We will entice the duke of Burgundy 
 To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. 
 
 Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, 
 France were no place for Henry's warriors ; 
 Nor should that nation boast it so with us, 
 But be extirped from our provinces. 
 
 Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd 6 from 
 France, 
 And not have title to an earldom here. 
 
 Puc. Your honors shall perceive how I will work, 
 To bring this matter to the wished end. 
 
 [Drums heard. 
 Hark ! by the sound of drum, you may perceive 
 Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward. 
 An English March. Enter, and pass over at a 
 
 distance, Talbot and his Forces. 
 There goes the Talbot, with his colors spread; 
 And all the troops of English after him. 
 A French March. Enter the Duke of Burgundy, 
 
 and Forces. 
 Now in the rearward comes the duke, and his; 
 Fortune, in favor, makes him lag behind. 
 Summon a parley, we will talk with him. 
 
 [.4 parley sounded. 
 
 Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy? 
 
 Puc. The princely Charles of France, thy coun- 
 tryman. 
 
 Bur. What say'st thou, Charles? for I am 
 marching hence. 
 
 Char. Speak, Pucelle; and enchant him with 
 thy words. 
 
 Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France! 
 Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 
 
 Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious. 
 
 Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France, 
 
 • Make seme necessary dispositions. » Funeral rites. 
 Excelled. 
 
 And see the cities and the towns deface' 1 
 
 By wasting ruin of the cruel foe! 
 
 As looks the mother on her lowly babe, 
 
 When death doth close his tender dying eyes, 
 
 See, see, the pining malady of France; 
 
 Behold the. wounds, the most unnatural wounds, 
 
 Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast 
 
 O, turn thy edged sword another way; 
 
 Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help! 
 
 One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom, 
 
 Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign 
 
 gore; 
 Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears, 
 And wash away thy country's stained spots! 
 Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her 
 
 words, 
 Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 
 
 Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims 
 
 on thee, 
 Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. 
 Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation, 
 That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake? 
 When Talbot hath set footing once in France, 
 And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill, 
 Who then, but English Henry, will be lord, 
 And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive; 
 Call we to mind, — and mark but this, for proof;— 
 Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe? 
 And was he not in England prisoner? 
 But, when they heard he was thine enemy, 
 They set him free, without his ransom paid, 
 In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends. 
 See then! thou fight'st against thy countrymen, 
 And join'st with them will be thy slaughter men. 
 Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord: 
 Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms 
 Bur. I am vanquished; these haughty words of 
 
 hers 
 Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, 
 And made me almost yield upon my knees. — 
 Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen ! 
 And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace: 
 My forces and my power of men are yours; — 
 So, farewell, Talbot; I'll no longer trust thee. 
 Puc. Done like a Frenchman, turn, and turn again! 
 Char. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship 
 
 makes us fresh. 
 Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts, 
 Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this 
 And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 
 
 Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join out 
 
 powers ; 
 And seek how we may prejudice the foe. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV. — Paris. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, and other Lords, 
 
 Vernon, Basset, <$fc. To them Talbot, and 
 
 some of his Officers. 
 
 Tal. My gracious prince, — and honorable peers, — 
 Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
 I have a while given truce unto my wars, 
 To do my duty to my sovereign: 
 In sign whereof, this arm, — that hath reclaim'd 
 To your obedience fifty fortresses, 
 Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength, 
 Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, — 
 Lets fall his sword before your highness' feet; 
 And, with submissive loyalty of h< art, 
 Ascribes the glory of his conquest got, 
 First to my God, and next unto your grace. 
 
 K. Hen. Is this the famed lord Talbot, uncle Gloster 
 That hath so long been resident in France? 
 Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege 
 
Act IV* Scene 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 471 
 
 K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious 
 lord! 
 When I was young (as yet I am not old,) 
 [ do remember how my father said, 
 4 stouter champion never handled sword. 
 Long since we were resolved' of your truth, 
 Your faithful service, and your toil in war; 
 Yet never have you tasted our reward, 
 Or been reguerdon'd* with so much as thanks, 
 Because till now we never saw your face : 
 Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good deserts, 
 We here create you earl of Shrewsbury; 
 And in our coronation take your place. 
 
 [Exeunt King Henry, Gloster, Talbot, 
 and Nobles. 
 
 Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea, 
 Disgracing of these colors that I wear 
 
 In honor of my noble lord of York. — 
 
 Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st ' 
 
 Bas. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patronage 
 The envious barking of your saucy tongue 
 Against my lord the duke of Somerset. 
 
 Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honor as he is. 
 
 Bas. Why, what is he? as good a man as Yorn 
 
 Ver. Hark ye; not so: in witness, take ye that 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 
 Bas. Villain, thou know'st the law of arms is such, 
 That, whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death ; 
 Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. 
 But I'll unto his majesty, and crave 
 I may have liberty to venge this wrong ; 
 When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to thy cost. 
 
 Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you ; 
 And, after, meet you sooner than you would. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— Paris. A Room of State. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, 
 Suffolk, Somerset, Winchester, War- 
 wick, Talbot, the Governor of Paris, and 
 others. 
 
 Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. 
 
 Win. G od save king Henry, of that name the sixth! 
 
 Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath, — 
 [Governor kneels. 
 That you elect no other king but him : 
 Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends; 
 And none your foes, but such as shall pretend 9 
 Malicious practices against his state: 
 This shall ye do, so help you righteous God ! 
 
 [Exeunt Gov. and his Train. 
 Enter Sir John Fastolfe. 
 
 Fast. My gracious sovereign,as I rode from Calais, 
 To hasten unto your coronation, 
 A letter was deliver'd to my hands, 
 Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee ! 
 I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet thee next, 
 To tear the garter from thy craven's' leg, 
 
 [Plucking it off. 
 (Which I have done,) because unworthily 
 Thou wast installed in that high degree. — 
 Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest: 
 This dastard at the battle of Patay, 
 When but in all I was six thousand strong, 
 And that the French were almost ten to one, — 
 Before we met, or that a stroke was given, 
 Like to a trusty squire, did run away; 
 In which assault we lost twelve hundred men; 
 Myself, and divers gentlemen beside, 
 Were there surpris'd, and taken prisoners. 
 Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss; 
 Or whether that such cowards ought to wear 
 This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no. 
 
 Glo. To say the truth, this fact was infamous, 
 And ill beseeming any common man; 
 Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. 
 
 Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords, 
 Knights of the garter were of noble birth ; 
 Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty 2 courage, 
 S'ich as were grown to credit by the wars; 
 Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress, 
 But always resolute in most extremes. 
 
 ' ''onfirmed in opinion 
 1 jMua.ii, dastardly 
 
 8 Rewarded. 
 •> High. 
 
 » Design. 
 
 He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort, 
 Doth but usurp the sacred name of knight, 
 Profaning this most honorable order; 
 And should (if I were worthy to be judge) 
 Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
 That doth presume to boast of gentle blood. 
 K. Hen. Stain to thy countrymen ! thou hear'si 
 
 thy doom: 
 Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight ; 
 Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. — 
 
 [Exit Fastolfe. 
 And now, my lord protector, view the letter 
 Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Glo. What means his grace, that he hath changed 
 
 his style ? [ Viewing the superscription. 
 No more but, plain and bluntly, — To the king? 
 Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign ? 
 Or doth this churlish superscription 
 Pretend some alteration in good will ? 
 What's here ? — / have, upon especial cause, — 
 
 [Reads. 
 Mqv'd with compassion of my country's ivreck, 
 Together with the pitiful complaints 
 Of such as your oppression feeds upon, — 
 Forsaken your pernicious faction. 
 And join d with Charles, the rightful king of 
 
 France. 
 
 monstrous treachery! Can this be so; 
 That in alliance, amity, and oaths, 
 
 There should be found such false dissembling guile ? 
 
 K. Hen. What ! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt ? 
 
 Glo. He doth, my lord; and is become your foe. 
 
 K. Hen. Is that the worst, this letter doth contain ? 
 
 Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. 
 
 K. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk 
 with him, 
 And give him chastisement for this abuse: — 
 My lord, how say you? are you not content? 
 
 Tal. Content, my liege? Yes; but that I am 
 prevented, 3 
 
 1 should have begg'd I might have been employ'*! 
 
 K. Hen. Then gather strength, and march untc 
 him straight: 
 Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason ; 
 And what offence it is, to flout his friends. 
 
 Tal. I go. my lord ; in heart desiring stiii, 
 You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit 
 Enter Vernon and Basset. 
 Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign 
 Anticipated. 
 
ir. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too ! 
 
 York. This is my servant; Hcarhim. noble prince! 
 
 Som. And this is mine ; Sweet Henry, favor him ! 
 
 K. Hen. Be patient, lords ; and give them leave 
 
 to speak. — 
 
 Say, gentlemen, What makes you thus exclaim? 
 
 And wherefore crave you combat ? or with whom? 
 
 Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done me 
 
 wrong. 
 Bas. And I with him ; for he hath done me wrong. 
 K. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both 
 complain ? 
 First let me know, and then I'll answer you. 
 
 Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France, 
 This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, 
 Upbraided me about the rose I wear; 
 Saying — the sanguine color of the leaves 
 Did represent my master's blushing cheeks, 
 When stubbornly he did repugn 4 the truth, 
 About a certain question in the law, 
 \rgued betwixt the duke of York and him ; 
 With other vile and ignominious terms: 
 In confutation of which rude reproach, 
 And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
 I crave the benefit of law of arms. 
 
 Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord: 
 For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit, 
 To set a gloss upon his bold intent, 
 Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him : 
 And he first took exceptions at this badge, 
 Pronouncing — that the paleness of this (lower 
 Bewray'd the faintness of my master's heart. 
 York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left? 
 Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will 
 out, 
 Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. 
 
 K. Hen. Good Lord ! what madness rules in 
 brain-sick men ! 
 When, for so slight and frivolous a cause, 
 Such factious emulations shall arise! 
 Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
 Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 
 
 York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight; 
 And then your highness shall command a peace. 
 
 Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alonp ; 
 Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then. 
 
 York. There is my pledge ; accept it, Somerset. 
 Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first. 
 Bas. Confirm it so, mine honorable lord. 
 Glo. Confirm it so? confounded be your strife, 
 And perish ye, with your audacious prate! 
 Presumptuous vassals ! are you not ashamed, 
 With this immodest clamorous outrage 
 To trouble and disturb the king and us ? 
 And you, my lords, — me thinks, you do not well, 
 To bear with their perverse objections; 
 Much less, to take occasion from their mouths 
 To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves; 
 Let me persuade you take a better course. 
 
 Exe. It grieves his highness; — Good my lords, 
 
 be friends. 
 K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be com- 
 batants ; 
 Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favor, 
 Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause. — 
 And you, my lords, remember where we are; 
 In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation: 
 If they perceive dissension in our looks, 
 And that within ourselves we disagree, 
 Row will their grudging stomachs be provok'd 
 To wilful dis&bedience, and rebel? 
 Beside, what infamy will there arise, 
 • Resist. 
 
 When foreign princes shall be certified. 
 That, for a toy, a thing of no regard, 
 King Hrnry's peers, and chief nobility, 
 Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of Franco " 
 0, think upon the conquest of my father, 
 My tender years ; and let us not forego 
 That for a trifle, that was bought with blood ! 
 Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
 I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 
 
 [Puffing an a red Rose 
 That any one should therefore be suspicious 
 I more incline to Somerset, than York: 
 Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both : 
 As well they may upbraid me with my crown, 
 Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd. 
 But your discretions better can persuade, 
 Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
 And therefore, as we hither came in peace, 
 So let us still continue peace and love. — 
 Cousin of York, we institute your grace 
 To be our regent in these parts of France: — 
 And good my lord of Somerset, unite 
 Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot, 
 And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, 
 Go cheerfully together, and digest 
 Your angry choler on your enemies. 
 Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest, 
 After some respite, will return to Calais; 
 From thence to England; where I hope ere long 
 To be presented, by your victories, 
 With Charles, Alencon, and that traitorous rout. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt King Hen rt, Glo., Som, 
 Win., Suf., and Basset. 
 
 War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king 
 Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 
 
 York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not. 
 In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 
 
 War. Tush ! that was but his fancy, blame him 
 not; 
 I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. 
 
 York. And, if I wist he did, — But let it rest; 
 Other affairs must now be managed. 
 
 [Exeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon. 
 
 Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy 
 voice ; 
 For, had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
 I fear we should have seen decipher'd there 
 More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils. 
 Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd. 
 But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees 
 This jarring discord of nobility, 
 This should'ring of each other in the court, 
 This factious bandying of their favorites, 
 But that it doth presage some ill event. 
 'Tis much, when sceptres are in children's hands.; 
 But more, when envy breeds unkind division; 
 There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit 
 
 SCENE II.— France. Before Bourdeaux. 
 Enter Talrot, with his Forces. 
 
 Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter, 
 Summon their general unto the wall. 
 Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter, on the Walk 
 
 the General of the French Fcn-ces, and others. 
 English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth, 
 Servant in arms to Harry, king of England ; 
 And thus he would, — Open your city gates, 
 Be humble to us; call my sovereign yours, 
 And do him homage as obedient subjects, 
 And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power: 
 But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace, 
 You tempt the fury of my three attendants. 
 
XCKKE IV 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 473 
 
 Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire ; 
 Who, in a moment, even with the earth 
 Shall lay your stately and ai:-braving towers, 
 If you forsake the o&r of their love. 
 
 Gin. Thcu ominous and fearful owl of dea'.h, 
 Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge ! 
 The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 
 On us thou canst not enter but by death: 
 For, I protest, we are well fortified, 
 And strong enough to issue out and fight: 
 If thou retire, the dauphin, well appointed, 
 Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee : 
 On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd, 
 To wall thee from the liberty of flight; 
 And no way canst thou turn thee for redress, 
 But death doth front thee with apparent spoil, 
 And pale destruction meets thee in the face. 
 Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament, 
 To rive their dangerous artillery 
 Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 
 Lo ! there thou stand'st, a breathing valiant man, 
 Jf an invincible unconquer'd spirit: 
 This is the latest glory of thy praise, 
 That I, thy enemy, due 5 thee withal ; 
 For ere the glass, that now begins to run, 
 Finish the process of this sandy hour, 
 These eyes, that see thee now well colored, 
 Shall see thee withcr'd, bloody, pale, and dead. 
 
 [Drum afar off. 
 Hark! hark! the dauphin's drum, a warning bell, 
 Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul; 
 And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 
 
 [Exeunt General, $c.,from the Walls. 
 
 Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy; — 
 Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. — 
 O, negligent and heedless discipline ! 
 How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale; 
 A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
 Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs ! 
 If we be English deer, be then in blood : G 
 Not rascal-like, 1 to fall down with a pinch; 
 But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags, 
 Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel, 
 And make the cowards stand aloof at bay : 
 Sell every man his life as dear as mine, 
 And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. — 
 God, and saint George ! Talbot, and England's 
 
 right! 
 Prosper our colors in this dangerous fight ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Plains in Gascony. 
 Enter Youk, with Forces,- to him a Messenger. 
 York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again, 
 That dogg'd the mighty army of the dauphin ] 
 
 Mess. They are return'd, my lord ; and give it out, 
 That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power, 
 To fight with Talbot: As he march'd along, 
 By your espials 8 were discovered 
 Two mightier troops than that the dauphin led: 
 Which join'd with him, and made their march for 
 Bourdeaux. 
 York. A plague upon that villain Somerset; 
 That thus delays my promised supply 
 Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege! 
 Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid ; 
 And I am lowted 9 by a traitor villain, 
 And cannot help the noble chevalier: 
 God comfort him in his necessity ! 
 If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 
 
 > Endue, honor. « In high spirits. 
 
 r asc.al deer is the term of chaee for lean poor deer. 
 » Vanquished, baffled. 
 
 Enter Sir William Lucy. 
 
 Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English 
 
 strength, 
 Never so needful on the earth of France, 
 Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot ; 
 Who now is girdled with a waist of iron, 
 And hemm'd about with grim destruction: 
 To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux, York! 
 Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honor. 
 York. O God! that Somerset — who in proud 
 
 heart 
 Doth stop my cornets — were in Talbot's place ! 
 So should we save a valiant gentleman, 
 By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
 Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep, 
 That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 
 
 Lucy. O, send some succor to the distress'd lord! 
 York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word : 
 We mourn, France smiles ; we lose, they daily get 
 All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset. 
 
 Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's 
 
 soul! 
 And en his son, young John ; whom, two hours 
 
 since, 
 I met in travel toward his warlike father. 
 These seven years did not Talbot see his son ; 
 And now they meet where both their lives are done 
 York. Alas' what joy shall noble Talbot have, 
 To bid his young son welcome to his grave 1 
 Away ! vexation almost stops my breath, 
 Thatsunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. — 
 Lucy, farewell : no more my fortune can, 
 But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. — 
 Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won u.vav 
 'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [Exit 
 
 Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition 
 Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders, 
 Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
 The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, 
 That ever-living man of memory, 
 Henry the Fifth : — Whiles they each other cross, 
 Lives, honors, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit 
 
 SCENE IV.— Other Plains of Gascony. 
 
 Enter Somerset, with his Forces,- an Officer o 
 Talbot's with him. 
 
 Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them now; 
 This expedition was by York, and Talbot, 
 Too rashly plotted ; all our general force- 
 Might with a sally of the very town 
 Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot 
 Hath sullied all his gloss of former honor, 
 By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure; 
 York set him on to fight, and die in shame, 
 That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name 
 
 Off. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me 
 Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid. 
 
 Enter Sin William Lucy. 
 
 Som. How now, sir William 1 whither were yc« 
 
 sent? 
 Lucy. Whither, my lord ? from bought and soM 
 lord Talbot ; 
 Who, ring'd about 1 with bold adversity, 
 Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
 To beat assailing death from his weak legions. 
 And whiles the honorable captain there 
 Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs, 
 And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue, 
 You, his false hopes, the trust of England's hono* 
 Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
 Let not your private discord keep a vaj 
 '■ Encircled. 
 2G 
 
474 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act H 
 
 The levied succors that should lend him aid, 
 While he, renowned noble gentleman, 
 Yields up his life unto a world of odds : 
 Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, 
 Alencon, Reignier, compass him about, 
 And Talbot perisheth by your default. 
 
 Som York set him on, York should have sent 
 
 him aid. 
 TAicy. And York as fast upon your grace ex- 
 claims ; 
 Swearing that you withhold his levied horse, 
 Collected for this expedition. 
 
 Som. York lies ; he might have sent and had the 
 horse : 
 I owe him little duty, and less love; 
 And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending. 
 Lucy. The fraud of England, not the force of 
 France, 
 Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot: 
 Never to England shall he bear his life ; 
 But dies, bctray'd to fortune by your strife. 
 
 Som. Come, go; I will despatch the horsemen 
 straight : 
 Within six hours they will be at his aid. 
 
 Lucy. Too late comes rescue: he is ta'en or 
 slain : 
 For fly he could not, if he would have fled; 
 And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 
 So7ii. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu! _ 
 Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in 
 you. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— The English Ca«?jo,nea?-Bourdeaux. 
 Enter Talbot, and John his S071. 
 Tal. young John Talbot! I did send for thee, 
 To tutor thee in stratagems of war ; 
 That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd, 
 When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, 
 Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
 But, — malignant and ill-boding stars! — 
 Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
 A terrible and unavoided 2 danger: 
 Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse; 
 And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape 
 By sudden flight: come, dally not; begone. 
 
 John. Is my name Talbot 1 and am I your son? 
 And shall I fly? O, if you love my mother, 
 Dishonor not her honorable name, 
 To make a bastard, and a slave of me: 
 The world will say— He is not Talbot's bWd, 
 That basely fled when noble Talbot stooo. 
 Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. 
 John. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again. 
 Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die. 
 John. Then let me stay ; and, father, do you fly : 
 Your loss is great, so your regard 3 should be; 
 My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 
 Upon my death the French can little boast ; 
 In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
 Flight cannot stain the honor you have won ; 
 But mine it will, that no exploit have done: 
 You fled for vantage, every one will swear; 
 But, if I bow, they'll say — it was for fear. 
 There is no nope that ever I will stay, 
 If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away. 
 Here on my knee, I beg mortality, 
 Tiarner than life preserv'd with infamy. 
 
 Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one 
 
 tomb 1 
 John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's 
 
 womb. 
 Tal. Upon my blessing, I command thee go. 
 t'o- unavoidable * Your care of your own safety. 
 
 Joint. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 
 Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. 
 John. No part of him, but will be shame in me. 
 Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not 
 
 lose it. 
 John. Yes, your renowned name ; Shall flight 
 
 abuse it? 
 Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from 
 
 that stain. 
 John. You cannot witness for me, being slain 
 If death be so apparent, then both fly. 
 
 Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight and 
 die? 
 My age was never tainted with such shame. 
 
 John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame' 1 
 No more can I be severed from your side, 
 That can yourself yourself in twain divide: 
 Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I ; 
 For live I will not, if my father die. 
 
 Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son, 
 Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
 Come, side by side together live and die ; 
 And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE VI.— A Field of Bailk. 
 
 Alarum: Excursions, wherein Talbot's Son is 
 
 hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 
 
 Tal. Saint George and victory ! fight, soldiers 
 fight : 
 The regent hath with Talbot broke his word, 
 And left us to the rage of France's sword. 
 Where is John Talbot? — pause, and lake thy breath; 
 I gave thee life, and rescued thee from death. 
 
 John. twice my father ! twice am I thy son : 
 The. life thou gav'st me first, was lost and done; 
 Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate, 
 To my determin'd' time thou gav'st new date. 
 
 Tal. When from the dauphin's crest thy swoiti 
 struck fire, 
 It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire 
 Of bold-faced victory. Then leaden age, 
 Quieken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage, 
 Beat down Alencon, Orleans, Burgundy, 
 And from the pride of Gallia rescued thee. 
 The ireful bastard Orleans- — that drew blood 
 From thee, my boy ; and had the maidenhood 
 Of thy first fight — I soon encountered ; 
 And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed 
 Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace, 
 Bespoke him thus: Contaminated, base, 
 And misbegotten blood I spill of thine. 
 Mean and right poor,- for that pure blood of in inf.. 
 Which thou didst force from Talbot, my brave 
 
 boy.— 
 Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy, 
 Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care , 
 Art not thou weary, John ? How dost thou fare'] 
 Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly, 
 Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry ? 
 Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead; 
 The help of one stands me in little stead. 
 O, too much folly is it, well I wot, 
 To hazard all our lives in one small boat 
 If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage, 
 To-morrow I shall die with micklc age : 
 By me they nothing gain, an if I stay, 
 'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day: 
 In thee thy mother dies, our household's name. 
 My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame 
 All these, an< more, we hazard by thy stay ; 
 All these are « if'd, if thou wilt fly away. 
 • Ended. 
 
Scene Vli. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 41b 
 
 John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me 
 smart, 
 These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart : 
 On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
 (To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) 
 Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, 
 The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die: 
 And like 5 me to the peasant boys of France; 
 To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance ! 
 Surely, by all the glory you have won, 
 An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son : 
 Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot ; 
 [f son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 
 
 Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, 
 Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet: 
 f thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side ; 
 And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Another Part of the same. 
 
 Alarum: Excursions. Enter Talbot wounded, 
 
 supported by a Servant. 
 
 Tal. Where is my other life? mine own is 
 gone ; — 
 0, where's young Talbot! where is valiant John ! — 
 Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity ! 
 Young Talbot's valor makes me smile at thee : — 
 When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee, 
 His bloody sword he brandish'd over me, 
 And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
 Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience ; 
 But when my angry guardant stood alone, 
 Tend'ring my ruin, 6 and assail'd of none, 
 Dizzv-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart, 
 Suddenly made him from my side to start 
 Into the clust'ring battle of the French: 
 And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
 His over mounting spirit; and there died 
 My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 
 En ter Soldiers, bearing the Body of John Talbot. 
 
 Scrv. 0, my dear lord ! lo, where your son is 
 borne ! 
 
 Tal. Thou antic death, which Iaugh'st us here to 
 scorn, 
 Anon, from thy insulting tyranny. 
 Coupled in bonds of perpetuity, 
 Two Talbots, winged through the lither 1 sky, 
 In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality. — 
 tiiou whose wounds become hard-favor'd death, 
 Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath: 
 Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no; 
 Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe. — 
 Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks ; as who should 
 
 say — 
 Had death been French, then death had died to-day. 
 Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms; 
 My spirit can no longer bear these harms. 
 Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have, 
 JNovv my old arms are young John Talbot's grave. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the 
 two Bodies. Enter Charles, Alencox, Bur- 
 gundy, Bastard, La Pucellk, and Forces. 
 Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in, 
 
 We should nave found a bloody day of this. 
 Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging 
 wood," 
 
 Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 
 Pac. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said, 
 
 » Make me like. 
 
 « Watching me vith tenderness in my fall. 
 
 ' Flexible, yield in? ' Having mad. 
 
 Thou maiden youth, be vanquished by a maid 
 But — with a proud, majestical, high scorn- 
 He answer'd thus; Young Talbot was not born 
 To be the pillage of a gigluP wench: 
 So, rushing in the bowels of the French, 
 He left me. proudly, as unworthy fight. 
 
 Bur. Doubtless, he would have made a noble 
 knight: 
 See, where he lies inhersed in the arms 
 Of the most bloody nurser of his harms. 
 
 Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asun- 
 der; 
 Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 
 
 Char. O, no ; forbear : for that which we have fled 
 During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 
 
 Enter Sir William Luct, attended; a French 
 Herald preceding. 
 
 Lucy. Herald, 
 Conduct me to the dauphin's tent; to know 
 Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. 
 
 Char. On what submissive message art thou sent 
 
 Lucy. Submission dauphin 1 'tis a mere French 
 word ; 
 We English warriors wot not what it means. 
 I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en, 
 And to survey the bodies of the dead. 
 
 Char. For prisoners ask'st thou! hell our prison is. 
 But tell me whom thou scck'st. 
 
 Lucy. Where is the great Alcides of the field, 
 Valiant lord Talbot, carl of Shrewsbury — 
 Created, for his rare success in arms, 
 Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence ; 
 Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
 Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, 
 Lord Cromwell of Wingficld, lord Furnival of Shef 
 
 field, 
 The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge ; 
 Knight of the noble order of saint George,. 
 Worthy saint Michael, and the golden fleece ; 
 Great mareshal to Henry the Sixth, 
 Of all his wars within the realm of France! 
 
 Puc. Here is a silly statel}' style indeed! 
 The Turk, that two-and-fifty kingdoms hath, 
 Writes not so tedious a style as this. — 
 Him, that thou magnifies! with all these titles, 
 Stinking and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. 
 
 Lucy. Is Talbot slain; the Frenchmen's onlj 
 scourge, 
 Your kingdom's terror and black Nemesis ! 
 0, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd, 
 That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces! 
 0, that I could but call these dead to life ! 
 It were enough to fright the realm of France: 
 Were but his picture left among you here, 
 It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
 Give me their bodies that I may bear them hence, 
 And give them burial as beseems their worth. 
 
 Puc. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, 
 He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. 
 For God's sake, let him have 'cm ; to keep them 
 
 here, 
 They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 
 
 Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 
 
 Lucy. I'll bear them hence : 
 
 But from their ashes shall be rcar'd 
 A phosnix that shall make all France afeard. 
 
 Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what 
 thou wilt. 
 And now to Paris, m this conquering vein ; 
 All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 • Wanton. 
 
«6 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 1 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter. 
 K. Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from the 
 pope, 
 The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac? 
 
 Glo. I have, my lord ; and their intent is this, — 
 They humbly sue unto your excellence, 
 To have a godly peace concluded of, 
 Between the realms of England and of France. 
 K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their motion? 
 Glo. Well, my good lord ; and as the only means 
 To stop effusion of our Christian blood, 
 And 'stablish quietness on every side. 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle ; for I always thought, 
 It was both impious and unnatural, 
 That such immanity' and bloody strife 
 Should reign among professors of one faith. 
 
 Glo. Beside, my lord, — th* sooner to effect, 
 And surer bind, this knot of amity, — 
 The earl of Armagnac — near knit to Charles, 
 A man of great authority in France, — 
 Proffers his only daughter ^to your grace 
 In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 
 K. Hen. Marriage, uncle! alas! my years are 
 young; 
 And fitter is my study and my books, 
 Than wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
 Yet, call the ambassadors; and, as you please, 
 So let them have their answers every one : 
 I shall be well content with any choice, 
 Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal. 
 Enter a Legate, and hoo Ambassadors, with 
 Winchester, in a Cardinal's Habit. 
 Exe. What! is my lord of Winchester ihstall'd, 
 And call'd unto a cardinal's degree? 
 Then, I perceive, that will be verified, 
 Henry the Fifth did sometime prophesy, — 
 If once he come to be a cardinal, 
 He'll make Ids cap co-equal with the crown. 
 K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several 
 suits 
 Have been consider'd and debated on. 
 Your purpose is both good and reasonable : 
 And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd 
 To draw conditions of a friendly peace; 
 Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean 
 Shall be transported presently to France. 
 
 Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your mas- 
 ter, — 
 I have inform'd his highness so at large, 
 As — liking of the lady's virtuous gifts, 
 Her beauty, and the value of her dower, — 
 He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 
 K. Hen. In argument and proof of which con- 
 tract, 
 Bear her this jewel, [To the Amb.~] pledge of my 
 
 affection. 
 And so, my lord protector, see them guarded, 
 And safely brought to Dover; where, mshipp'd, 
 Commit them to the fortune of the sea. 
 
 [Exeunt King Henry and Train; Gloster, 
 
 Exeter, and Ambassadors. 
 Win. Stay, my lord legate ; you shall first receive 
 The sum of money, which I promised 
 Should be deliver'd to his holiness 
 For cbthii.g me in these grave ornaments. 
 • Inhumanity. 
 
 Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's leisu-o- 
 Win. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow. 
 Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
 Humphrey of Gloster, thm shalt well perceive, 
 That neither in birth, or for authority, 
 The bishop will be overborne by thee : 
 I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee, 
 Or sack this country with a mutiny. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II. — France, Plains in Anjou. 
 Enter Charles, Burgundy, Alencon, La Pr 
 celle, and Forces, marching. 
 Char. These news, my lords, may cheer our 
 drooping spirits : 
 'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt. 
 And turn again unto the warlike French. 
 
 Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of 
 France, . 
 
 And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 
 
 Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us ; 
 Else, ruin combat with their palaces ! 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Success unto our valiant general, 
 And happiness to his accomplices! 
 
 Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pr'ythee, 
 
 speak. 
 Mess. The English army, that divided was 
 Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one; 
 And means to give you battle presently. 
 
 Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is; 
 But we will presently provide for them. 
 
 Bur. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there ; 
 Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 
 
 Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd : — 
 Command the conquest, Charles.it shall be thine; 
 Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. 
 
 Char. Then on, my lords; And France be for- 
 tunate! [Exeunt, 
 SCENE III.— Before Angiers. 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter La Pucelle. 
 Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen 
 
 fl y— . . 
 
 Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts. 
 And ye choice spirits that admonish me, 
 And give me signs of future accidents ! [Thunder 
 You speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
 Under the lordly monarch of the north, 3 
 Appear, and aid me in this enterprize!— • 
 
 Enter Fiends. 
 This speedy quick appearance argues proof 
 Of your accustom'd diligence to me. 
 Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cull'd 
 Out of the powerful regions under earth, 
 Help me this once, that France may get the field. 
 [They walk about, and speak not 
 O, hold me not with silence over-long! 
 Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, 
 I'll lop a member off, and give it you, 
 In earnest of a further benefit; 
 So you do condescend to help me now.— 
 
 [They hang their heads 
 No hope to have redress? — My body shall 
 Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 
 
 [They shake their heads. 
 
 a Charms worn ahout the person. 
 
 s The north was supposed to he the particular habite 
 tion of bad spirits. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 477 
 
 Cannot my bod}', n>r blood-sacrifice, 
 Entreat you to youi wonted furtherance'? 
 Then take my soul; my body, soul, and all, 
 Before that England give the French the foil. 
 
 [They depart. 
 See ! they forsake me. Now the time is come, 
 That France must vail' h".r lofty-plumed crest, 
 And let her head fall into England's lap. 
 My ancient incantations are too weak, 
 And hell too strong for me to buckle with: 
 Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter French and English fighting. 
 La Pucelle and York fight hand to hand. 
 La Pucelle is taken. The French fly. 
 
 York. Damsel of France, I think I have you 
 fast: 
 Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms, 
 And try if they can gain your liberty. — 
 A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
 See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, 
 As if, with Circe, she would change my shape. 
 Puc. Changed to a worser shape thou canst not be. 
 York. O, Charles the dauphin is a proper man: 
 No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 
 Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and 
 thee! 
 And may ye both be suddenly surpris'd 
 By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds ! 
 
 York. Fell, banning 5 hag ! enchantress, hold thy 
 
 tongue. 
 Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while. 
 York. Curse, miscreant, when thou comest to 
 the stake. [Exeunt. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Lakt 
 Maiigaret. 
 
 Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 
 [Gazes on her. 
 
 fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly ; 
 
 For I will touch thee but with reverent hands, 
 And lay them gently on thy tender side. 
 
 1 kiss these fingers [Kissing her hand.'] for eter- 
 
 nal peace: 
 Who art thou ? say, that I may honor thee. 
 
 Mar. Margaret my name; and daughter to a king, 
 The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. 
 
 Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd. 
 Be not offended, nature's miracle, 
 Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me : 
 So doth the swan her downy cygnets save, 
 Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings. 
 Yet, if this servile usage once offend, 
 Go. and be free again as Suffolk's friend. 
 
 [She turns away as going. 
 O, stay ! — I have no power to let her pass ; 
 My hand would free her, but my heart says — no. 
 As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, 
 Twinkling another counterfeited beam, 
 So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes. 
 Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak; 
 I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind: 
 Fye, De la Poole ! disable not thyself; 6 
 Hast not a tongue ? Is she not here thy prisoner 1 ? 
 Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight? 
 Ay ; beauty's .princely majesty is such, 
 Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses jough. 
 
 Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk, — if thy name be so, — 
 What ransom must I pay before I pass? 
 For I perceive, I iim thy prisoner. 
 
 * L, "vet » To ban is to curse. 
 
 ' l)o not represent thyself so weak. 
 
 Suf. How canst thou tell she will deny thy suit 
 Before thou make a trial of her love ? [Aside. 
 
 Mar. Why speak'st thou not ? what ransom 
 must I pay ? 
 
 Suf. She's beautiful ; and therefore to be woo'd : 
 She is a woman ; therefore to be won. [Aside. 
 
 Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransom, yea, or no ? 
 
 Suf. Fond man ! remember that thou hast a 
 wife ; 
 Then how can Margaret be thy paramour ? [Aside 
 
 Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hear 
 
 Suf. There all is marr'd; there lies a cooling 
 card. 
 
 Mar. He talks at random ; sure the man is mad. 
 
 Suf. And yet a dispensation may be had. 
 
 Mar. And yet I would that you would answer 
 me. 
 
 Suf. I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom ? 
 Why, for my king: Tush! that's a wooden thing. 
 
 Mar. He talks of wood: It is some carpenter. 
 
 Suf. Yet so my fancy* may be satisfied, 
 And peace established between these realms. 
 But there remains a scruple in that too: 
 For though her father be the king of Naples, 
 Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, 
 And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside. 
 
 Mar. Hear ye, captain ? Are you not at leisure ? 
 
 Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much: 
 Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. — 
 
 [Aside. 
 Madam, I have a secret to reveal. 
 
 Mar. What though I be enthrall 'd ? he seems a 
 knight, 
 And will not. any way dishonor me. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say. 
 
 Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescued by the French; 
 And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause — 
 
 Mar. Tush! women have been captivate ere now. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Suf Lady, wherefore talk you so? 
 
 Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo 
 
 Suf Say, gentle princess, would you not sup- 
 pose 
 Your bondage happy, to be made a queen ? 
 
 Mar. To be a queen in bondage, is more vile, 
 Than is a slave in base servility; 
 For princes should be free. 
 
 Suf And so shall you 
 
 If happy England's royal king be free. 
 
 Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me ? 
 
 Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen ; 
 To put a golden sceptre in thy hand, 
 And set a precious crown upon thy head, 
 If thou wilt condescend to be my — 
 
 Mar. What ? 
 
 Suf. His love. 
 
 Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 
 
 Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
 To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, 
 And have no portion in the choice myself. 
 How say you, madam ; are you so content? 
 
 Mar. An if my father please, I am content 
 
 Suf. Then call our captains, and our colors fotch. 
 And, madam, at your father's castle walls 
 We'll crave a parley, to confer with him. 
 
 [Troops come forward 
 
 A Parley sounded. Enter^lvic.NiviijOnlhc Walls 
 
 Suf. See, Reignier, see thy daughter prisoner 
 Reig. To whom? 
 
 1 An awkward business, « undertaking not likely U 
 succeed t Love 
 
478 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 To me 
 
 Suf. 
 
 Rei<r. Suffolk, what remedy ! 
 
 t am a soldier; and unapt to weep, 
 Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 
 
 Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord : 
 Consent, (and for thy honor, give consent,) 
 Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king; 
 Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto ; 
 And this her easy-held imprisonment 
 Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 
 
 Reig. Speaks Suffolk as he thinks 1 
 
 Suf. Fair Margaret knows, 
 
 That Suffolk doth not flatter, face," or feign. 
 
 Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend, 
 To give thee answer of thy just demand. 
 
 [Exit from the Walls. 
 
 Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. 
 
 Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignikh, below. 
 
 Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories; 
 Command in Anjou what your honor pleases. 
 
 Suf. Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a 
 child, 
 Fit to be made companion with a king: 
 What answer makes your grace unto my suit? 
 
 Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little 
 worth, 
 To be the princely bride of such a lord ; 
 Upon condition I may quietly 
 Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, 
 Free from oppression, or the stroke of war, 
 My daughter shall be Henry's if he please. 
 
 Suf. That is her ransom, I deliver her; 
 And those two counties I will undertake, 
 Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 
 
 Reig. And I again — in Henry's royal name, 
 As deputy unto that gracious king, 
 Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith. 
 
 Suf. Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, 
 Because this is in traffic of a king: 
 And yet, methinks, I could be well content 
 To be mine own attorney in this case. [Aside. 
 I'll over then to England with this news, 
 And make this marriage to be solemniz'd; 
 So, farewell, Reignier ! Set this diamond safe 
 in golden palaces, as it becomes. 
 
 Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 
 The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. 
 
 Mar. Farewell, my lord! Good wishes, praise, 
 and prayers, 
 Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going. 
 
 Suf. Farewell, sweet madam! But hark you, 
 Margaret ; 
 No princely commendations to my king? 
 
 Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, 
 A virgin, and his servant, say to him. 
 
 Suf Words sweetly placed, and modestly di- 
 rected. 
 But, madam, I must trouble you again, — 
 No loving token to his majesty. 
 
 Mar. Yes, my good lord; a pure, unspotted heart, 
 Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 
 
 Suf. And this withal. [Kisses her. 
 
 Mar. That for thyself; — I will not so presume, 
 l'o send such peevish' tokens to a king. 
 
 [Exeunt Reignier and Margaret. 
 
 Suf. 0, wert thou for myself ! — But, Suffolk, stay ; 
 Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth ; 
 There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. 
 Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise : 
 Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount; 
 Mad,' natural graces that extinguish art; 
 
 • Piay the hypocrite 
 
 i Wd. 
 
 Repeat their semblance often on tne seas, 
 That, when thou coin'st to kneel at Henry's feet, 
 Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder 
 
 [Exit 
 
 SCENE IV.— Camp of the Duke of York in 
 
 Anjou. 
 
 Enter YonK, Warwick, and others. 
 
 York. Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd U 
 burn. 
 Enter La Pucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd. 
 
 Shep. Ah, Joan! this kills thy father's hear! 
 outright! 
 Have I sought every country far and near, 
 And, now it is my chance to find thee out, 
 Must I behold thy timeless 3 cruel death ! 
 Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I'll die with thee! 
 
 Puc. Decrepit miser !' base ignoble wretch ! 
 I am descended of a gentler blood ; 
 Thou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. 
 
 Shep. Out, out! — My lords, an please you, 'tis 
 not so ; 
 I did beget her, all the parish knows : 
 Her mother liveth yet, can testify, 
 She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 
 
 War. Graceless ! wilt thou deny thy parentage ! 
 
 York. This argues what her kind of life hath been ; 
 Wicked and vile; and so her death concludes. 
 
 Shep. Fie, Joan! that thou wilt be so obstacle!" 
 God knows thou art a coll»p of my flesh ; 
 And for thy sake have I shed many a tear : 
 Deny me not, I pr'ythce, gentle Joan. 
 
 Puc. Peasant, avaunt ! — You have suborn'd this 
 man, 
 On purpose to obscure my noble birth. 
 
 Shep. 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest, 
 The morn that I was wedded to her mother. — ■ 
 Kneel down and take my blessing, good my ill. 
 Wilt thou not stoop 1 Now cursed be the time 
 Of thy nativity ! I would, the milk 
 Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her 
 
 breast, 
 Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
 Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, 
 I wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 
 Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab ? 
 0, burn her, burn her; hanging is too good. [Exit. 
 
 York. Take her away ; for she hath liv'd too long, 
 To fill the world with vicious qualities. 
 
 Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have con- 
 demn'd : 
 Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, 
 But issu'd from the progeny of kings ; 
 Virtuous, and holy ; chosen from above, 
 By inspiration of celestial grace, 
 To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
 I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
 But you, — that are polluted with your lusts, 
 Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents, 
 Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, — 
 Because you want the grace that others have, 
 You judge it straight a thing impossible 
 To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
 No, misconceived! 5 Joan of Arc hath been 
 A virgin from her tender infancy, 
 Chaste and immaculate in very thought; 
 Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously eftus'd, 
 Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 
 
 » Untimely. 
 
 4 Miser here simply means a miserable creature. 
 
 • A corruption of obstinate. 
 
 • "No, ye misconceivers, ye who mistake me and mj 
 qualities." 
 
Scene V. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 479 
 
 York. Ay, ay; — away with her to execution. 
 
 War. And hark ye, sirs; because she is a maid, 
 Spare for no faggots, let there be enough: 
 p lace barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake, 
 That so her torture may be shortened. 
 
 Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts? — 
 Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity; 
 That warrantcth by law to be thy privilege. — 
 I am with child, ye bloody homicides: 
 Murder not then the fruit within my womb, 
 Although ye hale me to a violent death. 
 
 York. Now heaven forefend! the holy maid with 
 child? 
 
 War. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought: 
 Is all your strict precisencss come to this? 
 
 York. She and the dauphin have been juggling; 
 [ did imagine what would be her refuge. 
 
 War. Well, go to; we will have no bastards live; 
 Especially since Charles must father it. 
 
 Puc. You are deceiv'd ; my child is none of his ; 
 It was Alencon, that enjoy'd my love. 
 
 York. Alencon! that notorious Machiavel! 
 It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 
 
 Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you ; 
 'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd, 
 Rut Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. 
 
 War. A married man ! that's most intolerable. 
 
 York. Why, here's a girl! I think, she knows 
 not well, 
 There were so many, whom she may accuse. 
 
 War. It's sign, she hath been liberal and free. 
 
 York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure ! — 
 Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee: 
 Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 
 
 Puc. Then lead me hence; — with whom I leave 
 my curse: 
 May rwver glorious sun reflex his beams 
 Upon the country where you make abode! 
 But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
 Environ you ; till mischief, and despair, 
 Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves ! 
 
 [Exit, guarded. 
 
 York. Break thou in pieces, and consume to ashes, 
 Thou foul accursed minister of hell! 
 
 Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended. 
 
 Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
 With letters of commission from the king. 
 For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
 Mov'd with remorse 1 of these outrageous broils, 
 Have earnestly implor'd a general peace 
 Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French; 
 And here at hand the dauphin, and his train, 
 Approacheth, to confer about some matter. 
 
 York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect? 
 \ftcr the slaughtc" of so many peers, 
 So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers, 
 That in this quarrel have been overthrown, 
 And sold their bodies for their country's benefit, 
 -Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace? 
 Have we not lost most part of all the towns, 
 By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, 
 Our great progenitors had conquered? — 
 U, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief 
 The utter loss of all the realm of France. 
 
 War. Be patient, York; if we conclude a peace, 
 It shall be with such strict and severe covenants, 
 As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 
 Enter Charles, attended,- Alencox, Bastard, 
 Reignier, and others. 
 
 Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed, 
 Thai peaceful truce should be proclaim'd in France, 
 1 Compassion. 
 
 We come to be informed by yourselves 
 What the conditions of that league must be. 
 
 York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling cholei 
 chokes 
 The hollow passage of my poison'd voice. 
 By sight of these our baleful enemies. 
 
 Car. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thu» 
 That — in regard king Henry gives consent, 
 Of mere compassion, and of lenity, 
 To case your country of distressful war, 
 And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace — 
 You shall become true liegemen to his crown: 
 And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
 To pay him tribute, and submit thyself, 
 Thou shalt be placed as viceroy under him, 
 And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 
 
 Alen. Must he be then a shadow of himself? 
 Adorn his temples with a coronet ;" 
 And yet, in substance and authority, 
 Retain but privilege of a private man? 
 This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 
 
 Char. 'Tis known, already, that I am posseaa'd 
 With more than half the Gallian territories, 
 And therein reverenced for their lawful king: 
 Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, 
 Detract so much from that prerogative, 
 As to be called but viceroy of the whole ? 
 No, lord ambassador; I'll rather keep 
 That which I have, than, coveting for more, 
 Be cast from possibility of all. 
 
 York. Insulting Charles ! hast thou by secret means 
 Used intercession to obtain a league; 
 And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
 Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison ? 
 Either accept the title thou usurp'st, 
 Of benefit 9 proceeding from our king, 
 And not of any challenge of desert, 
 Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 
 
 Reig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
 To cavil in the course of this contract : 
 If once it be neglected, ten to one, 
 We shall not find like opportunity. 
 
 Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy, 
 To save your subjects from such massacre, 
 And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen 
 By our proceeding in hostility : 
 And therefore take this compact of a truce, 
 Although you break it when your pleasure serves. 
 \_A side to Charles. 
 
 War. How say'st thou, Charles? shall our con 
 dition stand? 
 
 Char. It shall : 
 Only reserv'd, you claim no interest 
 In any of our towns of garrison. 
 
 York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty , 
 As thou art knight, never to disobey, 
 Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
 Thou nor thy nobles, to the crown of England.— 
 [Charles, and the rest, give tokens of fealty. 
 So, now dismiss your army when you please; 
 Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, 
 For here we entertain a solemn peace. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE V. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry in conference with Suffolk. 
 Gloster, and Exeter, following. 
 K. Hei... Your wond'rous rare description, nobli 
 earl, 
 Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me : 
 Her virtues, graced with external gifts, 
 Do breed love's settled passions in my heart : 
 
 » Coronet is here used for crown. 
 
 • "Be content to live as the beneficiary of our kiusj 
 
ISO 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 Act 
 
 And like as rig)r in tempestuous gusts 
 Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide ; 
 So am I driven, by breath of her renown, 
 Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive 
 Where I may have fruition of her love. 
 
 Suf. Tush! my good lord! this superficial tale 
 Is but a preface of her worthy praise : 
 The chief perfections of that lovely dame, 
 (Had I sufficient skill to utter them,) 
 Would make a volume of enticing lines, 
 Able to ravish any dull conceit. 
 And, which is more, she is not so divine, 
 So full replete with choice of all delights, 
 But, with as humble lowliness of mind, 
 She is content to be at your command ; 
 Command, I mean, of virtuous, chaste intents, 
 To love and honor Henry as her lord. 
 
 K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er pre- 
 sume. 
 Therefore, my lord protector, give consent, 
 That Margaret may be England's royal queen. 
 
 Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin. 
 You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd 
 Unto another lady of esteem; 
 How shall we then dispense with that contract, 
 And not deface your honor with reproach"! 
 
 Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths; 
 Or one, that, at a triumph 1 having vow'd 
 To try his strength, forsakcth yet the lists 
 By reason of his adversary's odds: 
 A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, 
 And therefore may be broke without offence. 
 
 Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than 
 that? 
 Her father is no better than an earl, 
 Although in glorious titles he excel. 
 
 Suf Yes, my good lord, her father is a king, 
 The king of Naples, and Jerusalem ; 
 And of such great authority in France, 
 As his alliance will confirm our peace, 
 And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 
 
 G/o..And so the earl of Armagnac may do, 
 Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 
 
 Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant liberal 
 dower ; 
 While Reignier sooner will receive, than give. 
 
 Suf. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so your 
 king, 
 That he should be so abject, base, and poor, 
 To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
 Henry is able to enrich his queen, 
 And not to seek a queen to make him rich: 
 So worthless peasants bargain for their wives, 
 As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
 Marriage is a matter of more worth, 
 Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; 
 
 i A triumph then signified a public exhibition; roefc 
 M a m»«k, or revel. 
 
 Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects, 
 
 Must be companion of his nuptial bed ; 
 
 And therefore, lords, since he affects her most, 
 
 It most of all these reasons bindeth us, 
 
 In our opinions she should be preferr'd. 
 
 For what is wedlock forced, but a hell, 
 
 An age of discord and continual strife? 
 
 Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss, 
 
 And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
 
 Whom should we match with Henry, being a king, 
 
 But Margaret, that is daughter to a king? 
 
 Her peerless feature, joined with her birth. 
 
 Approves her fit for none, but for a king; 
 
 Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit, 
 
 (More than in women commonly is seen,) 
 
 Will answer our hope in issue of a king ; 
 
 For Henry, son unto a conqueror, 
 
 Is likely to beget more conquerors, 
 
 If with a lady of so high resolve, 
 
 As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love. 
 
 Then yield, my lords ; and here conclude with me, 
 
 That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. 
 
 K. Hen. Whether it be through force of youi 
 report, 
 My noble lord of Suffolk ; or for that 
 My tender youth was never yet attaint 
 With any passion of inflaming love, 
 I cannot tell ; but this I am assured, 
 I feel such sharp dissension in my breast, 
 Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear, 
 As I am sick with working of my thoughts. 
 Take, therefore, shipping ; post, my lord, to France , 
 Agree to any covenants; and procure 
 That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
 To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd 
 King Henry's faithful and anointed queen ; 
 For your expenses and sufficient charge, 
 Among the people gather up a tenth. 
 Begone, I say; for, till you do return, 
 I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. — 
 And you, good uncle, banish all offence ; 
 If you do censure 5 me by what you were, 
 Not what you are, I know it will excuse 
 This sudden execution of my will, 
 And so conduct me, where from company, 
 I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit, 
 
 Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. 
 [Exeunt Glosteh and Exktkiu 
 
 Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd : and thus ha 
 goes, 
 As did the youthful Paris once to Greece; 
 With hope to find the like event in love, 
 But prosper better than the Trojan did. 
 Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king ; 
 But I will rule both her, the king, and roalm. 
 
 [FtU 
 
SECOND PART OP 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henry the Sixth. 
 
 Humphrey, Duke q^Gloster, his Uncle. 
 
 Cardinal Bf.xvfout, Bishop of Winchester, great 
 
 Uncle to the King. 
 
 Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Fork. 
 
 Edward and Richard, his Sons* 
 
 Duke of Somerset, ^ 
 
 Duke of Suffolk, 
 
 Di'ke of Buckingham, Vof the King's Parly. 
 
 Lord Clifford, 
 
 Young Clifford, his Son, j 
 
 Earl of Salisdury, ) s.j xr , ^ ,. 
 r, ,„, > of the York /' action. 
 
 Earl of Warwick, ^ J 
 
 Lojb.ii Scales, Governor of the Tower. 
 
 Lord Say. 
 
 Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his Brother. 
 
 Sir John Stanley. 
 
 A Sca-Cuptain, Master, and Master's Mate, and 
 
 Walter Whitmore. 
 
 Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with Suffolk. 
 
 A Herald. 
 
 Vaux. 
 
 Hume and Southwell, two Priests. 
 
 Bolingbroke, a Conjurer. 
 
 A Spirit raised by him. 
 
 Thomas Horner, an Armorer. 
 
 Peter, his Man. 
 
 Clerk of Chatham. 
 
 Mayor of Saint Alban's. 
 
 Simpcox, an Impostor. 
 
 Two Murderers. 
 
 Jack Cade, a Rebel. 
 
 George, John, Dick, Smith the Weaver, Mi» 
 
 chael, S(c, his Fo lowers. 
 Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman. 
 
 Margaret, Queen to Ki?ig Henry. 
 Eleanor, Duchess of Gioster. 
 Margery Jourdain, a Witch. 
 Wife to Simpcox. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants,- Petitioners, Al- 
 dermen, a Beadle, Sheriff, and Officers,- Citizens, 
 Prentices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messen- 
 gers, 4-c. 
 
 SCENE, dispersedly in various Parts of England. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room of State in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Flourish of Trumpets,- then Hautboys. Enter, on 
 one tide, King Henry, Duke of Gloster, 
 Saiisbury, Warwick, and. Cardinal Beau- 
 fort; on the other, Queen Margaret, led in 
 by Suffolk; York, Somerset, Buckingham, 
 and others, following. 
 
 Suf. As by your high imperial majesty 
 I had in charge, at my depart for France, 
 As procurator to your excellence, 
 To marry princess Margaret for your grace; 
 So in the famous ancient city, Tours, — 
 In presence of the kings of France and Sicil, 
 The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaigne, Alencon, 
 Seven earls, twelve barons, twenty reverend bi- 
 shops, — 
 I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd: 
 And humbly now upon my bended knee, 
 In sight of England, and her lordly peers, 
 Deliver up my title in the queen 
 To your most gracious hands, that are the sub- 
 stance 
 
 f48ll 
 
 Of that great shadow I did represent; 
 The happiest gift that ever marquess gave, 
 The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Suffolk, arise. — Welcome, queen Mar- 
 garet : 
 I can express no kinder sign of love, 
 Than this kind kiss. — Lord, that lends me life, 
 Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness! 
 For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, 
 A world of earthly blessings to my soul, 
 If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. 
 
 Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my gra 
 cious lord; 
 The mutual conference that my mind hath had- 
 By day, by night, waking, and in my dreams; 
 In courtly company, or at my beads — 
 With you, mine alder-liefest' sovereign, 
 Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
 With ruder terms , such as my wit affords, 
 And over-joy of heart doth minister. 
 
 K. Hen. Her 6ight did ravish: but her grace in 
 speech, 
 Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, 
 1 Beloved above all thing"! 
 
4S2 
 
 SECOND PAkr OF 
 
 Act I 
 
 Makes me, from wondering, fall to weeping joys, 
 Such is the fulness of my heart's content. — 
 Lortk, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. 
 All. Long live queen Margaret, England's hap- 
 piness ! 
 Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flourish. 
 
 Suf. My lord protector, so it please your grace, 
 Here are the articles of contracted peace, 
 Between our sovereign and the French king Charles, 
 For eighteen months, concluded by consent. 
 
 GIo. [Reads.] Imprimis, Itis agreed, between the 
 French king, Charles, and William de la Poole, 
 manpiess of Suffolk, ambassador for Henry, king 
 of England, — that the said Henry shall espouse 
 the lady Margaret, daughter unto Reignier, king 
 of Naples, Sicilia, and Jerusalem,- and crown her 
 queen of England, ere the thirtieth of May next 
 
 ensuing. Item, — That the duchy of Anjou, and 
 
 '■he county of Maine, shall be released and delivered 
 
 to the king, her father 
 
 K. Hen. Uncle, how nowl 
 Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 
 
 Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart, 
 And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further. 
 K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on. 
 Car. Item, — // is further agreed between them, — 
 thai the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be re- 
 leased and delivered over to the king, her father,- 
 and she sent over of the king of England's own 
 proper cost and charges, without having dowry. 
 K. Hen. They please us well. — Lord marquess, 
 kneel down; 
 We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, 
 And girt thee with the sword. — 
 Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace 
 From being regent in the parts of France, 
 Till term of eighteen months be full expir'd. — 
 Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, and 
 
 Buckingham, 
 Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick ; 
 We thank you all for this great favor done, 
 In entertainment to my princely queen. 
 Come, let us in, and with all speed provide 
 To see her coronation be perform'd. 
 
 [Exeunt Kino, Qtjken, and Suffolk. 
 Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state, 
 To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief 
 Your grief, the common grief of all the land. 
 What! did my brother Henry spend his youth, 
 His valor, coin, and people in the wars! 
 Did he so often lodge in open field, 
 In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat, 
 To conquer France, his true inheritance] 
 And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, 
 To keep by policy what Henry got! 
 Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
 Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
 Received deep scars in France and Normandy] 
 Or hath my uncle Beaufort, and myself, 
 With all the learned council of the realm, 
 Studied so long, sat in the council-house, 
 Early and late, debating to and fro 
 How France and Frenchmen might be kept in 
 
 awe! 
 And hath his highness in his infancy 
 Been crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes] 
 And shall these labors, and these honors, die] 
 Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance, 
 Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die] 
 peers of England, shameful is this league! 
 ¥ atal this marriage, cancelling your fame: 
 Blotting your names from books of memory: 
 Razing the characters of your renown: 
 
 Defacing monument!, of conquer'd France; 
 Undoing all, as all had never been! 
 
 Car. Nephew, what means this passionate dis 
 course ] 
 This peroration with such circumstance]" 
 For France, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still. 
 
 Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can , 
 But now it is impossible we should : 
 Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, 
 Hath given the duchies of Anjou and Maine, 
 Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style 
 Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 
 
 Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all, 
 These counties were the keys of Normandy: — 
 But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son] 
 
 War. For grief, that they are past recovery : 
 For, were there hope, to conquer them again, 
 My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no 
 
 tears. 
 Anjou and Maine, myself did win them both; 
 Those provinces these arms of mine did conguer: 
 And are the cities that I got with wounds. 
 Deliver 'd up again with peaceful words] 
 Mort Dieu ! 
 
 York. For Suffolk's duke — may he be suffocate 
 That dims the honor of this warlike isle ! 
 France should have torn and rent my very heart, 
 Before I would have yielded to this league. 
 I never read but England's kings have had 
 Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives : 
 And our king Henry gives away his own, 
 To match with her that brings no vantages. 
 
 Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before, 
 That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth, 
 For cost and charges in transporting her ! 
 She should have staid in France, and starv'd in 
 France, 
 
 Before 
 
 Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot • 
 It was the pleasure of my lord the king. 
 
 Glo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind ; 
 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, 
 But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you 
 Rancor will out: Proud prelate, in thy face 
 I see thy fury : if I longer stay, 
 We shall begin our ancient bickerings.' — 
 Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone, 
 I prophesied — France will be lost ere long. [Exit 
 
 Car. So,'there goes our protector in u rage. 
 'Tis known to you, he is mine enemy : 
 Nay, more, an enemy unto you all; 
 And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
 Consider, lords, he is the next of blood, 
 And heir apparent to the English crown; 
 Had Henry got an empire by his marriage, 
 And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west, 
 There's reason he should be. displeas'd at it. 
 Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words 
 Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect. 
 What though the common people favor him, 
 Calling him — Humphrey, the good duke of Gloster; 
 Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice— 
 Jesu maintain your royal excellence.' 
 With — God preserve the good duke Humplirey! 
 I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, 
 He will be found a dangerous protector. 
 
 Buck. Why should he then protect our sovereign, 
 He being of age to govern of himself] 
 Cousin of Somerset, join you with nic, 
 And all together — with the duke of Suffolk, — 
 We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. 
 
 a This speech, crowded with so many circumstances 01 
 aggravation. a Skirmishings. 
 
SCKXE II. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 18? 
 
 Ca>: This w-eighty business will not brook delay ; 
 ['11 to the duke ol Suffolk presently. [Exit. 
 
 Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's 
 pride, 
 And greatness of his place, be grief to us, 
 Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal; 
 His insolence is more intolerable 
 Than all the princes in the land beside; 
 If Gloster be displaced, he'll be protector. 
 
 Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector, 
 ] espite duke Humphrey, or the cardinal. 
 
 [Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset. 
 Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
 While these do labor for their own preferment, 
 Behoves it us to labor for the realm. 
 I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster 
 Did bear him like a noble gentleman. 
 Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal — 
 More like a soldier, than a mail o'the church, 
 As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all, — ■ 
 Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself 
 Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. — 
 Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age ! 
 Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping, 
 Hath won the greatest favor of the commons, 
 Excepting none but good duke Humphrey. — 
 And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
 In bringing them to civil discipline ; 
 Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, 
 When thou wert regent for our sovereign, 
 Have made thee fear'd, and honor'd, of the people : — 
 Join we together, for the public good; 
 In what we can to bridle and suppress 
 The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal, 
 With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition; 
 And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds, 
 While they do tend the profit, of the land. 
 
 War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, 
 And common profit of his country ! 
 
 York. And so says York, for he hath greatest cause. 
 Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look unto 
 
 the main. 
 War. Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost; 
 That Maine, which by main force Warwick did 
 
 win, 
 And would have kept, so long as breath did last: 
 Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine; 
 Which I will win from France, or else be slain. 
 
 [Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury. 
 York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; 
 Paris is lost; the state of Normandy 
 Stands on a tickle 4 point, now they are gone: 
 . Suffolk concluded on the articles; 
 The peers agreed ; and Henry was well pleas'd, 
 To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. 
 I cannot blame them all; What is't to them] 
 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. 
 Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their 
 
 pillage, 
 And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, 
 Still revelling, like lords, till al! be gone ; 
 While as the silly owner of the goods 
 Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands, 
 And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, 
 While all is shar'd, and all is borne away ; 
 Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own. 
 So York must si and fret, and bite his tongue, 
 While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold. 
 Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ire- 
 land, 
 Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood, 
 As ': 1 the fatal brand Althea burn'd, 
 4 For ticklish 
 
 Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. 5 
 
 Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French! 
 
 Cold news for me ; for I had hope, of France, 
 
 Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
 
 A day will come, when York shall claim his own 
 
 And therefore I will take the Nevil's part, 
 
 And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey, 
 
 And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown, 
 
 For that's the golden mark I seek to hit: 
 
 Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right, 
 
 Nor hold his sceptre in his childish fist, 
 
 Nor wear the diadem upon his head, 
 
 Whose church-like humors fit not for a crown. 
 
 Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve : 
 
 Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep, 
 
 To pry into the secrets of the state ; 
 
 Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love, 
 
 With his new bride, and England's dear-bought 
 
 queen, 
 And Humphrey with the peers be fkll'n at jars : 
 Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose, 
 With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed; 
 And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
 To grapple with the house of Lancaster ; 
 And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown, 
 Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair Endanddown. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— .A Room In the Duke of Gloster'* 
 House. 
 
 Enter Gloster and the Duchess. 
 Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, 
 Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load ? 
 Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows, 
 As frowning at the favors of the world? 
 Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, 
 Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight - ! 
 What scest thou there? king Henry's diadem, 
 Enchas'd with all the honors of the world? 
 If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, 
 Until thy head be circled with the same. 
 Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : — 
 What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine- 
 And, having bpth together heav'd it up, 
 We'll both together lift our heads to heaven ; 
 And never more abase our sight so low, 
 As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 
 
 Glo. Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord. 
 Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts: 
 And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
 Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, 
 Be my last breathing in this mortal world! 
 My troublous dream this night doth make me sad 
 
 Duch. Whatdream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll 
 requite it 
 With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 
 
 Gh. Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in 
 court, 
 Was broke in twain, by whom, I have forgot, 
 But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ; 
 And on the pieces of the broken wand 
 Were placed the heads ofEdmond duke of Somerset, 
 And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk. 
 This was mv dream ; what it doth bode, God knows 
 
 Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument 
 That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove, 
 Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
 But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke 
 Methought, I sat in scat of majesty, 
 In the cathedral church of Westminster, 
 
 » Meleager ; whose lifl '•"is to continue only so long as a 
 certain firebrand should last. His mother Alt'ieahaviDt 
 thrown it into the fire, he exi rred : n torment 
 
484 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act I 
 
 And in that chair where kings and queens are 
 
 crown'd ; 
 Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to mr , 
 And on my head did set the diadem. 
 
 Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: 
 Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor! 
 Art thou not second woman in the realm ; 
 And the protector's wife, belov'd of him ? 
 Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, 
 Above the reach or compass of thy thought! 
 And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, 
 To tumble down thy husband, and thyself, 
 From top of honor to disgrace's feet ? 
 Away from me, and let me hear no more. 
 
 Duch. What, what, my lord! are you so choleric 
 With Eleanor for telling but her dream ? 
 Next time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself, 
 And not be check'd. 
 
 Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure, 
 You do prepare to ride unto- Saint Alban's, 
 Whereas 5 the king and queen do mean to hawk. 
 
 Glo. I go. — Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us ? 
 
 Duch. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently. 
 Exeunt Gloster a?id Messenger. 
 Follow I must, I cannot go before, 
 While Gloster bears this base and humble mind. 
 Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
 I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks, 
 And smooth my way upon their headless necks : 
 And, being a woman, I would not be slack 
 To play my part in fortune's pageant. 
 Where are you there ? sir John! 1 nay, fear not, man, 
 We are alone ; here's none but thee, and I. 
 Enter Hume. 
 
 Hume. Jesu preserve your royal majesty ! 
 
 Duch. What say'stthou, majesty! I am but grace. 
 
 Hume. But, by the grace of God, and Hume's 
 advice, 
 if our grace's title shall be multiplied. 
 
 Duch. What say'st thou, man ? hast thou as yet 
 conferr'd 
 With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch; 
 And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer? 
 And will they undertake to do me good? 
 
 Hume. This they have promised, — to show your 
 highness 
 A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground, 
 That shall make answer to such questions, 
 As by your grace shall be propounded him. 
 
 Duch. It isenoitgh; I'll think upon the questions : 
 When from Saint Alban's we do make return, 
 We'll see these things effected to the full. 
 Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, 
 With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 
 
 [Exit Duchess. 
 
 Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess' 
 gold; 
 Vlarry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume? 
 %eal up your lips, and give no words but — mum ! 
 The business asketh silent secrecy. 
 Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch i 
 Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
 Yet have I gold, flies from another coast : 
 I dare not say from the rich cardinal, 
 And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk ; 
 Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain, 
 They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humor, 
 Have hired me to undermine the duchess, 
 And huz these conjurations in her brain. 
 
 « Where ' A titiu frequently bestowed on the clergy. 
 
 They say, a crafty knave does need no broker, 
 Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker; 
 Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near 
 To call them both a pair of crafty knaves. 
 Well, so it stands; And thus, I fear, at last, 
 Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck ; 
 And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall : 
 Sort 3 how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Peter, and others, with Petitions. 
 
 1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close; my lord 
 protector will come this way by-and-by, and ther 
 we may deliver our supplications in the quill." 
 
 2 Pet. Marry, the lord protect him, for he : s a 
 good man ! Jesu bless him ! 
 
 Enter Suffolk, and Queex Margaret. 
 
 1 Pet. Here 'a c»mes, methinks, and the queen 
 with him : I'll be the first, sure. 
 
 2 Pet. Come back, fool; this is the duke of 
 Suffolk, and not my lord protector. 
 
 Suf. How now, fellow ? wouldst any thing with 
 me? 
 
 1 Pet. I pray my lord, pardon me ! I took ye for 
 my lord protector. 
 
 Q. Mar. [Reading the superscription.] To my 
 lord protector.' are your supplications to his lord- 
 ship? Let me see them : What is thine? 
 
 1 Pet. Mine is, an't please your grace, against 
 John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping 
 my house, and lands, and wife, and ail, from me. 
 
 Suf. Thy wife too? that is some wrong, indeed. — 
 What's yours? — What's here! [Reads.]; Against 
 the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of 
 Melford. — How now, sir knave ? 
 
 2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our 
 whole township. 
 
 Peter. [Presenting his petition.] Against my 
 master, Thomas Horner, for saying, That the duke 
 of York was rightful heir to the crown. 
 
 Q. Mar. What say'st thou ? Did the duke of 
 York say, he was rightful heir to the crown ? 
 
 Peter. That my master was? No, forsooth : my 
 master said, That he was ; and that the king was an 
 usurper. 
 
 Suf. Who is there ? [Enter Servants.] — Take 
 this fellow in, and send for his master with a pur- 
 suivant presently : — we'll hear more of your matter 
 before the king. [Exeunt Servants with Peter. 
 
 Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be protected 
 Under the wings of our protector's grace, 
 Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. 
 
 [Tears the Petition. 
 Away, base cullions !' Suffolk, let them go. 
 
 All. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners. 
 
 Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, 
 Is this the fashion in the court of England ? 
 Is this the government of Britain's isle, 
 And this the royalty of Albion's king? 
 What, shall king Henry be a pupil still, 
 Under the surly Gloster's governance? 
 Am I a queen in title and in style, 
 And must be made a subject to a duke? 
 I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours 
 Thou ran'st a tilt in honor of my love, 
 And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France; 
 I thought king Henry had resembled thee, 
 In courage, courtship, and proportion: 
 But all his mind is bent to holiness, 
 To number Ave-Maries on his beads: 
 8 Happen. 
 
 * With great exactness and observance of form. 
 1 Scoundrels 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 485 
 
 His champions ar=— -die prophets and apostles: 
 
 Hi? weapons, holy saws 2 of sacred writ; 
 
 His study js his tilt-yard, and his loves 
 
 Are brazen images of canonized saints. 
 
 I would, the college of cardinals 
 
 Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, 
 
 And set the triple crown upon his head; 
 
 That were a state fit for his holiness. 
 
 Suf. Madam, be patient: as I was cause 
 lour highness came to England, so will I 
 In England work your grace's full content. 
 
 Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we 
 Beaufort, 
 The imperious churchman ; Somerset, Buckingham, 
 And grumbling York: and not the least of these, 
 But can do more in England than the king. 
 
 Suf. And he of these that can do most of all, 
 Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: 
 Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers. 
 
 Q. Mar. Not all these lords do vex me half so 
 much, 
 As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. 
 She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, 
 More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife; 
 Strangers in court do take her for the queen: 
 She hears a duke's revenues on her back, 
 Ami in her heart she scorns her poverty: 
 Shall I not live to be avenged on her? 
 Contemptuous base-born callat 3 as she is, 
 She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, 
 The very train of her worst wearing-gown 
 Was better worth than all my father's lands, 
 Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 
 
 Suf. Madam, myself have iimed a bush for her; 
 And placed a quire of such enticing birds, 
 That she will light to listen to the lays, 
 And never mount to trouble you again. 
 So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me; 
 For I am bold to counsel you in this. 
 Although we fancy not the cardinal, 
 Vet must we join with him, and with the lords, 
 Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. 
 As for the duke of York, — this late complaint 1 
 Will make but little for his benefit: 
 So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last," 
 And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 
 Enter Kinr Hf.xiiy, York and Somerset con- 
 versing with him,- Duke and Duchess of 
 
 Gloster, Cardinal Beaufort, Buckingham, 
 
 Salisbury, and Warwick. 
 
 K. Hen. For my part, noble lords, I care not which; 
 Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me. 
 
 York. If York have ill d'emean'd himself in France, 
 Then let him be denay'd 5 the regentship. 
 
 Sum. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, 
 Let York be regent, I will yield to him. 
 
 War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no, 
 Dispute not that: York is the worthier. 
 
 Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. 
 
 War. The cardinal's not my better in the field. 
 
 Buck. All in this presence, are thy betters, War- 
 wick. 
 
 War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. 
 
 Sal. Peace, son ; and show some reason, 
 
 Buckingham, 
 Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. 
 
 Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. 
 
 G/o. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
 To gi%'e his censure ;* these are no women's matters. 
 
 * Savins?. 3 Drab, trail. 
 
 * i. r. The complaint of Peter, the armorer's man, 
 *gainst his master. s Denied. 
 
 * Censure here means simple judgment or opinion. 
 
 Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your 
 grace 
 To be protector of his excellence ? 
 
 GIo. Madam, I am protector of the lealm; 
 And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 
 
 Suf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. 
 Since thou wert king, (as who is king but thou ]) 
 The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck : 
 The dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas; 
 And all the peers and nobles of the realm 
 Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 
 
 Car. The commons hast thou rack'd; the 
 clergy's bags 
 Are lank and lean with thy extortions. 
 
 Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife' 
 attire, 
 Have cost a mass of public treasury. 
 
 Buck. Thy cruelty in execution, 
 Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, 
 And left thee to the mercy of the law. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices, and towns in France, — 
 If they were known, as the suspect is great ,— - 
 Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. 
 [Exit Gloster. The Queen drops her fan. 
 Give me my fan: what, minion! can you not! 
 
 [Gives the Duchess a box on the ear. 
 I cry you mercy, madam ; Was it you 1 
 
 Duch. Was't 11 yea, I it was, proud French 
 woman ! 
 Could I come near your beauty with my nails, 
 I'd set my ten commandments in your face. 1 
 K. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet: 'twas against her 
 
 will. 
 Duch. Against her will ! Good king, look to't 
 in time; 
 She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby : 
 Though in this place most master wear no breeches, 
 She shall not strike dame Eleanor unrevengcil. 
 
 [Exit Duchess. 
 Buck. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
 And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds: 
 She's tickled now ; her fume can need no spurs, 
 She'll gallop fast enough to her destruction. 
 
 [Exit Buckingham 
 
 Re-enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown, 
 With walking once about the quadrangle, 
 I come to talk of commonwealth affairs. 
 As for your spiteful false objections, 
 Prove them, and I lie open to the law: 
 But God in mercy so deal with my soul, 
 As I in duty love my king and country ! 
 But, to the matter that we have in hand: — 
 I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
 To be your regent in the realm of France. 
 
 Suf. Before we make election, give me leave 
 To show some reason, of no little force, 
 That York is most unmeet of any man. 
 
 York. Til tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet 
 First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride: 
 Next, if I be appointed for the place, 
 My lord of Somerset will keep me here, 
 Without discharge, money, or furniture, 
 Till France be won into the dauphin" s hands. 
 Lfist lime, I danced attendance on nis will, 
 Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost. 
 
 War. That I can witness, and a foule r fact 
 Did never traitor in the land commit. 
 
 Suf. Peace, head-strong Warwick ! 
 
 War. Image of pride, why should I hold my 
 peace ? 
 ' The marks of her fingers and thumb* 
 
486 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act I 
 
 Enter Servants 0/ Suffolk, bringing in Horner 
 and Peter. 
 
 Suf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason : 
 I J ray God the duke of York excuse himself! 
 
 York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor? 
 
 K. Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk"! tell me: 
 What arc these? 
 
 Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
 That doth accuse his master of high treason: 
 His words were these; — that Richard, duke of York, 
 Was rightful heir unto the English crown; 
 And that your majesty was an usurper. 
 
 K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words? 
 
 Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never said 
 nor thought any such matter: God is my witness, 
 [ mi falsely accused by the villain. 
 
 Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, [Holding up 
 his hands.'] he did speak them to me in the garret 
 nne night, as we were scouring my lord of York's 
 armor. 
 
 York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, 
 1 11 have thy head for this thy traitor's speech: — 
 T do beseech your royal majesty, 
 Let him have all the rig-or of the law. 
 
 Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the 
 words. My accuser is my prentice: and when I 
 did correct him for his fault the other day, he did 
 vow upon his knees he would be even with me : 
 [ ha-ve good witness of this; therefore, I beseech 
 your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for 
 1 villain's accusation. 
 
 K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? 
 
 Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge : — 
 Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
 Because in York this breeds suspicion: 
 And let these have a day appointed them 
 For single combat in convenient place; 
 For he hath witness of his servant's malice : 
 This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. 
 
 K. Hen. Then be it so. My lord of Somerset, 
 We make your grace lord regent o'er the French. 
 
 Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty. 
 
 Hor. And I accept the combat willingly. 
 
 Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's 
 sake, pity my case ! the spite of man prevaileth 
 against me. Lord, have mercy upon me ! I shall 
 never be able to fight a blow : Lord, my heart! 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Away with them to prison, and the day 
 
 Of combat shall be the last of the next, month. — 
 
 Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Duke of Gloster's Garden. 
 
 Enter Margery Jouhdain, Hume, Southwell, 
 
 and Bolinghroke. 
 
 Hume. Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell 
 you, expects performance of your promises. 
 
 Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore pro- 
 vided: Will her ladyship behold and hear our 
 exorcisms? 3 • 
 
 Hume. Ay; What else ? fear you not her courage. 
 
 Boling. I have heard her reported to be a woman 
 of an invincible spirit: But it shall be convenient, 
 master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be 
 busy below ; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name, 
 and leave us. [Exit Hume.] Mother Jourdain, be 
 you prostrate, and grovel on the earth: — John 
 Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. 
 Enter Duchess, above. 
 Duch. Well snid, my masters; and welcome all. 
 To this gear;* the sooner the better. 
 
 • By exorcise, Shaltspcarc invariably means to raise 
 rpirita. »i>d not to lay them. » Matter or business. 
 
 Boling. Patience, good lady ; wizards know their 
 times : 
 Deep night, dark night, the silent af the night, 
 The time of night, when Troy was set on fire; 
 The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs' 
 
 howl, 
 And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves. 
 That time best fits the work we have in hand. 
 Madam, sit you, and fear not; whom we raise, 
 We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. 
 [Here they perform the ceremonies appertaining, 
 and make the circle ,■ Bolingbiioke,w South- 
 well, reads Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and 
 lightens, terribly ,- then the Spirit riseth.~\ 
 Spir. Adsum. 
 M. Jourd. Asmath, 
 By the eternal God, whose name and power 
 Thou tremblcst at, answer that I shall ask ; 
 For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. 
 Spir. Ask what thou wilt: — That I had said and 
 
 done! 
 Boling. First, of the King. What shall of him 
 become? [Reading out of a paper 
 
 Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 
 [As the Spirit speaks. Southwell writes the 
 answer. 
 Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk? 
 Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end. 
 Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset? 
 Spir. Let him shun castles; 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
 Than where castles mounted stand. 
 Have done ! for more I hardly can endure. 
 
 Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning 
 lake : 
 False fiend, avoid ! 
 
 [Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends. 
 Enter York and Buckingham, hastily, with their 
 Guards, and others. 
 York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their 
 trash. 
 Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch. — 
 What, madam, are you there? the king and com- 
 monweal 
 Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains : 
 My lord protector will, I doubt it not, 
 See you well guerdon'd 2 for these good deserts. 
 
 Duch. Nothalf so bad as thine to England'sking, 
 Injurious duke; that threat'st where is no cause. 
 Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call 
 you this ? [Showing her the papers. 
 
 Away with them ; let them be clapp'd up close, 
 And kept asunder : — You, madam, shall with us :— 
 Stafford, take her to thee. — 
 
 [Exit Duchess from above. 
 We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming; 
 All. — Away ! 
 
 [Exeunt Guards, with Southwell, Boling 
 
 BROKE, <SfC. 
 
 York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd 
 her well : 
 A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon ! 
 Now pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. 
 What have we here ? [Reads 
 
 The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose: 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 Why, this is just, 
 
 Aio te, Macida, Romanos vincere posse. 
 Well, to the rest: 
 
 Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk? 
 » Watch-dogs. « Rewarded. 
 
Act II. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 487 
 
 By water shall he die, and take his end. — 
 
 What shall betide the duke of Somerset? 
 
 Let him shun castles,- 
 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, 
 
 Than where castles mounted stand. 
 
 Come, come, my lords; 
 
 These oracles are hardily attain'd, 
 
 And hardly understood. 
 
 The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's, 
 
 With him, the husband of this lovely lady: 
 
 Thither go these r\ews,as fast as horse can carry them; 
 
 A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 
 
 Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord 
 of York, 
 To be the post, in hope of his reward. 
 
 York. At your pleasure, my good lord. — Who's 
 within there, ho ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, 
 To sup with me to-morrow night. — Away. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Saint Alban's. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Glos- 
 ter, Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers, 
 hollaing. 
 
 Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, 3 
 I saw not better sport these seven years' day : 
 Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; 
 And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. 
 
 K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon 
 made, 
 And what a pitch she flew above the rest! — 
 To see how Cod in all his creatures works ! 
 Yea, man and birds, are fain 4 of climbing high. 
 
 Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty, 
 My lo;d protector's hawks do tower so well; 
 They know their master loves to be aloft, 
 And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. 
 
 Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
 That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. 
 
 Car. I thought as much ; he'd be above the 
 clouds. 
 
 Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal ; how think you by 
 that"! 
 Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven ? 
 
 K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy ! 
 
 Cur. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyes and 
 thoughts 
 Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; 
 Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, 
 That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal ! 
 
 Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown 
 peremptory 1 
 Tanfxne animis ccelestibus irse? 
 Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; 
 With such holiness can you do it? 
 
 Suf. No malice, sir ; no more than well becomes 
 So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. 
 
 Glo. As who, my lord 1 
 
 Suf. Why, as you, my lord ; 
 
 An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 
 
 Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine inso- 
 lence. 
 
 Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace, 
 
 Good queen; ind whet not on these furious peers, 
 For blessed 'ire the peacemakers on earth. 
 
 Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, 
 \gainst this j roud protector with my sword ! 
 
 Glo. 'Faith holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to 
 that ! [Aside to the Cardinal. 
 
 Car. Marry, when t'ndu dar'st. [Aside. 
 
 Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter, 
 In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside. 
 
 » The falconer's term for hawking at water-fowl. 
 •Fon'* 
 
 Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep : an if thou 
 dar'st, 
 This evening on the east side of the grove. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. How now, my lords? 
 
 Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, 
 
 Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, 
 We had had more sport — Come with thy two- 
 hand sword. [Aside to Gloster. 
 
 Glo. True, uncle. 
 
 Car. Are you advis'd? — the east side of the grove 1 
 
 Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster? 
 
 Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. — 
 Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your 
 
 crown for this, 
 Or all my fence 5 shall fail. [Aside. 
 
 Car. Mediae, teipsum,- 
 Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. The winds grow high; so do your sto- 
 machs, lords. 
 How irksome is this music to my heart! 
 When such strings jar, what hope of harmony 1 
 I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 
 
 Enter an Inhabitant of Saint Alban's, crying, 
 
 A Miracle! 
 Glo. What means this noise ? 
 Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim? 
 Inhab. A miracle ! a miracle ! 
 Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle- 
 Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's 
 shrine, 
 Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight ; 
 A man, that ne'er saw in his life before. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd ! that to believing 
 souls 
 Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! 
 Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's, and his Breth- 
 ren; andSiMPCox, bornebctweentwoPersonsina 
 Chair,- /us Wife, andagreat Multitude following 
 Car. Here come the townsmen on procession 
 To present your highness with the man. 
 
 K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale. 
 Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 
 
 Glo. Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king, 
 His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. 
 
 A'. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, 
 That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
 What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd 1 
 Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. 
 Wife. Ay, indeed was he. 
 Suf. What woman is this? 
 Wife. His wife, an't like your worship. 
 Glo. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst 
 have better told. 
 
 ' Fence is the art of defence. 
 
488 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 K. Hen. Where wert thou born ? 
 
 Simp. At Berwick in the north,an't like your grace. 
 
 K. Hen. Poor soul! God's goodness hath been 
 great to thee: 
 Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass, 
 But still remember what the Lord hath done. 
 
 Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here 
 by chance, 
 Or of devotion, to this holy shrine? 
 
 Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being call'd 
 A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep 
 By good Saint Alban; who said, — Simpcox, come,- 
 Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee. 
 
 Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft 
 Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 
 
 Car. What, art thou lame ? 
 
 Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 
 
 Suf. How cam'st thou so ? 
 
 Simp. A fall off a tree. 
 
 Wife. A plum-tree, master. 
 
 Glo. How long hast thou been blind? 
 
 Simp. 0, born so, master. 
 
 Glo. What, and wouldst climb a tree? 
 
 Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. 
 
 Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. 
 
 Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst 
 venture so. 
 
 Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some 
 damsons, 
 And made me climb, with danger of my life. 
 
 Glo. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not serve. — 
 Let me see thine eyes: — wink now ; — now open 
 
 them ; 
 fn my opinion yet thou seest not well. 
 
 Simp. Yes, master, clear as day ; I thank God, 
 and Saint Alban. 
 
 Glo. Say'st thou me so? What color is this cloak of? 
 
 Simp. Red, master ; red as blood. 
 
 Glo. Why, that's well said: What color is my 
 gown of? 
 
 Simp. Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet. 
 
 K. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what color jet 
 is of? 
 
 Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 
 
 Glo. But cloaks and gowns.before this day ,a many. 
 
 Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. 
 
 Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name 1 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 
 
 Glo. What's his name ? 
 
 Simp. I know not. 
 
 Glo. Nor his ? 
 
 Simp. No, indeed, master. 
 
 Glo. What's thine own name? 
 
 Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, 
 master. 
 
 Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lyingest 
 knave 
 In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, 
 Thou mightst as well have known our names, as thus 
 To name the several colors we do wear. 
 Sight may distinguish of colors ; but suddenly 
 
 To nominate them all's impossible. 
 
 My lords, saint Alban here hath done a miracle; 
 Ana would ye not think that cunning to be great 
 That could restore this cripple to his legs ? 
 
 St/up. O, master, that you could ! 
 
 Glo. My masters of saint Alban's, have you not 
 beadles in your town, and things called whips? 
 
 May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. 
 
 Glo. Then send for one presently. 
 
 May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 
 Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by-and-by. [A 
 
 stool brought om£.] Now, sirrah, if you menu tu 
 save yourself from whipping, leap me over this 
 stool and run away. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone 
 You go about to torture me in vain. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle. 
 
 Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find youi 
 legs. Sirrah Beadle, whip him till he leap over 
 that same stool. 
 
 Bead. I will, my lord. — Come on, sirrah ; off 
 with your doublet quickly. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do ? I am not 
 able to stand. 
 
 [After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps 
 over the stool, and runs away,- and the 
 People follow, and cry, A Miracle ! 
 
 K. Hen.O God, sccst thou this, and bear'st so long? 
 
 Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain run. 
 
 Glo. Follow the knave ; and take this drab away 
 
 Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 
 
 Glo. Let them be whipped through every market 
 
 town, till they come to Berwick, whence they came, 
 
 [Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, <!fc 
 
 Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day 
 
 Suf. True ; made the lame to leap, and fly away 
 
 Glo. But you have done more miracles than I 
 You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly 
 Enter Buckingham. 
 
 K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Bucking- 
 ham? 
 
 Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. 
 A sort' of naughty persons lewdly 1 bent, — 
 Under the countenance and confederacy 
 Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife, 
 The ring-leader and head of all this rout, — 
 Have practis'd dangerously against your state, 
 Dealing with witches; and with conjurers: 
 Whom we have apprehended in the fact ; 
 Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, 
 Demanding of king Henry's life and death, 
 And other of your highness' privy council, 
 As more at large your grace shall understand. 
 
 Car. And so, my lord protector, by this mean 
 Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
 This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge - 
 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 
 [Aside to Glosteh 
 
 Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my 
 heart ! 
 Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers' 
 And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee, 
 Or to the meanest groom. 
 
 K. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked 
 ones; 
 Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest 
 And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 
 
 Glo. Madan,for myself, to heaven I do appeal, 
 How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal, 
 And, for my wife, I know not how it stands ; 
 Sorry I am to hear what I have heard : 
 Noble she is ; but if she have forgot 
 Honor, and virtue, and convers'd with such 
 As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
 I banish her my bed and company: 
 And give her, is a prey, to law, and shame, 
 That hath dishonored Gloster's honest name. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose u» 
 here : 
 To-morrow, toward London, back again, 
 To look into this business thoroughly, 
 
 • A company. 
 
 ' Wici -idly. 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 4Wi 
 
 And call these foul offenders to their answers ; 
 And poise' the cause injustice' equal scales, 
 Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre- 
 vails [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— London. The Duke of York's 
 
 Garden. 
 Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick. 
 
 York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and War- 
 wick, 
 Our simple supper ended, give me leave, 
 In this close walk, to satisfy myself, 
 In craving your opinion of my title, 
 Which is infallible to England's crown. 
 
 Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full. 
 
 War. Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good, 
 The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 
 
 York. Then thus: — 
 Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons : 
 The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Walos; 
 The second, William of Hatfield ; and the third, 
 Lionel, duke of Clarence ; next to whom, 
 Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster: 
 The fifth was Edmund Langley, duke of York; 
 The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of 
 
 Gloster; 
 William of Windsor was the seventh and last. 
 Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father; 
 And left behind him Richard, his only son, 
 Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign 'd asking; 
 Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, 
 The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
 Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
 Seiz'd on the realm; depos'd the rightful king; 
 Sen t his poor queen to France,from whence she came, 
 And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know, 
 Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. 
 
 War. Father, the duke hath told the truth; 
 Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. 
 
 York. Which now they hold by force, and not by 
 right; 
 For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead, 
 The issue of the next son should have reign'd. 
 
 Sal. But William of Hatfield died without an heir. 
 
 York. The third son, duke of Clarence, (from 
 whose line 
 I claim the crown,) had issue — Philippe, a daughter, 
 Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March: 
 Edmund had issue — Roger, earl of March: 
 Roger had issue — Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. 
 
 Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke, 
 As I have read, laid claim unto the crown; 
 And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, 
 Who kept him in captivity till he died. 
 But, to the rest. 
 
 York. His eldest sister, Anne, 
 
 My mother, being heir unto the crown, 
 Married Richard, earl of Cambridge; who was son 
 To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son. 
 By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir 
 To Roger, carl of March; who was the son 
 Of Edmund Mortimer; who married Philippe, 
 Sole, daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence: 
 So, if the issue of the elder son 
 Succeed before the younger, I am king. 
 
 War. What plain proceedings are more plain 
 than this? 
 Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, 
 The fourth son ; York claims it from the third. 
 Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign: 
 It fails n<<t yet ; but flourishes in thee, 
 4. nd in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. 
 •Weigh. 
 
 , Then father Salisbury, kneel we both together; 
 And in this private plot, 9 be we the first, 
 That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
 With honor of his birthright to the crown. 
 
 Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, Enfj> 
 
 gland's king! 
 York. We thank you, lords. But I am not your 
 king 
 Till I be crown'd : and that my sword be stain'd 
 With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster. 
 And that's not suddenly to be perform 'd ; 
 But with advice and silent secrecy. 
 Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days, 
 Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence, 
 At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition, 
 At Buckingham, and all the crew of them, 
 Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock, 
 That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey 
 'Tis that they seek : and they, in seeking that, 
 Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy. 
 Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind 
 
 at full. 
 War. My heart assures me, that the earl of 
 Warwick 
 Shall one day make the duke of York a king. 
 York. And Nevil, this I do assure myself, — 
 Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick 
 The greatest man in England, but the king. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Hall of Justice. 
 
 Trumpets sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen 
 Margaret, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and 
 Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloster, Mar- 
 gery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume, and Bo- 
 lingbroke, under guard. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham, 
 Gloster's wife: 
 In sight of God and us, your guilt is great; 
 Receive the sentence of the law for sins 
 Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. — 
 You four, from hence to prison back again ; 
 
 [To JoURDAIN, SfC. 
 
 From thence unto the place of execution : 
 The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, 
 And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. — 
 You, madam, for you are more nobly born, 
 Despoiled of your honor in your life, 
 Shall, after three days' open penance done, 
 Live in your country here, in banishment, 
 With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man. 
 
 Duch. Welcome is banishment, welcome were 
 my death. 
 
 • Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee; 
 I cannot justify whom the law condemns. — 
 
 • [Exeunt the Duchess, and the of her Prison 
 
 ers, guarded. 
 Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
 Ah, Humphrey, this dishonor in thine age 
 Will bring thy head with sorrow to the groun<* 
 I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go; 
 Sorrow would ' solace, and mine age would ease 
 
 K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster - en 
 thou go, 
 Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself 
 Protector be ; and God shall be my hope, 
 My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet . 
 And go in peace, Humphrey ; no less belov'd, 
 Than when thou wert protector to thy king. 
 
 Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of year* 
 Should be to be protected like a child. — 
 
 • Sequestered spot. 
 
 2 H 
 
490 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act u 
 
 Hod and king Henry govern England's helm : 
 'live uf your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 
 
 Glo. My staff? — here, noble Henry, is my staff; 
 As willingly do I the same resign, 
 \s e'er thy father Henry made it mine; 
 And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it, 
 As others would ambitiously receive it. 
 Farewell, good king: When I am dead and gone, 
 May honorable peace attend thy throne ! [Exit. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Marga- 
 ret queen ; 
 And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself, 
 That bears so shrewd a main ; two pulls at once, — 
 His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; 
 This staff of honor raught: 2 — There let it stand, 
 Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 
 
 Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his 
 sprays ; 
 Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. 
 
 York. Lords, let him go. — Please it your majesty, 
 This is the day appointed for the combat ; 
 And ready are the appellant and defendant, 
 The armorer and his man, to enter the lists, 
 So please your highness to behold the fight. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore 
 Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 
 
 K. Hen. 0' God's name, see the lists and all 
 things fit; 
 Here let them end it, and God defend the right ! 
 
 York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, 3 
 Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, 
 The servant of this armorer, my lords. 
 
 Enter, on one side, Horner, and his Neighbors, 
 drinking to him so much that he is drunk,- and 
 he enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag fas- 
 tened to it; a drum before him: at the other side, 
 PETT,-R,witha drum and a similar staff; accom- 
 panied by Prentices drinking to him. 
 
 1 Neigh. Here, neighbor Horner, I drink to you 
 in a cup of sack ; And fear not, neighbor, you shall 
 do well enough. 
 
 2 Neigh. And here, neighbor, here's a cup of 
 charneco. 4 
 
 3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer, 
 neighbor : drink, and fear not your man. 
 
 Hur. Let it come, i'faith, and I'll pledge you all ; 
 And a fig for Peter! 
 
 1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee ; and be 
 not afraid. 
 
 2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy mas- 
 ter ; fight for credit of the prentices. 
 
 Peter. I thank you all : drink and pray for me, 
 [ pray you; for, I think, I have taken my last 
 draught in this world. — Here, Robin, an if I die, I 
 give thee my apron ; and, Will, thou shalt have my 
 hammer: — and here, Tom, take all the money 
 that I have. Lord, bless me; I pray God! for 
 I am never able to deal with my master, he hath 
 learnt so much fence already. 
 
 Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to 
 blovvs. — Sirrah, what's thy name] 
 
 Peter. Peter, forsooth. 
 
 Sal. Peter ! what more 1 
 
 Peter. Thump. 
 
 Sal. Thump ! then see thou thump thy master 
 well. 
 
 Her. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon 
 my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and 
 myself an honest man: and touching the duke of 
 York, — will take my death, I never meant him any 
 ill, nor che king, nor the queen : And, therefore, 
 1 Resx-Dtxl. * In a worse plight. * A sort of sweet wine. 
 
 Peter, have at thee with a downright blow, as Bevis 
 of Southampton fell upon Ascapart. 
 
 York. Despatch : — this knave's tongue begins to 
 double. 
 Sound trumpets, alarum to the combatants. 
 
 [Alarum. They fight, and Peter strikes 
 down his Master. 
 
 Hor. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess 
 treason. [Bit* 
 
 York. Take away his weapon : — Fellow, thank 
 God, and the good wine in thy master's w»y. 
 
 Peter. O God! have I overcome mine enemies 
 in this presence] O Peter, thou hast prevailed in 
 right ! 
 
 K.Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our sigh.'; 
 For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt: 
 And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us 
 The truth and innocence of this poor fellow 
 Which he had thought to have murder'd wrong- 
 fully,— 
 Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Street. 
 Enltr Gloster and Servants, in mourning cloala 
 
 Glo. Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a 
 cloud ; 
 And, after summer, ever more succeeds 
 Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold: 
 So cares and joys abound as seasons fleet. — 
 Sirs, what's o'clock ] 
 
 Serv. Ten, my lord. 
 
 Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me, 
 To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess: 
 Uneath 5 may she endure the flinty streets. 
 To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
 Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 
 The abject people, gazing on thy face, 
 With envious looks, still laughing at thy shame; 
 That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels, 
 When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets 
 But, soft! I think, she comes; and I'll prepare 
 My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. 
 Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a whitt iheel 
 
 with papers pinned upon her back, her feet bare. 
 
 and a taper burning in her hand; Sin John 
 
 Stanley, a Sheriff, and Officers. 
 
 Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from 
 the sheriff* 
 
 Glo. No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by, 
 
 Duch. Come you. my lord, to see my open shame] 
 Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze ! 
 See, how the giddy multitude do point, 
 And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee' 
 Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful look.*' 
 And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame, 
 And Ian 6 thine enemies, both mine and thine. 
 
 Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell ; forget this grief. 
 
 Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself. 
 For, whilst I think I am thy married wife, 
 And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
 Methinks, I should not thus be led along, 
 Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back ; 
 And follow 'd with a rabble, that rejoice 
 To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet 1 groans. 
 The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet: 
 And, when I start, the envious people laugh, 
 And bid me be advised how I tread. 
 Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke ] 
 Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world ', 
 Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun 1 
 No ; dark shall be my light, and night my day , 
 
 »Noteasi>r •> Curw> iwep-fetchcd. 
 
A.CJ III. Scene I 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 49i 
 
 To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell. 
 
 Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife; 
 
 And he a prince, and ruler of the land : 
 
 i'et s he rul'd, and such a prince he was, 
 
 As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess, 
 
 Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock, 
 
 To every idle rascal follower. 
 
 But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame; 
 
 Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death 
 
 Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will. 
 
 For Suffolk, — he that can do all in all 
 
 With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all, — 
 
 And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest, 
 
 Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings, 
 
 And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee: 
 
 But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd, 
 
 Nor ever seek prevention of thy foes. 
 
 Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry; 
 I must offend, before I be attainted: 
 And had I twenty times so many foes, 
 And each of them had twenty times their power, 
 All these could not procure me any scathe, 8 
 So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 
 Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach] 
 Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away, 
 But I in danger for the breach of law. 
 Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell : 
 [ pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ! 
 These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. 
 
 Enter a Herald. 
 
 Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's 
 parliament, holden at Bury the first of this next 
 month. 
 
 Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before ! 
 This is close dealing. — Well, I will be there. 
 
 [Exit Herald. 
 My Nell, I take my leave: — and, master sheriff, 
 Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 
 
 Sher, A n't please your grace, here my com- 
 mission stays: 
 
 And sir John Stanley is appointed now, 
 To take her with him to the Isle of Man. 
 
 Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here 1 
 
 Stan. So am I given in charge, may't please your 
 grace. 
 
 Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray 
 You use her well: the world may laugh again; 
 And I may live to do you kindness, if 
 You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell. 
 
 Duch. What, gone, my lord; and bid me not 
 farewell ] 
 
 Glo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Servants 
 
 Duch. Art thou gone tool All comfort go with 
 thee! 
 For none abides with me : my joy is death ; 
 Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd, 
 Because I wish'd this world's eternity. — 
 Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence; 
 I care not whither, for I beg no favor, 
 Only convey me where thou art commanded. 
 
 Stan. Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man, 
 There to be used according to your state. 
 
 Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: 
 And shall I then be used reproachfully ? 
 
 Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's 
 lady, 
 According to that state you shall be used. 
 
 Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare ; 
 Although thou hast been conduct 1 of my shame ! 
 
 Sher. It is my office, madam, pardon me. 
 
 Duch. Ay, ay, farewell, thy office is discharged. — 
 Come, Stanley, shall we go] 
 
 Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this 
 sheet, 
 And go we to attire you for our journey. 
 
 Duch. My shame will not be shifted with mv 
 sheet: 
 No, it will hang upon my richest robes, 
 And show itself attire me how I can. 
 Go, lead the way ; I long to see my prison. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Abbey at Bury. 
 
 inter to the Parliament, King Henry, Queen- 
 Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, 
 York, Buckingham, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. I muse, 9 my lord of Gloster is not come : 
 ! Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, 
 Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 
 
 Q. Mar. Can you not see] or will you not ob- 
 serve 
 The strangeness of his alter'd countenance] 
 With what a majesty he bears himself; 
 How insolent of late he is become, 
 How proud, peremptory, and unlike himself] 
 We know the time since he was mild and affable; 
 And, if we did but glance a far-off look, 
 Immediately he was upon his knee, 
 That all the court admir'd him for submission : 
 But. meet him now, and, be it in the morn, 
 When every one will give the time of day, 
 He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye, 
 And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, 
 Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
 Small curs are not regarded, when they grin; 
 But great men tremble when the lion roars; 
 Vnd Humphrey is no little man in England. 
 • Harm, mischief. • Wonder. 
 
 First, note, that he is near you in descent ; 
 And should you fall, he is the next will mount 
 Me seemeth, then, it is no policy, — 
 Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears, 
 And his advantage following your decease, — 
 That he should come about your royal person, 
 Or be admitted to your highness' council. 
 By flattery hath he won the commons' heart; 
 And, when he please to make commotion, 
 'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him. 
 Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted 1 
 Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden. 
 And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
 The reverent care, I bear unto my lord, 
 Made me collect/ 1 these dangers in the duke- 
 If it be fond, 3 call it a woman's fear : 
 Which fear, if better reasons can supplant. 
 I will subscribe and say, — I wrong'd the duke. 
 My lord of Suffolk, — Buckingham, — and York,- 
 Reprove my allegation, if you can ; 
 Or else conclude my words effectual. 
 
 Suf. Well hath your highness seen into thisduke 
 And, had I first b^en put to speak my mind, 
 I think, I should have told your grace's tale. 
 The duchess, by his subornation, 
 Upon my life, began her devilish "radices: 
 « Conductor. « i. e. Observe. • Foolish. 
 
492 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act A\ 
 
 Or if he were not privy to those faults, 
 Yet by reputing of his high descent, 4 
 (As next the king he was successive heir,) 
 And such high vaunts of his nobility, 
 Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess, 
 By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 
 Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; 
 And in his simple show he harbors treason. 
 The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb. 
 No, no, my sovereign ; Gloster is a man 
 Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit. 
 
 Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
 Devise strange deaths for small offences done ? 
 York. And did he not, in his protectorship, 
 Levy great sums of money through the realm, 
 For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it? 
 By means whereof, the towns each day revolted. 
 Buck. Tut! these are petty fau u « to faults un- 
 known, 
 Which time will bring to light in smooth duke 
 Humphrey. 
 K. Hen. My lords, at once : The care you have 
 of us, 
 To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, 
 Is worthy praise : But shall I speak my conscience] 
 Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent 
 From meaning treason to our royal person, 
 As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove : 
 The duke is virtuous, mild; and too well given, 
 To dream on evil, or to work my downfall. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond 
 affiance ! 
 Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd, 
 For he's disposed as the hateful raven, 
 is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, 
 For he's inclin'd as are the ravenous wolves. 
 Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit? 
 Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 
 Hangs on the' cutting short that fraudful man. 
 Enter Somerset. 
 Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign ! 
 K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What news 
 
 from France? 
 Som. That all your interest in those territories 
 Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 
 
 K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset : But God's 
 
 will be done ! 
 York. Cold news for me ; for I had hope of 
 France, 
 As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
 Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, 
 A nd caterpillars eat my leaves away ; 
 But I will remedy this gear 5 ere long, 
 Or sell my title for a glorious grave. [Aside. 
 
 Enter Glosteb. 
 Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king ! 
 Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long. 
 
 Suf. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art come too 
 soon, 
 Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: 
 I do arrest thee of high treason here. 
 
 Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see me 
 blush, 
 Nor change my countenance for this arrest; 
 A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 
 The purest spring is not so free from mud, 
 A 3 I am clear from treason to my sovereign : 
 Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty ? 
 York. Tis thought, my brd, that you took bribes 
 of France, 
 
 ♦ i. «. Valuing himself en his high descent. 
 
 < (l.^r was a general word for things or matters. 
 
 And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay 
 By means whereof, his highness hath lost France 
 
 Glo. Is it but thought so ? What are thev that 
 think it ? 
 I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, 
 Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. 
 So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, — 
 Ay, night by night, — in studying good for England 
 That doit that e'er I wrested from the king, 
 Or any groat I hoarded to my use, 
 Be brought against me at my trial day ! 
 No ! many a pound of mine own proper stoie, 
 Because I would not tax the needy commons, 
 Have I disbursed to the garrisons, 
 And never ask'd for restitution. 
 
 Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much 
 
 Glo. I say no more than truth, so help me God. 
 
 York. In your protectorship, you did devise. 
 Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, 
 That England was defamed by tyranny. 
 
 Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that whiles I was 
 protector, 
 Pity was all the fault that was in me ; 
 For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
 And lowly words were ransom for their fault. 
 Unless it were a bloody murderer, 
 Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers, 
 I never gave them condign punishment: 
 Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd 
 Above the felon, or what trespass else. 
 
 Suf. My lord, these faults are easy, 6 quickly an- 
 swer'd : 
 But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, 
 Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
 I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
 And here commit you to my lord cardinal 
 To keep, until your further time of trial. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope 
 That you will clear yourself from all suspects; 
 My conscience tells me, you are innocent. 
 
 Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous 
 Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition, 
 And charity chased hence by rancor's hand ; 
 Foul subornation is predominant, 
 And equity exiled your highness' land. 
 I know, their complot is to have my life; 
 And, if my death might make this island happy. 
 And prove the period of their tyranny, 
 I would expend it with all willingness: 
 But mine is made the prologue to their play: 
 For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril. 
 Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
 Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malif e 
 And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate ; 
 Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue 
 The envious load (hat lies upon his heart ; 
 And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, 
 Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back, 
 Bv false accuse doth level at my life : — 
 And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, 
 Causeless have laid disgraces on my head ; 
 And, with your best endeavor, have stir-'d up 
 My liefest' liege to be mine enemy;— 
 Ay, all of you have laid your heads together, 
 Myself had notice of your conventicles, 
 I shall not want false witness to condemn me, 
 Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt ; 
 The ancient proverb will be well affected, — 
 A staff is quickly found to beat, a dog. 
 
 Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable • 
 If those that care to keep your royal person 
 From treason's secret knife, ind traitcrs' rage, 
 « Easily. ' Dearest 
 
Scene i 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 4to 
 
 Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, 
 And the oifender granted scope of speech, 
 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace. 
 
 Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here, 
 With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd, 
 As if she had suborned some to swear 
 False allegations to o'erthrow his state ? 
 
 Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. 
 
 Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant : I lose, indeed; — 
 Beshrew the winners, for they played me false! 
 And well such losers may have leave to speak. 
 
 Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold ns here 
 all day: — 
 Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. 
 
 Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. 
 
 Glo. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch, 
 Before his legs be firm to bear his body : 
 Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, 
 And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. 
 Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were ! 
 For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants, with Gloster. 
 
 K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth 
 best, 
 Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the par- 
 liament? 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd 
 with grief, 
 Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes; 
 My body round engirt with misery ; 
 For what's more miserable than discontent? 
 Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see 
 The map of honor, truth, and loyalty; 
 And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come, 
 That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. 
 What low'ring star now envies thy estate, 
 That these great lords, and Margaret our queen, 
 Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? 
 Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong; 
 And as the butcher takes away the calf, 
 And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, 
 Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house ; 
 Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence. 
 And as the dam runs lowing up and down, 
 Looking the way her harmless young one went, 
 And can do nought but wail her darling's loss ; 
 Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case, 
 With sad unhelpful tears; and with dimm'd eyes 
 Look after him, and cannot do him good; 
 So mighty are his vowed enemies. 
 His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan, 
 Say, — Who's a traitor, Gloster he is none. [Exit. 
 
 Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with the 
 sun's hot beams. 
 Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, 
 Too full of foolish pity; and Gloster's show 
 Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile 
 With sorrow snares relenting passengers; 
 Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering bank, 
 With shining checker'd slough, 8 doth sting a child, 
 That, for the beauty, thinks it excellent. 
 Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, 
 (And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,) 
 This Gloster should be quickly rid the world, 
 To rid us from the fear we have of him. 
 
 Car. That he should die, is worthy policy: 
 But yet we want a color for his death: 
 'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 
 
 Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy: 
 The king will labor still to save his life, 
 The commons haply rise to save his life; 
 • Skin. 
 
 And yet we have but trivial argument, 
 
 More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death 
 
 York. So that, by this, you would not have him die. 
 
 Suf. Ah. York, no man alive so fain as I. 
 
 York. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his 
 death. — 
 But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk, — 
 Say as you think, and speak it from your souls.- 
 Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
 To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, 
 As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector'' 
 
 Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. 
 
 Suf. Madam, 'tis true: And were't not madness 
 then, 
 To make the fox surveyor of the fold ? 
 Who being accus'd a crafty murderer, 
 His guilt should be but idly posted over, 
 Because his purpose is not executed. 
 No ; let him die, in that he is a fox, 
 By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, 
 Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood; 
 As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. 
 And do not stand on quillets how to slay him : 
 Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty, 
 Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how, 
 So he be dead; for that is good deceit 
 Which mates 9 him first, that first intends deceit. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk,'tis resolutely spoke 
 
 Suf Not resolute, except so much were done; 
 For things are often spoke, and seldom meant: 
 But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,— 
 Seeing the deed is meritorious, 
 And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, 
 Say but the word, and I will be his priest. 
 
 Car. But I would have him dead, my lord of 
 Suffolk, 
 Ere you can take due orders for a priest: 
 Say, you consent, and censure well the deed, 
 And I'll provide his executioner, 
 I tender so the safety of my liege. 
 
 Suf Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing. 
 
 Q. Mar. And so say I. 
 
 York. And I : and now we three have spoke it, 
 It skills not greatly' who impugns our doom. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain, 
 To signify — that rebels there are up, 
 And put the Englishmen unto the sword: 
 Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime, 
 Before the wound do grow incurable; 
 For, being green, there is great hope of help. 
 
 Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient' 
 stop! 
 What counsel give you in this weighty cause? 
 
 York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither: 
 'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ 'd; 
 Witness the fortune he hath had in France. 
 
 Sorn. If York, with all his far-fet 3 policy, 
 Had been the regent there instead of me, 
 He never would have staid in France so long. 
 
 York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done 
 I rather would have lost my life betimes, 
 Than bring a burden of dishonor home, 
 By staying there so long, till all were lost. 
 Show me one scar charActer'd on thy skin : 
 Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a ragniB 
 fire, 
 If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with ■ — 
 No more, good York; — sweet Somerset, be still 
 
 9 Matches. 
 * Expeditious. 
 
 1 It is of nc importance. 
 » Far-fetched. 
 
494 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act II) 
 
 Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, 
 Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. 
 
 v ork. What, worse than naught ] nay, then a 
 shame take all ! 
 
 Som. And, in the number, thee, that wishest 
 shame J 
 
 Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. 
 The uncivil kernes 4 of Ireland are in arms, 
 And temper clay with blood of Englishmen: 
 To Ireland will you lead a band of men, 
 Collected choicely, from each county some, 
 And try your hap against the Irishmen] 
 
 York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. 
 
 Suf. Why, our authority is his consent; 
 And, what we do establish, he confirms: 
 Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. 
 
 York. I am content: Provide me soldiers, lords, 
 Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. 
 
 Suf. A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd. 
 But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. 
 
 Car. No more of him ; for I will deal with him, 
 That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more. 
 And so break off; the day is almost spent: 
 Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. 
 
 York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days, 
 At Bristol I expect my soldiers; 
 For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. 
 
 Suf. I'll see it truly done, my lord of York. 
 
 [Exeunt all but York. 
 
 York. Now, York, or never, steel Jhy fearful 
 thoughts, 
 And change misdoubt to resolution : 
 Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art 
 Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying: 
 Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man, 
 And find no harbor in a royal heart. 
 Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought 
 
 on thought; 
 And not a thought, but thinks on dignity. 
 My brain, more busy than the laboring spider, 
 Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
 Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done, 
 To send me packing with an host of men : 
 I fear me, you but warm the starved snake, 
 Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your 
 
 hearts. 
 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me: 
 I take it kindly ; yet, be well assur'd 
 You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
 Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, 
 I will stir up in England some black storm, 
 Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell : 
 And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 
 Until the golden circuit on my head, 
 Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, 
 Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. 1 
 And for a minister of my intent, 
 I have seduced a head-strong Kentishman, 
 John Cade of Ashford, 
 To make commotion, as full well he can, 
 Under the title of John Mortimer. 
 In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 
 Oppose himself against a troop of kernes ; 
 And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts 
 Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine; 
 And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him 
 Cape? upright like a wild Morisco, 
 Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. 
 Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne, 
 Hath he conversed with the enemy : 
 ?»rid undiscover'd come tc me again, 
 
 .!k tea ijot-soldierF, light-armed. * A violentgust of wind. 
 .'_ M<»>r i" a ipr>rri8 dance. 
 
 And given ire notice of their villanics. 
 
 This devil here shall be my substitute ; 
 
 For that John Mortimer, which now is deau, 
 
 In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble : 
 
 By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, 
 
 How they affect the house and claim of York. 
 
 Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured : 
 
 I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him, 
 
 Will make him say — I mov'd him to those arm» 
 
 Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,) 
 
 Why then from Ireland come I with my strength. 
 
 And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd : 
 
 For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, 
 
 And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit 
 
 SCENE II.— Bury. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter certain Murderers, hastily. 
 
 1 Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk ; let him know. 
 We have despatch'd the duke as he commanded. 
 
 2 Mur. O, that it were to do ! — What have vn 
 
 done] 
 Didst ever hear a man so penitent] 
 
 Enter Suffolk. 
 
 1 Mur. Here comes my lord. 
 
 Suf. Now, sirs, have you 
 
 Despatch'd this thing] 
 
 1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead 
 
 Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my 
 house ; 
 I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
 The king and all the peers are here at hand: — 
 Have you laid fair the bed ] are all things well. 
 According as I gave directions ] 
 
 1 Mur. 'Tis, my good lord. 
 
 Suf. Away, begone ! [Exeunt. Murderers. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardi- 
 nal Bf.aufort, Somerset, Lords, and others. 
 K. Hen. Go call our uncle to our presence 
 straight : 
 Say, we intend to try his grace to-day, 
 If he be guilty, as 'tis published. 
 
 Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. 
 K. Hen. Lords, take your places ; — And, I pray 
 you all, 
 Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster, 
 Than from true evidence, of good esteem, 
 He be approv'd in practice culpable. 
 
 Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevav 
 That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! 
 Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion ! 
 
 K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these won' 
 content me much. — 
 
 Re-enter Suffolk. 
 How now] why look'st thou pale] why trem blest 
 
 thou] 
 Where is our uncle ] what is the matter, Suffolk .' 
 Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord : Gloster is dead. 
 Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend ! 
 Car. God's secret judgment : — I did dream to- 
 night, 
 The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word 
 [The King swMns 
 Q. Mar. How fares my lord] — Help, lords! the 
 
 king is dead. 
 Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the no»e, 
 Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help !— O, Henry, opt' 
 
 thine eyes ! 
 Suf. He doth revive again ; — Madam, be paticnl 
 K. Hen. O heavenly God! 
 Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord 1 
 
ScfiNE II. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 495 
 
 Suf. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, 
 
 comfort ! 
 K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort 
 me? 
 Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 
 Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; 
 And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, 
 By crying comfort from a hollow breast, 
 Can chase away the first-conceived sound ? 
 Hide not thy poisun with such sugar'd words, 
 Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say; 
 Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting. 
 Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight ! 
 Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 
 Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 
 Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding: — 
 Yet do not go away ; — Come, basilisk, 
 And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight: 
 For in the shade of death I shall find joy ! 
 In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead. 
 Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk 
 thus 1 
 Although the duke was enemy to him, 
 Yet he, most christian-like, laments his death : 
 And for myself, — foe as he was to me, 
 Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, 
 Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life, 
 I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, 
 Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs, 
 And all to have the noble duke alive. 
 What know I how the world may deem of me? 
 For it is known, we were but hollow friends; 
 It may be judg'd, I made the duke away ; 
 So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, 
 And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. 
 This get I by his death: Ah me, unhappy ! 
 To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy ! 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched 
 
 man ! 
 Q. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than 
 he is. 
 W hat, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face ? 
 I am no loathsome leper, look on me. 
 What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? 
 Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. 
 Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb ? 
 Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy ; 
 Erect his statue then, and worship it, 
 And make my image but an alehouse sign. 
 Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea; 
 And twice by awkward wind from England's bank 
 Drove back again unto my native clime? 
 What boded this, but well-forewarning wind 
 Did seem to say, — Seek not a scorpion's nest, 
 Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ? 
 What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts, 
 And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves; 
 And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore, 
 Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? 
 Yet ^Eolus would not be a murderer, 
 But left that hateful office unto thee : 
 The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me: 
 Knowing, that thou wouldst have me drown'd on 
 
 shore, 
 With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness: 
 The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands, 
 And would not dash me with their ragged sides; 
 Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, 
 Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 
 As far as I coul 1 ken thy chalky cliffs, 
 When from the shore the tempest beat us back 
 I stood upon the hatches in the storm : 
 Vnd when the dusky sky began to rob 
 
 like 
 
 My earnest-gaping sight of thy Ian l's view. 
 
 I took a costly jewel from my neck, — 
 
 A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, 
 
 And threw it towards thy land ; — the sea rece .v'd it, 
 
 And sp, I wish'd, thy body might my heart ; 
 
 And even with this, I lost fair England's view, 
 
 And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart: 
 
 And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles, 
 
 For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 
 
 How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue 
 
 (The agent of thy foul inconstancy; 
 
 To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did, 
 
 When he to madding Dido would unfold 
 
 His father's acts, commenced in burning Troy ? 
 
 Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false li 
 
 him? 
 Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret! 
 For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long. 
 Noise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury. 
 The Commons press to the door 
 War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, 
 That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd 
 By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. 
 The commons, like an angry hive of bees. 
 That want their leader, scatter up and down, 
 And care not who they sting in his revenge. 
 Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny, 
 Until they hear the order of his death. 
 
 K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too 
 true ; 
 But how he died, God knows, not Henry: 
 Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, 
 And comment then upon his sudden death. 
 
 War. That I shall do, my liege: — Stay, Salisbury, 
 With the rude multitude, till I return. 
 
 [Warwick goes into an inner Room, and 
 Salisbury retires. 
 K. Hen. O thou that judgest all things, stay my 
 thoughts : 
 My thoughts, that labor to persuade my soul, 
 Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life ! 
 If my suspect be false, forgive me, God ; 
 For judgment only doth belong to thee! 
 Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
 With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain 
 Upon his face an ocean of salt tears ; 
 To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk. 
 And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling: 
 But all in vain are these mean obsequies; 
 And, to survey his dead and earthy image, 
 What were it but to make my sorrow greater ? 
 The fo/ditig doors of an inner chamber are thrown 
 open, and Gloster is discovered dead in his bed: 
 Warwick and others standing by it. 
 
 War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this 
 body. 
 
 K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is 
 made: 
 For, with his soul fled all my worldly solace; 
 For seeing him, I see my life in death.' 
 
 War. As surely as my soul intends to live 
 With that dread King that took our state upon hin 
 To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, 
 I do believe that violent hands were laid 
 Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 
 
 Suf. A dreadful oath.sworn with a solemn tongue 
 What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow'' 
 
 War. See how the blood is settled in his fac ' 
 Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, 8 
 Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodkss. 
 
 1 i. e. I see my life endangered by his death. 
 • The body of one who had died a natural death. 
 
496 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act Tl] 
 
 Being all descended to the laboring heart: 
 Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, 
 Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy ; 
 Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth 
 To blush and beautify the cheek again. 
 But, see, his face is black, and full of blood ; 
 His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd, 
 Staring full ghastly like a strangled man : 
 His hair uprear'd, his nostrils strctch'd with strug- 
 gling; 
 His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp d 
 And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdued. 
 Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking ; 
 His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged, 
 Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
 It cannot be, but he was murder'd here; 
 The least of all these signs were probable. 
 
 Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke 
 to death 1 
 Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection; 
 And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 
 
 War. But both of you were vow'd duke Hum- 
 phrey's foes ; 
 And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep: 
 'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend; 
 And 'tis well seen he found an enemy. 
 
 Q .Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noble- 
 men 
 As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. 
 War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding 
 fresh, 
 And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, 
 But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter? 
 Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest, 
 But may imagine how the bird was dead, 
 Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak 1 
 Even so suspicious is this tragedy. 
 
 Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk] where's 
 your knife] 
 Is Beaufort term'd a kite] where are his talons] 
 Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men ; 
 But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, 
 That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart, 
 That slanders me with murder's crimson badge : — 
 Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire, 
 That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. 
 
 [Exeunt Cardinal, Som., andothers. 
 War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk 
 
 dare him] 
 Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious 
 spirit, 
 Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, 
 Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. 
 War. Madam, be still ; with reverence may I say; 
 For every word, you speak in his behalf, 
 Is slander to your royal dignity. 
 
 Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanor! 
 If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, 
 Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
 Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 
 Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art, 
 And never of the Nevil's noble race. 
 
 War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, 
 And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, 
 Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 
 And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
 I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 
 Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, 
 And say — it was thy mother that thou meant'st, 
 That thou thyself wast born in bastardy; 
 And, aftei all this fearful homage done, 
 Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, 
 "ern'cious bloodsucker of sleeping men ! 
 
 Suf. Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood, 
 If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. 
 
 War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence 
 Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, 
 And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. 
 [Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick. 
 K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart 
 untainted] 
 Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just ; 
 And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, 
 Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 
 
 [A ?ioise within. 
 Q. Mar. What noise is this ] 
 Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their 
 weapons drawn. 
 K. Hen. Why, how now, lords ] your wrathful 
 weapons drawn 
 Here in our presence ] dare you be so bold ] — 
 Why, what tumultuous clamor have we here ? 
 Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of 
 Bury, 
 Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 
 Noise of a Crowd within. Re-enter Salisbury. 
 Sal. Sirs, stand apart ; the king shall know your 
 mind. — [Speaking to those within. 
 
 Dread lord, the commons send you word by me, 
 Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death, 
 Or banished fair England's territories, 
 They will by violence tear him from your palace 
 And torture him with grievous ling'ring death. 
 They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died 
 They say, in him they fear your highness' death 
 And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, — 
 Free from a stubborn opposite intent, 
 As being thought to contradict your liking, — 
 Makes them thus forward in his banishment. 
 They say, in care of your most royal person, 
 That, if your highness should intend to sleep, 
 And charge — that no man should disturb your rest, 
 In pain of your dislike, or pain of death ; 
 Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict, 
 Were there a serpent seen, witn forked tongue, 
 That slily glided towards your majesty, 
 It were but necessary, you were waked ; 
 Lest, being suffer'd, in that harmful slumber, 
 The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal: 
 And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, 
 That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no, 
 From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is ; 
 With whose envenomed and fatal sting, 
 Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, 
 They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 
 
 Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king, 
 
 my lord of Salisbury. 
 Suf. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds, 
 Could send such message to their sovereign: 
 But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, 
 To show how quaint" an orator you are : 
 But all the honor Salisbury hath won, 
 Is — that he was the lord ambassador, 
 Sent from a sort 1 of tinkers to the king. 
 
 Commons. [Within.'] An answer from the king, 
 
 or we'll b:eak in. 
 K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from in«j 
 I thank them for their tender loving care: 
 And had I not been 'cited so by them, 
 Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; 
 For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
 Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's mean*. 
 And therefore, — by His Majesty I swear, 
 Whose far unworthy deputy I am, — 
 
 » Dexterous. » Company 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY ^ 
 
 40? 
 
 He shall not breathe infection in this air 
 Bot three days longer, on the pain of death. 
 
 [Exit Salisbury. 
 
 Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk. 
 
 K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suf- 
 folk. 
 No more, I say ; if thou dost plead for him, 
 Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
 Had I but said, I would have kept my word ; 
 But, when I swear, it is irrevocable : — 
 If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found 
 On any ground that I am ruler of, 
 The world shall not be ransom for thy life. — 
 Come, Warwick, come good Warwick, go with 
 
 me; 
 I have great matters to impart to thee. 
 
 [Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, S^c. 
 
 Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with 
 you! 
 Heart's discontent and sour affliction, 
 Be playfellows to keep you company ! 
 There's two of you ; the devil make a third! 
 And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps! 
 
 Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, 
 And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. 
 
 Q. Mar. Fye, coward woman, and soft-hearted 
 wretch ! 
 Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies 1 
 
 Suf. A plague upon them ! wherefore should I 
 curse them I 
 Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
 I would invent as bitter-searching terms. 
 As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, 
 Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
 With full as many signs of deadly hate, 
 As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave: 
 My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words: 
 Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint; 
 My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract; 
 Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban: 
 And even now my burden'd heart would break, 
 Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink ! 
 Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste ! 
 Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees ! 
 Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks ! 
 Their softest touch, as sharp as lizards' stings ! 
 Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss! 
 And boding screech-owls make the concert full ! 
 All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell — 
 
 Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou torment'st 
 thyself; 
 And these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass, 
 Or like an overcharged gun — recoil, 
 And turn the force of them upon thyself. 
 
 Suf. You bade me ban, 5 and will you bid me leave? 
 Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, 
 Well could I curse away a winter's night, 
 Though standing naked on a mountain top, 
 Where biting cold would never let grass grow, 
 And think it but a minute spent in sport. 
 
 Q. Mar. let me entreat thee, cease ! Give me 
 thy hand, 
 That I may dew it with my mournful tears; 
 Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, 
 To wash away my woeful monuments. 
 0, could this kiss be printed in thy hand ; 
 
 [Kisses his hand. 
 That thou mightst think upon these by the seal, 
 Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for 
 
 thee! 
 Bo, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; 
 Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by, 
 » Curse. 
 
 As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 
 
 I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd, 
 
 Adventure to be banished myself: 
 
 And banished I am, if but from thee. 
 
 Go, speak not to me ; even now be gone. — 
 
 0, go not yet! — Even thus two friends condemn'd 
 
 Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, 
 
 Loather a hundred times to part than die. 
 
 Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee ! 
 
 Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, 
 Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. 
 "Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence ; 
 A wilderness is populous enough, 
 So Suffolk had thy heavenly company; 
 For where thou art, there is the world itse'f, 
 With every several pleasure in the world ; 
 And where thou art not, desolation. 
 I can no more: — live thou to joy thy life; 
 Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. 
 
 E titer Vaux. 
 
 Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast 1 what news 
 I pr'ythee? 
 
 Vaux. To signify unto his majesty, 
 That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death: 
 For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 
 That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, 
 Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. 
 Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost 
 Were by his side; sometime, he calls the king, 
 And whispers to his pillow, as to him, 
 The secret of his overcharged soul : 
 And I am sent to tell his majesty, 
 That even now he cries aloud for him. 
 
 Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king 
 
 [Exit Vaux. 
 Ah me ! what is this world ? what news are these 1 
 But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, 
 Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ' 
 Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee. 
 And with the southern clouds contend in tears ; 
 Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrow s! 
 Now, get thee hence: The king, tho'i know'st, fa 
 
 coming: 
 If thou be found by me, thou art but dead. 
 
 Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live 
 And in thy sight to die, what were it else, 
 But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap] 
 Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
 As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, 
 Dying with mother's dug between its lips: 
 Where, 3 from thy sight, I should be raging mad 
 And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes, 
 To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ; 
 So shouldst thou either turn my flying soai, 
 Or I should breathe it so into thy body, 
 And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. 
 To die by thee, were but to die in jest ; 
 From thee to die, were torture more tnan uemti: 
 O, let me stay, befall what may befall. 
 
 Q. Mar. Away ! though parting be a fretful coi 
 rosive, 
 It is applied to a deathful wound. 
 To France, sweet Suffolk : let me hear from the* 
 For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe 
 I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. 
 
 Suf. I go. 
 
 Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. 
 
 Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask 
 That ever did contain a thing of worth. 
 Even as a splitted bark, sn cunder we, 
 This way fall I to death. 
 
498 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Acr IV 
 
 Q. Mar. This way for me. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE III. — London. Cardinal Beaufort's 
 
 Bed-chamber. 
 
 E/i/er King Hexry,Salisbuiiy,Waiiwick, and 
 
 others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with 
 
 him. 
 
 K. Hen. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort, 
 to thy sovereign. 
 
 Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's 
 treasure, 
 Enough to purchase such another island, 
 So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
 When death's approach is seen so terrible ! 
 
 War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 
 
 Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
 Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ? 
 Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no? — 
 O! torture me no more, I will confess. — 
 \live again ? then show me where he is ; 
 f'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. — 
 
 He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.- 
 Comb down his hair! look! look! it stands upright 
 Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul! — 
 Give me some drink; and bid the apothecan 
 Bring the strong poison that I bought of him 
 
 K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens. 
 Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 
 0, beat away the busy meddling fiend, 
 That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, 
 And from his bosom purge this black despair ! 
 
 War. See how the pangs of death do make him 
 grin. 
 
 Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. 
 
 K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea 
 sure be ! 
 Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
 Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — 
 He dies, and makes no sign; O God, forgive him 
 
 War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 
 
 K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for wc are sinners 
 all. — 
 Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close ; 
 And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I. — Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover. 
 
 Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat a 
 Captain, a Master, a Master's Mate, Walter 
 Whitmore, and others,- with them Suffolk 
 and other Gentlemen, Prisoners. 
 
 Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful 4 day 
 Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; 
 And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
 That drag the tragic melancholy night; 
 Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings 
 Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws, 
 Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
 Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize; 
 For, whilst our pinnace 5 anchors in the Downs, 
 Here shall they make their ransom on the sand, 
 Or with their blood stain this discolor'd shore. — 
 Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; — 
 And Ihou that art his mate, make boot of this; — 
 The other, [Pointing to Suffolk.] Walter Whit- 
 more, is thy share. 
 1 Gent. What is my ransom, master] let me know. 
 Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your 
 
 head. 
 Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes 
 
 yours. 
 Cap. What, think you much to pay two thou- 
 sand crowns, 
 And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? — 
 Cut both the villains' throats; — for die you shall: 
 The lives of those which we have lost in fight, 
 Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. 
 
 1 Gent. I'll give it, sir ; and therefore spare my life. 
 
 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it 
 
 straight. 
 Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, 
 And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die ; 
 
 [To Suffolk. 
 And so should these, if I might have my will. 
 Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransom, let him live. 
 Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman ; 
 Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. 
 Whit. And so am I ; — my name is — Walter 
 
 Whitmore. 
 4 Pitiful. » A ship of small burden. 
 
 How now ? why start'st thou ? what, doth death 
 affright? 
 
 Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is 
 death. 
 A cunning man did calculate my birth, 
 And told me — that by Water I should die: 
 Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded ; 
 Thy name is — Gualiier, being rightly sounded. 
 
 Whit. Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, I sare 
 not; 
 Ne'er yet did base dishonor blur our name, 
 But with our sword we wiped away the blot; 
 Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, 
 Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, 
 And I proclaim'd a coward through the world ! 
 
 [Lays hold on Suffolk 
 
 Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a prince, 
 The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. 
 
 Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags! 
 
 Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the 
 duke; 
 Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not 1 ? 
 
 Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. 
 
 Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's 
 blood, 
 The honorable blood of Lancaster, 
 Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.' 
 Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup' 
 Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule, 
 And thought thee happy when I shook my head ! 
 How often hast thou waited at my cup, 
 Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, 
 When I have feasted with queen Margaret ? 
 Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fallen; 
 Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride : 
 How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, 
 And duly waited for my coming forth? 
 This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, 
 And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue 
 
 Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn 
 swain ? 
 
 Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. 
 
 Suf. Base slave ! thy words arr ^int, and so art 
 thou. 
 
 e A low fellow. 
 
Scene II 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 *9i> 
 
 Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's 
 side 
 Strike off his head. 
 
 Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. 
 
 Cap. Yes, Poole. 
 
 Suf. Poole'! 
 
 Cap. Poole 1 sir Poole? lord] 
 
 Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt 
 Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. 
 Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth, 
 For swallowing the treasure of the realm ; 
 Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the 
 
 ground; 
 And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's 
 
 death, 
 Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, 
 Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again: 
 And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, 
 For daring to afty 1 a mighty lord 
 Unto the daughter of a worthless king, 
 Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
 By devilish policy art thou grown great, 
 And, like ambitious Sylla, ovcrgorged 
 With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. 
 By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France: 
 The false revolting Normans, thorough thee, 
 Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy 
 Hath slain their governors, surpriz'd our forts, 
 And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. 
 The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, — 
 Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, — 
 As hating thee, are rising up in arms: 
 And now the house of York — thrust from the crown, 
 By shameful murder of a guiltless king, 
 And lofty proud encroaching tyranny — 
 Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colors 
 Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine, 
 Under the which is writ — Invitis nubibus. 
 The commons here in Kent are up in arms: 
 And, to conclude, reproach and beggary 
 Is crept into the palace of our king. 
 And all by thee : — Away ; convey him hence. 
 
 Suf. that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder 
 Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! 
 Small things make base men proud : this villain here, 
 Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
 Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 
 Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. 
 It is impossible, that I should die 
 By such a lowly vassal as thyself. 
 Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me : 
 I go of message from the queen to France ; 
 I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. 
 
 Cap. Walter, 
 
 W?dt. Come, Suffolk, I m ust waft thee to thy death. 
 
 Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus: 'tis thee I fear. 
 
 Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave 
 thee. 
 What, arc ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 
 
 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him 
 fair. 
 
 Suf Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, 
 Used to command, untaught to plead for favor. 
 Far be it, we should honor such as these 
 With humble suit: no, rather let my head 
 Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any 
 Save to the God of heaven, and to my king; 
 And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, 
 Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. 
 True nobility is exempt from fear: — 
 More can I bear, than you dare execute. 
 
 Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 
 To betroth in marriage. 
 
 Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, 
 That this my death may never be forgot !— 
 Great men oft die by vile bezonians: 9 
 A Roman sworder and banditto slave, 
 Murder'd sweet Tully ; Brutus' bastard hand 
 Stabb'd Julius Ca?sar; sav.ige islanders, 
 Pompey the great: and Suffolk dies by pirates. 
 
 [Exit Suf. with Whit, and others. 
 
 Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set, 
 It is our pleasure one of them depart:—- 
 Therefore come you with us, and let him go. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the first Gentleman. 
 
 Re-enter Whitmohe, with Suffolk's Body. 
 
 Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, 
 Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. 
 
 1 Gent. barbarous and bloody spectacle ! 
 His body will I bear unto the king: 
 If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ; 
 So will the queen, that living held him dear. 
 
 [Exit, with the Body. 
 
 SCENE II.— Blackheath. 
 
 Enter George Bf.tis and Johx Holland. 
 
 Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made 
 of a lath ; they have been up these two days. 
 
 John. They have the more need to sleep now then. 
 
 Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to 
 dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new 
 nap upon it. 
 
 John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, 
 I say, it was never merry world in England, since 
 gentlemen came up. 
 
 Geo. O miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded in 
 handy crafts-men. 
 
 John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather 
 aprons. 
 
 Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good 
 workmen. 
 
 John. True ; And yet it is said, — Labor in thy 
 vocation: which is as much to say, as, — let the 
 magistrates be laboring men ; and therefore should 
 we be magistrates. 
 
 Geo. Thou hast hit it ; for there's no better sign 
 of a brave mind, than a hard hand. 
 
 John. I see them ! I see them ! There's Best's 
 son, the tanner of Wingham ; 
 
 Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to 
 make dog's leather of. 
 
 John. And Dick the butcher, 
 
 Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and 
 iniquity's throat cut like a calf. 
 
 John. And Smith the weaver. 
 
 Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. 
 
 John. Come, come, let's fall in with them. 
 Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the Butcher, Smith thl 
 Weaver, and others in great number. 
 
 Cade. We, John Cade, so termed of our supposed 
 father, 
 
 Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. 9 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. — for our enemies shall fall before us, in- 
 spired with the spirit of putting down kings and 
 princes. — Command silence. 
 
 Dick. Silence ! 
 
 Cade. My father was a Mortimer, — 
 
 Dick. He was an honest man, and a good hi..k 
 layer. [Aside 
 
 Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, — 
 
 Dick. I knew her well ; she was a midwife. 
 
 [Aside 
 
 Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies, — 
 • Low men. • A barrel of hern n*s. 
 
500 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and 
 soV many laces. [Aside. 
 
 Smith. But, now of ltte, not able to travel with 
 her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. Therefore am I of an honorable house. 
 
 Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honorable; 
 And there was he born, under a hedge ; for his 
 f ather had never a house, but the cage. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. Valiant I am. 
 
 Smith. 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. I am able to endure much. 
 
 Dick. No question of that ; for I have seen him 
 v hipped three market days together. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire. 
 
 Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat 
 is of proof. [Aside. 
 
 Dick. But, methinks he should stand in fear of 
 tire, being burnt i'the hand for stealing of sheep. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. Be brave, then ; for your captain is brave, 
 and vows reformation. There shall be, in England, 
 seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny : the three- 
 hooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make 
 it felony, to drink small beer ; all the realm shall be 
 in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry go 
 to grass. And, when I am king, (as king I will 
 be,) 
 
 All. God save your majesty ! 
 
 Cade. I thank you, good people: — there shall 
 be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score; 
 and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they 
 may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 
 
 Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the 
 lawyers. 
 
 Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a 
 lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent 
 lamb should be made parchment'? that parchment 
 being scribbled o'er, should undo a man? Some 
 say, the bee stings: but I say, 'tis the bee's wax; 
 for i did but seal once to a thing, and I was never 
 mine own man since. How now ! who's there ? 
 
 Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of Chatham. 
 
 Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write and 
 read, and cast accompt. 
 
 Cade. monstrous! 
 
 Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 
 
 Cade. Here's a villain ! 
 
 Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red letters 
 in't. 
 
 Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer. 
 
 Dirk. Nay, he can make obligations, and write 
 court-hand. 
 
 Cade. I am »orry for't : the man is a proper man, 
 on mine honor; unless T find him guilty, he shall 
 not die, — Come hither, sirrah; I must examine 
 thee : What is thy name ? 
 
 Clerk. Emmanuel. 
 
 Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters ; 
 'Twill go hard with you. 
 
 Cade. Let me alone : — Dost thou use to write 
 thy name ? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an 
 lionest plain-dealing man ? 
 
 Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well 
 brought up, that I can write my name. 
 
 All. He hath confessed: away with him; he's a 
 rillain, and a traitor 
 
 Cade. Away with him, I say : hang him with his 
 lien ind mkhorn about his neck. 
 
 [Exeunt some with the Clerk. 
 
 Enter Michael. 
 
 Mich. Wheie's our general? 
 
 Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 
 
 Mich. Fly, fly, fly ! sir Humphrey Stafford and 
 his brother are hard by, with the king's forces. 
 
 Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down ; 
 He shall be encountered with a man as good as 
 himself: he is but a knight, is 'a? 
 
 Mich. No. 
 
 Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight 
 presently; — Rise up, sir John Mortimer. Now 
 have at him. 
 
 Enter Sir Humphrey Stafford and William 
 his Brother, with Drum and Forces. 
 Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 
 Mark d for the gallows, — lay your weapons down, 
 Home to your cottages, forsake this groom ; — 
 The king is merciful, if you revolt. 
 
 W. Staf. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, 
 If you go forward: therefore yield, or die. 
 
 Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass 
 not; 1 
 It is to you, good people, that I speak, 
 O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign ; 
 For I am rightful heir unto the crown. 
 
 Staf Villain, thy father was a plasterer; 
 And thou thyself a shearman, Art thou not? 
 Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 
 W. Staf. And what of that? 
 Cade. Marry, this: — Edmund Mortimer, earl of 
 March, 
 Married the duke of Clarence' daughter ; Did he not! 
 Staf. Ay, sir. 
 
 Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth. 
 W. Staf. That's false. 
 
 Cade. Ay, there's the question, but, I say, 'tis true: 
 The elder of them, being put to nurse, 
 Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away ; 
 And ignorant of his birth and parentage, 
 Became a bricklayer, when he came to age : 
 His son am I ; deny it, if you can. 
 
 Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall be king. 
 Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's 
 house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify 
 it; therefore deny it not. 
 
 Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's 
 words, 
 That speaks he knows not what? 
 
 All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye gone 
 W. Staf. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught 
 
 you this. 
 Cade. He lies; for I invented it myself. [Aside. 
 — Go to, sirrah. Tell the king from me, that — 
 for his father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time 
 boys went to span-counter for French crowns — 1 
 am content he shall reign ; but I'll be protector over 
 him. 
 
 Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say's 
 head for selling the dukedom of Maine. 
 
 Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is England 
 maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my 
 puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, 
 that that lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, 
 and made it an eunuch: and more than that, lie 
 can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor. 
 Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance ! 
 Cade. Nay, answer if you can : The Frenchmen 
 are our enemies: go to, then, I ask but this; Can 
 he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a 
 good counsellor, or no? 
 
 All. No.no; and therefore we'll have his head. 
 1 1 pay them no regard. 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 ftOl 
 
 W.Staf. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, 
 Assail them with the army of the king. 
 
 Staf. Herald, away ; and, throughout every town, 
 Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; 
 That those, which fly before the battle ends, 
 May, even in their wives' and children's sight, 
 Be hang'd up for example at their doors: 
 And you, that be the king's friends, follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt the two Staffords, and Forces. 
 
 Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow 
 me. — 
 Now show yourselves men, 'tis for liberty. 
 We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : 
 •Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon ; a 
 For they are thrifty honest men, and such 
 As would (but that they dare not) take our parts. 
 
 Dick. They are all in order, and inarch toward us. 
 
 Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most 
 out of order. Come, march forward. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another part of Blackheath. 
 
 ilarums. Tlie two Parties enter and fight, and 
 
 both the Stafforijs are slain. 
 
 Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford? 
 
 Dick. Here, sir. 
 
 Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, 
 and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in 
 thine own slaughter-house : therefore thus will I 
 reward thee, — 'The Lent shall be as long again as 
 it is ; and thou shalt have a license to kill for a 
 hundred lacking one. 
 
 Dick. I desire no more. 
 
 Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. 
 This monument of the victory will I bear; and the 
 bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do 
 come to London, where we will have the mayor's 
 sword borne before us. 
 
 Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break 
 open the gaols, and let out the prisoners. 
 
 Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's 
 march towards London. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Hknrt, reading a Supplication ,- the 
 Duke of Buckingham and Lord Sat with 
 him : at a distance, Queen Margaret, mourn- 
 ing over Suffolk's Head. 
 Q. Mar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens the 
 mind, 
 
 And makes it fearful and degenerate; 
 
 Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. 
 
 But who can cease to weep, and look on this? 
 
 Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: 
 
 But where's the body that I should embrace? 
 Buck. What answer makes your grace to the 
 
 rebels' supplication ? 
 
 K. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat : 
 
 For God forbid, so many simple >ouls 
 
 Should perish by the sword ! And I myself, 
 itlier than bloody war should cut them short, 
 
 Will parley with Jack Cade their general. — 
 
 But stay, I'll read it over once again. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely 
 face 
 
 Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me ; 
 
 And could it not enforce them to relent, 
 
 That were unworthy to behold the same ? 
 
 K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have 
 
 thy head. 
 Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his. 
 K. Hen. How r >w, madam ? Still 
 
 Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death ? 
 > Shoes 
 
 I fear, my love, if that I had been dead, 
 
 Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. 
 
 Q. Mar. My love, I should not mourn, but die 
 for thee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 K. Hen. How now ! what news ? why com'st 
 thou in such haste ? 
 
 Mess. The rebels are in Southwark ; Fly, my lord! 
 Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer, 
 Descended from the duke of Clarence' house : 
 And calls your grace usurper, openly, 
 And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
 His army is a ragged multitude 
 Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless ; 
 Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death 
 Hath given them heart and courage to proceed : 
 All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, 
 They call — false caterpillars, and intend their death. 
 
 K. Hen. O graceless men ! they know not what 
 they do. 
 
 Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, 
 Until a power be rais'd to put them down. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah ! were the duke of Suffolk now alive, 
 These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, 
 Therefore away with us to Kenelworth. 
 
 Say. So might your grace's person be in danger ; 
 The sight of me is odious in their eyes : 
 And therefore in this city will I stay, 
 And live alone as secret as I may. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge \ 
 the citizens 
 Fly and forsake their houses : 
 The rascal people, thirsting after prey, 
 Join with the traitor ; and they jointly swear, 
 To spoil the city, and your royal court. 
 Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take horse. 
 
 K. Hen. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope, will 
 succor us. 
 
 Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Farewell, my lord; [To Lord Sat.] 
 trust not the Kentish rebels. 
 
 Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. 
 
 Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence. 
 And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— The Tower. 
 
 Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the Walls 
 Then enter certain Citizens, below. 
 
 Scales. How now! is Jack Cade slain? 
 
 1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; foi 
 they have won the bridge, killing all those that 
 withstand them : The lord mayor craves aid of your 
 honor from the Tower, to defend the city from the 
 rebels. 
 
 Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you sh nl com 
 mand; 
 But I am troubled here with them myself, 
 The rebels have assay'd to win the Towei 
 But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, 
 And thither I will send you Matthew Gough: 
 Fight for your king, your country, and your lives ; 
 And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Cannon Street. 
 
 Enter Jack Cade, and his Followers. He strikes 
 his Staff on London-stone. 
 Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And 
 her?, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and torn 
 Hitnd, that of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run 
 ncihiiig but dare* wi«e this first vear of our reijjn 
 
602 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 ACT I\ 
 
 A nd now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any 
 that calls me other than — lord Mortimer. 
 Enter a Soldier, running 
 
 Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! 
 
 Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him. 
 
 Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll nevercallyou 
 Jack Cade more; I think he hath a very fair warn- 
 ing. 
 
 Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered together 
 in Smilhfield. 
 
 Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them : But, 
 first, go and set London-bridge on fire ; and if you 
 can burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Smithfield. 
 Alarum. Enter, on one side, Cadk and his Com- 
 pany ,■ on the other, Citizens, and the King's 
 
 Forces, headed by Matthew Gough. They 
 
 fight ; the Citizens art routed, and Matthew 
 
 Gough is slain. 
 
 Cade. So, sirs: — Now go some and pull down 
 the Savoy ; others to the inns of court ; down with 
 them all. 
 
 Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 
 
 Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that 
 word. 
 
 Dick. Only that the laws of England may come 
 out of your mouth. 
 
 John. Mass, 'twill be sore law, then ; for he was 
 thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not 
 whole yet. [Aside. 
 
 Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law ; for 
 Ills breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cade. I have thought upon it; it shall be so. 
 Away, burn all the records of the realm ; my mouth 
 shall be the parliament of England. 
 
 John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, 
 unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in 
 common. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here's the lord 
 Say, which sold the towns in France; he that made 
 us pay one and twenty fifteens, 3 and one shilling to 
 the pound, the last subsidy. 
 
 Enter George Bevis, with the LonD Sat. 
 
 Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. 
 — Ah, thou say, 4 thou serge, nay, thou buckram 
 lord ! now art thou within point-blank of our juris- 
 diction regal. What canst thou answer to my ma- 
 jesty, for giving up of Normandy unto monsier 
 Basimecu, the dauphin of France? Be it known 
 unto thee by these presence, even the presence of 
 'ord Mortimer, that I am the besom that must 
 sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. — 
 Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of 
 the realm, in erecting a grammar-school: and 
 whereas, before, our fore-fathers had no other books 
 but the score and the tally, thou hast caused print- 
 ing to be used; and, contrary to the king, his crown 
 and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill. It will 
 be proved to thy face, that thou hast men about 
 thee, that usually talk of a noun, and a verb; and 
 such abominable words, as no Christian ear can 
 endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices of 
 oeace, to call poor men before them about matters 
 they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast 
 
 3 A fif'eot was the fifteenth part of all the movables or 
 personal property of each subject. 
 • S»v was a kin<J of serge. 
 
 put them in prison, and because they could not reat' 
 thou hast hanged them ; when, indeed, only for that 
 cause they have been most worthy to live. Thou 
 dost ride on a foot-cloth, 6 dost thou not? 
 
 Say. What of that? 
 
 Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse 
 wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in 
 their hose and doublets. 
 
 Dick. And work in their shirt, too; as myself, 
 for example, that am a butcher. 
 
 Say. You men of Kent, — 
 
 Dick. What say you of Kent? 
 
 Say. Nothing but this: 'Tis bona terra, malagens. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, away with him! he speaks 
 Latin. 
 
 Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you 
 will. 
 Kent, in the commentaries Caesar writ, 
 Is term'd the civil'st place in all this isle : 
 Sweet is the country, because full of riches; 
 The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy; 
 Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. 
 I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy; 
 Yet to recover them, would lose my life. 
 Justice with favor have I always done; 
 Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could nevei 
 When have I aught exacted at your hands, 
 Kent to maintain, the king, the realm, and you? 
 Large gifts have I bestow'd on learned clerks, 
 Because my book preferr'd me to the king : 
 And — seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
 Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, 
 Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits, 
 You cannot but forbear to murder me. 
 This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings 
 For your behoof, — 
 
 Cade. Tut ! when struck'st thou one blow in the 
 field? 
 
 Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft havo 
 I struck 
 Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. 
 
 Geo. O monstrous coward ! what, to come behind 
 folks? 
 
 Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your 
 good. 
 
 Cade. Give him a box o' the ear, and that will 
 make 'em red again. 
 
 Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes 
 Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. 
 
 Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and 
 the pap of a hatchet. 
 
 Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man ? 
 
 Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. 
 Cade. Nay, he nods at us ; as who should say, — 
 I'll be even with you. I'll see if his head will stand 
 steadier on a pole, or no: Take him away, and 
 behead him. 
 
 Say. Tell me, wherein I have offended most? 
 Have I affected wealth, or honor; speak? 
 Are my chests fill'd up with extorted gold ? 
 Is my apparel sumptuous to behold ? 
 Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death? 
 These hands arc free from guiltless blood-shedding,' 
 This breast from harboring foul deceitful thoughts. 
 0, let me live ! 
 
 Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words ■ 
 but I'll bridle it; he shall die, an it be but foi 
 pleading so well for his life. Away with him ! he 
 has a familiar" under his tongue ; he speakf not 
 o' God's name. Go, take him away, I say, and 
 
 s i. e. Because they could not claim the benefit of clergy. 
 
 « A kind of housing which covered the body of the horse 
 
 ' i. e. Shedding guiltless blood. 
 
 • A demon who was supposed to attend at call. 
 
Scene IX. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 ,5(« 
 
 strike off his head presently; and then break into 
 his son-in-iaw's house, sir Jarnes Cromer, and strike 
 off his head, and bring them both upon two poles 
 hither. 
 
 All. It shall be done. 
 
 Say. Ah, countrymen ! if, when you make your 
 prayers, 
 Uou should be so obdurate as yourselves, 
 How would it fare with your departed souls? 
 \nd therefore yet relent, and save my life. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye. 
 [Exeunt some with Lord Sat. 
 The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a 
 nead on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute ; 
 there shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay 
 to me her maidenhead ere they have it: Men shall 
 hold of me in capite,- and we charge and command, 
 that their wives be as free as heart can wish, or 
 tongue can tell. 
 
 Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, 
 and take up commodities upon our bills'? 
 
 Cade. Marry, presently. 
 
 All. brave ! 
 Re-enter Rebels, with the Heads of Lonn Sat and 
 his Son-in-law. 
 
 Cade. But is not this braver? — Let them kiss 
 »ne another, for they loved well, when they were 
 alive. Now part them again, lest they consult 
 about the giving up of some more towns in France. 
 Soldiers, defer the spoil of the city until night: for 
 with these borne before us, instead of maces, will 
 we ride through the streets; and, at every corner, 
 have them kiss. — Away! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— Southwark. 
 Alarum. Enter Cade, and all his Rabblement. 
 Cade. Up Fish-street ! down Saint Magnus' cor- 
 ler! kill and knock down! throw them into 
 Thames! — [^4 Parley sounded, then a Retreat.] 
 What noise is this I hear? Dare any be so bold to 
 sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill? 
 
 Enter Buckingham S(old Clifford, with Forces. 
 
 Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb 
 thee: 
 Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king 
 Unto the commons, whom thou hast misled; 
 And here pronounce free pardon to them all, 
 That will forsake thee, and go home in peace. 
 
 Clif. What say ye, countrymen ? will ye relent, 
 And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis offer'd you ; 
 Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths? 
 Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon, 
 Fling up his cap, and say — God save his majesty ! 
 Who hateth him, and honors not his father, 
 Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, 
 Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 
 
 All. God save the king! God save the king! 
 
 Cade. What, Buckingham, and Clifford, are ye 
 so brave? — And you, base peasants, do ye believe 
 him? will you needs be hanged with your pardons 
 about your necks? Hath my sword therefore broke 
 through London gates, that you should leave me 
 at the White Hart in Southwark? I thought, ye 
 would never have ^iven out these arms, till you had 
 recovered your ancient freedom ; but you are all 
 -ecreants, and dastards; and delight to live in 
 lavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs 
 with burdens, take your houses over your heads, 
 ravish your wives and daughters before your faces: 
 For me,— I will make shift for one ; and so — God's 
 curse 'light upon you all ! 
 
 All. We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade. 
 
 Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth, 
 That thus you do exclaim — you'll go with him? 
 Will he conduct you through the heart of France, 
 And make the meanest of you earls and dukes 1 
 Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to; 
 Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil, 
 Unless by robbing of your friends, and us. 
 Were't not a shame, that whilst y^u live at iai, 
 The fearful French, whom you late vanquished, 
 Should make a start o'er seas, and vanquish you? 
 Methinks, already, in this civil broil, 
 I see them lording it in London streets, 
 Crying — Vill'igeuis! unto all they meet. 
 Better. ;.en thousand base-born Cades miscarry, 
 Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy 
 To France, to France, and get what you have lost; 
 Spare England, for it is your native coast; 
 Henry hath money, you are strong and manly : 
 God on our side, doubt not of victory. 
 
 All. A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the 
 king and Clifford. 
 
 Cade . Was ever feather so lightly blown to and 
 fro, as this multitude ? the name of Henry the Fifth 
 hales them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes 
 them leave mc desolate. I see them lay their heads 
 together, to surprize me : my sword make way for 
 me, for here is no staying. — In despite of the devils 
 and hell, have through the very midst of you ! and 
 heavens and honor be witness, that no want of res- 
 olution in me, but only my followers' base and igno- 
 minious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Buck. What, is he fled? go, some, and follow him' 
 And he, that brings his head unto the king, 
 Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward. — 
 
 [Exeunt some of them. 
 Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean 
 To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX.— Kenelworth Castle. 
 Enter King Henrt, Queen Margaret, and 
 Somerset, on the Terrace of the Castle. 
 K. Hen. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly 
 throne, 
 And could command no more content than I? 
 No sooner was I crept out of my cradle, 
 But I was made a king at nine months old : 
 Was never subject long'd to be a king, 
 As I do long and wish to be a subject. 
 
 Enter Buckingham and Clifford. 
 Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty ! 
 K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor, Cade, 
 surpris'd ? 
 Or is he but retir'd to make him strong? 
 Enter, below, a great number of Cade's Follow- 
 ers, with Halters about their Necks. 
 Clif. He's fled, my lord, and all his powers dc 
 yield ; 
 And humbly thus, with halters on their necks, 
 Expect your highness' doom of life, or death. 
 K. Hen. Then, heaven, set ope thy everlasting 
 gates 
 To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! 
 Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives, 
 And show'd how well you love your prince and 
 
 country: 
 Continue still in this so good a mind, 
 And Henry, though he be infortunate, 
 Assure yourselves, will never be unkind: 
 And so, with thanks and pardon to you all, 
 I do dismiss you to your several countries. 
 All. God save the king ! God save the kins 
 
304 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act l\ 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised, 
 The duke of York is newly come from Ireland: 
 And with a puissant, and a mighty power, 
 Of gallowglasses, and stout kernes, 9 
 Is marching hitherward in proud array; 
 And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, 
 His arms are only to remove from thee 
 The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 
 
 K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and 
 York distress'd : 
 Like to a ship, that, having 'scaped a tempest, 
 Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate : 
 But now' is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd; 
 And now is York in arms to second him. — 
 I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him ; 
 And ask him, what's the reason of these arms. 
 Tell him, I'll send duke Edmund to the Tower; — 
 And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither, 
 Until his army be dismiss'd from him. 
 
 Som. My lord, 
 I'll yield myself to prison willingly, 
 Or unto death, to do my country good. 
 
 K. Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms ; 
 For he is fnrce, and cannot brook hard language. 
 
 Buck. I will, my lord ; and doubt not so to deal, 
 As all things should redound unto your good. 
 
 K. Hen. Come, wife, let's in, and learu to go- 
 vern better; 
 For yet may England curse my wretched reign. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.— Kent. Iden's Garden. 
 
 Enter Cade. 
 
 Cade. Fye on ambition! fye on myself; that 
 nave a sword, and yet am ready to famish! These 
 five days have I hid me in these woods ; and durst 
 not peep out, for all the country is lay'd for me ; 
 but now am I so hungry, that if I might have a 
 lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay 
 no longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall have I 
 climbed into this garden ; to see if I can eat grass, 
 or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss 
 to cool a man's stomach this hot weather. And, I 
 think, this word sallet was born to do me good: 
 for, many a time, but for a sallet, 3 my brain-pan 
 had been cleft with a brown bill; and, many a 
 time, when I had been dry, and bravely march- 
 ing, it hath served me instead of a quart-pot to 
 drink in ; and now the word sallet must serve me 
 to feed on. 
 
 Enter Iden, with Servants. 
 
 Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court, 
 And may enjoy such quiet walks as these 1 
 This small inheritance, my father left me, 
 Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy. 
 I seek not to wax great by others' waning; 
 Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy; 
 Sufficeth, that I have maintains my state, 
 And sends the poor well pleased from my gate. 
 
 Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize 
 l e for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without 
 cave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get 
 
 • Two orders of foot 6oldiers among the Irish 
 Only just now * A kind of helmet. 
 
 a thousand crowns of the king for carrying my 
 head tj him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an 
 ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin ere 
 thou and I part. 
 
 Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thon be, 
 I know thee not; why then should I betray 'hee? 
 Is't not enough, to break into my garden, 
 And. like a thief, to come to rob my grounds. 
 Climbing my walls in spite of me, the ownei. 
 But thou wilt brave me with these saucy teims? 
 
 Cade. Brave thee? ay, by the best blood that ever 
 was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well; 
 I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou 
 and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as 
 dead as a door-nail, I pray God, I may never eat 
 grass more. 
 
 Iden. Nay, let it ne'er be said while England 
 stands, 
 That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, 
 Took odds to cembat a poor famish'd man. 
 Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine, 
 See. if thou canst outface me with thy looks. 
 Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser; 
 Thy hand is but a finger to my fist; 
 Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon; 
 My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast 
 And if mine arm be heaved in the air, 
 Thy grave is digged already in the earth. 
 As for more words, whose greatness answers words, 
 Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 
 
 Cade. By my valor, the most complete champion 
 that ever I heard. — Steel, if thou turn the edge, or 
 cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of beef 
 ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my 
 knees, thou may'st be turned to hobnails. [They 
 fight. Cadk falls.'] 0,1 am slain! famine, and no 
 other, hath slain me; let ten thousand devils come 
 against me, and give me but the ten meals I have 
 lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden: and 
 be henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell 
 in this house, because the unconquered soul of Cade 
 is fled. 
 
 Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous 
 traitor ? 
 Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, 
 And hang thee o'er my tomb when I am dead : 
 Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point; 
 But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat, 
 To emblaze the honor that thy master got. 
 
 Cade. Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy vic- 
 tory : Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best 
 man, and exhort all the world to be cowards ; for 
 I, that never feared any, am vanquished by fa- 
 mine, not by valor. [Dies. 
 
 Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be 
 my judge. 
 Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee 
 And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
 So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. 
 Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels 
 Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, 
 And there cut off thy most ungracious head; 
 Which I will bear in triumph to the king, 
 Leaving thy trunk for crows to feed upon. 
 
 [Exit, dragging >ut the Body 
 
A oi V Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 5U5 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Near Saint Alban's. 
 
 The King's Camp on one side. On the other, 
 eniT York attended, with Drum and Colors: 
 his Forces at some distance. 
 
 York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim 
 his right, 
 And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head : 
 Ring, bells, aloud ; burn, bonfires, clear and bright, 
 To entertain great England's lawful king. 
 \h, sancla majestas! who would not buy thee dear? 
 Let them obey, that know not how to rule ! 
 This hand was made to handle nought but gold : 
 f cannot give due action to my words, 
 Except a sword, or sceptre, balance it. 
 A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul ; 
 On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. 
 
 Enter Buckingham. 
 
 Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me. 
 The king hath sent him, sure ; I must dissemble. 
 
 Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee 
 well. 
 
 York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy 
 greeting. 
 Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ? 
 
 Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege, 
 To know the reason of these arms in peace ; 
 Or why, thou — being a subject as I am — 
 Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 
 Shouldst raise so great a power without his leave, 
 Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 
 
 York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is ' 
 so great. 
 0, I could hew up rocks, and fight with 
 
 flint, 
 I am so angry at these abject terms ; 
 And now, like Ajax Telamonius, 
 On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury ! >■ Aside. 
 I am far better born than is the king ; 
 More like a king, more kingly in my 
 
 thoughts : 
 But I must make fair weather yet a while, 
 Till Henry be more weak, and I more 
 
 strong. — 
 
 O Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me, 
 That I have given no answer all this while ; 
 My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 
 The cause why I have brought this army hither, 
 Is — to remove proud Somerset from the king, 
 Seditious to his grace, and to the state. 
 
 Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part 
 But if thy arms be to no other end, 
 The king hath yielded unto thy demand; 
 The duke of Somerset is in the Tower. 
 
 York. Upon thine honor, is he prisoner? 
 
 Buck. Upon mine honor, he is prisoner. 
 
 York. Then Buckingham, I do dismiss my 
 powers. — 
 Soldiers, I thank you all ; disperse yourselves ; 
 Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, 
 You shall have pay, and every thing you wish. 
 And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
 Command my eldest son,— nay, all my sons, 
 As pledges of my fealty and love, 
 I'll send them all as willing as I live; 
 Lands, goods, horse, armor, any thing I have 
 Is his to use, so Somerset may die. 
 
 Buck. York, I commend this kind submission ■ 
 We twain will go into his highness' tent. 
 
 Enter King Henry, attended. 
 
 K. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm 
 to us, 
 That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ? 
 
 York. In all submission and humility, 
 York doth present himself unto your highness. 
 
 K. Hen. Then what intend these forces thoa 
 dost bring] 
 
 York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence 
 And fight against that monstrous rebel, Cade, 
 Who since I heard to be discomfited. 
 
 Enter Iden, with Cade's Head. 
 
 Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition, 
 May pass into the presence of a king, 
 Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head, 
 The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 
 
 K. Hen. The head of Cade?— Great God, how 
 just art thou ! — 
 O, let me view his visage being dead, 
 That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. 
 Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? 
 
 Iden. I was, an't like your majesty 
 
 K. Hen. How art thou call'd ? and what is thy 
 degree ? 
 
 Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name ; 
 A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 
 
 Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss 
 He were created knight for his good service. 
 
 K. Hen. Iden, kneel down; [He kneeh.~] Rise 
 up a knight. 
 We give thee for reward a thousand marks ; 
 And will, that thou henceforth attend on us. 
 
 Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
 And never live but true unto his liege ! 
 
 K. Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with 
 the queen; 
 Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset. 
 
 Q. Mar. For thousand Yoiks he shall not hide 
 his head, 
 But boldly stand, and front him to his face. 
 
 York. How now ! Is Somerset at liberty ? 
 Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts. 
 And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart. 
 Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ? — 
 False king! why hast thou broken faith with me, 
 Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse? 
 King did I call thee? no, thou art not king; 
 Not fit to govern and rule multitudes, 
 Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor. 
 That head of thine doth not become a crown ; 
 Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, 
 And not to grace an awful princely sceptre. 
 That gold must round engirt these brows of mine; 
 Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, 
 Is able with the change to kill and cure. 
 Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up, 
 And with the same to act controlling laws. 
 Give place; by heaven, thou shalt rule no moie 
 O'er him, whom heaven created for thy ruler. 
 
 Som. O monstrous traitor ! — I arrest thee, Ymik. 
 Of capital treason 'gainst the king and Town 
 Obey, audacious traitor ; kneel for gr«ce 
 1 J 
 
506 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 York. Wouldst have me kneel ? first let me ask 
 of these, 
 If they can brook I bow a knee to man. — 
 Sirrah, call in my sens to be my bail; 
 
 [Exit an Attendant. 
 I know, ere they will have me go to ward, 3 
 They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement. 
 
 Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford ; bid him come 
 amain, 
 To say, if that the bastard boys of York 
 Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 
 
 York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, 
 Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge! 
 The sons of York, thy betters in their birth, 
 Shall be their father's bail; and bane to those 
 That for my surety will refuse the boys. 
 
 Enter Edward and Richard Plantagenf.t, 
 
 with Forces, on one side,- at the other, with 
 
 Forces also, old Clifford, and his Son. 
 See, where they come ; I'll warrant they'll make 
 it good. 
 
 Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their 
 bail. 
 
 Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the 
 king ! [Kneels. 
 
 York. I thank thee, Clifford: Say, what news 
 with thee? 
 Nay, do not fright us with an angry look: 
 We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ; 
 For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 
 
 Clif. This is my king, York, I do not mistake ; 
 But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do: — 
 To Bedlam with him! is the man grown mad? 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambitious 
 humor 
 Matces him oppose himself against his king. 
 
 Clif. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower, 
 And chop away that factious pate of his. 
 
 Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
 His sons, he says, shall give their words for him. 
 
 York. Will you not, sons ? 
 
 Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 
 
 Rich. And if words will not, then our weapons 
 shall. 
 
 Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we 
 here! 
 
 York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so; 
 I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. — 
 Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, 4 
 That, with the very shaking of their chains, 
 They may astonish these fell lurking curs ; 
 Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me. 
 Drums. Enter Warwick and Salisbury, with 
 Forces. 
 
 Clif. Are these thy bears ? we'll bait thy bears to 
 oeath, 
 And manacle the bear-ward s in their chains, 
 If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. 
 
 Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur 
 Run back and bite, because he was withheld; 
 Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw, 
 Hath clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd : 
 And such a piece of service will you do, 
 If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. 
 
 Clif Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, 
 A.s crooked in thy manners as thy shape ! 
 
 York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. 
 
 Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you burn 
 yourselves. 
 
 * Custody, confinement. 
 
 « The Nevils, earls of Warwick, had a bear and ragged 
 ttaff for their crest. » Bear-keeper. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot U. 
 bow? — 
 Old Salisbury, — shame to thy silver hair, 
 Thou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son! — 
 What, wil f thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian 
 And seek tor sorrow with thy spectacles? 
 O, where is faith? O, where is loyalty? 
 If it be banish'd from the frosty head, 
 Where shall it find a harbor in the earth ? 
 Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war, 
 And shame thine honorable age with blood 1 
 Why art thou old, and want'st experience ? 
 Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it ? 
 For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me, 
 That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 
 
 Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
 The title of this most renowned duke ; 
 And in my conscience do repute his grace 
 The rightful heir to England's royal seat. 
 
 K. Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me 1 
 
 Sal. I have. 
 
 K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for 
 such an oath ? 
 
 Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin; 
 But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath. 
 Who can be bound by any solemn vow 
 To do a murderous deed, to rob a man, 
 To force a spotless virgin's chastity, 
 To reave the orphan of his patrimony, 
 To wring the widow from her custom'd right ; 
 And have no other reason for this wrong, 
 But that he was bound by a solemn oath? 
 
 Q. Mar. A subtle traitor needs no sophister. 
 
 K.Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm hin> 
 self. 
 
 York. Call Buckingham and all the friends thou 
 hast, 
 I am resolv'd for death or dignity. 
 
 Clif. The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. 
 
 War. You were best to go to bed, and dream again, 
 To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 
 
 Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm, 
 Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; 
 And that I'll write upon thy burgonet, 6 
 Might I but know thee by thy household badge. 
 
 War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil'g 
 crest, 
 The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff, 
 This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, 
 (As on a mountain-top the cedar shows, 
 That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,) 
 Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 
 
 Clif And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, 
 And tread it under foot with all contempt, 
 Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear. 
 
 Y. Clif And so to arms, victorious father, 
 To quell the rebels, and their 'complices. 
 
 Rich. Fie ! charity, for shame ! speak not in spite 
 For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to-night. 
 
 Y. Clif. Foul stigmatic, 1 that's more than thou 
 canst tell. 
 
 Rich. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell 
 [Exeunt severally 
 
 SCENE II.— Saint Alban's. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick. 
 
 War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick callaf 
 And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear, 
 Now, — when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, 
 And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, — 
 
 e Helmet. 
 
 ' One on whom nature has set a mark of deformity, • 
 stigma. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 507 
 
 Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me ! 
 Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, 
 Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 
 
 Enter York. 
 How now, my noble lord ] what, all a-foot 1 
 
 York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew nr steed; 
 But match to match I have encounter'd him, 
 And made a prey for carrion kites and crows, 
 Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. 
 Enter Clifford. 
 
 War. Of one or both of us the time is come. 
 
 York. Hold. Warwick, seek thee out some other 
 chase, 
 For I myself must hunt this deer to death. 
 
 War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou 
 fight'st. — 
 As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day, 
 It grieves my soul to leave th^e unassail'd. 
 
 [Exit Warwick. 
 
 Clif. What seest thou in me, York ? why dost 
 thou pause? 
 
 York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, 
 But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 
 
 Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and 
 esteem, 
 But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in treason. 
 
 York. So let it help me now against thy sword, 
 As I in justice and true right express it ! 
 
 Clif My soul and body on the action both ! — 
 
 York. A dreadful lay ! 8 — address thee instantly. 
 [They fight, and Clifford falls. 
 
 Clif. La fin couronne les ceuvies. [Dies. 
 
 York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou 
 art still. 
 Peace with his soul, Heaven, if it be thy will ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Young Clifford. 
 
 Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the rout! 
 Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds 
 Where it should guard. war, thou son of hell ! 
 Whom angry heavens do make their minister, 
 Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
 Hot coals of vengeance ; — Let no soldier fly : 
 He that is truly dedicate to war, 
 Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself, 
 Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, 
 The name of valor. — 0, let the vile world end, 
 
 [Seeing his dead Father. 
 And the premised 9 flames of the last day 
 Knit earth and heaven together ! 
 Now let the general trumpet blow his blast, 
 Particularities and petty sounds 
 To cease ! — Wast thou ordain'd, dear father, 
 To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
 The silver livery of advised age ; 
 And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus 
 To die in ruffian battle] — Even at this sight, 
 My heart is turn'd to stone; and, while 'tis mine, 
 It shall be stony. York not our old men spares; 
 No more will I their babes : tears virginal 
 Shall be tc me even as the dew to fire ; 
 And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims, 
 Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
 Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity: 
 Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
 Into as many gobbets will I cut it, 
 As wild Medea young Absyrtus did : 
 In cruelty will I seek out my fame. 
 Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house; 
 
 [Taking up the Body. 
 
 • A dreadful wager, a tremendous stake. 
 
 • Sent before their time. 
 
 As did ^Eneas old Anchises bear, 
 
 So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders; 
 
 But then ^Eneas bare a living load, 
 
 Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. \Ext& 
 
 Enter Richard Plantagf.net and Somerset. 
 fighting, and Somerset is killed. 
 Rich. So, lie thou there; — 
 For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign, 
 The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset 
 Hath made the wizard famous in his death. — 
 Sword, hold thy temper: heart, be wrathful still: 
 Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter King Henry, 
 Queen Margaret, and others, retreating. 
 Q. Mar. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; foi 
 
 shame, away ! 
 K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens ? good Mar- 
 garet, stay. 
 Q. Mar. What are you made of] you'll not fight, 
 nor fly: 
 Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, 
 To give the enemy way : and to secure us 
 By what we can, which can no more but fly. 
 
 [Alarum afar off. 
 If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
 Of all our fortunes: but if we haply 'scape, 
 (As well we may, if not through your neglect,) 
 We shall to London get ; where you are lov'd ; 
 And where this breach, now in our fortunes made, 
 May readily be stopp'd. 
 
 Enter Young Clifford. 
 Y. ClifBut that my heart's on future mischief set, 
 I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly ; 
 But fly you must; uncurable discomfit 
 Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts. 1 
 Away, for your relief! and we will live 
 To see their day, and them our fortune give : 
 Away, my lord, away ! [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— Fields near Saint Alban's. 
 
 Alarum: Retreat. Flourish,- then enter York, 
 Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Sol- 
 diers, with Drum and Colors. 
 York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him ; 
 That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets 
 Aged contusions and all brush of time ; a 
 And, like a gallant in the brow of youth, 3 
 Repairs him with occasion? this happy day 
 Is not itself, nor have we won one foot. 
 If Salisbury be lost. 
 
 Rich. My noble father, 
 
 Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, 
 Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off. 
 Persuaded him from any further act : 
 But still, where danger was, still there I met him 
 And like rich hangings in a homely house, 
 So was his will in his old feeble body. 
 But, noble as he is, look, where he comes. 
 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fough 
 to-day ; 
 By the mass, so did we all. — I thank you, Richard 
 G d knows, how long it is I have to live; 
 And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day 
 You have defended me from imminent death. — 
 Well, lords, we have n r t got that which we have: 
 
 ' For parties. » i. e. The gradual detrition of time. 
 » i. e. The height of youth ; the brow of a hill is its sum 
 rait. 
 
 4 t. «. We have not secured that which we bare acquired 
 
608 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, 
 Being opposites of such repairing nature. 5 
 
 York. I know, our safety is to follow them ; 
 tf'or, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
 To call a present court of parliament. 
 Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth : — 
 What says lord Warwick? shall we after them 1 
 
 » i. e. Being enemies that are likely bo soon to rally and 
 •aaorer themselres from this defeat 
 
 War. After them ! nay, before them, if we can. 
 Now by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day : 
 Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York, 
 Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. — 
 Sound, drums and trumpets: — and to London 
 
 all: 
 And more such days as these to us befall ! 
 
 \ Exeunt 
 
THIRD PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henry vhe Sixth. 
 
 Edward, Prince of Wales, his Son. 
 
 Lewis the Eleventh, King of France. 
 
 Duke of Somerset, 
 
 Duke of Exeter, 
 
 Earl of Oxford, 
 
 ^arl of Northumberland, 
 
 £arl of Westmoreland, 
 
 Lord Clifford, 
 
 Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York. 
 
 Edward, Earl of March, afterwards 
 
 King Edward the Fourth, 
 Edmund, Earl of Rutland, 
 Georre, afterwards Duke of Clarence, 
 Richard, afterwards Duke of Gloster, 
 Duke of Norfolk, 
 Marquis of Montague, 
 
 Eari of Warwick, I of the Duke of 'York 1 's 
 
 Earl of Pembroke, [ Parti/. 
 
 Lord Hastings, 
 Lord Stafford, 
 Henrt, Earl of Richmond, a Youth. 
 
 Lords on King 
 Henry's side. 
 
 > his Sons. 
 
 Sir John Mortimer, ) Uncles to the Duke of 
 
 Sir Hugh Mortimer, $ York. 
 
 Lord Rivers, Brother to Lady Gret 
 
 Sir William Stanley. 
 
 Sir John Montgomery. 
 
 Sir John Somerville. 
 
 Tutor to Rutland. 
 
 Mayor of York. 
 
 Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 
 A Nobleman. 
 
 Two Keepers. 
 
 A Huntsman. 
 
 A Son that has killed his Father. 
 
 A Father that has killed his Son. 
 
 Queen Margaret. 
 
 Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward tht 
 
 Fourth. 
 Bona, sister to the French Queen. 
 
 Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry and 
 King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, <$-c. 
 
 SCENE, during part of the third act, in France; during all the rest of the play, in England. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. The Parliament House. 
 
 Drums. Some Soldiers of York's party break in. 
 Then enter the Duke of York, Edward, Rich- 
 ard, Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and 
 others, with white Roses in their Hats. 
 
 War. I wonder how the king escaped our hands. 
 York. While we pursued the horsemen of the 
 north, 
 He slily stole away, and left his men : 
 Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, 
 Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, 
 Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, 
 Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all a-breast, 
 Charged our main battle's front, and, breaking in, 
 Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. 
 Edw. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Bucking- 
 ham, 
 Is either slain, or wounded dangerous: 
 I cleft his beaver with a downright blow; 
 That this is tr .'e, father, behold his blood. 
 
 [Showing his bloody S/oord. 
 T509] 
 
 Mont. And, brother, here's the ean of Wilt- 
 shire's blood, [To York, showing his. 
 Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. 
 
 Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them what I did. 
 
 [Throwing down the Duke of Somerset's Head. 
 
 York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons. — 
 
 What, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset? 
 
 Norf Such hope have all the line of John of 
 
 Gaunt! 
 Rich. Thus do I hope to shake king Henry's 
 
 head. 
 War. And so do I. — Victorious prince of York 
 Before I see thee seated in that throne 
 Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
 I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close. 
 This is the palace of the fearful king, 
 And this the regal seat: possess it, York: 
 For this is thine, and not king Henry's hehs'. 
 York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I 
 will; 
 For hither we have broken in by force. 
 
 Norf. We'll all assist you; he that flies, shall die 
 
510 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk. — Stay by me, 
 my lords; — 
 And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. 
 War. And, when the king comes, offer him no 
 violence, 
 Unless he seek to thrust you out by force. 
 
 [They retire. 
 York. The queen, this day, here holds her par- 
 liament, 
 But little thinks we shall be of her council: 
 By words, or blows, here let us win our right. 
 Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. 
 War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, 
 Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king: 
 And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice 
 Hath mad* us by-words to our enemies. 
 
 York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; 
 I mean to take possession of my right. 
 
 War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him 
 best, 
 The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
 Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. 1 
 I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: — 
 Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. 
 [Warwick leads York to the Throne, who 
 seats himself. 
 
 Flourish. E?iterKiyGHzxRT, Clifford, North- 
 umberland, Westmoreland, Exeter, and 
 others, with red Roses in their Hats. 
 
 K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel 
 sits, 
 Even in the chair of state! belike, he means, 
 (Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,) 
 To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king. — 
 Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father; 
 And thine, lord Clifford ; and you both have vow'd 
 
 revenge 
 On him, his sons, his favorites, and his friends. 
 
 North. If I be not, heaven be revenged on me! 
 
 Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in 
 steel. 
 
 West. What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck 
 him down: 
 My heart for anger burns. I cannot brook it. 
 
 K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. 
 
 Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he; 
 He durst not sit there had your father liv'd. 
 My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
 Let us assail the family of York. 
 
 North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin ; be it so. 
 
 K. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city favors them, 
 And they have troops of soldiers at their beck ? 
 
 Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly 
 
 %. 
 
 K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's 
 heart 
 To make a shambles of the parliament-house ! 
 Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, 
 Shall be the war that Henry means to use. — 
 
 [They advance to the Duke. 
 Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne, 
 And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; 
 1 am thy sovereign. 
 
 York. Thou art deceiv'd, I am thine. 
 
 Exe. For shame, come down ; he made thee duke 
 of York. 
 
 York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. 
 
 Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 
 
 War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown, 
 fn following this usurping Henry. 
 
 ' Hawks hail sometimes little bells hung on them, per- 
 i»x>* to dare the birds : that is. to fright them from rising. 
 
 Clif. Whom should he follow but his natura 
 king? 
 
 War. True, Clifford ; and that's Richard, duke of 
 York. 
 
 K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thon sit in my 
 throne ? 
 
 York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself 
 
 War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king. 
 
 West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster, 
 And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain 
 
 War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget, 
 That we are those, which chas'd you from the field, 
 And slew your fathers, and with colors spread 
 March'd through the city to the palace gates. 
 
 North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my griel ; 
 And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 
 
 West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons, 
 Thy kinsmen and thy friends, I'll have more lives' 
 Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 
 
 Clif. Urge it no more ; lest that, instead of words, 
 I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger, 
 As shall revenge his death, before I stir. 
 
 War. Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless 
 threats ! 
 
 York. Will you, we show our title to the crown 1 
 Tf not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 
 
 K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the 
 crown ? 
 Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York ; 
 Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March; 
 I am the son of Henry the Fifth, 
 Who made the dauphin and the French to stoop. 
 And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. 
 
 War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all , 
 
 K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I ; 
 When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. 
 
 Rich. You are old enough now, and yet methinks 
 you lose: — 
 Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 
 
 Edw. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your head. 
 
 Mont. Good brother, [To York.] as thou lov'st 
 and honor'st arms, 
 Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus. 
 
 Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king 
 will fly. 
 
 York. Sons, peace! 
 
 K. Hen. Peace thou ! and give king Henry leave 
 to speak. 
 
 War. Plantagenet shall speak first • — hear him, 
 lords ; 
 And be you silent and attentive too, 
 For he, that interrupts him, shall not live. 
 
 K. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my 
 kingly throne, 
 Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat' 
 No: first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
 Ay, and their colors, — often borne in France; 
 And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow, — 
 Shall be my winding sheet. — Why faint you, lords? 
 My title's good, and better far than his. 
 
 War. But prove it, Henry, and thou shaltbe king. 
 
 K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the 
 crown. 
 
 York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king. 
 
 K. Hen. I know not what to say; my title'? weak. 
 Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir? 
 
 York. What then? 
 
 K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king 
 For Richard, in the view of many lords, 
 Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth ; 
 Whose heir my father was, and I am his. 
 
 York. He rose against him, being his sovereign, 
 And made him to resign his crown peTforce. 
 
SCENK I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 511 
 
 War Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, 
 Think yeu, 'twere prejudicial to his crown? 
 
 Exe. No; for he could not so resign his crown, 
 But that the next heir should succeed and reign. 
 K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter? 
 Ext. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 
 York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer 
 
 not? 
 Exe. My conscience tells me, he is lawful king. 
 K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to 
 
 him. 
 North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, 
 Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd. 
 War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all. 
 North. Thou art deceiv'd : 'tis not thy southern 
 power, 
 Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,— 
 Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, — 
 Can set the duke up in despite of me. 
 
 Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, 
 Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: 
 May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, 
 Where I shall knpel to him that slew my father ! 
 K Hen. Clifford, how thy words revive my 
 
 heart ! 
 York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown : — 
 What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? 
 
 War. Do right unto this princely duke of York : 
 Or I will fill the house with armed men, 
 And o'er the chair of state where now he sits, 
 Write up his title with usurping blood. 
 
 [He stamps, and the Soldiers show themselves. 
 K, Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one 
 word ; 
 Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king. 
 
 York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs, 
 And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st. 
 K. Hen. I am content: Richard Plantagenet, 
 Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. 
 
 Clif What wrong is this unto the prince your 
 
 son? 
 War. What good is this to England and himself? 
 West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry ! 
 Clif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us? 
 West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 
 North. Nor I. 
 Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these 
 
 news. 
 West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, 
 In whose cold blood no spark of honor bides ! 
 
 North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, 
 And die in bands for this unmanly deed ! 
 
 Clif. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome ! 
 Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd ! 
 
 [Exeunt Northumiierlaxb, Clifford, and 
 Wkstmoreland. 
 War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. 
 Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not 
 
 yield. 
 K. Hen. Ah, Exeter ! 
 
 War. Why should you sigh, my lord ? 
 
 K. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my 
 son, 
 Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. 
 But, be it as it may : — I here entail 
 The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever ; 
 Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
 To oease this civil war, and, whilst I live, 
 To honor me as thy king and sovereign; 
 And neither by treason, nor hostility, 
 To seek to put me down, and reign thyself. 
 
 Yor.'t- This oath I willingly take, and will per- 
 form. [Coming from the Throne. 
 
 War. Long live king Henry ! — Plantagenet, em- 
 brace him. 
 
 K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy for- 
 ward sons ! 
 
 York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. 
 
 Exe. Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them 
 foes ! [The Lords come forward. 
 
 York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I'll to my 
 castle. 
 
 War. And I'll keep London, with my soldiers. 
 
 Norf And I to Norfolk, with my followers. 
 
 Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came. 
 [Exeunt York, and his Sons, Warwick, 
 Norfolk, Montague, Soldiers, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the 
 court. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret, .arce? the Prince of 
 Wales. 
 
 Exe. Hers comes the queen, whose looks bewray 
 her anger : 
 I'll steal away. 
 
 K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. [Going, 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee. 
 
 K. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay 
 
 Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes ? 
 Ah, wretched man ! 'would I had died a maid, 
 And never seen thee, never borne thee son, 
 Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father ! 
 Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus? 
 Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I ; 
 Or felt that pain, which I did for him once ; 
 Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood ; 
 Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood 
 
 there, 
 Rather than made that savage duke thine heir, 
 And disinherited thine only son. 
 
 Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : 
 If you be king, why should I not succeed ? 
 
 K. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret; — pardon me, 
 sweet son; — 
 The earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. 
 
 Q. Mar. Enforced thee ! art thou king, and wilt 
 be forced ? 
 I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch ! 
 Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me ; 
 And given unto the house of York such head, 
 As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. 
 To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, 
 What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, 
 And creep into it far before thy time ? 
 Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais ; 
 Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; 
 The duke is made protector of the realm : 
 And yet shalt thou be safe ? such safety finds 
 The trembling lamb, environed with wolves. 
 Had I been there, which am a silly wuman, 
 The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes, 
 Before I would have granted to that act. 
 But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honor: 
 And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself, 
 Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, 
 Until that act of parliament be repeal'd, 
 Whereby my son is disinherited. 
 The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colors 
 Will follow mine, if once they see them spread 
 And spread they shall be ; to thy foul disgrace, 
 And utter ruin of the house of York. 
 Thus do I leave thee : — Come, son, let's away ; 
 Our army's ready; come, we'll after them. 
 
 K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margare*, and hear hi* 
 speak. 
 
512 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act 1 
 
 (^. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already ; get 
 
 thee gone. 
 K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with 
 
 me? 
 Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. 
 Prince. When I return with victory from the field, 
 .'11 see your grace: till then, I'll follow her. 
 Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we may not linger thus. 
 [Exeunt Queen MARGiRET and the Prince. 
 K Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me, and to her 
 son, 
 Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! 
 Revenged may she be on that hateful duke ; 
 Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, 
 Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle, 
 Tire 1 on the flesh of me, and of my son ! 
 The loss of those three lords torments my heart ; 
 I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair; — 
 Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 
 Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Sandal Castle, near 
 Wakefield, in Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague. 
 
 Rich. Brother, though I be 'youngest, give me 
 leave. 
 
 Edw. No, I can better play the orator. 
 
 Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 
 Enter York. 
 
 York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a 
 strife ? 
 What is your quarrel! how began it first? 
 
 Edw. No quarrel but a slight contention. 
 
 York. About what? 
 
 Rich. About that which concerns your grace, 
 and us ; 
 The crown of England, father, which is yours. 
 
 York. Mine boy ? not till king Henry be dead. 
 
 Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death. 
 
 Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: 
 By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, 
 It will outrun you, father, in the end. 
 
 York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign, 
 
 Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be 
 broken : 
 I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. 
 
 Rich. No ; God forbid, your grace should be for- 
 sworn. 
 
 York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. 
 
 Rich. I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me 
 speak. 
 
 York. Thou canst not, son ; it is impossible. 
 
 Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took 
 Before a true and lawful magistrate, 
 That hath authority over him that swears: 
 Henry had none, but did usurp the place ; 
 Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 
 Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
 Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, 
 How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ; 
 Within whose circuit is Elysium, 
 And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
 Why do we linger thus? I cannot rest, 
 Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed 
 Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 
 
 York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, or die. — 
 Brother, thou shalt to London presently, 
 And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. — 
 Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, 
 And tell him privily of our intent. — 
 Vou. Edward shall unto my lord Cobham, 
 • Peck. 
 
 With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise 
 In them I trust; for they are soldiers, 
 Witty 3 and courteous, liberal, full of spirit. — 
 While you are thus employ 'd, what resteth mora 
 But that I seek occasion how to rise; 
 And yet the king not privy to my drift, 
 Nor any of the house of Lancaster? 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 But, stay; What news? Why com'stthou m such 
 post? 
 Mess. The queen, with all the northern earl? and 
 lords, 
 Intend here to besiege you in your castle : 
 She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; 
 And therefore fortify your hold, my lord, 
 
 York. Ay, with my sword. What? think'st thou, 
 that we fear them? — 
 Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ; — 
 My brother Montague shall post to London : 
 Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, 
 Whom we have left protectors of the king, 
 With powerful policy strengthen themselves, 
 And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. 
 
 Mont. Brother, I go ; I'll win them, fear it not : 
 And thus most humbly do I take my leave. [Exit. 
 Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer. 
 York. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine 
 uncles ! 
 You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ; 
 The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 
 
 Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the 
 
 field. 
 York. What, with five thousand men? 
 Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. 
 A woman's general; What should we fear? 
 
 [./I March afar off. 
 Edw. I hear their drums; let's set our men in 
 order; 
 And issue forth, and bid them battle straight. 
 York. Five men to twenty ! — though the odds bo 
 great, 
 I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. 
 Many a battle have I won in France, 
 When as the enemy hath been ten to one; 
 Why should I not now have the like success ? 
 
 [Alarum. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Plains near Sandal Castle. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Rutland, and his 
 Tutor. 
 Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands 
 Ah, tutor ! look, where bloody Clifford comes ! 
 Enter Clifford, and Soldiers. 
 Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy 
 life. 
 As for the brat of this accursed duke, 
 Whose father slew my father, — he shall die. 
 Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company 
 Clif. Soldiers, away with him. 
 Tut. Ah, Clifford ! murder not this innocent child 
 Lest thou be hated both of God and man. 
 
 [Exit, forced off by Soldiers. 
 Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? Or is it fear, 
 That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. 
 Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
 That trembles under his devouring paws: 
 And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey; 
 And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder.—- 
 Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, 
 And not with such a cruel threat'ning look. 
 » Of sound judgment. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VI 
 
 513 
 
 Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die; 
 I am too mean a subject for thy wrath, 
 Be. thou revenged on men, and let me live. 
 
 Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my fa- 
 ther's blood 
 Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 
 enter. 
 
 Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again; 
 He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 
 
 Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine, 
 Were not revenge sufficient for me; 
 No, if I digg'd up thy forefather?' graves, 
 And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
 It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
 The sight of any of the house of York 
 Is as a fury to torment my soul ; 
 And till I root out their accursed line, 
 And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
 Therefore — [Lifting his Hand. 
 
 Rut. 0, let me pray before I take my death: 
 To thee I pray ; Sweet Clifford, pity me! 
 
 Clif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 
 
 Rut. I never did thee harm ; Why wilt thou slay 
 me? 
 
 Clif Thy father hath. 
 
 Rut. But 'twas ere I was bom. 
 
 Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me; 
 Lest in revenge thereof, — sith God is just, — 
 He be as miserably slain as I. 
 Ah, let me live in prison all my days; 
 And when I give occasion of offence, 
 Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 
 
 Clif No cause! 
 Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. 
 
 [Clifford stabs him. 
 
 Rut. Dii faciant, laudis summa sit ista tuse!* 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Clif Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! 
 And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, 
 Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 
 Congeal 'd with this, do make me wipe off both. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 Alarum. Enter York. 
 York. The army of the queen hath got the field: 
 My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; 
 And all my followers to the eager foe 
 Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind, 
 Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. 
 My sons — God knows what has bechanced them : 
 But this I know — they have demean'd themselves 
 Like men born to renown, by life or death. 
 Three times did Richard make a lane to me; 
 And thrice cried, — Courage, father/ fight it out.' 
 And full as oft came Edward to my side, 
 With purple falchion, painted to the hilt, 
 In blood of those that had encounter'd him: 
 And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
 Richard cried, — Charge.' and give no foot of 
 
 ground! 
 And cried, — A crown, or else a glorious tomb.' 
 A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre.' 
 With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! 
 We bodged s again ; as I have seen a swan 
 With bootless labor swim against the tide, 
 And spend her strength with overmatching waves, 
 [yl short Alarum within. 
 Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue: 
 And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury; 
 
 * Heaven grant that this may • your greatest boast ! 
 
 Ovid. Epist. 
 » »' (. We boggled, failed. 
 
 And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury : 
 The sands are number'd that make up my life. 
 Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northum« 
 berlani), and Soldiers. 
 
 Come, bloody Clifford, — rough Northumberland,— 
 I dare your quenchless fury to more rage ; 
 I am your butt, and I abide your shot. 
 
 North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 
 
 Clif Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm, 
 With downright payment, show'd unto my father 
 Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, 
 And made an evening at the noontide prick.* 
 
 York. My ashes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth 
 A bird that will revenge upon you all: 
 And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven, 
 Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 
 Why come you not T what ! multitudes, and fear ? 
 Clif So cowards fight, when they can fly no further; 
 So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; 
 So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
 Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 
 
 York. O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, 
 And in thy thought o'er-run my former time: 
 And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face ; 
 And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cow- 
 ardice, 
 Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. 
 
 Clif I will not bandy with thee word for word : 
 But buckle with thee blows twice two for one. 
 
 [Draws. 
 
 Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand 
 causes, 
 I would prolong awhile the traitor's life : — 
 Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumber- 
 land. 
 
 North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honor him so much 
 To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: 
 What valor were it, when a cur doth grin, 
 For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, 
 When he might spurn him with his foot away? 
 It is war's prize to take all vantages; 
 And ten to one is no impeach of valor. 
 
 [They lay hands on York, who struggles 
 
 Clif. Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the girt 
 
 North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 
 
 [York is taken prisoner. 
 
 York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd 
 booty ; 
 So true men yield, with robbers so o'er-matched. 
 
 North. What would your grace have done unto 
 him now? 
 
 Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northum- 
 berland, 
 Come make him stand upon this molehill here, 
 That raught 7 at mountains with outstretched arms, 
 Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. — 
 What! was it you that would be England's king' 
 Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, 
 And made a preachment of your high descent? 
 W r here are your mess of sons to back you now ' 
 The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? 
 And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
 Dickey, your boy, that with his grumbling voict:, 
 Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? 
 Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ' 
 Look, York ; I sfain'd this napkin with the blood 
 That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, 
 Made issue from the bosom of the boy : 
 And, if thine eyes can water for his death, 
 I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
 
 « Noontide point en the dial. ' Re»oL J 
 
314 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act il 
 
 Alas, poor York ! but tha . I hate thee deadly, 
 I should lament thy miserable state. 
 I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York , 
 Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. 
 What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, 
 That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? 
 Why art thou patient, man? thou should'stbe mad; 
 And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
 Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport; 
 York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. — 
 A crown for York ; — and, lords, bow low to him. — 
 Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. — 
 
 [Putting a paper Crown on his Head. 
 Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king ! 
 Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair; 
 And this is he was his adopted heir. — 
 But how is it that great Plantagenet 
 Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? 
 As I bethink me, you should not be king, 
 Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. 
 And will you pale s your head in Henry's glory, 
 And rob his temples of the diadem, 
 Now in his life, against your holy oath? 
 0, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable ! 
 Oft' with the crown ; and with the crown, his head ; 
 And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. 
 
 Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he 
 makes. 
 
 York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves 
 of France, 
 Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! 
 How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex, 
 To triumph like an Amazonian trull, 
 Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates? 
 But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, 
 Made impudent with use of evil deeds, 
 I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush : 
 To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd, 
 Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not 
 
 shameless. 
 Thy father bears the type 9 of king of Naples, 
 Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ; 
 Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
 Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? 
 It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen ; 
 Unless the adage must be verified, — 
 That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death. 
 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; 
 But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 
 'Tis virtue, that doth make them most admir'd; 
 The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 
 'Tis government, 1 that makes them seem divine; 
 The want thereof makes thee abominable ; 
 Thou art as opposite to every good, 
 As the Antipodes are unto us, 
 
 Or as the south to the septentrion.* 
 0, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide ' 
 How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child 
 To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, 
 And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? 
 Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible; 
 Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. 
 Bidst thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish : 
 Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy 
 
 will: 
 For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 
 And, when the rage allays, the rain begins. 
 These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies; 
 And every drop cries vengeance for his death, — 
 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, — and thee, false French- 
 woman. 
 North. Beshrew me, but his passisns' move me so, 
 That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 
 
 York. That face of his the hungry cannibals 
 Would not have touch'd, would not have stam'd 
 
 with blood: 
 But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, — 
 0, ten times more, — than tigers of Hyrcania. 
 See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: 
 This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy, 
 And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
 Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: 
 
 [He gives back the Handkerchief. 
 And if thou teil'st the heavy story right, 
 Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; 
 Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, 
 And say, — Alas, it was a piteous deed ! 
 There, take the crown, and with the crown, my 
 
 curse; 
 And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee, 
 As now I reap at thy too cruel hand ! — 
 Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world ; 
 My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! 
 
 North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, 
 I should not for my life but weep with him, 
 To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, weeping ripe, my lord Northum- 
 berland ? 
 Think but upon the wrong he did us all, 
 And that will quickly dry thy meltine tears. 
 
 Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's 
 
 death. [Stabbing him. 
 
 0. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted 
 
 king. [Stabbing him. 
 
 York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God ! 
 
 My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. 
 
 [Dies 
 Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York 
 gates ; 
 So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IT. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in 
 Herefordshire. 
 
 Drums. Enter Edward and Richard, with their 
 Forces, marching. 
 
 Ediv. I wonder, how our princely father 'scaped : 
 Or whether he be 'scaped away or no, 
 From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit; 
 Had ht been ta'en, we should have heard the news; 
 Had he been slain, we should have heard the news ; 
 
 • Impale, encircle. 9 The distinguishing mark. 
 
 ' lUiiularity of behavior 
 
 Or, had he 'scaped, methinks, we should have hearJ 
 The happy tidings of his good escape. — 
 How fares my brother? why is he so sad? 
 
 Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd 
 Where our right valiant father is become, 
 I saw him in the battle range about; 
 And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. 
 Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop, 
 As doth a lion in a herd of neat:' 
 Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs. 
 Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry 
 3 The north. 3 SuflV- rings. * Neat cattle, cows, oxen, do 
 
&CSNK 1 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 515 
 
 Tin: rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
 So fared our father with his enemies; 
 So fled his enemies my warlike father; 
 Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. 
 See how the morning opes her golden gates, 
 And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! 
 How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
 Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love! 
 
 Edw. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns'? 
 
 Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun ; 
 Not separated with the racking clouds,* 
 But sever 'd in a pale clear shining sky. 
 See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, 
 As if they vow'd some league inviolable: 
 Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
 In this the heaven figures some event. 
 
 Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never 
 heard of. 
 I think, it cites us, brother, to the field ; 
 That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
 Each one already blazing by our meeds,' 
 Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together, 
 And overshine the earth, as this the world. 
 Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear 
 Upon my target three fair shining suns. 
 
 Rich. Nay, bear three daughters ; by your leave 
 I speak it, 
 You love the breeder better than the male. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell 
 Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? 
 
 Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on, 
 When as the noble duke of York was slain, 
 Your princely father, and my loving lord. 
 
 Edfw. O, speak no more ! for I have heard too 
 much. 
 
 Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 
 
 Mess. Environed he was with many foes; 
 And stood against them as the hope of Troy 
 Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. 
 But Hercules himself must yield to odds; 
 And many strokes, though with a little axe, 
 Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. 
 By many hands your father was subdued; 
 But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm 
 Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : 
 Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite; 
 Laugh'd in his face ; and, when with grief he wept, 
 The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, 
 A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
 Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain : 
 And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, 
 They took his head, and on the gates of York 
 They set the same ; and there it doth remain, 
 The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. 
 
 Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon ; 
 Now thou art gone, we have no staff", no stay ! — 
 Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain 
 The flower of Europe for his chivalry; 
 And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, 
 For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee! — 
 Now my soul's palace is become a prison : 
 Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my body 
 Might in the ground be closed up in rest: 
 For never henceforth shall I joy again, 
 Never, O never, shall I see more joy. 
 
 Rich. I cannot weep : for all my body's moisture 
 Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: 
 Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden, 
 Par self-same wind, that I should speak withal, 
 
 » i. e. The clouds in rapid tumultuary motion. 
 * Merit. ' Hector. 
 
 Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, 
 
 And burn me up with flames, that tears would 
 
 quench. 
 To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: 
 Tears, then, for babes ; blows and revenge for me ! — 
 Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death, 
 Or die renowned by attempting it. 
 
 Edw. His name that valiant duke hath left with 
 thee; 
 His dukedom and his chair with me is left. 
 
 Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, 
 Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: 
 For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say ; 
 Or that is thine, or else thou wert not his. 
 
 March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with 
 Forces. 
 
 War. How how, fair lords ? What fare ? what 
 news abroad ? 
 
 Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount 
 Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, 
 Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, 
 The words would add more anguish than the wounds. 
 
 valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. 
 
 Edw. O Warwick ! Warwick ! that Plantagenet 
 Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption, 
 Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. 
 
 War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears: 
 And now, to add more measure to your woes, 
 
 1 come to tell you things since then befall'n. 
 After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, 
 Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, 
 Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, 
 Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. 
 
 I then in London, keeper of the king, 
 Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, 
 And very well appointed, as I thought, 
 March'd towards Saint Alban's to intercept the 
 
 queen, 
 Bearing the king in my behalf along: 
 For by my scouts I was advertised, 
 That she was coming with a full intent 
 To dash our late decree in parliament, 
 Touching king Henry's oath and your succession. 
 Short tale to make, — we at Saint Alban's met, 
 Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought : 
 But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king, 
 Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, 
 That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen ; 
 Or whether 'twas report of her success; 
 Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigor, 
 Who thunders to his captives — blood and death, 
 I cannot judge: but, to conclude with truth, 
 Their weapons like to lightning came and went: 
 Our soldiers' — like the night-owl's lazy flight, 
 Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail — 
 Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 
 I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, 
 With promise of high pay, and great rewards : 
 But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight, 
 And we, in them, no hope to win the day, 
 So that we fled ; the king unto the queen; 
 Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, 
 In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you; 
 For in the marches here, we heard you were, 
 Making another head to fight again. 
 
 Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War- 
 wick? 
 And when came George from Burgundy to Eng- 
 land? 
 War. Some six miles off the duke is with thsi 
 soldiers : 
 And for your brother, — he was lately sent 
 
516 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act II 
 
 From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, 
 With aid of soldiers to this needful war. 
 
 Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick 
 
 fled: 
 Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, 
 But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. 
 
 War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou 
 
 hear: 
 For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine 
 Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, 
 And wring the awful sceptre from his fist; 
 Were he as famous and as bold in war, 
 As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. 
 Rick. I know it well, lord Warwick: blame me 
 
 not; 
 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. 
 But, in this troublous time, what's to be done? 
 Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, 
 And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns, 
 Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads ? 
 Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
 Tell our devotion Wi;h revengeful arms? 
 If for the last, say — Ay, and to it, lords. 
 
 War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you 
 
 out; 
 And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
 Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, 
 With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, 
 And of their feather many more proud birds, 
 Have wrought the easy melting king like wax. 
 He swore consent to your succession, 
 His oath enrolled in the parliament; 
 And now to London all the crew are gone, 
 To frustrate both his oath, and what beside 
 May make against the house of Lancaster. 
 Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong : 
 Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself, 
 With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March, 
 Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, 
 Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, 
 Why, Via/ to London will we march amain; 
 And once again bestride our foaming steeds, 
 And once again cry — Charge upon our foes! 
 But never once again turn back and fly. 
 
 Rich. Ay, now, methinks, I hear great Warwick 
 
 speak : 
 Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, 
 That cries — Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. 
 Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I 
 
 lean; 
 And when thou fall'st, (as God forbid the hour !) 
 Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! 
 
 War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York; 
 The next degree is, England's royal throne: 
 For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd 
 In every borough as we pass along: 
 And he that throws not up his cap for joy, 
 Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
 King Edward, — valiant Richard, — Montague, — 
 Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, 
 But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 
 Rich. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as 
 
 steel, 
 (As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,) 
 1 come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. 
 
 Edw. Then strike up, drums ; — God, and saint 
 
 George, for us ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 War. How now ? what news ? 
 
 Mess. The auke of Norfolk sends you word by me, 
 The queen is coming with a puissant host; 
 \ad craves your company for speedy counsel. 
 
 War. Why then it sorts,' brave warriors; Let's 
 away. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE 11.— Before York. 
 Enter King Henry, Queen Margauet, the. 
 
 Prince of Wales, Clifford, and Northum- 
 berland, with Forces. 
 
 Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town 
 of York. 
 Yonder's the head of that archenemy, 
 That sought to be encompass'd with your crown 
 Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord 1 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that teai 
 their wreck : 
 To see this sight, it irks my very soul. — 
 Withhold revenge, dear God ! 'tis not my fault, 
 Not wittingly have I infringed my vow. 
 
 Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity 
 And harmful pity, must be laid aside. 
 To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? 
 Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
 Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ? 
 Not his, that spoils her young before her face. 
 Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting ? 
 Not he, that sets his foot upon her back. 
 The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on ; 
 And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. 
 Ambitious York did level at thy crown, 
 Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows: 
 He but a duke, would have his son a king, 
 And raise his issue, like a loving sire; 
 Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son, 
 Didst yield consent to disinherit him, 
 Which argued thee a most unloving father. 
 Unreasonable creatures feed their young : 
 And though man's face be fearful to their eye» 
 Yet, in protection of their tender ones, 
 Who hath not seen them (even with those wi/iga 
 Which sometime they have used with fearful flight) 
 Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, 
 Offering their own lives in their young's defence? 
 For shame, my liege, make them your precedent ! 
 Were it net pity that this goodly boy 
 Should lose his birthright by his father's fault ; 
 And long hereafter, say unto his child. — 
 What my great-grandfather and grandsire got. 
 My careless father fondly' gave away? 
 Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; 
 And let his manly face, which promiseth 
 Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart, 
 To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. 
 
 K. Hen. Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, 
 Inferring arguments of mighty force. 
 But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear, — 
 That things ill got had ever bad success? 
 And happy always was it for that son, 
 Whose father for his hoarding went to hell' 
 I'll leave my, son my virtuous deeds behind , 
 And would, my father had left me no more ! 
 For all the rest is held at such a rate, 
 As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, 
 Than in possession any jot of pleasure. 
 Ah, cousin York ! 'would thy best friends did know. 
 How it doth grieve me that thy head is here ! 
 
 Q. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits; our foei 
 are nigh, 
 And this soft courage makes your followers faint. 
 You promis'd knighthood to our forward son; 
 Unsheath your sword, and dub him presently. — 
 Edward, kneel down. 
 
 K. He?i. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight, 
 And learn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right 
 » Why then things are as they should he. * Foolishly 
 
SCENU [II. 
 
 KiNG HENRY VI 
 
 »n 
 
 Prime. My gricious father, by your kingly leave, 
 "il draw it as apparent to the crown, 
 And in that quarrel use it to the death. 
 
 Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness : 
 For, with a band of thirty thousand men, 
 Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York; 
 And, in the towns as they do march along, 
 Proclaims him king, and many fly to him ; 
 Darraign your battle,' for they are at hand. 
 
 Clif. I would your highness would depart the field; 
 
 The queen hath best success when you are absent. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our 
 
 fortune. 
 K. lien. Why, that's my fortune too ; therefore 
 
 I'll stay. 
 North Be it with resolution, then, to fight. 
 Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords, 
 And hearten those that fight in your defence : 
 Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint 
 
 George.' 
 March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, War- 
 wick, Norfolk, MontIgue, and Soldiers. 
 Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry! wilt thou kneel for 
 grace, 
 And set thy diadem upon my head ; 
 Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? 
 
 Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! 
 Becomes it thee to be. thus bold in terms, 
 Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king ? 
 
 Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee ; 
 I was adopted heir by his consent: 
 Since when, his oath is broke : for, as I hear, 
 You — that are king, though he do wear the 
 
 crown — 
 Have caus'd him, by new acts of parliament, 
 To blot out me, and put his own son in. 
 
 Clif. And reason too ; 
 Who sb'Mild succeed the father, but the son? 
 Rich. Ate you Ihere, butcher? — 0, 1 cannot speak! 
 Clif. Ay, crook-back ; here I stand to answer thee, 
 Or any he the proudest of thy sort. 
 
 Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was 
 
 it not? 
 Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. 
 Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the 
 
 fight. 
 War. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield 
 
 the crown ? 
 Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick? 
 dare you speak ? 
 When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, 
 Your legs did better service than your hands. 
 War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. 
 Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled. 
 War. 'Twas not your valor, Clifford, drove me 
 
 thence. 
 North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make 
 
 you stay. 
 Rich. Northumberland, I hoi i thee reverently; — 
 Break off" the parle: for scarce I can refrain 
 The execution of my big swoln heart 
 Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. 
 
 Clif. I slew thy father: Call'stthou him a child? 
 Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, 
 As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; 
 But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed. 
 K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and 
 
 hear me speak. 
 {}. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. 
 * »'. «. Arrange your order of battle. 
 
 K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue* 
 I am a king, and privileged to speak. 
 
 Clif. My liege, the wound, that bred this meeting 
 here, 
 Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. 
 
 Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword 
 By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd, 3 
 That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. 
 
 Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no ? 
 A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, 
 That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. 
 
 War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head ; 
 For York in justice puts his armor on. 
 
 Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is 
 right, 
 There is no wrong, but every thing is right. 
 
 Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; 
 For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 
 
 Q. Mar. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam; 
 But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatick, 
 Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, 
 As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. 
 
 Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt,' 
 Whose father bears the title of a king, 
 (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) 
 Sham'st thou not, knowing whence thou art ex- 
 
 traught, 
 To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ? 
 
 Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand 
 crowns, 
 To make this shameless callet' know herself. — 
 Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou. 
 Although thy husband may be Menelaus ; 
 And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 
 By that false woman, as this king by thee. 
 His father revell'd in the heart of France, 
 And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop - 
 And had he match'd according to his state, 
 He might have kept that glory to this day: 
 But, when he took a beggar to his bed, 
 And graced thy poor sire with his bridal day ; 
 Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, 
 That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, 
 And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
 For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride 
 Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept ; 
 And we, in pity of the gentle king, 
 Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 
 
 Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made tb" 
 spring, 
 And that thy summer bred us no increase, 
 We set the axe to thy usurping root : 
 And though the edge hath something hit ourselves:, 
 Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, 
 We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down, 
 Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. 
 
 Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; 
 Not willing any longer conference, 
 Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak. — 
 Sound trumpets ! — let our bloody colors wave !— 
 And either victory, or else a grave. 
 
 Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 
 
 Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay; 
 These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— A Field of Battle behveen Towtort 
 and Saxton in Yorkslrr?. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Warwick. 
 
 War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a raw 
 I lay me down a little while to breathe: 
 For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, 
 
 » It is my firm persuasion. » Gilding. * Dr»k 
 
618 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Acrll 
 
 Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 
 And, spitj of spite, needs must I rest a while. 
 Enter Edward, running. 
 Edw. Smile, gentle heaven ! or strike, ungentle 
 death: 
 For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. 
 .War. How now, my lord ? what hap? what hope 
 of good? 
 
 Enter George. 
 Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; 
 Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us : 
 What counsel give you, whither shall we fly? 
 
 Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; 
 And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. 
 Enter Richard. 
 Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn 
 thyself? 
 Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, 
 Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance : 
 And in the very pangs of death, he cried, — 
 Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, — 
 Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death! 
 So underneath the belly of their steeds, 
 That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 
 The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. 
 
 War. Then let the earth be drunken with out blood: 
 I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
 Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, 
 Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ? 
 And look upon, as if the tragedy 
 Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ? 
 Here on my knee I vow to God above, 
 I'll never pause again, never stand still, 
 Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine, 
 Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 
 
 Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; 
 And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine; 
 And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, 
 I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, 
 Thou setter up and plucker down of kings ! 
 Beseeching thee, — if with thy will it stands, 
 That to my foes this body must be prey, — 
 Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 
 And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! — 
 Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, 
 Where'er it be, in heaven or on earth. 
 
 Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; — and, gentle 
 Warwick, 
 Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : — 
 1, that did never weep, now melt with ~"?oe, 
 That winter should cut off our spring-time so. 
 War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet lords, fare- 
 well. 
 Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, 
 And give them leave to fly that will not stay ; 
 A.nd call them pillars, that will stand to us ; 
 \nd if we thrive, promise them such rewards 
 As victors wear at the Olympian games: 
 This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; 
 For yet is hope of life, and victory. — 
 Fore-slow' no longer, make we hence amain. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 BCENE IV.— The same. Another Part of the 
 Field. 
 
 Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford. 
 Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone : 
 Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York, 
 \nd thip for Rutland ; both bound to revenge, 
 Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 
 » Be dilatory. 
 
 Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here ah ne: 
 This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York ; 
 And this the hand that, slew thy brother Rutland 
 And here's the heart that triumphs in their death, 
 And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and 
 
 brother, 
 To execute the like upon thyself ; 
 And so have at thee. 
 
 [They fight. W arwick enters,- Clitfoud Jlies 
 
 Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; 
 
 For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter Kino Henry. 
 
 K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, 
 When dying clouds contend with growing light ; 
 What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, 
 Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. 
 Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, 
 Forced by the tide to combat with the wind : 
 Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea 
 Forced to retire by fury of the wind : 
 Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind; 
 Now, one the better; then, another best; 
 Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 
 Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : 
 So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
 Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
 To whom God will, there be the victory ! 
 For Margaret, my queen, and Clifford too, 
 Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both, 
 They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
 Would I were dead ! if God's good will were 80 '. 
 For what is in this world, but grief and woe ? 
 God ! methinks, it were a happy life, 
 To be no better than a homely swain; 
 To sit upon a hill, as I do now, 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
 Thereby to see the minutes how they run : 
 How many make the hour full complete, 
 How many hours bring about the day, 
 How many days will finish up the year, 
 How many years a mortal man may live. 
 When this is known, then to divide the times* 
 So many hours must I tend my flock; 
 So many hours must I take my rest; 
 So many hours must I contemplate ; 
 So many hours must I sport myself; 
 So many days my ewes have been with young, 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
 So many years ere I shall shear the fleece : 
 So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, 
 Pass'd over to the end they were created, 
 Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. 
 Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely. 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, 
 Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
 To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? 
 O, yes it doth : a thousand fold it doth. 
 And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 
 His body couched in a curious bed, 
 When care, mistrust, and treason, wait on him. 
 Alarum. Enter a Son, that has killed his Fathet 
 dragging in the dead Body. 
 
 Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody.- 
 This man. whom hand to hand I slew in fight 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 51 ii 
 
 Mav be possessed with some store jf crowns : 
 Anil I. that haply take them from him now, 
 May yet ere night yield both my life and them 
 To some man else, as this dead man doth me. — 
 Who's this ? — O God ! it is my father's face, 
 Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd. 
 O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
 From I ondon by the king was I press'd forth ; 
 My father, being the earl of Warwick's man, 
 Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; 
 And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, 
 Have by my hands of life bereaved him. — 
 Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! — 
 And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! — 
 My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ; 
 And no more words, till they have fiow'd their fill. 
 
 K. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times ! 
 Whilst liens war, and battle for their dens, 
 Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. — 
 Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; 
 And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, 
 Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. 
 
 Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with 
 the Body in his arms. 
 
 Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, 
 Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 
 For I have bought it with an hundred blows. — 
 But let me see : — is this our foeman's face ? 
 Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! — 
 Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, 
 Throw up thine eye ; see, see, what showers arise 
 Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, 
 Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart! — 
 0, pity, God, this miserable age ! — 
 What stratagems," how fell, how butcherly, 
 Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, 
 This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! — 
 boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, 
 And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! 
 
 K. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than com- 
 mon grief ! 
 O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! 
 O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity ! — 
 The red rose and the white are on his face, 
 The fatal colors of our striving houses : 
 The one, his purple blood right well resembles; 
 The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present: 
 Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ! 
 If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 
 
 Son. How will my mother, for a father's death, 
 Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied ? 
 
 Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, 
 Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied] 
 
 A'. Hen. How will the country, for these woful 
 chances, 
 Misthink the king, and not be satisfied ? 
 
 Son. Was ever son, so rued a father's death? 
 
 Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son ? 
 
 K. Hen. Was ever king, so grie v'd for subjects' woe? 
 Much is your sorrow ; mine, ten times so much. 
 
 Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my 
 fill. [Exit, with the Body. 
 
 Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy wind- 
 ing-sheet; 
 My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre; 
 For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. 
 My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell ; 
 And so obsequious' will thy father be, 
 fcad for the lo^s of thee, having no more, 
 As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 
 
 « i. e. Dreadful events. 
 
 ' Oireful of "bseo lies, or fua^ral rites. 
 
 I'll bear thee hence ; and let then- fight that will, 
 For I have murder'd where I should not kill. 
 
 [Exit, with the Body 
 K.Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with 
 care, 
 Here sits a king more woful than you are. 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Marga 
 iiet, Prince of Wales, and Exeter. 
 Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends s- re fled. 
 And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : 
 Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 
 
 Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick 
 post amain: 
 Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds 
 Having the fearful flying hare in sight, 
 With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, 
 And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, 
 Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. 
 
 Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them 
 Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ; 
 Or else come after, I'll away before. 
 
 K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet 
 Exeter; 
 Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
 Whither the queen intends. Forward : away ! - 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE VI.— The same. 
 A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. 
 Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, 
 Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light. 
 
 0, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow, 
 
 More than my body's parting with my soul. 
 My love, and fear, glued many friends to thee ; 
 And now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt. 
 Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York, 
 The common people swarm like summer flies: 
 And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun] 
 And who shines now but Henry's enemies'! 
 
 Phoebus ! hadst thou never given consent 
 That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds, 
 Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth : 
 And Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do 
 Or as thy father, and his father did, 
 
 Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
 They never then had sprung like summer flies ; 
 
 1, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, 
 Had left no mourning widows for our death, 
 And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. 
 For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air ] 
 And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity? 
 Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my woundu ; 
 No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight : 
 The foe is merciless, and will not pity; 
 
 For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity. 
 The air hath got into my deadly wounds, 
 And much effuse of blood doth make me faint: — 
 Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; 
 
 1 stabb'd your father's bosoms, split my breast. 
 
 [He faints 
 Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edwark, George, 
 
 Richard, Montague, Warwick, and Soldiers. 
 
 Ediv. Now breathe we, lords ; good fortune bids 
 us pause, 
 And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. 
 Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ;— 
 That led calm Henry, though he were a king, 
 As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 
 Command an argosy to stem the waves. 
 But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them 1 
 
 War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape* 
 For, though before his face 1 speak the word* 
 
520 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act III 
 
 Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave : 
 And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. 
 
 [Clifford groans and dies. 
 
 Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy 
 leave? 
 
 Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's de- 
 parting. 
 
 Edw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, 
 Tf friend, or foe, let him be gently used. 
 
 Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford ; 
 Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch 
 In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, 
 But set his murdering knife unto the root 
 From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, 
 I mean your princely father, duke of York. 
 
 War. From off the gates of York fetch down 
 the head, 
 Your father's head, which Clifford placed there: 
 Instead whereof, let this supply the room ; 
 Measure for measure must be answered. 
 
 Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our 
 house, 
 That nothing sung but death to us and ours : 
 Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, 
 And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 
 
 [Attendants bring the Body forward. 
 
 War. I think his understanding is bereft: — 
 Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? 
 Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, 
 And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. 
 
 Rich. 0, 'would he did ! and so, perhaps, he doth ; 
 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, 
 Because he would avoid such bitter taunti, 
 Which in the time of death he gave our father. 
 
 Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager 
 words." 
 
 Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. 
 
 Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. 
 
 War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. 
 
 Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. 
 
 Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to 
 York 
 
 Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. 
 Geo.Where's captain Margaret to fence you nowl 
 War. They mock thee, Clifford ! swear as thou 
 
 wast wont. 
 Rich. What, not an oath? nay then the world 
 
 goes hard, 
 When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oatn :— 
 I know by that he's dead; And, by my soul 
 If this right hand would buy two hour?' life. 
 That I in all despite might rail at him. 
 This hand should chop it off; and with »he issuing 
 
 blood 
 Stifle the villain, whose uns*taunched thirst 
 York and young Rutland could not satisfy. 
 
 War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's 
 
 head, 
 And rear it in the place your father's stands. — 
 And now to London with triumphant cnarch, 
 There to be crowned England's royal king; 
 From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, 
 And ask the lady Bona for thy queen : 
 So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ; 
 And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread 
 The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again ; 
 For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, 
 Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears. 
 First, will I see the coronation ; 
 And then to Britany I'll cross the sea, 
 To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 
 
 Edw. E ven as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it bo. 
 For on thy shoulder do I build my seat; 
 And never will I undertake the thing, 
 Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. — 
 Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster; — 
 And George, of Clarence — Warwick, as ourself, 
 Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best. 
 
 Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, of 
 
 Gloster; 
 For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. 
 
 War. Tut, that's a foolish observation ; 
 Richard, be duke of Gloster: Now to London, 
 To see these honors in possession. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Chase in the North of England. 
 Enter two Keepers,with Cross-bows in their hands. 
 
 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll 
 
 shroud ourselves; 
 For through this laund' anon the deer will come ; 
 And in this covert will we make our stand. 
 Culling the principal of all the deer. 
 
 2 Keep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 
 
 1 Keep. That cannot be ; the noise of thy cross- 
 
 bow 
 Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 
 Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: 
 And, for the time shall not seem tedious, 
 I'll tell thee what befell me on a day, 
 In this self-place where now we mean to stand. 
 
 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be 
 
 past. 
 Enter King Henrt, disguised, with a Prayer-book. 
 K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure 
 love, 
 To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. 
 No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; 
 Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, 
 
 * Sour words : words of asperity. 
 
 • A plain extended between woods. 
 
 Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed? 
 No bending knee will call thee Cresar now, 
 No humble suitors press to speak for right, 
 No, not a man comes for redress of thee, 
 For how can I help them, and not myself? 
 
 1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's 
 
 fee: 
 This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. 
 
 K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities: 
 For wise men say, it is the wisest course. 
 
 2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon 
 
 him. 
 1 Keep. Forbear awhile : we'll hear a little m 
 K. Hen. My queen and son, are gone to France 
 for aid ; 
 And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 
 Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sistei 
 To wife for Edward : If this news be true, 
 Poor queen and son, your labor is but lost; 
 For Warwick is a subtle orator, 
 And Lewis a prince sooh won with moving word* 
 By this account, then, Margaret may win him ■ 
 For she's a woman to be pitied much : 
 Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; 
 Her tears will pierce into a marbie heart ; 
 The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn ; 
 
SCBNE [1 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 521 
 
 And Nero will be tainted with remorse, 
 Tc hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. 
 Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give: 
 She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry ; 
 He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. 
 She weeps, and says — her Henry is depos'd ; 
 He smiles, and says — his Edward is install'd; 
 That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more : 
 Whiles Warwick tells his titles, smooths the wrong, 
 Inferreth arguments of mighty strength; 
 Vnd, ill conclusion, wins the king from her, 
 With promise of his sister, and what else, 
 To strengthen and support king Edward's place. 
 Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor soul, 
 Art then forsaken as thou went'st forlorn. 
 
 2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings 
 
 and queens'! 
 K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was 
 born to : 
 A man at least, for less I should not be; 
 And men may talk of kings, and why not 1 1 
 2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. 
 A". Hen. Why, so I am, in mind ; and that's 
 
 enough. 
 2 Keep. But if thou be a king, where is thy 
 
 crown ? 
 K. Hen. My crown is in my heart,not on my head: 
 Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, 
 Nor to be seen : my crown is call'd, content; 
 A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. 
 
 2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with 
 content, 
 Your crown content, and you, must be contented 
 To go along with us : for, as we think, 
 You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd ; 
 And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, 
 Will apprehend you as his enemy. 
 K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an 
 
 oath? 
 2 Keep. No, never such an oath, nor will not 
 
 now. 
 K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king 
 
 of England 1 
 2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now 
 
 remain. 
 K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old ; 
 My father and my grandfather, were kings; 
 And you were sworn true subjects unto me : 
 And, tell me then, have you not broke your oaths! 
 
 1 Keep. No; 
 For we were subjects but while you were king. 
 K. Hen. Why, am I dead ! do I not breathe a 
 man! 
 Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear. 
 Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 
 And as the air blows it to me again. 
 Obeying with my wind when I do blow, 
 And yielding to another when it blows, 
 Commanded always by the greater gust; 
 Such is the lightness of you common men. 
 But do not break your oaths; for, of that sin 
 My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
 Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; 
 And be you kings : command, and I'll obey. 
 1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king 
 
 Edward. 
 K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, 
 If he were seated as king Edward is. 
 
 1 Keep. We charge you in God's name, and in 
 the king's, 
 To go with us unto the officers. 
 
 K. Hen. In God's name lead ; your king's name 
 be obey'd: 
 
 And what God will, then let your king perform ; 
 And what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Edwaud, Gloster, Clarence, und 
 Lady Gret. 
 K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field 
 This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain, 
 His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror: 
 Her suit is now, to repossess those lands; 
 Which we in justice cannot well deny, 
 Because in quarrel of the house of York 
 The worthy gentleman did lose his life. 
 
 Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; 
 It were dishonor, to deny it her. 
 
 K. Edw. It were no less ; but yet I'll make a pause. 
 Glo. Yea! is it so ! 
 I see, the lady hath a thing to grant, 
 Before the king will grant her humble suit. 
 
 Cla. He knows the game; How true he keeps 
 the wind! [Aside. 
 
 Glo. Silence! [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. Widow, we will considci of your suit; 
 And come some other time, to know our mind. 
 L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook 
 delay : 
 May it please your highness to resolve me now ; 
 And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. 
 Glo. [Aside.] Ay, widow! then I'll warrant you 
 all your lands, 
 An if what pleases bim, shall pleasure you. 
 Figh s closer, or, good faith, you'll catch a blow. 
 Clar. I fear her not, unless she chance to fall. 
 
 [Aside 
 Glo. God forbid that ! for he'll take vantages. 
 
 [Aside 
 K. Edic. How many children hast thou, widow! 
 
 tell me. 
 Clar. I think, he means to beg a child of her. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Glo. Nay, whip me then; he'll rather give her 
 two. [Aside. 
 
 L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord. 
 Glo. You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by 
 him. [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. 'Twe'" pity they should lose their 
 
 father's land. 
 L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. 
 K. Edw. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this 
 
 widow's wit. 
 Glo. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have 
 leave, 
 Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. 
 [Gloster and Clarence retire to the 
 other side. 
 K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your 
 
 children ! 
 L. 7rey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. 
 K. Edw. And would you not do much to do them 
 
 good! 
 L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some 
 
 harm. 
 K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do 
 
 them good. 
 L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. 
 K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got 
 L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' 
 
 service. 
 K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give 
 
 them? 
 L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me 
 
 to do. 
 K.Edw.But you will take exceptions to my boon 
 2 K 
 
622 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act 11 
 
 L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. 
 K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to 
 
 ask. 
 L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace 
 
 commands. 
 
 Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears 
 
 the marble. [Aside. 
 
 Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax must 
 
 melt. [Aside. 
 
 L. Grey. Why stops my lord ? shall I not hear 
 
 my task? 
 K. Edw. An easy task: 'tis but to love a king. 
 L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a 
 
 subject. 
 K. Edw. Why ther., thy husband's lands I freely 
 
 give thee. 
 L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand 
 
 thanks. 
 Glo. The match is made; she seals it with a curt'sy. 
 K. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I 
 
 mean. 
 L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving 
 
 liege. 
 K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. 
 What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? 
 L. Grey My love till death, my humble thanks, 
 my prayers; 
 That love which virtue begs, and virtue grants. 
 K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such 
 
 love. 
 L. Grey Why then you mean not as I thought 
 
 you did. 
 K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my 
 
 mind. 
 L.Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive 
 Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. 
 K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. 
 L. Grey. To tell you plain, I had rather lie in 
 
 prison. 
 A'. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy 
 
 husband's lands. 
 L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my 
 dower ; 
 For by that loss I will not purchase them. 
 
 K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children 
 
 mightily. 
 L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both 
 them and me. 
 dut, mighty lord, this merry inclination 
 Accords not with the sadness of my suit ; 
 Please you, dismiss me, either with ay, or no. 
 
 K. Edw. Ay ; if thou wilt say ay, to my request : 
 No; if thou dost say no, to my demand. 
 
 L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. 
 
 Glo. The widow likes him not; she knits her 
 
 brows. [Aside. 
 
 Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. 
 
 [Aside. 
 K. Edw. [Aside.] Her looks do argue her replete 
 with modesty; 
 Her words do show her wit incomparable; 
 All her perfections challenge sovereignty: 
 One way, or other, she is for a king ; 
 And she shall be my love, or else my queen. — 
 Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen ? 
 L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious 
 lord: 
 I am a subject fit to jest withal, 
 But far unfit to be a sovereign. 
 
 K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to 
 thee. 
 F speak no more than what my soul intends ; 
 And that is to enjoy thee for my love. 
 
 L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto. 
 I know, I am too mean to be your queen ; 
 And yet too good to be your concubine. 
 
 A". Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen 
 L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my sons 
 
 should call you — father. 
 K. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters cali 
 thee mother. 
 Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children ; 
 And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, 
 Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing 
 To be the father unto many sons. 
 Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. 
 Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for 
 
 shift. [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what chat we two 
 
 have had. 
 Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad. 
 K. Edw. You'd think it strange if I should marry 
 
 her. 
 Clar. To whom, my lord? 
 K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to inyseli. 
 
 Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. 
 Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. 
 Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes. 
 K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers, I can tell you 
 both, 
 Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. 
 
 Enter a Nobleman. 
 
 Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, 
 And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. 
 
 K. Edw. See that he be convey'd unto th» 
 Tower. — ■ 
 And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, 
 To question of his apprehension. — 
 Widow, go you along ; lords, use her honorable. 
 [Exeunt Kino Edward, Ladt Gret, 
 Clarence, and Lord. 
 
 Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honorably. 
 'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, 
 That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, 
 To cross me from the golden time I look for ! 
 And yet, between my soul's desire and me, 
 (The lustful Edward's title buried,) 
 Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
 And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, 
 To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: 
 A cold premeditation for my purpose ! 
 Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty j 
 Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
 And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, 
 Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; 
 And chides the sea that sunders him from thence. 
 Saying — he'll lade it dry to have his way : 
 So do I wish the crown, being so far off; 
 And so I chide the means that keep me from it ; 
 And so I say — I'll cut the causes off, 
 Flattering me with impossibilities. — 
 My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much 
 Unless my hand and strength could equal them. 
 Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; 
 What other pleasure can the world afford ? 
 I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, 
 I'll deck my body in gay ornaments, 
 And witch sweet ladies with my words and look*. 
 O miserable thought! and more unlikely, 
 Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! 
 Why, love foreswore me in my mother's womb" 
 And, for I should not deal in her soft lawr, 
 She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 523 
 
 To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ; 
 
 To make an envious mountain on my back, 
 
 Where sits deformity to mock my body; 
 
 To shape my legs of an unequal size; 
 
 To disproportion me in every part, 
 
 Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp, 
 
 That carries no impression like the dam. 
 
 And am I then a man to be belov'dl 
 
 O, monstrous fault, to harbor such a thought! 
 
 Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, 
 
 But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 
 
 As are of better person than myself, 
 
 I'll make my heaven — to dream upon the crown; 
 
 And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, 
 
 Until my mis-shap'd trunk, that bears this head, 
 
 Be round impaled 1 with a glorious crown. 
 
 And yet I know not how to get the crown, 
 
 For many lives stand between me and home : 
 
 And I, — like one lost in a thorny wood, 
 
 That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns; 
 
 Seeking a way, and straying from the way ; 
 
 Not knowing how to find the open air, 
 
 But toiling desperately to find it out, — 
 
 Torment myself to catch the English crown: 
 
 And from that torment I will free myself, 
 
 Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 
 
 Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile; 
 
 And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart, 
 
 And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, 
 
 And frame my face to all occasions. 
 
 I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; 
 
 I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; 
 
 I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, 
 
 Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, 
 
 And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. 
 
 I can add colors to the cameleon; 
 
 Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages, 
 
 And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school. 
 
 Can I do this, and cannot get a crown 1 
 
 Tut ! were it further off, I'd pluck it down. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— France. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Lewis the French King, and 
 Lady Bos a, attended; the King takes his state, 
 Then enter Qceex Margaret, Piunce Ed- 
 ward her Son, and the Earl of Oxford. 
 
 K. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Mar- 
 garet, [Rising. 
 Sit down with us; it ill befits thy state, 
 And birth, that thou shouldst stand, while Lewis 
 doth sit. 
 Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France ; now Mar- 
 garet 
 Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve, 
 Where kings command. I was, I must confess, 
 Great Albion's queen in former golden days: 
 But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
 And with dishonor laid me on the ground, 
 Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, 
 And to my humble seat conform myself. 
 
 K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs 
 
 this deep despair? 
 Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes 
 with tears, 
 And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in 
 cares. 
 K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, 
 And sit thee by our side: yield not thy neck 
 
 [Seats her by him. 
 To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
 Still riJe in triumph over all mischance. 
 
 1 Encircled. 
 
 Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; 
 It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. 
 
 Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my droop 
 ing thoughts, 
 And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave t; ?peak 
 Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis - 
 That Henry, sole possessor of my love, 
 Is, of a king, become a banish'd man, 
 And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn ; 
 While proud ambitious Edward duke of York, 
 Usurps the regal title, and the seat 
 Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
 This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret, — 
 With this my son, prince Edward, Henry'i 
 
 heir, — 
 Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; 
 And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done : 
 Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ; 
 Our people and our peers are both misled, 
 Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight, 
 And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. 
 
 K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm 
 the storm, 
 While we bethink a means to break it off. 
 
 Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows 
 our foe. 
 
 K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll succor tnec. 
 
 Q. Mar.O, but impatience waiteth on truesorrow: 
 A nu see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. 
 
 Enter Warwick, attended. 
 
 K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our 
 presence : 
 
 Q. Mar. Our eari of Warwick, Edward's greatest 
 fnend. 
 
 A' Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What brings 
 thoe to France] 
 [Lesce.iding from his state. Qceei* Margaret 
 rises. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise ; 
 Fin- this is he, that moves both wind and tide. 
 
 War. From worthy Edward, king of Ahion, 
 My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
 I come, — in kindness, and unfeigned love, — 
 First, to do greetings to thy royal person; 
 And, then, to crave a league of amity ; 
 And, lastly, to confirm that amity 
 With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
 That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, 
 To England's king in lawful marriage. 
 
 Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. 
 
 War. And, gracious madam, [7b Box a.] in out 
 king's behalf, 
 I am commanded, with your leave and favor, 
 Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
 To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart : 
 Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears. 
 Hath placed thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. 
 
 Q. Mar. King Lewis, — and Lady Bona, — heai 
 me speak, 
 Before you answer Warwick. His demand 
 Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest iove, 
 But from deceit, bred by necessity ; 
 For how can tyrants safely govern home, 
 Unless abroad they purchase great alliance 1 
 To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice 
 That Henry liveth still: but were he dead, 
 Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's sot 
 Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and mai 
 
 riage 
 Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonor: 
 For though usurpers sway the rule awhile, 
 Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrcugi- 
 
524 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Acr III 
 
 Wat. Injurious Margaret. 
 
 Prince. And why not queen] 
 
 War. Because thy father Henry did usurp; 
 And thou no more art prince, than she is queen. 
 
 Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of 
 Gaunt, 
 Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; 
 And after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
 Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; 
 And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
 Who by his prowess conquered all France: 
 From these our Henry lineally descends. 
 
 War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth dis- 
 course, 
 You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
 All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten? 
 Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that, 
 But for the rest, — You tell a pedigree 
 Of three-score and two years; a silly time 
 To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. 
 
 Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against 
 thy liege, 
 Whom thou obeyedst thirty-and-six years, 
 And not bewray thy treason witli a blush ? 
 
 War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, 
 Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? 
 For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king. 
 
 Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom 
 My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, 
 Was done to death ? and more than so my father, 
 Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, 
 When nature brought him to the door of death? 
 No, Warwick, no ; while life upholds this arm, 
 This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 
 
 War. And I the house of York. 
 
 A'. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and 
 Oxford, 
 Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, 
 While I use further conference with Warwick. 
 
 Q. Mar. Heaven grant that Warwick's words 
 bewitch him not ! 
 [Retiring with the Prince and Oxford. 
 
 A'. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy 
 conscience, 
 Is Edward your true king? for I were loath. 
 To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 
 
 War. Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honor. 
 
 K. Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye ? 
 
 War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. 
 
 A'. Lew. Then further. — all dissembling set aside, 
 Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
 Unto our sister Bona. 
 
 War. Such it seems, 
 
 As may beseem a monarch like himself. 
 Myself have often heard him say, and swear, — 
 That this his love was an eternal plant ; 
 \\ hereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, 
 The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun ; 
 Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, 
 Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. 
 
 A". Lew. Now, sister, let us hearyour firm resolve. 
 
 Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine. 
 Yet I confess, [To War.] that often ere this day, 
 When I have heard your king's desert recounted, 
 Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 
 
 K.Lew. Then, Warwick, thus, — Our sister 
 shall be Edward's; 
 And now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
 Touching the jointure that your king must make, 
 Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd : — 
 Draw near, queen Margaret; and be a witness, 
 That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 
 
 Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king. 
 
 Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ' vt was thy device 
 By this alliance to make void my suit; 
 Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. 
 
 K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margart i 
 But if your title to the crown be weak, — 
 As may appear by Edward's good success, — 
 Then 'tis but reason that I be releas'd 
 From giving aid, which late I promised. 
 Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand, 
 That your estate requires, and mine can yield. 
 
 War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ense; 
 Where having nothing, nothing he can lose. 
 And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, — 
 You have a father able to maintain you; 
 And better 'twere you troubled him than France. 
 
 Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless Wai 
 wick, peace ; 
 Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings ! 
 I will not hence, till with my talk and tears, 
 Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold 
 Thy sly conveyance, 12 and thy lord's false love; 
 For both of you are birds of self-same feather. 
 
 [A Horn soimded within, 
 
 K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are foi 
 you; 
 Sent from your brother, marquis Montague. 
 These from our king unto your majesty. — 
 And, madam, these for you ; from whom I know not, 
 [To Margaret. They all read their Letters. 
 
 Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress 
 Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. 
 
 P?-ince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he 
 were nettled; 
 I hope all's for the best. 
 
 K. Lew. Warwick, what, are thy news? and 
 yours, fair queen ? 
 
 Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop'd 
 joys. 
 
 War. Mine, full of sorrow, and heart's discontent. 
 
 K. Lew. What! has your king married the lady 
 Grey ? 
 And now, to soothe your forgery and his, 
 Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? 
 Is this the alliance that he seeks with France ? 
 Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? 
 
 Q. Mar. I told your majestv as much before: 
 This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's hon- 
 esty. 
 
 War. King Lewis, I here protest, — in sight 01 
 heaven, 
 And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, — 
 That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's; 
 No more my king, for he dishonors me; 
 But most himself, if he could see his shame. — 
 Did I forget, that by the house of York 
 My father came untimely to his death ? 
 Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece? 
 Did I impale him with the regal crown ? 
 Did I put Henry from his native right; 
 And am I guerdon'd 3 at the last with shame? 
 Shame on himself! for my desert is honor. 
 And to repair my honor lost for hum. 
 I here renounce him, and return to Henry ■ 
 My noble queen, let former grudges pass. 
 And henceforth I am thy true servitor; 
 I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona. 
 And replant Henry in his lbrmer state. 
 
 Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd mj 
 hate to love; 
 
 1 Juggling. 
 
 ' Rewarded. 
 
Act IV. Scene 1. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 525 
 
 And I forgive and quite forget old faults, 
 
 And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friend. 
 
 War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, 
 That, if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us 
 With some few bands of chosen soldiers, 
 I'll undertake to land them on our coast, 
 And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 
 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him: 
 And as for Clarence, — as my letters tell me, 
 He's very likely now to fall from him ; 
 For matching more for wanton lust than honor, 
 Or than for strength and safety of our country. 
 Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be re- 
 venged, 
 But by thy help to this distressed queen ? 
 
 Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry 
 live, 
 Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? 
 
 Bona. My quarrel, and this English queen's, are 
 
 one. 
 War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. 
 K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and thine, and 
 Margaret's. 
 Therefore at last, I firmly am resolv'd, 
 You shall have aid. 
 
 Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at 
 
 once. 
 K. Lew. Then England's messenger, return in 
 post; 
 Ana tell false Edward, thy supposed king. — 
 That Lewis of France is sending over maskers, 
 To revel it with him and his new bride : 
 Thoj seest what's past, go fear* thy king withal. 
 Bona. Tell him, In hope he'll prove a widower 
 shortly, 
 I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. 
 
 0. Mar. Tell him, My mourning weeds are laid 
 aside, 
 And I am ready to put armor on. 
 
 War. Tell him from me, That he hath done me 
 wrong ; 
 
 And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. 
 There's thy reward: begone. [Exit Mess 
 
 K. Lew. But, Warwick, thou. 
 
 And Oxford, with five thousand men, 
 Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle : 
 And. as occasion serves, this noble queen 
 And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. 
 Yet. ere thou go, but answer me one doubt; — 
 What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ? 
 
 War. This shall assure my constant loyalty :— 
 That if our queen and this young prince agree, 
 I'll join mine eldest daughter, and my joy, 
 To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. 
 
 Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your 
 motion : — 
 Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, 
 Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick • 
 And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, 
 That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine 
 
 Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves 
 it: 
 And here to pledge my vow, I give my hand. 
 
 [He gives his hand to Warwick. 
 
 K. Lew. Why stay we now ? These soldiers shall 
 be levied, 
 And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral, 
 Shall waft them over with our royal fleet. — 
 I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance, 
 For mocking marriage with a dame of France. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Warwick. 
 
 War. I came from Edward as ambassador, 
 But I return his sworn and mortal foe : 
 Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, 
 But dreadful war shall answer his demand. 
 Had he none else to make a stale, 5 but me 7 
 Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. 
 I was the chief that rais'd him to the crown, 
 And I'll be chief to bring him down again : 
 Not that I pity Henry's misery, 
 But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Mon- 
 agce, and others. 
 
 Glo. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think 
 you 
 Of this new marriage with the lady Grey 7 
 Hath not our brother made a worthy choice] 
 
 C/ar. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to Fiance; 
 How could he stay till Warwick made return 7 
 Som. My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the 
 king. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended; Lady 
 Guet, as Queen,- Pembroke, Stafford, Hast- 
 ings, and others. 
 
 Glo. And his well-chosen bride. 
 Clar. 1 mind to tell him plainly what I think. 
 K. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like 
 you our choice, 
 That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? 
 Clar. As well as Lewis of Fiance, or the earl 
 of Warwick; 
 Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment, 
 That they'll take no offence at our abuse. 
 KEdw . Suppose they take offence without a cause, 
 * Frighten. 
 
 They are but Lewis and Warwick ; I am Edward, 
 Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. 
 Glo. And you shall have your will, because our 
 king: 
 Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 
 
 A'. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended 
 
 too? 
 Glo. Not I: 
 No; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd 
 Whom God hath join'd together : ay, and 'twere 
 
 pity, 
 To sunder them that yoke so well together. 
 
 A'. Edw. Setting your scorns, and your mislike, 
 aside, 
 Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey 
 Should not become my wife, and England's queen: - 
 And you too, Somerset, and Montague, 
 Speak freely what you think. 
 
 Clar. Then this is my opinion, — that king Lewis 
 Becomes your enemy, for mocking him 
 About the marriage of the lady Bona. 
 
 Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge. 
 Is now dishonored by this new marriage 
 
 A'. Edw. What, if both Lewis and Warwick r 
 appeas'd, 
 By such invention as I can devise • 
 
 » A stalking-horse, a pretence. 
 
526 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such 
 alliance, 
 Would more have strengthen'd this our common- 
 wealth 
 'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred mar- 
 riage. 
 Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself 
 England is safe, if true within itself? 
 
 Mont. Yes ; but the safer, when 'tis back'd with 
 
 France. 
 Hast. 'Tis better using France, than trusting 
 France : 
 Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, 
 Which he hath given for fence impregnable, 
 And with their helps only defend ?urselves; 
 In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies. 
 
 Clar. For this one speech, lord Hastings well 
 deserves 
 To have the heir of the lord Hungerford. 
 
 K. Edw. Ah, what of that 1 it was my will, and 
 grant ; 
 And, for this once, my will shall stand for law. 
 Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not 
 done well, 
 To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales 
 Unto the brother of your loving bride; 
 She better would have fitted me, or Clarence: 
 But in your bride you bury brotherhood. 
 
 Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir 
 3f the lord Bonville on your new wife's son, 
 And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. 
 
 K. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife, 
 That thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee. 
 Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd your 
 judgment; 
 Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
 To play the broker in mine own behalf; 
 And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. 
 
 K. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, 
 And not be tied unto his brother's will. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty 
 To raise my state to title of a queen, 
 Do me but right, and you must all confess 
 That I was not ignoble of descent, 
 And meaner than myself have had like fortune. 
 But as this title honors me and mine, 
 So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing, 
 Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. 
 K. Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon then- 
 frowns : 
 What danger, or what sorrow can befall thee, 
 So long as Edward is thy constant friend, 
 And their true sovereign, whom they must obey ? 
 Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
 Unless they seek for hatred at my hands: 
 Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, 
 'Wid they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. 
 Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the 
 more. [Aside. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what 
 news, 
 From France? 
 
 Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and few 
 words, 
 But such as I without your special pardon, 
 Harp not relate. 
 K. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, in 
 brief, 
 ''ell me their words as near as thou canst guess 
 
 them. 
 •V»jat answer ma kes king Lewis unto our letters ? 
 
 Mess. At my depart these were his very words 
 Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, — 
 That Lewis of France is sending ucer maskers, 
 To revel it with him and his ?iew bride. 
 K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave ? belike, he thinks 
 me Henry. 
 But what said lady Bona to my marriage? 
 
 Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild 
 disdain : 
 Tell him, hi hope he'll prove a widower shortly, 
 Til wear the willow garland for his sake. 
 
 K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little 
 less; 
 She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? 
 For I have heard that she was there in place. 
 Mess. Tell him, quoth she, my mourning weuh 
 are done, 
 And I am ready to put armor on. 
 
 K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon 
 But what said Warwick to these injuries? 
 
 Mess. He, more incens'd against your majesty 
 Than all the rest, discharged me with these words ; 
 Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, 
 And therefore, Til uncrown him, ere't be long. 
 K. Edw. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out so 
 proud words'? 
 Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn 'd ; 
 They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption. 
 But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? 
 Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so link'd 
 in friendship, 
 That young prince Edward marries Warwick's 
 daughter. 
 Clar. Belike, the elder; Clarence will have the 
 younger. 
 Now, brother king, farewell, and s ; t you fast, 
 For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter ; 
 That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
 I may not prove inferior to yourself. — 
 You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. 
 
 [Exit Clarence, and Somerset follows. 
 Glo. Not I: 
 My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I 
 Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown. [Aside. 
 K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to 
 Warwick! 
 Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen ; 
 And haste is needful in this desperate case. — 
 Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf 
 Go levy men, and make prepare for war; 
 They are already, or quickly will be landed: 
 Myself in person will straight follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford. 
 But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Montague, — ■ 
 Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 
 Arc near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance: 
 Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me 7 
 If it be so, then both depart to him; 
 I rather wish you foes than hollow friends; 
 But if you mind to hold your true obedience, 
 Give me assurance with some friendly vow, 
 That I may never have you in suspect. 
 
 Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves 
 
 true ! 
 Hast. And Hastings, as he favors Edward's 
 
 cause ! 
 A'. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand 
 
 by us? 
 Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand yon. 
 K. Edw. Why so ; then am I sure of victory. 
 Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour, 
 Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 
 
 [Exeum 
 
3CENE IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 527 
 
 SCENE II.— A Plain in Warwickshire. 
 
 Enter Warwick and Oxford, with French and 
 other Forces. 
 
 War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well ; 
 The common people by numbers swarm to us. 
 
 Enter Ci.ahf.jjce and Somerset. 
 But, see, where Somerset and Clarence come; — 
 Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends? 
 
 Clar. Fear not that, my lord. 
 
 War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War- 
 wick ; 
 And welcome, Somerset: — I hold it cowardice, 
 To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
 Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; 
 Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother, 
 Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings: 
 But welcome, Clarence ; my daughter shall be thine. 
 And now what rests, but, in night's coverture, 
 Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, 
 His soldiers lurking in the towns about, 
 And but attended by a simple guard, 
 We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? 
 Our scouts have found the adventure very easy: 
 That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, 
 With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, 
 And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds; 
 So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, 
 At unawares may beat down Edward's guard, 
 And seize himself: I say not — slaughter him, 
 For I intend but only to surprise him. — 
 Y ">u, that will follow me to this attempt, 
 Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader. 
 
 [They all cry Henry ! 
 Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort: 
 For Warwick and his friends, God and saint George! 
 
 Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Edward's Camp near Warwick. 
 Enter certain Watchmen, toguardthe King's Tent. 
 
 1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take 
 
 his stand ; 
 The king, by this, is set him down to sleep. 
 
 2 Watch. What, will he not to bed ? 
 
 1 Watch. Why, no: for he hath made a solemn 
 vow 
 Never to lie and take his natural rest, 
 Till Warwick, or himself, be quite suppress'd. 
 
 2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day, 
 If Warwick be so near as men report. 
 
 3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is that, 
 That with the king here resteth in his tent ? 
 
 1 Watch. 'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chief- 
 
 est friend. 
 3 Watch. 0, is it so? But why commands the king, 
 That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, 
 While he himself keepeth in the cold field ? 
 
 2 Watch. 'Tis the more honor, because more 
 
 dangerous. 
 
 3 Watch. Ay ; but give me worship and quietness, 
 I like it better than a dangerous honor. 
 
 If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 
 'Tis to be doubted, he would waken him. 
 
 1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up his 
 
 passage. 
 
 2 Watch. Ay; wherefore else guard we his royal 
 
 tent, 
 But to defend his person from night-foes ? 
 Enter Warwick, Clarknck,Oxford, Somerset, 
 and Forces. 
 War. This is his tent ; and see, where stand his 
 guard. 
 
 Courage, my masters; honor now, or never ! 
 But follow me, and Edward shall be ouro. 
 
 1 Watch. Who goes there? 
 
 2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest. 
 [Warwick, and the rest, cry all — Warwick ! 
 
 Warwick ! and set upon the guard,- who fly, 
 crying — Arm! Arm! Warwick, and the 
 rest, following them. 
 The Drum beating, and Trumpets sounding, re- 
 enter Warwick, and the rest, bringing the 
 
 King out in a Gown, sitting in a Chair,- Glos- 
 
 tf.r and Hastings fly. 
 
 Som. What are they that fly there ? 
 
 War. Richard, and Hastings : let them go, here's 
 the duke. 
 
 K . Edw. The duke ! why, Warwick, when we 
 parted last, 
 Thou call'dst me king 
 
 War. Ay, but the case is alter'd 
 
 When you disgraced me in my embassade, 
 Then I degraded you from being king, 
 And come now to create you duke of York. 
 Alas ! how should you govern any kingdom, 
 That know not how to use ambassadors ; 
 Nor how to be contented with one wife ; 
 Nor how to use your brothers brotherly ; 
 Nor how to study for the people's welfare ; 
 Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ? 
 
 K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here 
 too? 
 Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down. — 
 Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, 
 Of thee thyself, and all thy complices, 
 Edward will always bear himself as king : 
 Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, 
 My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. 
 
 War. Then, for his mind, 6 be Edward England's 
 king : [Takes off his crown. 
 
 But Henry now shall wear the English crown, 
 And be true king indeed ; thou but the shadow. — 
 My lord of Somerset, at my request, 
 See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd 
 Unto my brother, archbishop of York. 
 When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, 
 I'll follow you, and tell what answer 
 Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him: 
 Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York. 
 
 K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs 
 abide ; 
 It boots not to resist both wind and tide. 
 
 [Exit King Edward, led out,- Somerset 
 with him. 
 
 Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do 
 But march to London with our soldiers? 
 
 War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do 
 To free king Henry from imprisonment, 
 And see him seated in the regal throne. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers. 
 Riv. Madam, what makes you in this suddem 
 
 change ? 
 Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn, 
 What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward? 
 Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against 
 
 Warwick ? 
 Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person. 
 Riv. Then, is my sovereign slain 1 
 Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisonei 
 Either betray 'd by falsehood of his guard. 
 Or by his foe surpris'd at unawares ■ 
 
 • t. e. In his mind ; as far as his own mind gooa 
 
528 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act fl 
 
 And, as I further have to understand, 
 [s new committed to the bishop of York, 
 Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe. 
 
 Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief: 
 Vet, gracious madam, bear it as you may ; 
 Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. 
 
 Q. EHz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's 
 decay. 
 And I the rather wean me from despair, 
 For love of Edward's offspring in my womb : 
 This is it that makes me bridle passion, 
 And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross ; 
 Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear, 
 And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, 
 Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown 
 King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. 
 Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then become? 
 
 Q. E/iz. I am informed, that he comes towards 
 London, 
 To set the crown once more on Henry's head : 
 Guess thou the rest ; king Edward's friends must 
 
 down. 
 But to prevent the tyrant's violence, 
 (For trust not him that hath once broken faith,) 
 I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, 
 To save at least the heir of Edward's right; 
 There shall I rest secure from force, and fraud. 
 Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly ; 
 If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Park near Middleham Castle in 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Hastings, Sin Willtam Stan- 
 let, and others. 
 Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William 
 Stanley, 
 Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, 
 Into this chicfest thicket of the park. 
 Thus stands the case: You know, our king, my 
 
 brother, 
 Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands 
 He hath good usage and great liberty ; 
 And often, but attended with weak guard, 
 Comes hunting this way to disport himself. 
 I have advertis'd him by secret means, 
 That if about this hour, he make this way, 
 Under the color of his usual game, 
 He shall here find his friends, with horse and men, 
 To set him free from his captivity. 
 
 Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman. 
 Hunt. This way, my lord; for this way lies the 
 
 game. 
 K. Edw. Nay, this way, man ; see, where the 
 huntsmen stand. — 
 .Vow, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest, 
 Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer 1 
 
 Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste ; 
 Your horse stands ready at the park corner. 
 K. Edw. But whither shall we then] 
 Hast. To Lynn, my lord, and ship from thence 
 
 to Flanders. 
 Gol. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was my 
 
 meaning. 
 K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. 
 Glo. But wherefore stay we 1 'tis no time to talk. 
 K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thoul wilt thou 
 
 go along ] 
 Hunt. Better do so, than tarty and be hang'd. 
 Glo. Come then, away; let's have no more ado. 
 K Edw. Bishop, farewell; shield thee from 
 Warwick's frown ; 
 And pray that \ may repossess the crown. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— A Room in the Tower. 
 
 Enter King Henrt, Clarence, Warwick, So 
 MEnsET, Young Richmond, Oxford, Monta 
 gtje, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Attendants 
 K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and 
 
 friends 
 Have shaken Edward from the regal seat ; 
 And turn'd my captive state to liberty, 
 My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys; 
 At our enlargement what are thy due fees] 
 
 Lieut. Subjects may challenge nothing of theii 
 
 sovereigns ; 
 But, if an humble prayer may prevail, 
 I then crave pardon of your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen. For what, lieutenant] for well using 
 
 me] 
 Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kindness, 
 For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure: 
 Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
 Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts, 
 At last, by notes of household harmony, 
 They quite forget their loss of liberty. — 
 But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, 
 And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; 
 He was the author, thou the instrument. 
 Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite, 
 By living low where fortune cannot hurt me ; 
 And that the people of this blessed land 
 May not be punished with my thwarting stars; 
 Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, 
 I here resign my government to thee, 
 For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 
 
 War. Your grace hath still been famed for vir- 
 tuous ; 
 And now may seem as wise as virtuous, 
 By spying and avoiding fortune's malice, 
 For few men rightly temper with the stars: 1 
 Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, 
 For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. 8 
 
 Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, 
 To whom the heavens, in thy nativity, 
 Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown. 
 As likely to be blest in peace, and war ; 
 And therefore I yield thee my free consent. 
 
 War. And I choose Clarence only for protectoi 
 K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both 
 
 your hands; 
 Now join your hands, and with your hands, your 
 
 hearts, 
 That no dissension hinder government: 
 I make you both protectors of this land; 
 While I myself will lead a private life, 
 And in devotion spend my latter days, 
 To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. 
 
 War. What a"«wers Clarence to his sovereign's 
 
 will] 
 Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield con' 
 
 sent; 
 For on thy fortune I repose myself. 
 
 War. Why then, though loath, yet must I bo 
 
 content; 
 We'll yoke together, like a double shadow 
 To Henry's body, and supply his place; 
 I mean in bearing weight of government, 
 While he enjoys the honor and his ease. 
 And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful, 
 Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor, 
 And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 
 
 Clar. What else] and that succession be: deter 
 
 min'd. 
 
 i Few nien conform their temper to their destiny. 
 8 Present 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 SJM 
 
 War. Ay, therein Clarence shall pot want his 
 
 part. 
 A Hen. But, with the first of all youi chief 
 affairs, 
 Let me entreat, (fori command no more,) 
 That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, 
 Be sent for to return from France with speed : 
 For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
 My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. 
 
 Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all 
 
 speed. 
 K. Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is 
 that, 
 Of whom you seem to have so tender care? 
 
 Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich- 
 mond. 
 A". Hen. Come hither, England's hope: If secret 
 powers, [Lays his hand on his head. 
 
 Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, 
 This pretty lad 9 will prove our country's bliss. 
 His looks are full of peaceful majesty; 
 His head by nature framed to wear a crown, 
 His hand to wield a sceptre ; and himself 
 Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne. 
 Make much of him, my lords; for this is he, 
 Must help you more than you are hurt by me. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 War. What news, my friend ? 
 Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother, 
 And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 
 
 War. Unsavory news : but how made he escape? 
 Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke of 
 Gloster, 
 And the lord Hastings, who attended him 
 In secret ambush on the forest side, 
 And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him; 
 For hunting was his daily exercise. 
 
 War. My brother was too careless of his 
 charge. — 
 But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
 A salve for any sore that may betide. 
 
 [Exeunt King Henry, War., Clar., Lieut., 
 and Attendants. 
 Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Ed- 
 ward's : 
 For, doubtless. Burgundy will yield him help ; 
 And we shall have more wars, before't be long. 
 As Henry's late presaging prophecy 
 Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Rich- 
 mond ; 
 So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts 
 What may befall him, to his harm, and ours: 
 Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, 
 Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany, 
 Till storms be past of civil enmity. 
 
 Oxf. Ay; for, if Edward repossess the crown, 
 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. 
 
 Som. It shall be so ; he shall to Britany. 
 Come therefore, let's about it speedily. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Before York. 
 
 Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastings, and 
 Forces. 
 K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, 
 and the rest : 
 Vet thus far fortune maketh us amends, 
 ^nd says — that once more I shall interchange 
 My waned state for Henry's regal crown. 
 Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas, 
 And brought desired help from Burgundy ; 
 W hat then remains, we being thus arriv'd 
 • Afterwards Henry VII. 
 
 From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York, 
 But that we enter, as into our dukedom ? 
 
 Glo. The gates made fast ! — Brother, I like not this; 
 For many men, that stumble at the threshold, 
 Are well foretold — that danger lurks within. 
 
 K. Edw. Tush, man ! abodements must not now 
 affright us; 
 By fair or foul means we must enter in, 
 For hither will our friends repair to us. 
 
 Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more toteummon 
 them. 
 
 Enter on the Walls, the Mayor of York, and hii 
 Brethren. 
 May. My lords, we were forewarned of youi 
 coming, 
 And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ; 
 For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. 
 
 K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry be yoc 
 king, 
 Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York. 
 
 May. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less 
 A^. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but mj 
 dukedom ; 
 As being well content with that alone. 
 
 Glo. But when the fox hath once got in his nose. 
 He'll soon find means to make the body follow. 
 
 [Aside 
 Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a 
 doubt? 
 Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends. 
 May. Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be 
 open'd. [Exeunt from above, 
 
 Glo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon . 
 Hast. The good old man would fain that all were 
 well, 
 So 'twere not 'long of him : but, being enter'd, 
 I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade 
 Both him and all his brothers unto reason. 
 
 Re-enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below. 
 
 K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates mu.? 
 not be shut, 
 But in the night or in the time of war. 
 What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; 
 
 [Takes his key; 
 For Edward will defend the town and thee, 
 And all those friends that deign to follow me. 
 
 Drum.' .En/er Montgomery and Forces,marohi?ig 
 
 Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery, 
 Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd. 
 
 K. Edw. Welcome, sir John! But why come 
 
 you in arms ? 
 Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm, 
 As every loyal subject ought to do. 
 
 K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery. But we 
 now forget 
 Our title to the crown; and only claim 
 Our dukedom, till God please to send the rest. 
 
 Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence agaii 
 I came to serve a king and not a duke, — 
 Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. 
 
 [A March begun 
 K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while ; and we'7 
 debate, 
 Bv what safe means the crown may be recover'd 
 
 Mont. What, talk you of debating? In few words, 
 If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, 
 I'll leave you to your fortune ; and be gone. 
 To keep them back that cone .o succor you: 
 Why should we fight, if you pretend no titl» ' 
 Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on uic« 
 points ? 
 
530 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 K . Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'll 
 make our claim : 
 Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. 
 Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms 
 
 must rule. 
 Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto 
 crowns. 
 Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ; 
 The bruit 1 thereof will britig you many friends. 
 
 K. Edw. Then be it as you will ; for 'tis my right, 
 And Henry but usurps the diadem. 
 
 Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like him- 
 self; 
 And now will I be Edward's champion. 
 
 Hast. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here 
 proclaim'd : — 
 Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. 
 
 [Gives him a paper. F.'ourish. 
 Sold. [Reads.] Edward the Fourth, by the grace 
 of God, king of England and France, and lord of 
 Ireland, <SfC. 
 Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's 
 right, 
 By this I challenge him to single fight. 
 
 [Throws down his Gauntlet. 
 All. Long live king Edward the Fourth! 
 K. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery; — and 
 thanks unto you all. 
 If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. 
 Now for this night, let's harbor hers in York : 
 And, when the morning sun shall raise his car 
 Above the border of this horizon, 
 We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates ; 
 For, well I wot, 3 that Henry is no soldier. — 
 Ah, froward Clarence ! — how evil it beseems thee, 
 To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother! 
 Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and War- 
 wick. — 
 Come on, brave soldiers ; doubt not of the day ; 
 And )hat, once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, 
 
 Montague, Exeter, and Oxford. 
 
 War. What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, 
 With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders, 
 Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, 
 And with his troops doth march amain to London ; 
 And many giddy people flock to him. 
 
 Oxf. Let's levy men, and beat him back again. 
 
 Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ; 
 Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. 
 
 War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends; 
 Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; 
 Those will I muster up — and thou, son Clarence, 
 Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, 
 The knights and gentlemen to come with thee : — 
 Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, 
 Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find 
 Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command'st: 
 
 And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd, 
 In Oxfordshire shall muster up thy rriends. — 
 My sovereign, with the loving citizens, — 
 Like to this island, girt in with the ocean, 
 Or modest Dina, circled with her nymphs, — 
 Shall rest in London, till we come to him. — 
 Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. — 
 Farewell, my sovereign. 
 
 K. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy'? 
 true hope. 
 
 Cla. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand. 
 
 A'. Hen. Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate' 
 
 Mont. Comfort, my lord; — and so I take my 
 leave. 
 
 Oxf. And thus [Kissing Henry's hand."} I seal 
 my truth, and bid adieu. 
 
 K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, 
 And all at once, once more a happy farewell. 
 
 War. Farewell, sweet lords; let's meet at Co- 
 ventry. 
 [Exeunt War., Clar., Oxf., and Mont 
 
 K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while. 
 Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship ? 
 Methinks, the power that Edward hath in field, 
 Should not be able to encounter mine. 
 
 Exe. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest 
 
 K. Hen. That's not my fear, my meed 3 hath got 
 me fame. 
 I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, 
 Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; 
 My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, 
 My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, 
 My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears : 
 I have not been desirous of their wealth, 
 Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, 
 Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd 
 Then why should they love Edward more than me ' 
 No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace: 
 And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb. 
 The lamb will never cease to follow him. 
 
 [Shout within. A Lancaster! A Lancaster! 
 
 Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shouts are 
 these ? 
 
 Enter King Edward, Gloster, and Soldiers. 
 
 K. Edw. Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear 
 him hence, 
 And once again proclaim us king of England. — 
 You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow ; 
 Now stops thy spring; my sea shall suck them dry, 
 And swell so much the higher by their ebb. — 
 Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak. 
 [Exeunt some with King Henry. 
 And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course, 
 Where peremptory Warwick now remains : 
 The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay, 
 Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. 
 
 Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join, 
 And take the great-grown traitor unawares ; 
 Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Coventry. 
 Enter, upon the Walls, Warwick, the Mayor of 
 Coventry, two Messengers, and others. 
 War. Where is the post that came from valiant 
 Oxford ? 
 How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow 1 
 Noise, report. » Know. 
 
 1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hithci 
 
 ward. 
 War. How far off is our brother Montague? 
 Where is the post that came from Montague ? 
 
 2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a pui*«n! 
 
 troop. 
 
 ' Merit 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 53! 
 
 Enter Sir John Somerville. 
 War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son 7 
 And, by the guess, how nigh is Clarence now 1 
 
 bom. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, 
 And dd expect him here some two hours hence. 
 
 [Drum heard. 
 War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. 
 &om. It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies; 
 The drum your honor hears, marcheth from War- 
 wick. 
 War. Who should that be 1 belike, unlook'd-for 
 
 friends. ' 
 
 Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly 
 know. 
 
 Drums. Enter King Edward, Glosteh, and 
 Forces, marching. 
 
 K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound 
 a parle. 
 
 Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall. 
 
 War. 0, unhid spite ! is sportful Edward come 1 
 Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced, 
 That we could hear no news of his repair 1 
 
 K. Edw. Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city 
 gates, 
 Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee 1 — 
 Call Edward — king, and at his hands beg mercy, 
 And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 
 
 War. Nay, rather wilt thou draw thy forces hence, 
 Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down 1 — 
 Call Warwick — patron, and be penitent, 
 And thou shalt still remain the duke of York. 
 
 Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said — 
 the king; 
 Or did he make the jest against his will 1 
 
 War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift 1 
 
 Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give ; 
 I'll do the*) service for so good a gift. 
 
 War. 'Twas 1, 'hat gave the kingdom to thy 
 brother. 
 
 K. Edw. Why, thei., 'tis mine, if but by War- 
 wick's gift. 
 
 War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight : 
 And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ; 
 And Henry is my king, Waiwiok his subject. 
 
 K. Edw. But Warwick's king 's Edward's pri- 
 soner : 
 K nd gallant Warwick, do but answsi this, — 
 Yv tiat is the body when the head is oil ? 
 
 Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no tnoio forecast, 
 But, whiles he thought to steal the singlo \z\ 
 The king was slily finger'd from the deck ! 4 
 5fou left poor Henry at the bishop's palace, 
 And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tow>2i 
 
 K. Edw. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick juh 
 
 Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel dowt 
 kneel down: 
 Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cool* 
 
 War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, 
 And with the other fling it at thy face, 
 Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. 
 
 K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and 
 tide thy friend ; 
 This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair, 
 Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off, 
 W ite in the dust this sentence with thy blood, — 
 W ind-changing Warwick now can change no more. 
 
 Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colors. 
 
 War. O cheerful 'olors ! see where Oxford 
 comes ! 
 
 A. pack of cards was formerly termed a deck of cards. 
 
 Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! 
 
 [Oxford and his Forces enter the City. 
 
 Jlo. The gates are open, let us enter too. 
 
 K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs' 
 Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt, 
 Will issue out again, and bid us battle : 
 If not, the city, being but of small defence, 
 We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 
 
 War. 0, welcome, Oxford ! for we want thy help. 
 
 Enter Montague, with Drum and Colors. 
 
 Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the City. 
 Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this 
 treason 
 Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. 
 
 K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory; 
 My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. 
 
 Enter Somerset, with Drum and Colors. 
 
 Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the City. 
 
 Glo. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, 
 Have sold their lives unto the house of York ; 
 And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 
 
 Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colors. 
 
 War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps 
 along, 
 Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; 
 With whom an upright zeal to right prevails, 
 More than the nature of a brother's love : — 
 Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick calls. 
 
 Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this 
 means'! [Taking theredrose out of his Cap. 
 Look here, I throw my infamy at thee: 
 I will not ruinate my father's house, 
 Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, 
 And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, 
 That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, 5 unnatural, 
 To bend the fatal instruments of war 
 Against his brother, and his lawful king] 
 Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath : 
 To keep that oath, were more impiety 
 Than Jephtha's, when he sacrificed his daugh'er 
 I am so sorry for my trespass made, 
 That to deserve well at my brother's hands, 
 I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe ; 
 With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee, 
 (As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,) 
 To plague thee for thy foul misleading me, 
 And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, 
 And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. 
 Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends; 
 And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, 
 For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. 
 
 K. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times 
 more belov'd, 
 »'han if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate. 
 
 Glo. Welcome, good Clarence; this is brother-like. 
 
 War. O passing" traitor, perjur'd, and unjust! 
 
 K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the 
 town, and fight? 
 » »« shall we beat the stones about thine ears 1 
 
 War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence: 
 I x'ill away towards Barnet presently, 
 Ati.l bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st. 
 
 X. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and lead* 
 the way : — 
 Lord-, to the field ; saint George, and victory. 
 
 [March. Exeunt 
 
 6 lu.«nsible. 
 
 • Eminent, egregious 
 
532 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 SCENE II.— A Field of Batik near Barnet. 
 Alarums and Excursions. Enter King Edwabd, 
 
 bringing in Warwick wounded. 
 K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and die 
 
 our fear; 
 For Warwick was a bug 1 that fear'd 8 us all. — 
 Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee, 
 1'hat Warwick's bones may keep thine company. 
 
 [Exit. 
 War. Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend, or foe, 
 And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick? 
 Why ask I that 1 my mangled body shows, 
 My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows, 
 That I must yield my body to the earth, 
 And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 
 Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, 
 Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
 Under whose shade the ramping lion slept; 
 Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree, 
 And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. 
 These eyes that now are dimm'd with death's black 
 
 veil, 
 Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, 
 To search the secret treasons of the world: 
 The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood, 
 Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; 
 For who liv'd king, but I could dig his grave ? 
 And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow? 
 Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! 
 My parks, my walks, my manors that I had, 
 Even now forsake me: and, of all my lands, 
 Is nothing left me, but my body's length ! 
 Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? 
 And live we how we can, yet die we must. 
 
 Enter Oxford and Somerset. 
 Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick ! wert thou as we 
 
 are, 
 We might recover all our loss again ! 
 The queen from France hath brought a puissant 
 
 power ; 
 E ven now we heard the news : Ah, couldst thou fly ! 
 War. Why, then I would not fly. — Ah, Montague, 
 If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand, 
 And with thy lips keep in my soul a while ! 
 Thou lov'st me not: for, brother, if thou didst, 
 Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood, 
 That glues my lips, and will not let me speak. 
 Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. 
 
 Som. Ah, Warwick, Montague hath breath' d his 
 
 last; 
 1 'o the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick, 
 ami said — Commend me to my valiant brother. 
 And more he would have said ; and more he spoke, 
 Which sounded like a cannon in a vault, 
 That might not be distinguish'd ; but at last, 
 I well might hear deliver'd with a groan, — 
 0, farewell, Warwick! 
 
 War. Sweet rest to his soul ! — 
 
 Fly, lords, and save yourselves: for Warwick bids 
 
 You all farewell, to meet again in heaven. [Dies. 
 
 Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing off Warwick's Body. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph,- with 
 Clarence, Gloster, and the rest. 
 K. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward 
 course, 
 And we are graced with wreaths of victory. 
 Bui. in the midst of this bright-shining day, 
 spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud, 
 Buebcar • Terrified. 
 
 That will encounter with out glorious sun, 
 Ere he attain his easeful western bed : 
 I mean, my lords, — those powers that the queen 
 Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast, 
 And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. 
 
 Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloac 
 And blow it to the source from whence it came. 
 Thy very beams will dry those vapors up ; 
 For every cloud engenders not a storm. 
 
 G/o. The queen is valued thirty thousand strong 
 And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her; 
 If, she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, 
 Her faction will be full as strong as ours. 
 
 K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving friends 
 That they do hold their course towards Tewksbury 
 We, having now the best at Barnet field, 
 Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; 
 And, as we inarch, our strength will be augmented 
 In every county as we go along. — 
 Strike up the drum ; cry — Courage ! and away. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Plains near Tewksbury. 
 
 March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Ed- 
 ward, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers. 
 
 Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail 
 their loss, 
 But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
 What though the mast be now blown over-board, 
 The cable broke, the holding anchoi lost, 
 And half our sailors swaliow'd in the flood? 
 Yet lives our pilot still: Is't meet that he 
 Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, 
 With tearful eyes add water to the sea, 
 And give more strength to that which hath too much; 
 Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, 
 Which industry and courage might have sav'd? 
 Ah, what a shame ! ah, what a fault were this ! 
 Say, Warwick was our anchor; What of that? 
 And Montague our top-mast; What of him? 
 Our slaughter'd friends the tackles ; What of these ? 
 Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ? 
 And Somerset another goodly mast? 
 The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? 
 And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I 
 For once allow 'd the skilful pilot's charge ? 
 We will not from the helm, to sit and weep ; 
 But keep ou r course, though the rough wind say— no, 
 From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. 
 As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. 
 And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea ? 
 What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit ? 
 And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock? 
 All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
 Say, you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while ; 
 Tread on the sand ; why there you quickly sink : 
 Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, 
 Or ebo vmi famish, that's a threefold death. 
 This speak T, lords, to let you understand, 
 In case some one of you would fly from us, 
 That there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers, 
 More than with ruthless waves,with sands, and rocks. 
 Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided, 
 'Twere childish weakness to lament or tear. 
 
 Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit 
 Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
 Infuse his breast with magnanimity, 
 And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. 
 I speak not this as doubting any here: 
 For, did I but suspect a fearful man, 
 He should have leave to go away betimes; 
 Lest, in our need, he might infect another 
 And make him of bke spiri* to himselC 
 
Scene V. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 53b 
 
 If any such be here, as God forbid '. 
 Let him depart, before we need his help. 
 
 Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage ! 
 And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual shame. — 
 O, brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather 
 Doth live again in thee; Long mayst thou live, 
 To bear his image, and renew his glories ! 
 
 Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hope, 
 Go home to bed, and, (ike the owl by day, 
 If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ; — sweet Ox- 
 ford, thanks. 
 Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing 
 else. 
 
 ■Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand, 
 tteajV to fight; therefore be resolute. 
 
 Oxf. I thought no less : it is his policy, 
 To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. 
 Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness. 
 Q. Mar. This cheers my heart to see your for- 
 wardness. 
 Oxf. Here pitch our battle, hence we will not 
 budge. 
 March. Enter, at a distance, King Edward, 
 Clarence, Gloster, and Forces. 
 K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the 
 thorny wood, ' 
 Which, by the heaven's assistance, and your 
 
 strength, 
 Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. 
 I need not add more fuel to your fire, 
 For, well I wot, s ye blaze to burn them out: 
 Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. 
 
 Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I 
 should say, 
 My tears gainsay ; for every word I speak, 
 Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes, 
 Therefore, no more out this : — Henry, your sove- 
 reign, 
 Is prisoner to the foe ; his staie usurp'd, 
 His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, 
 His statutes cancelled, and his treasure spent; 
 And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. 
 You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords, 
 Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 
 
 [Exeunt both Armies. 
 
 SCENE V.— Another Part of the same. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions,- and afterwards a Retreat. 
 Then enter King Edward, Clarence, Glos- 
 ter, and Forces; with Queen Margaret, Ox- 
 ford, and Somerset, Prisoners. 
 K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. 
 
 &way with Oxford to Hammes' castle 1 straight: 
 
 For Somerset, oft' with his guilty head. 
 
 Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. 
 
 Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. 
 
 Som. Nor I; but stoop with patience to my fortune. 
 
 [Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded. 
 
 Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, 
 
 To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. 
 
 K. Edw. Is proclamation made, — that, who finds 
 Edward, 
 
 Shall have a high reward, and he his life? 
 
 Glo. It is: and, lo, where youthful Edward comes. 
 
 Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward. 
 K. Edw. Bring fo-th the gallant, let us hear him 
 speak : 
 What! can so young a tnorn begin to prick] 
 • Know » A castle in Pic»rdy. 
 
 Edward, what satisfaction canst thou :r.ake. 
 For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, 
 And all the trouble thou hast turn'd" me to I 
 
 Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York! 
 Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; 
 Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou, 
 Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, 
 Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. 
 Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd ! 
 Glo. That you might still have worn the petti- 
 coat, 
 And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 
 
 Prince. Let iEsop 3 fable in a winter's night; 
 His currish riddles sort not with this place. 
 
 Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that 
 
 word. 
 Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to 
 
 men. 
 Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive 
 
 scold. 
 Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back 
 
 rather. 
 K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your 
 
 tongue. 
 Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. 
 Prince. I know my duty; you are all undutiful; 
 Lascivious Edward, — and thou perjur'd George, — 
 And thou mis-shapen Dick, — I tell ye all, 
 I am your better, traitors as ye are ; — 
 And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. 
 K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. 
 
 [Stabs him. 
 Glo. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony. 
 [Glo. stabs him. 
 Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury. 
 [Clar. stabs him. 
 Q. Mar. O, kill me too ! 
 Glo. Marry, and shall. [Offers to hill he? 
 
 K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done 
 
 * too much. 
 Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with 
 
 words? 
 K. Edw. What ! doth she swoon ? use means for 
 
 her recovery. 
 Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brothtv 
 I'll hence to London on a serious matter; 
 Ere ye come there, be saw to heai some news. 
 Clar. What? what? 
 
 Glo. The Tower, the Tower ! [Exit. 
 
 Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother, 
 boy! 
 Canst thou not speak? — traitors! murderers!— 
 They that stabb'd Caesar, shed no blood at all, 
 Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame. 
 If this foul deed were by, to equal it. 
 He was a man : this, in respect, a child ; 
 And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 
 What's worse than murderer, that I may name it' 
 No, no ; my heart will burst, an if I speak : — 
 And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. — 
 Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals ! 
 How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd ! 
 You have no children, butchers! if you had, 
 The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse' 
 But, if you ever chance to have a child, 
 Look in his youth to have him so cut ofl,' 
 As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young 
 prince ! 
 K. Edw. Away with her; go bear her hence per 
 
 force. 
 Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch mt 
 here; 
 » The prince calls Richard, for nis crooKedness. jKsoi- 
 
634 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 Act V 
 
 Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death : 
 What! wilt thou not! — then, Clarence, do it thou. 
 
 Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. 
 
 Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do ; sweet Clarence, do 
 thou do it. 
 
 Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not 
 do it? 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself; 
 'Twas sin before, 3 but now 'tis charity 
 What ! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher, 
 Hard-favor'd Richard ? Richard, where art thou ? 
 Thou art not here: Murder is thy alms-deed; 
 Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. 
 
 K. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye bear her hence. 
 
 Q. Alar. So come to you, and yours, as to this 
 prince ' [Exit, led out forcibly. 
 
 K. Edw. Where's Richard gone? 
 
 Clar. To London all in post ; and, as I guess, 
 To make a bloody supper in the Tower. 
 
 K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. 
 Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
 With pay and thanks, and let's away to London, 
 And see our gentle queen how well she fares ; 
 By this. I hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— London. A Room in the Tower. 
 
 King Hesht is discovered sitting with a Book in his 
 
 Hand, the Lieutenantatf ending. Enter Glosteii. 
 
 « ''.'</. Good day, my lord ! What, at your book so 
 
 hard? 
 <. Hen. Ay, my good lord : My lord, I should 
 say rather; 
 'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better; 
 Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike, 
 And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord. 
 Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must con- 
 fer. [Exit Lieutenant. 
 K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the 
 wolf: 
 So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, 
 And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. — 
 What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ? 
 
 Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ; 
 f he thief doth fear each bush an officer. 
 
 K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush, 
 With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush: 
 And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, 
 Have now the fatal object in my eye, 
 Where my poor young was limed, was caught, and 
 kill'd. 
 Glo. Why, what a peevish 4 fool was that of Crete, 
 That taught his son the office of a fowl ? 
 And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 
 
 K. Hen. I, Daedalus ; my poor boy, Icarus; 
 Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; 
 The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, 
 Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea, 
 Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. 
 Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! 
 My breast can better brook thy dagger's point, 
 Than can my ears that tragic history. — 
 But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life? 
 Glo. Think'st thou, I am an executioner? 
 A*. Hen. A persecutor, lam sure, thou art; 
 ff murdering innocents be executing, 
 Why, then thou art an executioner. 
 
 Glo. Thy son I kill'd, for his presumption. 
 K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou 
 Jdst presume, 
 f'hou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine, 
 vrid thus I prophesy, — that many a thousand, 
 Vhich now mistrust no parcel of my fear; 
 ' She »lluJe3 to the desertion of Clarence. 'Childish. 
 
 And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow a, 
 And many an orphan's water-standing eye — 
 Men for their sons', wives for their husbands' fate, 
 And orphans for their parents' timeless death, — 
 Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
 The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign; 
 The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time ; 
 Dogs howl'd,and hideous tempests shook down trees; 
 The raven rook'd 5 her on the chimney's top, 
 And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
 Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, 
 And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope ■ 
 To wit, — an indigest deformed lump, 
 Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
 Teeth hadst thou in tny head, when thou wast born, 
 To signify, — thou cam'st to bite the world : 
 And, if the rest be true which I have heard, 
 Thou cam'st — 
 
 Glo. I'll hear no more; — Die, prophet, in thy 
 speech ; [Stabs him, 
 
 For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. 
 A'. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. 
 
 God ! forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! [Dies. 
 Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 
 
 Sink in the ground ? I thought it would have 
 
 mounted. 
 See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death! 
 
 0, may such purple tears be always shed 
 
 From those that wish the downfall of our house ! — 
 If any spark of life be yet remaining, 
 Down, down to hell ; — and say — I sent thee thither, 
 [Stabs him again. 
 
 1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. — 
 Indeed, 'tis true, thai Henry told me of; 
 As I have often hearti my mother say, 
 
 1 came into the world with my legs forward : 
 Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste. 
 And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right ? 
 The midwife wonder'd ; and the women cried, 
 0, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth.' 
 And so I was; which plainly signified — 
 
 That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. 
 
 Then since the heavens have shap'd my body so, 
 
 Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 
 
 I have no brother, I am like no brother : 
 
 And this word — love, which graybeards call divine. 
 
 Be resident in men like one another, 
 
 And not in me; I am myself alone. — 
 
 Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the light , 
 
 But I will sort 5 a pitchy day for thee: 
 
 For I will buz abroad such prophecies, 
 
 That Edward shall be fearful of his life: 
 
 And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. 
 
 King Henry, and the prince hia son, are gone: 
 
 Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest; 
 
 Counting myself but bad, till I be best. — 
 
 I'll throw thy body in another room, 
 
 And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII.— A Room in the Palace. 
 King Edwaud is discovered sitting on his Throne, 
 
 Queen Elizabeth with the infant Prince, 
 
 Clarence, Glosteb, Hastings, and others, 
 
 near him. 
 
 K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal 
 throne, 
 Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
 What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's coro, 
 Have we mow'd down, in tops cf all their pride t 
 Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd 
 For hardy and undoubted champions: 
 Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, 
 
 « To rook signified to lodge on any thing. « Select, 
 
£CINK /II. 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 535 
 
 And two Northumberlands; two braver men 
 Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound : 
 With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon- 
 tague, 
 That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, 
 And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
 Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, 
 And made our footstool of security. — 
 Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy: 
 Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself, 
 Have in our armors watch'd the winter's night; 
 Went all a-foot in summer's scalding heat, 
 That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace: 
 And of our labors thou shalt reap the gain. 
 
 Geo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid; 
 For yet I am not look'd on in the world. 
 This shoulder was ordain 'd so thick, to heave; 
 And heave it shall some weight, or break my back: — 
 Work thou the way, — and thou shalt execute. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 K. Edw. Clarence and Gloster, love my lovely 
 queen; 
 And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 
 
 Clar. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty, 
 Teal u»on the lips of this sweet babe. 
 
 K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy b rother, 
 
 thanks. 
 Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence *h™ 
 sprang'st. 
 Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit :-• - 
 2o say the trath, so Judas kiss'd his ~] 
 
 master; . . , 
 
 And cried — all hail ! — when as he meant [ Asidt 
 — all harm; 
 K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights, 
 Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves. 
 Clar, What will your grace have done with Mar 
 garet 1 
 Reignier, her father, to the king of France 
 Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, 
 And hither have they sent it for her ransom. 
 K Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to 
 France. 
 And now what rests, but that we spend the time 
 With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, 
 Such as befit the pleasures of the court 1 — 
 Sound, drums and trumpets! — farewell, sour annoy! 
 For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Edward the Fourth. 
 Edward, Prince of Wales, of- i 
 
 forwards King Edward V., > Sons to the King. 
 Richard, Duke o/"York, ) 
 
 George, Duke of Clarence, ) 
 Richard, Duke of Gloster, af- > Broi/k s to the 
 
 tenvards King Richard III. ; King. 
 A young Son of Clarence. 
 Henry, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King 
 
 Henry VII. 
 Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop -/"York. 
 John Morton, Bishop ofEly. 
 Dure of Buckingham. 
 Duke of Norfolk. 
 Earl ofSurret, his Son. 
 
 Earl of Rivers, Brother to K. Edward's Queen. 
 Marq_uis of Dorset, and Lord Gret. her Sons. 
 Earl of Oxford. 
 Lord Hastings. 
 Lord Stanley. 
 Lord Lovel. 
 Sir Thomas Vauguan. 
 
 Sib Richard Ratcliff. 
 
 Sir William Catesby. 
 
 Sir James Tyrrel. 
 
 Sir James Blount. 
 
 Sir Walter Heriiert. 
 
 Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of tht 
 
 Tower. 
 Christopher Urswick, a Priest. 
 Another Priest. 
 Lord Mayor of London. 
 Sheriff of Wiltshire. 
 
 Elizabeth, Queen of King Edward IV. 
 Margaret, Widow of King Henry VI. 
 Duchess of York, Mother to King Edward IV, 
 
 Clarence, and Gloster. 
 Lady Anne, W/cfoivq/'Edward, Prince of Wales, 
 
 •Son to King Henry VI.; afterwards married tt 
 
 the Duke of Gloster. 
 A young Daughter of Clarence. 
 
 Lords, and other Attendants,- two Gentlemen, 
 Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murdere* 
 Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, 4r. 
 
 SCENE.— England. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Street. 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of York; 
 And all the clouds, that low'r'd upon our house, 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
 Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; 
 Jur bruised arms hung up for monuments; 
 ")ur stern alarums changed to merry meetings, 
 Jur dreadful marches to delightful measures.' 
 Grim visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled 
 
 front ; 
 And now. — instead of mounting barbed' steeds, 
 To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — 
 He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, 
 To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
 But I, — that am not shaped for sportive tricks, 
 Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; 
 I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's ma- 
 jesty, 
 To strut befoie a wanton ambling nymph; 
 
 > D»nce« 
 
 f536] 
 
 I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion. 
 Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
 Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 
 Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
 That dogs bark at me as 1 halt by them; — 
 Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
 Have no delight to pass away the time ; 
 Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. 
 And descant on mine own deformity; 
 And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, 
 To entertain these fair well-spoken days,— 
 I am determined to prove a villain, 
 And hate the idle pleasures of these days,- 
 Plots have I laid, inductions 3 dangerous, 
 By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, 
 To set my brother Clarence, and the king, 
 In deadly hate the one against the other 
 And, if king Edward be as true and just 
 As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, 
 This day should Clarence closely be mew'd 0£» 
 About a prophecy, which says — that G 
 
 > Preparations for misckiet 
 
ScKNE I 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 587 
 
 Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. 
 Dive, tuoughts, down to my soul ! here Clarence 
 cornea. 
 
 Enter Clarence, guarded, arid Brakenbury. 
 
 Brother, good day : What means this armed guard 
 That waits upon your grace? 
 
 Clar. His majesty, 
 
 Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
 This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 
 
 Glo. Upon what cause? 
 
 Clar. Because my name is — George. 
 
 Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours ; 
 
 Ho should, for that, commit your godfathers: 
 
 0, belike his majesty hath some intent, 
 
 That you shall be new christen'd in the Tower. 
 
 But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know ? 
 
 Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know ; for I protest, 
 As yet I do not: But, as I can learn, 
 He hearkens after prophecies and dreams ; 
 And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
 And says — a wizard told him, that by G 
 His issue disinherited should be; 
 And, for my name of George begins with G, 
 It follows in his thought that I am he : 
 These, as I learn, and such like toys as these, 
 Have mov'd his highness to commit me now. 
 
 Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by 
 women : — 
 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower, 
 My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she, 
 That tempers him to this extremity. 
 Was it not she, and that good man of worship, 
 Antony Woodeville, her brother there, 
 That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower; 
 From whence this present day he is deliver'd? 
 We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe. 
 
 Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure, 
 But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds 
 That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. 
 Heard you not what an humble suppliant 
 Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery ? 
 
 Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity, 
 Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 
 I'll tell you what, — I think it is our way, 
 If we will keep in favor with the king, 
 To be her men, and wear her livery: 
 The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,* 
 Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, 
 Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. 
 
 Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me ; 
 His majesty hath straitly given in charge, 
 That no man shall have private conference, 
 Of whvt degree soever, with his brother. 
 
 Glo. Even so? an please your worship, Braken- 
 bury, 
 You may partake of any thing we say: 
 We spe.'ik no treason, man ; — We say, the king 
 Is wise, and virtuous; and his noble queen 
 Well struck in years; fair, and not jealous : 
 We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
 A cherry lip, 
 
 A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue ; 
 And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks: 
 How say you, sir ? can you deny all this ? 
 
 Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought 
 to do. 
 
 Gh. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell 
 thee, fellow. 
 He that, doth naught with her, excepting one, 
 Were beat to do it secretly, alone. 
 Brak. What one, my lord? 
 
 * The queeu aud Sbcr> 
 
 Glo. Her husband, knave: — Wouldst thou De- 
 tray me? 
 
 Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me ; and, 
 withal, 
 Forbear your conference with the noble duke. 
 
 Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and 
 will obey. 
 
 Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey 
 Brother, farewell : I will unto the king ; 
 And whatsoever you will employ me in, — - 
 Were it to call king Edward's widow — sister, — 
 I will perform it to enfranchise you. 
 Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood, 
 Touches me deeper than you can imagine. 
 
 Clar. 1 know it pleaseth neither of us well. 
 
 Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be 
 long; 
 I will deliver you, or else lie for you : 
 Mean time, have patience. 
 
 Clar. I must perforce ; farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. 
 
 Glo. Go,tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return, 
 Simple, plain" Clarence ! — I do love thee so, 
 That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, 
 If heaven will take the present at our hands. 
 But who comes here ? the new-deliver'd Hastings? 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 
 Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord ! 
 
 Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain! 
 Well are you welcome to this open air. 
 How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? 
 
 Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners 
 must : 
 But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, 
 That were the cause of my imprisonment. 
 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence 
 too; 
 For they, that were your enemies, are his, 
 And have prevail'd as much on him as you. 
 
 Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd. 
 While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. 
 
 Glo. What news abroad ? 
 
 Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home : — 
 The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, 
 And his physicians fear him mightily. 
 
 Glo. Now, by saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. 
 0, he hath kept an evil diet long. 
 And over-much consumed his royal person ; 
 'Tis very grievous to be thought jpon. 
 What, is he in his bed ? 
 
 Hast. He is. 
 
 Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. 
 
 [Exit Hastings 
 He cannot live, I hope; and must not die, 
 Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. 
 I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
 With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; 
 And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
 Clarence hath not another day to live : 
 Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy, 
 And leave the world for me to bustle in ! 
 For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughte. . 
 What though I kill'd her husband, and her father^ 
 The readiest way to make the wench amends, 
 Is — to become her husband, and her father : 
 The which will I ; not all so much for love, 
 As for another secret close intent, 
 By marrying her, which I must reach unto. 
 But yet I run before my horse to market: 
 Clarence still breathes: Edward still lives,and reigns: 
 When they are gone, then must I cunt my gains 
 
 [Exit 
 2L 
 
538 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act I 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Street. 
 Enter the Corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne 
 
 in an open coffin,- Gentlemen bearing Halberds, 
 
 to guardit; and Ladt Anne as Mourner. 
 
 Anne. Set down, set down your honorable load, — 
 [f honor may be shrouded in a hearse, — 
 Whilst I a while obsequiously 5 lament 
 The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. — 
 Poor key -cold figure of a holy king ! 
 Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! 
 Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ! 
 Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, 
 To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, 
 Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 
 Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these 
 
 wounds ! 
 Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, 
 I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes : — 
 O, cursed be the hand that made these holes ! 
 Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it ! 
 Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence! 
 More direful hap betide that hated wretch, 
 That makes us wretched by the death of thee, 
 Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, 
 Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! 
 If ever he have child, abortive be it, 
 Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, 
 Whose ugly and unnatural aspect 
 May fright the hopeful mother at the view; 
 And that be heir to his unhappiness ! 
 If ever he have wife, let her be made 
 More miserable by the death of him, 
 Than T am made by my young lord, and thee ! — 
 Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load, 
 Taken from Paul's to be interred there; 
 And still, as you are weary of the weight, 
 Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. 
 
 [The Bearers take up the Corpse, and advance. 
 Enter Glostkr. 
 
 G/o. Stay you that bear the corse, and set it down. 
 
 yl/me. What black magician conjures up this fiend, 
 To stop devoted charitable deeds'? 
 
 Glo. Villains, set down the corse ; or, by saint Paul, 
 I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. 
 
 1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin 
 pass. 
 
 Glo. Unmanncr'd dog: stand thou when I com- 
 mand: 
 Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, 
 Or, by saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, 
 And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. 
 
 [The Bearers set down the Coffin. 
 
 Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? 
 Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, 
 And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. — 
 A vaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! 
 Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, 
 His soul thou canst not have; therefore, begone. 
 
 Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 
 
 Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and 
 trouble us not; 
 For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, 
 Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
 If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, 
 Behold this pattern of thy butcheries : — 
 0, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds 
 Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh! — 
 Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity ; 
 For 'tis thy presence that, exhales this blood 
 From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells ; 
 rkf deed, inhuman and unnatural, 
 
 * With becoming reverence for the dead. 
 
 Provokes this deluge most unnatural. • 
 
 O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death'. 
 earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death . 
 Either, Heaven, with lightning strike the murderer 
 
 dead, 
 Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick; 
 As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, 
 Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! 
 
 Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity, 
 Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. 
 
 Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor 
 man; 
 No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity. 
 
 Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. 
 
 Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! 
 
 Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry. — 
 Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, 
 Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, 
 By circumstance, but to acquit myself. 
 
 Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, 
 For these known evils, but to give me leave, 
 By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 
 
 Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me 
 have 
 Some patient leisure to excuse myself. 
 
 Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou 
 canst make 
 No excuse current but to hang thyself. 
 
 Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. 
 Anne. And,by despairing,shalt thou stand excus'd; 
 For doing worthy vengeance on thyself. 
 That didst unworthy slaughter upon others- 
 
 Glo. Say, that I slew them not 7 
 
 Anne. Why, then, they are not dead : 
 
 But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. 
 
 Glo. I did not kill your husband. 
 
 Anne. Why, then, he is alive. 
 
 Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. 
 
 Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest: queen 
 Margaret saw 
 Thy murd'rous falchion smoking in his blood; 
 The which thou once didst bend against her breast. 
 But that thy brothers beat aside the point. 
 
 Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, 
 That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 
 
 Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind 
 That never dreamt on aught but butcheries : 
 Didst thou not kill this king ? 
 
 Glo. I grant ye. 
 
 Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then God 
 grant me too, 
 Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed! 
 O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. 
 
 Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath him. 
 Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never 
 come. 
 
 Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him 
 thither; 
 For he was fitter for that place, than earth. 
 
 Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell. 
 
 Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me 
 name it. 
 
 Anne. Some dungeon. 
 
 Glo. Your bed-chamber. 
 
 Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! 
 
 Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 
 
 Anne. I hope so. 
 
 Glo. I know so. — But, gentle lady Anne,-- 
 
 To leave this keen encounter of our wits, 
 And fall somewhat into a slower method, — 
 Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 
 Of these Plantagcnets, Henry and Edward, 
 As blameful as the executioner 7 
 
Scene II 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 53(» 
 
 Anne. Thou wast the cause and most accurs'd 
 effect. 
 
 Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; 
 t'our beauty which did haunt me in my sleep, 
 To undertake the death of all the world, 
 So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. 
 
 Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, 
 These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. 
 
 •Ho. These eyes could not endure that beauty's 
 wreck ; 
 You should not blemish it if I stood by : 
 As all the world is cheered by the sun, 
 So I by that; it is my day, my life. 
 
 Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death 
 thy life ! 
 
 Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art 
 both. 
 
 Anne. I would I were, to be revenged on thee. 
 
 Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural, 
 To be revenged on him that loveth thee. 
 
 Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, 
 To be revenged on him that kill'd my husband. 
 
 Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, 
 Did it to help thee to a better husband. 
 
 Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the 
 earth. 
 
 Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he could. 
 
 Anne. Name him. 
 
 Glo. Plantagenet. 
 
 Anne. Why, that was he. 
 
 Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. 
 
 Anne. Where is he? 
 
 Glo. Here : [She spits at him.'] Why 
 
 dost thou spit at me ? 
 
 Anne. 'Would itwere mortal poison, forthy sake! 
 
 Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 
 
 Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
 Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes. 
 
 Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. 
 
 Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee 
 dead ! 
 
 Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once ; 
 For now they kill me with a living death. 
 Those eyes of thine from mine hath drawn salt tears, 
 Shamed their aspects with store of childish drops : 
 These eyes, which never shed remorseful 6 tear, — 
 Nor when my father York and Edward wept, 
 To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, 
 When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him ; 
 Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, 
 Told the sad story of my father's death ; 
 And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep, 
 That all the standers-by had wet thefr cheeks, 
 Like trees bedash'd with rain : in that sad time, 
 My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; 
 And what these sorrows could not hence exhale, 
 Thy beauty hath,and made them blind with weeping. 
 I never sued to friend, nor enemy; 
 My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word ; 
 But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, 
 My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to 
 speak. [She looks scornfully at him. 
 
 Teach not thy lip such scorn ; for it was made 
 For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
 If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
 Lo ! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ; 
 Which if thou pl<*ise to hide in this true breast, 
 And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 
 I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, 
 And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 
 
 [He lays his Breast open,- she offers at it 
 with his Sword. 
 • Pitying. 
 
 Nay, do not pause ; for I did kill kir.g Hecry ;— 
 But 'twas thy beauty that provok'd me. 
 Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Ed 
 ward ; — [She again offers at his Breast. 
 But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. 
 
 [She lets fall the Swwd 
 Take up the sword again, or take up me. 
 
 Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death 
 I will not be thy executioner. 
 
 Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 
 
 Anne. I have already. 
 
 Glo. That was in thy rage : 
 
 Speak it again, and, even with the word, 
 This hand, which for thy love, did kill thy love, 
 Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ; 
 To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. 
 
 Anne. I would, I knew thy heart. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue. 
 
 Anne. I fear me, both are false. 
 
 Glo. Then man was never true. 
 
 Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 
 
 Glo. Say then, my peace is made. 
 
 A.nne. That shall you know hereafter. 
 
 Glo. But shall I live in hope? 
 
 Anne. All men, I hope, live so. 
 
 Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 
 
 Anne. To take, is not to give. 
 
 [She puts on the Ring. 
 
 Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger, 
 Even so thy breast encloscth my poor heart ; 
 Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. 
 And if thy poor devoted servant may 
 But beg one favor at thy gracious hand, 
 Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. 
 
 Anne. What is it? 
 
 Glo. That it may please you leave these sad de- 
 signs 
 To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, 
 And presently repair to Crosby-place :' 
 Where — after I have solemnly interr'd, 
 At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king, 
 And wet his grave with my repentant tears, — 
 I will with all expedient duty see you. 
 For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, 
 Grant me this boon. 
 
 Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too, 
 To see you are become so penitent. — 
 Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me. 
 
 Glo. Bid me farewell. 
 
 Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve ; 
 
 But, since you teach me how to flatter you, 
 Imagine I have said farewell already. 
 [Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Beuklet. 
 
 Glo. Take up the corse, sirs. 
 
 Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord ? 
 
 Glo. No, to White Friars; there attend my com- 
 ing. [Exeunt, the rest, with the Corpse 
 Was ever woman in this humor woo'd? 
 Was ever woman in this humor won ? 
 I'll have her, — but I will not keep her long. 
 What ! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father, 
 To take her in her heart's extremest hate; 
 With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 
 The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; 
 With God, her conscience, and these bars agains! 
 
 me. 
 And I no friends to back my suit withal, 
 But the plain devil and dissembling looks, 
 And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing! 
 Ha! 
 
 Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
 Edward, her lord, whom I some three mor ths sinw 
 ' n Bishopgate-street. 
 
540 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act ! 
 
 Stabb'a in my angry mood at Tewksbury ? 
 
 A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — 
 
 Framed in the prodigality of nature, 
 
 Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, — 
 
 The spacious world cannot again afford : 
 
 And will she yet abase her eyes on me, 
 
 That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, 
 
 And made her widow toawoful bed? 
 
 On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety ? 
 
 On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus? 
 
 My dukedom to a beggarly dernier, 8 
 
 T do mistake my person all this while : 
 
 Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, 
 
 Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 
 
 I'll be at charges for a looking-glass; 
 
 And entertain a score or two of tailors, 
 
 To study fashions to adorn my body; 
 
 Since I am crept in favor with myself, 
 
 I will maintain it with some little cost. 
 
 But, first, I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; 
 
 And then return lamenting to my love. — 
 
 Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, 
 
 That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and 
 
 Lord Grey. 
 
 Riv. Have patience, madam ; there's no doubt 
 his majesty 
 Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 
 
 Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him 
 worse : 
 Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, 
 And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. 
 
 Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of 
 me ? 
 
 Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. 
 
 Grey. The heavens have bless'd y ou with a goodly 
 son, 
 To be your comforter, when he is gone. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority 
 Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, 
 A man that loves not me, nor none of you. 
 
 Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector ? 
 
 Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet: 
 But so it must be, if the king miscarry. 
 
 Enter Buckingham and Stanley. 
 
 Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and 
 Stanley. 
 
 Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace ! 
 
 Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you 
 have been ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord 
 of Stanley, 
 To your good prayer will scarcely say — amen. 
 Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife, 
 And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd, 
 I hate not you for her proud arrogance. 
 
 Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe 
 The envious slanders of her false accusers; 
 Or, if she be accus'd on true report, 
 Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
 From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of 
 Stanley ? 
 
 Stan. But now the duke of Buckingham, and I, 
 Are come from visiting his majesty. 
 
 Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, 
 lords? 
 
 Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks 
 cheerfully. 
 
 ' A. small FreDch coin. 
 
 Q. Eliz. God grant him health . Did you con 
 
 fer with him ? 
 Buck. Ay, madam, he desires to make atonement 
 Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers, 
 And between them and my lord chamberlain ; 
 And sent to warn them to his royal presence. 
 Q. Eliz. Would all were well !— But that will 
 never be; — 
 I fear, our happiness is at the height. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset. 
 
 Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure 
 it.— 
 Who are they, that complain unto the king, 
 That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not ? 
 By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly, 
 That fill his ears with such dissentious rumors. 
 Because I cannot Ratter, and speak fair, 
 Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 
 Duck with Frerich nods, and apish courtesy, 
 I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
 Cannot a plain n.an live, and think no harm, 
 But thus his simple truth must be abus'd 
 By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks ?' 
 
 Grey. To whom, in all this presence speaks youi 
 grace ? 
 
 Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace 
 When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong ! 
 Or thee ? — or thee ? — or any of your faction ? 
 A plague upon you all ! His royal grace, — 
 Whom God preserve better than you would wish! — 
 Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, 
 But you must trouble him with lewd 1 complaints 
 
 Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the 
 matter, 
 The king, of his own royal disposition, 
 And not provok'd by any suitor else: 
 Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, 
 That in your outward action shows itself, 
 Against my children, brothers, and myself, 
 Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather 
 The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. 
 
 Glo. I cannot tell ; — The world is grown so bad, 
 That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch 
 Since every Jack became a gentleman, 
 There's many a gentle person made a Jack. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning 
 brother Gloster : 
 You envy my advancement, and my friends' ; 
 God grant, we never may have need of you ! 
 
 Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have need 
 of you ! 
 Our brother is imprison'd by your means, 
 Myself disgraced, and the nobility 
 Held in contempt; while great promotions 
 Are daily given, to ennoble those 
 That scarce, some two days since, were worth a 
 noble. 2 
 
 Q. Eliz. By him that rais'd me to this careful 
 height 
 From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, 
 I never did incense his majesty 
 Against the duke of Clarence, but have been 
 An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
 My lord, you do me shameful injury, 
 Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. 
 
 Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause 
 Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 
 
 Riv. She may, mv 'ord; for 
 
 Glo. She may, loiu Rivers? — why, who knows 
 not so? 
 
 9 Low fellows. 
 
 » A coin rated at os o,» 
 
 Rude, ignorant. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 541 
 
 She may do move, sir, than denying that: 
 She may help you tu many fair preferments; 
 And then deny her aiding hand therein, 
 And lay those honors on your high desert. 
 What may she not ? She may, — ay, marry may 
 she, — 
 
 Riv. What, marry, may she? 
 
 Glo. What, marry, may she ? marry with a king, 
 A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: 
 [ wis, 3 your grandam had a worser match. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne 
 Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs: 
 By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty, 
 Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd. 
 I had rather be a country servant-maid, 
 Than a great queen with this condition — 
 To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at: 
 Small joy have I in being England's queen. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret, behind. 
 
 Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I be- 
 seech thee! 
 Thy honor, state, and seat, is due to me. 
 
 Glo. What ? threat you me with telling of the 
 king? 
 Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said 
 I will avouch, in presence of the king: 
 I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
 'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot. 
 
 Q. Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too well: 
 Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, 
 And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. 
 
 Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband 
 king, 
 f was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; 
 A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, 
 A liberal rewarder of his friends ; 
 To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or 
 thine. 
 
 Glo. In all which time, you, and your husband 
 Grey, 
 Were factious for the house of Lancaster ; — 
 And, Rivers, so were you : — 'Was r.ot your husband 
 In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? 
 Let me put in your minds, if you forget, 
 What you have been ere now, and what you are ; 
 vVithal, what I have been, and what I am. 
 
 Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. 
 
 Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father War- 
 wick, 
 Ay. and forswore himself, — Which Jesu pardon ! — ■ 
 
 Q. Mar. Which God revenge ! 
 
 Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown; 
 And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up: 
 I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's, 
 Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine ; 
 I am too childish-foolish for this world. 
 
 Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave 
 this world, 
 Thou cacodaemon!' there thy kingdom is. 
 
 Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days, 
 Which here you urge to prove us enemies, 
 We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king; 
 So should we you, if you should be our king. 
 
 Glo. If I should be? — I had rather be a pedlar: 
 v ar be it from my heart, the thought thereof! 
 
 Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose 
 You should enjoy, were you this country's king; 
 As little joy you may suppose in me, 
 That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. 
 
 Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; 
 » Think. « Corrupt devil. 
 
 For I am she, and altogether joyless. 
 I can no longer hold me patient. — [Advancing 
 Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
 In sharing that which you have pill'd 8 from me: 
 Which of you trembles not, that looks on me : 
 If not, that I, being queen, you bow like subjects 
 Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels?— 
 Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away ! 
 
 Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in 
 my sight ? 
 
 Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd ; 
 That will I make, before I let thee go. 
 
 Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death ? 
 
 Q. Mar. I was ; but I do find more pain in ban- 
 ishment, 
 Than death can yield me here by my abode. 
 A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me, — 
 And thou a kingdom; — all of you allegiance: 
 This sorrow that I have, by right is yours ; 
 And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. 
 
 Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee, 
 When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper 
 And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes 
 And then to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, 
 Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ;- 
 His curses, then from bitterness of soul 
 Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; 
 And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. 
 
 Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. 
 
 Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe 
 And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of. 
 
 Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re 
 ported. 
 
 Dors No man but prophesied revenge for it. 
 Buck. Northumberland,thenpresent,wepttoseeit. 
 
 Q. Mar. What ! were you snarling all, before I 
 came, 
 Ready to catch each other by the throat, 
 And turn you all your hatred now on me 7 
 Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven, 
 That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death. 
 Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, 
 Could all but answer for that peevish brat? 
 Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven? — 
 Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick 
 
 curses ! — 
 Though not by war, by surfeit die your king, 
 As ours by murder, to make him a king! 
 Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales, 
 For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales 
 Die in his youth, by like untimely violence! 
 Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, 
 Outlive thy glory like my wretched self! 
 Long mayst thou live, to wail thy children's loss, 
 And see another, as I see thee now, 
 Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine ! 
 Long die thy happy days before thy death; 
 A nd after many lengthen'd hours of grief, 
 Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! — 
 Rivers, — and Dorset, — you were standers by, — 
 And so wast thou, lord Hastings, — when my son 
 Was stabb'd with bloody daggers ; God, I pray him, 
 That none of you may live your natural age, 
 But by some unlook'd accident cut off! 
 
 Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hatefu I wither'^ 
 hag. 
 
 Q. Mar. And leave out „hee ? stay, dog, for thou 
 shalt hear me. 
 If heaven have any grievous plague in store, 
 Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee. 
 O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe, 
 And then hurl down their indignation 
 • Pillagm) 
 
542 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act ) 
 
 On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace ! 
 The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul! 
 Ttiy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st, 
 And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! 
 No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, 
 Unless it be while some tormenting dream 
 Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
 Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog ! 
 Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
 The slave of nature, and the son of hell ! 
 Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! 
 Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins ! 
 Thou rag of honor ! thou detested 
 
 Glo. Margaret! 
 
 Q. Mar. Richard ! 
 
 Glo. Ha? 
 
 Q. Mar. I call thee not. 
 
 Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think, 
 That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, so I did ; but look'd for no reply : 
 O, let me make the period to my curse. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis done by me; and ends in — Margaret. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse 
 against yourself. 
 
 Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my 
 fortune ! 
 Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, 6 
 Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? 
 Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
 The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me 
 To help thee curse this pois'nous hunch-back'd toad. 
 
 Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse; 
 Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience. 
 
 Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all 
 mov'd mine. 
 
 Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught 
 your duty. 
 
 Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me 
 duty, 
 Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: 
 O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. 
 
 Dors. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. 
 
 Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert : 
 Your fire-new stamp of honor is scarce current :' 
 0, that your young nobility could judge, 
 What 'twere to lose it and be miserable ! 
 They that stand high, have many blasts to shake 
 
 them ; 
 ind, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 Glo. Good counsel, marry; — learn it, learn it, 
 marquis. 
 
 Dors. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. 
 
 Glo. Ay, and much more : But I was born so high, 
 Our aiery 8 buildeth in the cedar's top, 
 And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. 
 
 Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade; — alas! 
 alas ! — 
 Witness my son, now in the shade of death; 
 Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath 
 Hath in eternal darkness folded up. 
 Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest : — 
 God, that seest it, do not suffer it; 
 As it was won with blood, lost be it so ! 
 
 Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity. 
 
 Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me; 
 Uncharitably with me have you dealt, 
 And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. 
 My charity is outrage, life my shame, — 
 And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage ! 
 
 Buck. Have done, have done. 
 
 y. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand, 
 
 ' Alluding to Gloster's form and venom 
 He was just created marquis of Dorset. • Nest. 
 
 In sign of league and amity with thee: 
 Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house ! 
 Thy gaiments are not spotted with our blood, 
 Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 
 
 Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never pas* 
 The lips of those that breathe them in the air. 
 
 Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, 
 And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. 
 
 Buckingham, beware of yonder dog; 
 
 Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and, when he bites 
 His venom tooth will rankle to the death : 
 Have not to do with him, beware of him ; 
 Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him; 
 And all their ministers attend on him. 
 
 Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Bucking 
 ham? 
 
 Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord 
 
 Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentl# 
 counsel 1 
 And soothe the oeril that I warn thee from ? 
 0, but remember this another day, 
 When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow ; 
 And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. — 
 Live each of you the subjects to his hate, 
 And he to yours, and all of you to God's! [Exit. 
 
 Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear he> 
 curses. 
 
 Riv. And so doth mine; I muse, 9 why she's at 
 liberty. 
 
 Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother. 
 She hath had too much wrong, and I repent 
 My part thereof, that I have done to her. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. 
 
 Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong 
 
 1 was too hot to do some body good, 
 That is too cold in thinking of it now. 
 Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
 He. is frank'd' up to fatting for his pains; — 
 God pardon them that are the cause thereof! 
 
 Riv. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion, 
 To pray for them that have done scath 5 to us. 
 
 Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd; — 
 For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. [Aside 
 
 Enter Catesbt. 
 
 Cafes. Madam, his majesty doth call for you, — 
 And for your grace, — and you, my noble lords. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Catesby I come; — Lords, will you gc 
 with me? 
 
 Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your grace. 
 [Exeunt all but Gloster 
 
 Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. 
 The secret mischiefs that I set abroach, 
 I lay unto the grievous charge of others. 
 Clarence, — ■ whom I, indeed, have laid in dark- 
 ness, — 
 I do beweep to many simple gulls; 
 Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham; 
 And tell them — 'tis the queen, and her allies. 
 That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
 Now they believe it; and withal whet me 
 To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : 
 But then I sigh, and with a piece of scripture, 
 Tell them — that God bids us do good for evil • 
 And thus I clothe my naked vil'any 
 With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ, 
 And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 
 
 Enter two Murderers. 
 
 But soft, here come my executioners. — 
 How now, my hardy, stout-resolved mates? 
 Are you now going to despatch this thing? 
 9 Wonder. » Put in a sty. > H*rn» 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 54* 
 
 1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have 
 the warrant, 
 That we may be admitted where he is. 
 
 Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about 
 me: [Gives the Wan-ant. 
 
 When you have done, repair to Crosby-place. 
 But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, 
 Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ; 
 For Claience is well spoken, and, perhaps, 
 May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 
 1 Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to 
 prate, 
 Talkers are no good doers; be assured. 
 We go to use our hands, and not our tongues. 
 Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' 
 eyes drop tears: 
 I like you, lads; — about your business straight; 
 Go, go, despatch. 
 
 1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in the Tower. 
 Enter Clarence and Brakenbury. 
 
 Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day 7 
 
 Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night, 
 So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
 That as I am a Christian faithful man, 
 I would not spend another such a night, 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days; 
 So full of dismal terror was the time. 
 
 Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray 
 you, tell me. 
 
 Clar. Methought that I had broken from the 
 Tower, 
 And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
 And, in my company, my brother Gloster: 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 Upon the hatches; thence we look'tl toward England, 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster 
 That had befallen us. As we paced along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling, 
 Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 
 heaven ! methought, what pain it was to drown ! 
 What dreadful noise of water in mine ears! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! 
 Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; 
 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; 
 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 
 Inestimable stones, unvalu'd jewels, 
 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes 
 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 
 (As 'twere in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems, 
 
 That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 
 And moclrd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 
 
 Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death, 
 To gaze uporitthese secrets of the deep] 
 
 Clar. Methought, I had; and often did I strive 
 To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; 
 But smother'd it within my panting bulk, 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 
 Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony] 
 
 Clar. 0, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; 
 0, then began the tempest to my soul! 
 
 1 pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, 
 With that grim ferrymen which poets write of, 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul, 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, 
 
 Who cry'd aloud — What scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? 
 And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by 
 A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, — 
 Clarence is come, — false, fleeting, perjured Cla- 
 
 rence, — 
 That staWd me in the field by TeL.ksbury,- — 
 Seize on him, furies, fake him to your torments! 
 With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
 Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 
 I trembling waked, and, for a season after, 
 Could not believe but that I was in hell ; 
 Such terrible impression made my dream. 
 
 Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you; 
 I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 
 
 Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things,— 
 That now give evidence against my soul, — 
 For Edward's sake ; and, see how he requites me ! — 
 
 God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
 But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,' 
 Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: 
 
 0, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children ! — 
 
 1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 
 My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 
 
 Brak. I will, my lord ; God give your grace good 
 rest ! — 
 [Clarence reposes himself on a Chair. 
 Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, 
 Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide nigh 1 ' 
 Princes have but their titles for their glories, 
 An outward honor for an inward toil ; 
 And, for unfelt imaginations, 
 They often feel a world of restless cares: 
 So that between their titles, and low name, 
 There's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
 
 Enter the two Murderers. 
 
 1 Murd. Ho ! who's here 7 
 Brak. What wouldst thou, fellow] and how 
 cam'st thou hither? 
 
 1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I 
 came hither on my legs. 
 
 Brak. What, so brief? 
 
 2 Murd. O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than te>- 
 
 dious : — 
 Let him see our commission ; talk no more. 
 
 [.4 Paper is dtlivertd to Brakenbury, 
 who reads it. 
 Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver 
 The noble duke of Clarence to your hands: — 
 I will not reason what is meant hereby, 
 Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
 Here are the keys; — there sits the duke asleep: 
 I'll to the king; and signify to him, 
 That I thus have resign'd to you my charge. 
 
 1 Murd. You may. sir; 'tis a point of wisdom: 
 Fare you well. [Exit Brakes bury. 
 
 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps 7 
 
 1 Murd. No ; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, 
 when he wakes. 
 
 2 Murd. When he wakes! why fool, he shall 
 never wake until the greatjudgment day. 
 
 1 Murd. Why, then he'll say, we stabb'd him 
 sleeping. 
 
 2 Murd. The urging of that word, jud-menl, 
 hath bred a kind uf remorse in me. 
 
 1 Murd. What ! art thou afraid ?• 
 
 2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ; 
 but to be damn'd for killing him, from the whick 
 no warrant can defend me. 
 
 1 Murd. I thought, thou hadst been resolute. 
 
644 
 
 KING RICHARD HI. 
 
 Act L 
 
 2 Murd. So I am, to let him live. 
 
 1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and 
 •.ell him so. 
 
 2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope, 
 this holy humor of mine will change ; it was wont 
 to hold me but while one would tell twenty. 
 
 1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now ? 
 
 2 Murd. 'Faith some certain dregs of conscience 
 are yet within me. 
 
 1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's 
 done. 
 
 2 Murd. Come, he dies ; I had forgot the reward. 
 
 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now? 
 
 2 Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse. 
 
 1 Murd. So when he opens his purse to give us 
 our reward, thy conscience flies out. 
 
 2 Murd. Tis no matter ; let it go ; there's few, 
 or none, will entertain it. 
 
 1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again ? 
 
 2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a danger- 
 ous thing, it makes a man a coward ; a man cannot 
 steal, but it accuseth him ; a man cannot swear, 
 but it checks him ; a man cannot lie with his neigh- 
 bor's wife, but it detects him: 'Tis a blushing 
 shame-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom ; 
 it fills one full of obstacles : it made me once re- 
 store a purse of gold, that by chance I found ; it 
 beggars any man that keeps it : it is turned out of 
 al! towns and cities for a dangerous thing ; and 
 every man, that means to live well, endeavors to 
 trust to himself, and live without it. 
 
 1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, 
 persuading me not to kill the duke. 
 
 2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe 
 him not: he would insinuate with thee, but to 
 make thee sigh. 
 
 1 Murd. I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail 
 with me. 
 
 2 Murd. Spoke like a tall 3 fellow, that respects 
 his reputation. Come, shall we fall to- work? 
 
 1 Murd. Take him over the costard 4 with the 
 hilt* of thy sword, and then throw him into the 
 malmsey-butt, in the next room. 
 
 2 Murd. O excellent device! and make a sop 
 of him. 
 
 1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes. 
 
 2 Murd. Strike. 
 
 1 Murd. No, we'll reason with him. 
 
 Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup 
 
 of wine. 
 1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord, 
 
 anon. 
 Clar. In God's name, what art thou ? 
 I Murd. A man, as you are. 
 Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 
 1 Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal. 
 Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are 
 
 humble. 
 1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks 
 
 mine own. 
 Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou 
 
 speak ! 
 Four eyes do menace me : Why look you pale ? 
 Who sent you hither ? Wherefore do you come ? 
 
 Both Murd. To, to, to, 
 
 Clar To murder me? 
 Both Murd. Ay, ay. 
 
 Clar. \ou scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, 
 And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
 Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? 
 
 1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king, 
 Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. 
 * Brave. 4 Head. 
 
 2 Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore piepare to die. 
 
 Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of 
 men, 
 To slay the innocent? What is my offence? 
 Where is the evidence that doth accuse me? 
 What lawful quest 5 have given their verdict up 
 Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced 
 The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? 
 Before I be convict by course of law, 
 To threaten me with death is most unlawful. 
 I charge you, as you hope for any goodness, 
 By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, 
 That you depart, and lay no hands on me; 
 The deed you undertake is damnable. 
 
 1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command, 
 
 2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our 
 
 king. 
 Clar. Erroneous vassal ! the great King of kings 
 Hath in the table of his law commanded, 
 That thou shalt do no murder: Wilt thou then 
 Spurn at His edict, and fulfil a man's? 
 Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
 To hurl upon their heads that, break his law. 
 2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl 
 
 on thee, 
 For. false forswearing, and for murder too : 
 Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight 
 In quarrel 6 of the house of Lancaster. 
 
 1 Murd. And like a traitor to the name of God, 
 Didst break that vow; and, with thy treacherous 
 
 blade, 
 Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 
 
 2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and 
 
 defend. 
 
 1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful 
 law to us, 
 When thou hast broke it in such dear degree? 
 
 Clar. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? 
 For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: 
 He sends you not to murder me for this; 
 For in that sin he is as deep as I. 
 If God will be avenged for the deed, 
 O, know you, that he doth it publicly; 
 Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm, 
 He needs no indirect nor lawless course, 
 To cut off those that have offended him. 
 
 1 Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister, 
 When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, 
 That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ? 
 
 Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 
 
 1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy 
 
 fault, 
 Provoke us hither i?ew to slaughter thee. 
 
 Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me; 
 I am his brother, and I love him well. 
 If you are hired for meed,' go back again, 
 And I will send you to my brother Gloster; 
 Who shall reward you better for njy life, 
 Than Edward will for tidings of rhy death. 
 
 2 Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brother Glostet 
 
 hates you. 
 
 Clar. O, no ; he loves me, and he holds me dear: 
 Go you to him from me. 
 
 Both Murd. Ay, so we will. 
 
 Clar. Tell him,when that our princely father York 
 Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, 
 And charged us from his soul to love each other, 
 He little thought of this divided friendship: 
 Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. 
 
 1 Murd. Ay, mill-stones; as he lesson'd us to 
 weep. 
 
 Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. 
 
 * Inquest, jury. • On the part. 
 
 Ktward. 
 
Act II. Scene I. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 545 
 
 n 
 
 1 Murd. Right, as snow in harvest. — Come, you 
 deceive yourself; 
 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. 
 
 Cbir. It cannot be ; for he bewept my fortune, 
 And hugged me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, 
 That he would labor my delivery. 
 
 1 Murd. Why so he doth, when he delivers you 
 From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 
 
 2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, 
 
 my lord. 
 
 Clor. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, 
 To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
 And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, 
 That thou wilt war with God, by murd'ring me? 
 Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on 
 To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. 
 
 2 Murd. What shall we do? 
 
 Clar. Relent, and save your souls. 
 
 1 Murd. Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish. 
 
 Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. — 
 Which of you, if you were a prince's son, 
 Being pent 8 from liberty, as I am now, — 
 If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, — 
 Would not entreat for life ? — 
 My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks; 
 O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, 
 ( 'ome thou on my side, and entreat for me, 
 
 As you would beg, were you in my distress. 
 A begging prince what beggar pities not? 
 2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord. 
 
 1 Murd. Take that, and that; if all this will rot 
 
 do, [Stdos mm, 
 
 I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 
 
 [Exit with the body. 
 
 2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately de« 
 
 spatch'd ! 
 How fain, like Pilate, w.ould I wash my hands 
 Of this most grievous guilty murder done ! 
 
 Re-enter first Murderer. 
 
 1 Murd. How now? what mean'st thou, that 
 
 thou help'st me not ? 
 By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you 
 have been. 
 
 2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd his 
 
 brother ! 
 Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; 
 For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit. 
 1 Murd. So do not I: go, coward, as thou art — 
 Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole, 
 Till that the duke give order for his burial : 
 And when I have my meed, I will away; 
 For this will out, and then I must not stay. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— 4 Room in the Palace. 
 
 EnterKixr, Edward, (Jedinsick,) Quekv Eliza- 
 beth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Bucking- 
 ham, Gret, and others. 
 
 K. Edio. Why, so: — now have I done a good 
 day's work ; — 
 You peers continue this united league: 
 I every day expect an embassage 
 From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; 
 And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven, 
 Since I have mads my friends at peace on earth. 
 Rivers, and Hastings, take each other's hand ; 
 Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 
 
 Riv. By heaven, my soul is purged from grudging 
 hate! 
 And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 
 
 Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like ! 
 
 K. Edw. Take heed, you dally not before your 
 king ; 
 Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings, 
 Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
 Either of you to be the other's end. 
 
 Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! 
 
 Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! 
 
 K.Edw. Madam,yourselfare not exempt, in this, — 
 Nor your son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you; — 
 You have been factious one against the other. 
 Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand ; 
 And what you do, do it unfeignedly. 
 
 Q. Eliz. There, Hastings; — I will never more 
 remember 
 Our former hatred; So thrive I, and mine! 
 
 K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him, — Hastings, love 
 lord marquis. 
 
 Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest, 
 • Tpon my part shall be inviolable. 
 
 Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces Dorset. 
 
 K Edw. Now princely Buckingham, seal thou 
 this league, 
 
 • Shut up. 
 
 With thy embracements to my wife's allies, 
 And make me happy in your unity. 
 
 Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate 
 Upon your grace, [To the Queen.] but with all 
 
 duteous love 
 Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish me 
 With hate in those where I expect most love ! 
 When I have most need to employ a friend, 
 And most assured that he is a friend, 
 Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, 
 Be he unto me! this do I beg of heaven, 
 When I am cold in love to you or yours. 
 
 [E m bracing R i v e r s , $c 
 
 K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Bucking 
 ham, 
 Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. 
 There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, 
 To make the blessed period of this peace. 
 
 Buck. And, in good time, here comes the noble 
 duke. 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Good morrow to my sovereign king, and 
 queen ; 
 And, princely peers, a happy time of day ! 
 
 K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the 
 day : — 
 Brother, we have done deeds of charity; 
 Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate. 
 Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 
 
 Glo. A blessed labor, my most sovereign liege.— 
 Among this princely heap, if any here, 
 By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, 
 Hold me a foe; 
 
 If I unwittingly, or in my rage, 
 Have aught committed that is hardly borne 
 By any in this presence, I desire 
 To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 
 'Tis death to me to ^eat enmity; 
 I hate it, and desire all good men's love. — 
 First, madam, I entieat true peace oi you, 
 Which I will purchase with mv duteous t-e^ice •• 
 
546 
 
 KING RICHARD IIL 
 
 Act U 
 
 Of you, my nob.c cousin Buckingham, 
 If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us; 
 Of you, lord Rivers, — and, lord Grey, of you, 
 That all without desert have frown'd on me ; — 
 Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of all. 
 f do not know that Englishman alive, 
 With whom my soul is any jot at odds. 
 More than the infant that is born to-night; 
 I thank my God for my humility. 
 
 Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept here- 
 after. 
 I would to God, all strifes were well compounded. — 
 My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness 
 To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 
 
 Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this, 
 To be so flouted in this royal presence? 
 Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead ? 
 
 [They all start. 
 You do him injury to scorn his corse. 
 
 K. Edw. Who knows not he is dead ! who 
 knows he is ? 
 
 Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! 
 
 Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest ? 
 
 Dor. Ay, my good lord ; and no man in the pre- 
 sence, 
 But his red color hath forsook his cheek. 
 
 K. Edw. Is Clarence dead ? the order was re- 
 vers'd. 
 
 Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died, 
 And that a winged Mercury did bear; 
 Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, 
 That came too lag to see him buried : 
 God grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal, 
 Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood, 
 Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, 
 And yet go current from suspicion ! 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done. 
 
 K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace; my soul is full of 
 sorrow. 
 
 Stan. I will not rise unless your highness hear me. 
 
 K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou re- 
 request'st. 
 
 Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servantVlife ; 
 Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman, 
 Tiately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. 
 
 K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's 
 death, 
 And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave"! 
 My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought, 
 And yet his punishment was bitter death. 
 Who sued to me for him ? who, in my wrath, 
 Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised? 
 Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love? 
 Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake 
 The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? 
 Who told me, in the field of Tevvksbury, 
 When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, 
 And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king! 
 Who told me, when we both lay in the field, 
 Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
 Even in his garments; and did give himself, 
 All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night? 
 All this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
 Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you 
 Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 
 But when your carters or your waiting-vassals, 
 Have do le a drunken slaughter, and defaced 
 The precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
 V"ou straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon ; 
 And I, unjustly too, must grant it you.— 
 But for rav brother, not a man would spraK, — 
 
 Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself 
 
 For him, poor soul. — The proudest of you a.' 
 
 Have been beholden to him in his life ; 
 
 Yet none of you would once plead for his life.- - 
 
 God ! 1 fear thy justice will take hold 
 
 On me, and you, and mine, and yc urs, for this. 
 Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. 0, 
 Poor Clarence! 
 
 [Exeunt Kinr, Queen, Hastings, Rivtns 
 Dorset, and Grey. 
 Glo. This is the fruit of rashness! — Mark'd yo» 
 not, 
 How that the guilty kindred of the queen 
 Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death? 
 O! they did urge it still unto the king; 
 God will revenge it. Come, lords; will you go. 
 To comfort Edward with our company ? 
 
 Bark. We wait upon your gn.ee. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE JV- The same. 
 
 Enter the Duchess ' r York, with a Son and 
 
 Daught< , )f Clarence. 
 Son. Good grand; a, tell us, is our father dead? 
 Duch. No, boy. 
 
 Daugh. Whyd'. you weep so oft? and beat 
 your breast ; 
 And cry — O Ci/jence, my unhappy son! 
 
 Son.Whydjjou lookonus,and shake your head, 
 And call us— .iphans, wretches, cast-away s, 
 If that our r.vble father be alive? 
 
 Duch. M > pretty cousins, you mistake me both. 
 
 1 do lamem the sickness of the king, 
 
 As loath to lose him, not your father's death; 
 It were lost sorrow, to wail one that's lost. 
 
 Son. Then, grandam,you conclude that he is dead 
 The king my uncle is to blame for this. 
 God will revenge it; whom I will importune 
 With earnest prayers all to that effect. 
 
 Daugh. And so will I. 
 
 Duch. Peace, children, peace ! the king doth love 
 you well : 
 Incapable 9 and shallow innocents, 
 You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. 
 
 Son. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloster 
 Told me, the king, provok'd to't by the queen, 
 Devised impeachments to imprison him : 
 And when my uncle told me so, he wept, 
 And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; 
 Bade me rely on him, as on my father, 
 And he would love me dearly as his child. 
 
 Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle 
 shapes, 
 And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice ! 
 He is my son, ay, and therein my shame, 
 Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 
 
 Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, gran 
 dam? 
 
 Duch. Ay, boy. 
 
 Son. I cannot think it. Hark ! what noise is this? 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth, distractedly ,■ Rivers 
 and Dorset, following her. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah! who shall hinder me to wail anu 
 weep? 
 To chide my fortune, and torment myself? 
 I'll join with black despair against my soul, 
 And to myself become an enemy. 
 
 Duch.What means this scene of rude impatienc*' , 
 
 Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence : — 
 Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead. 
 Why grow the branches, when the root is gone ' 
 Why wither not the leaves, that want their sap? - 
 » Ignorant. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 547 
 
 If you will live, lament; if die, be brief; 
 That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's ; 
 Or, like obedient subjects, follow him 
 To ins new kingdom of perpetual rest. 
 
 Duck. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow, 
 As I had title in thy noble husband ! 
 I have bewept a worthy husband's death, 
 And liv'd by looking on his images: 
 But now two mirrors of his princely semblance 
 Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death; 
 And I for comfort have but one false glass, 
 That grieves me when I see my shame in him. 
 Thou art a widow ; yet thou art a mother, 
 And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: 
 But death hath snatch'd my husband from my arms, 
 And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands, 
 Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I, 
 (Thine being but a moiety of my grief) 
 To over-go thy plaints, and drown thy cries! 
 Son. Ah, aunt! you wept not for our father's 
 death ; 
 How can we aid you with our kindred tears ? 
 
 Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd, 
 Your widow-dolor likewise be unwept ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation, 
 I am not barren to bring forth laments : 
 All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes 
 That I, being govern 'd by the wat'ry moon, 
 May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world ! 
 Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! 
 Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Cla- 
 rence ! 
 Duck. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and 
 
 Clarence! 
 Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward? and 
 
 he's gone. 
 Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence? and 
 
 he's gone. 
 Duch. What stays had I, but they ? and they are 
 
 gone. 
 Q. Eliz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss. 
 Chil. Were never orphans, had so dear a loss. 
 Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss. 
 Alas! I am the mother of these griefs; 
 Their woes are parcell'd, 1 mine are general. 
 She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; 
 I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: 
 These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I: 
 I for an Edward weep, so do not they : 
 Alas! you three, on me, threefold distress'd, 
 Pour all your tears; I am your sorrow's nurse, 
 And I will pamper it with lamentations. 
 
 Dor. Comfort, dear mother; God is much dis- 
 pleas'd, 
 That you take with unthankfulness his doing ; 
 In common worldly things, 'tis called — ungrateful, 
 With dull unwillingness to repay a debt, 
 Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; 
 Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, 
 For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 
 
 Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, 
 ( )f the young prince your son: send straight for him, 
 Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: 
 Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, 
 And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 
 
 Enter Gi-osteii, Buckingham, Stanlet, Hast- 
 ings, Ratcliff, and others. 
 
 Glo. Sister, have comfort : all of us have cause 
 To wail the dimming of our shining star; 
 But none can cure their harms by wailing them. — 
 Madam, my mothe I do cry you mercy, 
 Divided. 
 
 I did not see your grace : — Humbly on my knee 
 I crave your blessing. 
 
 Duch. God bless thee; and put meekness in thv 
 breast, 
 Love, charity, obedience, and true duty ! 
 
 Glo. Amen ; and make me die a good old man ! — 
 That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing; [Aside 
 I marvel that her gra ;e did leave it out. 
 
 Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing 
 peers, 
 That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, 
 Now cheer each other in each other's love : 
 Though we have spent our harvest of this king, 
 We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
 The broken rancor of your high-swoln hearts, 
 But lately splinted, knit, and join'd together, 
 Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept: 
 Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, 
 Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'. 
 Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. 
 
 Riv. Why with some little train, my lord ol 
 
 Buckingham? 
 Buck. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude, 
 The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out 
 Which would be so much the more dangerous, 
 By how much the estate is green, and yet ungo- 
 
 vern'd : 
 Where every horse bears his commanding rein, 
 And may direct his course as please himself, 
 As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, 
 In my opinion, ought to be prevented. 
 
 Glo. I hope, the king made peace with all of us. 
 And the compact is firm, and true, in me. 
 
 Riv. And so in me ; and so, I think, in all • 
 Yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
 To no apparent likelihood of breach, 
 Which, haply, by much company might be urged 
 Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham, 
 That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. 
 Hast. And so say I. 
 
 Glo. Then be it so; and go we to determine 
 Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. 
 Madam, — and you my mother, — will you go 
 To give your censures^ in this weighty business? 
 [Exeunt all but Buckingham ana Gloster. 
 Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince, 
 For God's sake, let not us two stay at home: 
 For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, 
 As index 3 to the story we late talk'd of, 
 To part the queen's proud kindred from the prince. 
 
 Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistory, 
 My oracle, my prophet! — My dear cousin, 
 I, as a child, will go by thy direction. 
 Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE TIL— A Street. 
 Enter two Citizens, meeting. 
 
 1 Cit. Good-morrow, neighbor ■ Whither awaj 
 
 so fast? 
 
 2 Cit. I promise yon, I scarcely know myself: 
 Hear you the news abroad? 
 
 1 Cit. Yes ; the king's dead. 
 
 2 Cit. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better 
 I fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy world. 
 
 Enter another Citizen. 
 
 3 Cit. Neighbors, God speed ! 
 
 1 Cit. Give you good-morrow, sir 
 3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Ed 
 
 ward's death? 
 
 2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true ; God help the while 
 * Opinions. » i. e. Preparatarv 
 
54* 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act II 
 
 3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. 
 
 1 Cit. No, no ; by God's good grace, his son shall 
 
 reign. 
 3 CiV.Woe to that land, that's govern'd by a child! 
 
 2 Cit. In him there is a hope of government; 
 That in this nonage, 4 council under him, 
 
 And, in his full and ripen'd years, himself. 
 
 No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 
 
 1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry the Sixth 
 •Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. 
 
 3 Cit. Stood the state so ? no, no, good friends, 
 
 God wot; s 
 For then this land was famously enrich'd 
 With politic grave counsel ; then the king 
 Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. 
 
 1 Cit. Why, so hath this, both by his father and 
 
 mother. 
 3 Cit. Better it were they all came by his father ; 
 Or, by his father, there were none at all : 
 For emulation now, who shall be nearest, 
 Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. 
 0, full of danger is the duke of Gloster; 
 And the queen's sons, and brothers, haught and 
 
 proud : 
 And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, 
 This sickly land might solace as before. 
 
 1 Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst ; all will be 
 
 well. 
 3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on 
 their cloaks; 
 When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand; 
 When the sun sets, who doth not "look for night? 
 Untimely storms make men expect a dearth : 
 All may be well; but, if God sort it so, 
 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men fire full of fear: 
 You cannot reason 6 almost with a man 
 
 That looks not heavily, and full of dread. 
 
 3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so : 
 By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust 
 Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see 
 
 The water swell before a boist'rous storm. 
 But leave it all to God. Whither away] 
 
 2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 
 
 3 Cit. And so was I; I'll bear you company. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter the Archbishop of York, the young Duke 
 
 of York, Queen Elizabeth, and the Duchess 
 
 of York. 
 
 Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony- 
 Stratford ; 
 And at Northampton they do rest to-night : 
 To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 
 
 Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince ; 
 I hope, he is much grown since last I saw him. 
 
 Q. Eliz. "Bat I hear no; they say my son of York 
 Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. 
 
 York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so. 
 
 Duch. Why, my good cousin! it is good to grow. 
 
 York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, 
 My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow 
 More than my brother; Ay, quoth my uncle Gloster, 
 Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace: 
 \nd since, methinks, I would not grow so fast. 
 Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make 
 haste. 
 
 Duch. 'Good faith, 'good faith, the saying did 
 not hold 
 Ir. him thai did object the same to thee: 
 • Min;<ity • Knows. «ConTerse 
 
 He was the wretched'st thing, when he was young 
 
 So long a growing, and so leisurely, 
 
 That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. 
 
 Arch . A nd so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam. 
 
 Duch. I hope, he is ; but yet let mothers doubt. 
 
 York. Now,by my troth, if I had been remember'd, 
 I could have given my uncle's grace a flout. 
 To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine. 
 
 Duch. How, my young York? I pr'ythee, let me 
 hear it. 
 
 York. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast, 
 That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old; 
 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
 Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. 
 
 Duch. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told you this ? 
 
 York. Grandam, his nurse. 
 
 Duch. His nurse ? why, she was dead ere thou 
 wast born. 
 
 York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. 
 
 Q. Eliz. A parlous boy: Go to, you are too shrewd. 
 
 Arch. Good madam, be not angry with the child. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Arch. Here comes a messenger: 
 
 What news'? 
 
 Mess. Such news, my lord, 
 
 As grieves me to unfold. 
 
 Q. Eliz. How doth the prince ? 
 
 Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 
 
 Duch. What is thy news? 
 
 Mess. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, are sent to 
 Pomfret, 
 With them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. 
 
 Duch. Who hath committed them? 
 
 Mess. The mighty dukes 
 
 Gloster and Buckingham. 
 
 Q. Eliz. For what offence ? 
 
 Mess. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd; 
 Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, 
 Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house! 
 The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind : 
 Insulting tyranny begins to jut 
 Upon the innocent and awless throne: — 
 Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre ! 
 I see, as in a map, the end of all. 
 
 Duch. Accursed and unquiet, wrangling days ! 
 How many of you have mine eyes beheld ? 
 My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
 And often up and down my sons were tost, 
 For me to joy and weep, their gain and loss: 
 And being seated, and domestic broils 
 Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors, 
 Make war upon themselves; brother to brother, 
 Blood to blood, self 'gainst self: — 0, preposterous 
 And frantic courage, end thy damned spleen ! 
 Or let me die, to look on death no more ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanc- 
 tuary. — 
 Madam, farewell. 
 
 Duch. Stay, I will go with you 
 
 Q. Eliz. You have no cause. 
 
 Arch. My gracious lady, g r 
 
 [To MeQuEE> 
 And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
 For my part, I'll resign unto your grace 
 The seal I keep ; And so betide to me, 
 As well I tender you, and all of yours! 
 Come, I'll conduct von to the sanctuary. 
 
 [Exeutu 
 
Act III. Scene I. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 &19 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street. 
 
 The Trumpets sound. Enter the Prince of Wales, 
 Gi.osteh, Buckingham, CardinalBovncmvn, 
 and others. 
 
 Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to 
 
 your chamber. 
 Glo. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove- 
 reign : 
 The weary way hath made you melancholy. 
 
 Prince. No, uncle ; but our crosses on the way 
 Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy .- 
 I want more uncles here to welcome me. 
 
 Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your 
 years 
 Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit : 
 No more can you distinguish of a man, 
 Than of his outward show; which, God he knows, 
 Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart. 
 Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous; 
 Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, 
 But look'd not on the poison of then hearts : 
 God keep you from them, and from such false 
 friends ! 
 Prince. God keep me from false friends! but 
 
 they were none. 
 Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to 
 greet you. 
 Enter the Lord Mayor and his Train. 
 May. God bless your grace with health and 
 
 happy days ! 
 Prince. I thank you, good my lord, — and thank 
 you all. — [Exeunt Mayor, &c. 
 
 I thought my mother, and my brother York, 
 Would long ere this have met us on the way: 
 Fye, what a slug is Hastings ! that he comes not 
 To tell us, whether they will come, or no. 
 Enter Hastings. 
 Buck. And in good time, here comes the sweat- 
 ing lord. 
 Prince. Welcome, my lord ; What, will our mo- 
 ther come ? 
 Hast. On what occasion, God he knows, not I, 
 The queen your mother, and your brother York, 
 Have taken sanctuary : The tender prince 
 Would fain have come with me to meet your 
 
 grace, 
 But by his mother was perforce withheld. 
 
 Buck. Fye ! what an indirect and peevish course 
 Is this of hers? — Lord cardinal, will your grace 
 Persuade the queen to send the duke of York, 
 Unto his princely brother presently ? 
 If she deny, — lord Hastings, go with him, 
 And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. 
 Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak 
 oratory 
 Can from his mother win the duke of York, 
 Anon expect him here; But if she be obdurate 
 To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid 
 We should infringe the holy privilege 
 Of blessed sanctuary ' not for all this land, 
 Would I be guilty o. so deep a sin. 
 
 Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, 
 Too ceremonious, and traditional : 
 Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, 
 You break not sanctuary in seizing him. 
 The benefit thereof is always granted 
 
 To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place. 
 And those who have the wit to claim the place : 
 This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it 
 And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it : 
 Then, taking him from thence, that is not there, 
 You break no privilege nor charter there. 
 Oft have I heard of sanctuary men; 
 But sanctuary children, ne'er till now. 
 
 Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for 
 once. — 
 Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me? 
 Hast. I go, my lord. 
 
 Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy hasteyou 
 may. [Exeunt Cardinal and Hastings. 
 Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come. 
 Where shall we sojourn till our coronation ? 
 
 Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
 If I may counsel you, some day or two, 
 Your highness shall repose you at the Tower : 
 Then where you please, and shall be thought most fil 
 For your best health and recreation. 
 
 Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place : — 
 Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord ? 
 
 Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place : 
 Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. 
 Prince. Is it upon record ? or else reported 
 Successively from age to age he built it? 
 Buck. Upon record, my gracious lord. 
 Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd 
 Methinks, the truth should live from age to age. 
 As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, 
 Even to the general all-ending day. 
 
 Glo. So wise so young, they say, do ne'er live 
 long- [Aside. 
 
 Prince. What say you, uncle? 
 Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives long. 
 Thus like the formal 1 vice, Iniquity, ) 
 I moralize two meanings in one word. \ [Aside. 
 Prince. That Julius Caesar was a famous man; 
 With what his valor did enrich his wit, 
 His wit set down to make his valor live : 
 Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; 
 For now he lives in fame, though not in life. — 
 I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham, — 
 Buck. What, my gracious lord ? 
 Prince. An if I live until I be a man, 
 I'll win our ancient right in France again, 
 Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king. 
 
 Glo. Short summers lightly 8 have a forward 
 spring- [Aside. 
 
 Enter York, Hastings, and the Cardinal. 
 
 Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke 
 
 of York. 
 Prince. Richard of York ! how fares our loving 
 
 brother ? 
 York. Well, my dread lord; so must I call you 
 
 now. 
 Prince. Ay, brother ; to our grief, as it is yours ; 
 Too late'' he died, that might have kept that title. 
 Which by his death hath lost much majesty. 
 Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York 7 
 York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord. 
 You said, that idle weeds are fast in growth- 
 The prince, my brother, hath outgrown me far 
 Glo. He hath, my lord. 
 
 1 Sensible Vice, the buffonn in the old plays. 
 « Commonly » Lately. 
 
n50 
 
 KUsG RICHARD III. 
 
 Act UJ 
 
 in /.•. And therefore is he idle? 
 
 Gio. 0, my fair cousin, I must not say so. 
 
 Y k. Then is he more beholden to you, than I. 
 
 Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign; 
 Hut you have power in me as in a kinsman. 
 
 York. I pray you, uncle, then, give me this dagger. 
 
 Glo. My dagger, little cousin ? with all my heart. 
 
 Prince. A beggar, brother? 
 
 York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give; 
 And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. 
 
 Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. 
 
 York. A greater gift ! O, that's the sword to it ? 
 
 Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 
 
 York. O then, I see, you'll part but with light 
 gifts ; 
 Tn weightier things you'll say a beggar, nay. 
 
 Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. 
 
 York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 
 
 Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little 
 lord? 
 
 York. I would, that I might thank you as you 
 call me. 
 
 Glo. How? 
 
 York. Little. 
 
 Prince. My lord of York will still be cross in 
 talk ;— 
 Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 
 
 York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with 
 me: — 
 Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; 
 Because that I am little, like an ape, 
 He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. 
 
 Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons! 
 To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, 
 He prettily and aptly taunts himself: 
 So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. 
 
 Glo. My gracious lord, will't please you pass 
 along? 
 Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham, 
 Will to your mother ; to entreat of her, 
 To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 
 
 Yo?k. What, will you go unto the Tower, my 
 lord? 
 
 Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 
 
 York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
 
 Glo. Why, sir, what should you fear? 
 
 York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost; 
 My grandam told me, he was murder'd there. 
 
 Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 
 
 Gtv. Nor none that live, I hope. 
 
 Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fear. 
 But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart, 
 Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince, Yoiik, Hastings, Cardinal, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York 
 Was not incensed' by his subtle mother, 
 To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ? 
 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt; O, 'tis a parlous boy ; 
 Boid, quick, ingenious, forward, capable f 
 He's all the mother's, from the top to toe. 
 
 Buck. Well, let them rest. — 
 Come hither, gentle Catesby ; thou art sworn 
 As deeply to effect what we intend, 
 As closely to conceal what we impart : 
 Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way ; — 
 What think'st thou, is it not an easy matter 
 To make William lord Hastings of our mind, 
 For the instalment of this noble duke 
 In the seat royal of this famous isle? 
 
 Cute. He for his father's sake so loves the prince, 
 Thi»t he will not be won to aught against him. 
 > Incited. * Intelligent. 
 
 Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley ? will 
 
 not he? 
 Gate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth. 
 Buck. Well then, no more but this: Go. gentle 
 Catesby, 
 And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings. 
 How he doth stand affected to our purpose ; 
 And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, 
 To sit about the coronation. 
 If thou dost find him tractable to us, 
 Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons: 
 If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling, 
 Be thou so too ; and so break off the talk, 
 And give us notice of his inclination: 
 For we to-morrow hold divided 3 councils, 
 Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd. 
 
 Glo. Commend me to lord William: tell him, 
 Catesby, 
 His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries 
 To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-eastle ; 
 And bid my friend for joy of this good news, 
 Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. 
 Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this business 
 
 soundly. 
 Cafe. My good lords both, with all the heed 1 
 
 can. 
 Glo. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we 
 
 sleep ? 
 Cate. You shall, my lord. 
 Glo. At Crosby -place, there shall you find us 
 both. [Exit Catesbt. 
 
 Buck. Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we 
 perceive 
 Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? 
 Glo. Chop off his head, man : — somewhat we 
 will do: — 
 And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me 
 The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables 
 Whereof the king my brother was possess'd. 
 Buck.VW claim that promise atyour grace's hand. 
 Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kind- 
 ness. 
 Come, let us sup betimes; that afterwards 
 We may digest our complots in some form. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— Before Lord Hastings's House. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, — [Knocking 
 
 Hast. [Within.'] Who knocks? 
 
 Mess. One from lord Stanley. 
 
 Hast. [Within.'] What is't o'clock ? 
 
 Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 
 Enter Hastings. 
 
 Hast. Cannot thy master sleep the tedious nights? 
 
 Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say. 
 First he commends him to your noble lordship. 
 
 Hast. And then, — 
 
 Mess. And then he sends you word, he dream 
 To-night the boar had rased off his helm : 
 Besides, he says, there are two councils held ; 
 And that may be determin'd at the one, 
 Which may make you and him to rue at the other 
 Therefore he sends to know your lordship's piea< 
 
 sure, — 
 If presently, you will take horse with him, 
 And with all speed post with him toward the north, 
 To shun the danger that his soul divines. 
 
 Hast. Go. fellow, go, return unto thy lord; 
 Bid him not fear the separated councils: 
 His honor, and myself, are at the one ; 
 And, at the other, is my good friend Catesby 
 * Separate. 
 
I — 
 
 Scene II 
 
 KING RICH MID III. 
 
 5ft! 
 
 Where nothing car. proceed, that toucheth us, 
 Whereof I shall not have intelligence. 
 Tell him, his fears are shallow, wanting instance :' 
 And for his dreams — I wonder, he's so fond 5 
 To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers: 
 To fly the boar, before the boar pursues, 
 Were to incense the hoar to follow us, 
 And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase. 
 ffo, bid thy master rise and come to me; 
 \.nd we will both together to the Tower, 
 vVhere he shall see, the boar 6 will use us kindly. 
 Mess. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Enter Catesbt. 
 
 Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! 
 
 Hast. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early 
 stirring : 
 What news, what news, in this our tottering statel 
 
 Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; 
 And, I believe, will never stand upright, 
 Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. 
 
 Hast. How ! wear the garland ] dost thou mean 
 the crown 1 
 
 Cate. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Hast. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my 
 shoulders, 
 Eefore I'll see the crown so foul misplaced. 
 But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it] 
 
 Cate. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you for- 
 ward 
 Upon his party, for the gain thereof; 
 And thereupon, he sends you this good news, — 
 That, this same very day, your enemies, 
 The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. 
 
 Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, 
 Because they have been still my adversaries : 
 But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side, 
 To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
 God knows, I will not do it, to the death. 
 
 Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious 
 mind ! 
 
 Hast. But 1 shall laugh at this a twelve-month 
 hence, 
 That they, who brought me in my master's hate, 
 I live to look upon their tragedy. 
 Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, 
 I'll send some packing, that yet think not on't. 
 
 Cafe. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, 
 When men are unprepar'd, and look not tor it. 
 
 Hast. O monstrous, monstrous ! and so falls it out 
 With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do 
 With some men else, who think themselves as safe 
 As thou, and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear 
 To princely Richard, and to Buckingham. 
 
 Cafe. The princes both make high account of you,— 
 For they account his head upon the bridge. [Aside. 
 
 Hast. I know, they do; and I have well deserv'd it! 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear, man] 
 Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided] 
 
 Stan. My lord, good morrow; and good morrow, 
 Catesby : — . 
 
 You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, 1 
 I do not like these several councils, I. 
 
 Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours ; 
 And never, in my life, I do protest, 
 Was it more precious to me than 'tis now : 
 Think you, but that I know our state secure, 
 [ would be so triumphant as I am] 
 
 « Example. 
 
 « i. e. GWter, who had a boar for his arms. 
 
 s Weak. 
 1 Cross. 
 
 Sta?i. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from 
 London, 
 Were jocund, a*id suppos'd their states were sure. 
 And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust; 
 But yet, you see, how soon the day o'er-cast. 
 This sudden stab of rancor I misdoubt; 
 Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward ! 
 What, shall we toward the Tower ] the day is spent 
 Hast. Come, come, have with you. — Wot 8 you 
 what, my lord 1 
 To-day, the lords you talk of are beheaded. 
 
 Stan. They for their truth, might better wear their 
 heads, 
 Than some, that have accus'd them, wear their hats. 
 But come, my lord, let's away. 
 
 Enter a Pursuivant. 
 Hast. Go on before, I'll talk with this good fellow. 
 [Exeunt Stanley and Catesby 
 How now, sirrah, how goes the world with thee ] 
 Purs. The better that your lordship please to ask. 
 Hast. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now, 
 Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet ' 
 Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, 
 By the suggestion of the queen's allies; 
 But now I tell thee, (keep it to thyself,) 
 This day those enemies are put to death, 
 And I in better state than e'er I was. 
 
 Purs. God hold it, to your honor's good content ! 
 
 Hast. Gramercy, fellow: There drink that for 
 
 me. [Throwing him his Purse. 
 
 Purs. I thank your honor [Exit Pursuivant 
 
 Enter a Priest. 
 Pr. W T ell met, my lord ; I am glad to see your 
 
 honor. 
 Hast. I thanK thee, good sir John, with all my 
 heart. 
 I am in your debt for your last exercise ; 
 Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. 
 Enter Buckingham. 
 Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord chamber 
 lain ] 
 Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest ; 
 Your honor hath no shriving" work in hand. 
 
 Hast. 'Good faith, and when I met this holy man, 
 The men you talk of came into my mind. 
 What, go you toward the Tower] 
 
 Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I cannot stay there : 
 I shall return before your lordship thence. 
 
 Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there. 
 Buck. And supper too, although thou know'st it 
 not. [Aside. 
 
 Come, will you go ] 
 
 Hast. I'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Pomfret. Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter Ratcliff, ivith a Guard, conducting Ri- 
 vers, Grey, and Vaughan, to Execution. 
 Rat. Come, bring forth the prisoners. 
 Riv. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this,— 
 
 To-day, shalt thou behold a subject die, 
 
 For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. 
 
 Grey. God keep the prince from all the pack of you. 
 
 A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. 
 
 Vaugh. You live, that shall cry woe for this here- 
 after. 
 Rat. Despatch; the limit of your lives is out. 
 Riv. O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prisor, 
 
 Fatal and ominous to noble peers! 
 
 Within the guilty closure of thy walls, 
 
 Richard the Sf fond here was hack'd to death: 
 « Know. ' Confession. 
 
652 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act III 
 
 And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, 
 We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. 
 
 Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our 
 heads, 
 When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, 
 For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. 
 
 Riv. Then curs'd she Hastings, curs'd she Buck- 
 ingham, 
 Then curs'd she Richard: — O, remember, God, 
 To hear her prayers for them, as now for us ! 
 And for my sister, and her princely sons, — 
 Be satisfied, dear God, with our true bloods, 
 Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt ! 
 
 Rat. Make haste, the hour of death is expiate. 1 
 
 Riv. Come, Grey, — come,Vaughan, — let us here 
 embrace : 
 Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— London. A Room in the Tower. 
 
 Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the Bishop 
 of Ely, Catesby, Lovel, and others, sitting at 
 
 a Table: Officers of the Council attending. 
 Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met 
 Is — to determine of the coronation : 
 In God's name speak, when is the royal day] 
 Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time] 
 Stan. They are; and wants but nomination. 
 Ely. To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day. 
 Buck. Who knows the lord protector's mind 
 herein ? 
 Who is most inward 2 with the noble duke? 
 Ely. Your grace, we think, should soonest know 
 
 his mind. 
 Buck. We know each other's faces; for our 
 hearts, — 
 He knows no more of mine, than I of yours; 
 Nor I, of his, my lord, than you of mine : — 
 Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. 
 
 Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well ; 
 But, for his purpose in the coronation, 
 I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd 
 His gracious pleasure any way therein : 
 But you, my noble lord, may name the time; 
 And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice, 
 Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. 
 Enter Gloster. 
 Ely. In happy time, here comes the duke himself. 
 Glo. My noble lords and cousins, all, good morrow: 
 I have been long a sleeper ; but, I trust, 
 My absence doth neglect no great design, 
 Which by my presence might have been concluded. 
 Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord, 
 William lord Hastings had pronounced your part, — 
 I mean, your voice, — for crowning of the king. 
 Glo. Than my lord Hastings, no man might be 
 bolder ; 
 His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. — 
 My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, 
 I saw good strawberries in your garden there; 
 do beseech you, send for some of them. 
 Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. 
 
 [Exit Ely 
 Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 
 [Takes him aside. 
 Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business , 
 And finds the testy gentleman so hot, 
 That he will lose his head, ere give consent, 
 His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, 
 Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. 
 
 Huzk. Withdraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you. 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Buckingham. 
 Rxyiatea, ycapleted 'Intimatr 
 
 Stan.We have not yet set down this day of triumph. 
 To-morrow, in my judgment is too sudden ; 
 For I myself am not so well provided, 
 As else I would be were the day prolong'd. 
 Re-enter Bishop of Ely. 
 Ely. Where is my lord protector ? I have sent 
 For these strawberries. 
 
 Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth thia 
 morning : 
 There's some conceit 3 or other likes him well, 
 When he doth bid good morrow with such spirit. 
 I think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom, 
 Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he ; 
 For by his face straight shall ye know his heart. 
 
 Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his faco, 
 By any likelihood he show'd to-day'? 
 
 Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is ot 
 fended ; 
 For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. 
 
 Re-enter Gloster and Buckingham. 
 
 Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve, 
 That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
 Of damned witchcraft; and that have prevail'd 
 Upon my body with their hellish charms? 
 
 Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, 
 Makes me most forward in this noble presence 
 To doom the offenders: Whosoe'er they be, 
 I say, my lord, they have deserved death. 
 
 Glo. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. 
 Look how I am bewitch 'd ; behold mine arm 
 Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up : 
 And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, 
 Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore, 
 That by their witchcraft thus have marked mi 
 
 Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble 
 lord,— 
 
 Glo. If! thou protector of thisdamned strumpet, 
 Talk'st thou to me of ifs ? — Thou art a traitor :— 
 Off with his head : — now, by saint Paul I swear. 
 I will not dine until I see the same. — 
 Lovel, and Catesby, look that it be done; 
 The rest that love me, rise, and follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt Council, with Gloster and 
 Buckingham. 
 
 Hast. Woe, woe, for England ! not a whit for me ; 
 For I, too fond, might have prevented this: 
 Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his he # lm; 
 But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly. 
 Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, 
 And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, 
 As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. 
 0, now I want the priest that spake to me • 
 I now repent I told the pursuivant, 
 As too triumphing, how mine enemies 
 To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butchcr'd, 
 And I myself secure in grace and favor. 
 O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse 
 Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head. 
 
 Cafe. Despatch, my lord, the duke would be at 
 dinner; 
 Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head. 
 
 Hast. momentary grace of mortal men, 
 Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 
 Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, 
 Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast; 
 Ready, with every nod, to tumble down 
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 
 
 Lov. Come, come, despatch ; 'tis bootless to ex 
 claim. 
 
 Hast. O. bloody Richard !— miserable England 
 I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee, 
 » Thought 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 KING RICiIARD III. 
 
 553 
 
 That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. — 
 Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head; 
 They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— The Tower Walk. 
 Enter Giosteu and Buckingham, in rusty Ar- 
 mor, marvellous ill-favor 'd. 
 Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change 
 thy color ? 
 Murder thy breath in middle of a word, — 
 And then again begin, and stop again, 
 As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror ! 
 Buck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian ; 
 Speak, and look back, and pry on every side, 
 Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, 
 Intending 4 deep suspicion : ghastly looks 
 Are at my service, like enforced smiles ; 
 And both are ready in their offices, 
 At any time, to grace my stratagems. 
 But what, is Catesby gone 1 ? 
 
 Glo. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor along. 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor and Catesby. 
 Buck. Let me alone to entertain him. — Lord 
 
 mayor, 
 
 Glo. Look to the draw-bridge there. 
 
 Buck. Hark, hark! a drum. 
 
 Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. 
 
 Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent for 
 
 you, 
 
 Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. 
 
 Buck. God and our innocence defend and guard 
 
 us ! 
 
 Enter Lotel and Ratcliff, with Hastings's 
 
 Head. 
 
 Glo. Be patient, they are friends ; Ratcliff, and 
 
 Lovel. 
 Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, 
 The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 
 
 Glo. So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep. 
 I took him for the plainest harmless't creature, 
 That breath'd upon the earth a Christian; 
 Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded 
 The history of all her secret thoughts : 
 So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue, 
 That, his apparent open guilt omitted, — 
 I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, — 
 He liv'd from all attainder of suspect. 
 
 Buck. Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd 
 traitor 
 That ever liv'd. — Look you, my lord mayor, 
 Would you imagine, or almost believe, 
 (Were't not, that by great preservation 
 We live to tell it you,) the subtle traitor 
 This day had plotted in the council-house 
 To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster? 
 May. What! had he sol 
 
 Glo. What ! think you we are Turks, or infidels'? 
 Or that we would, against the form of law, 
 Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death; 
 But that the extreme peril of the case, 
 The peace of England, and our persons' safety, 
 Enforced us to this execution 1 
 
 May. Now, fair befall you ! he descrv'd his death ; 
 And your good graces both have well proceeded, 
 To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
 I never look'd for better at his hands, 
 After he once fell in with mistress Shore. 
 
 Buck. Yet had we not determin'd he should die, 
 Until your lordship came to see his end ; 
 Which now the loving haste of these our friends, 
 4 Pretending. 
 
 Somewhat against our meaning, hath prevented : 
 Because, my lord, we would have had you ' ;ard 
 The traitor speak, and timorously confess 
 The manner and the purpose of his treasons ; 
 That you might well have signified the same 
 Unto the citizens, who, haply, may 
 Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death. 
 
 May. But, my good lord, your grace's word sbah 
 serve, 
 As well as I had seen, and heard him speak : 
 And do not doubt, right noble princes both, 
 But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens 
 With all your just proceedings in this case. 
 
 Glo. And to that end we wich'd your lordship here. 
 To avoid the censures of the carping world. 
 
 Buck. But since you came too late of our intent. 
 Yet witness what you hear we did intend ; 
 And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. 
 
 [Exit Lord Mayor 
 
 Glo. Go after, after, cousin Buckingham. 
 The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post: — 
 There, at your meetest vantage of the time, 
 Infer the bastardy of Edward's children : 
 Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen. 
 Only for saying — he would make his son 
 Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house, 
 Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so. 
 Moreover, urge his hateful luxury, 
 And bestial appetite in change of lust; 
 Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, 
 
 wives, 
 Even where his raging eye, or savage heart, 
 Without control, listed to make his prey. 
 Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person : — 
 Tell them, when that my mother went with child 
 Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, 
 My princely father, then had wars in France ; 
 And, by just computation of the time, 
 Found, that the issue was not his begot; 
 Which well appeared in his lineaments, 
 Being nothing like the noble duke my father: 
 Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off; 
 Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives. 
 
 Buck. Doubt not, my lord; I'll play the orator 
 As if the golden fee, for which I plead, 
 Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu. 
 
 Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's 
 castle ; 
 Where you shall find me well accompanied, 
 With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops. 
 
 Buck. I go; and, towards three or four o'clock, 
 Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. 
 
 [Exit Buckingham 
 
 Glo. Go, Lovel, with all speed to doctor Shaw,— 
 Go thou [7b Cat.] to friar Penker; — bid them both 
 Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle. 
 
 [Exeunt Lotel and Catesby 
 Now will I in, to take some privy order 
 To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight; 
 And to give notice, that no manner of person 
 Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI.— A Street. 
 Enter a Scrivener. 
 Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lard 
 Hastings ; 
 Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, 
 That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. 
 And mark how well the sequel hangs together:— 
 Eleven hours I have spent to write it over. 
 For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; 
 The precedent 5 was full as long a doing: 
 
 * Original draft. 
 9 M 
 
554 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act III 
 
 And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, 
 Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. 
 Here's a good world the while! — Who is so gross, 
 That cannot see this palpable device? 
 Yet who so bold, but says — he sees it not? 
 Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought, 
 When such bad dealing must be seen in thought. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Court o/Baynard's Castle. 
 Enter Gloster and Buckingham, meeting. 
 
 Glo. How now, how now ? what say the citizens? 
 
 Puck. Now by the holy mother of our Lord, 
 The citizens are mum, say not a word. 
 
 Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's chil- 
 dren? 
 
 Buck I did ; with his contract with lady Lucy, 
 And his contract by deputy in France: 
 The insatiate greediness of his desires, 
 And his enforcement of the city wives ; 
 His tyranny for trifles ; his own bastardy, — 
 As being got, your father then in France ; 
 And his resemblance, being not like the duke. 
 Withal, I did infer your lineaments, — 
 Being the right idea of your father, 
 Both in your form and nobleness of mind: 
 Laid open all your victories in Scotland, 
 Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, 
 Your bounty, virtue, fair humility ; 
 Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose, 
 Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. 
 Ai.d, when my oratory grew to an end, 
 I bade them, that did love their country's good, 
 Cry — God save Richard, England's royal king.' 
 
 Glo. And did they so? 
 
 Buck. No, so God help me, they spake not a 
 word; 
 But like dumb statues, or breathless stones, 
 Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. 
 Which when I saw I reprehended them; 
 Andask'dthe mayor, what meant this wilful silence: 
 His answer was, — the people were not us'd 
 To be spoke to, but by the recorder. 
 Then he was urged to tell my tale again: 
 Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferred; 
 But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. 
 When he had done, some followers of mine own, 
 At lower end o'the hall, hurl'd up their caps, 
 And some ten voices cried, Godsave king Richard.' 
 And thus I took the vantage of those few, — 
 Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth I; 
 This general applause, and cheerful shout, 
 Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard: 
 And even here brake off and came away. 
 
 Glo. What tongueless blocks were they ! Would 
 they not speak? 
 vVill not the mayor then, and his brethren, come? 
 
 Buck. The mayor is here at hand: intend 6 some 
 fear; 
 ^e not you spoke with, but by mighty suit: 
 And look you, get a prayer-book in your hand. 
 And stand between two churchmen, good my 
 
 lord; 
 For on that ground I'll make a holy descant: 
 And be not easily won to our requests; 
 Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 
 
 Glo. I go ; and if you plead as well for them, 
 As lean say nay to thee for myself, 
 "So doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue. 
 
 Buck. Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor 
 knocks. [Exit Gloster. 
 
 « Pretend 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, ana Citizen*. 
 Welcome, my lord; I dance attendance here; 
 I think the duke will not be spoke withal. — 
 Enter, from the Castle, Catesby. 
 Now, Catesby, what says your lord to my request? 
 
 Cate. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord, 
 To visit him to-morrow, or next day : 
 He is within with two right reverend fathers, 
 Divinely bent to meditation ; 
 And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd, 
 To draw him from his holy exercise. 
 
 Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke: 
 Tell him, myself, the mayor, and aldermen, 
 In deep designs, in matter of great moment, 
 No less importing than our general good, 
 Are come to have some conference with his grace. 
 
 Cate. I'll signify so much unto him straight. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is r.ot an 
 Edward! 
 He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, 
 But on his knees at meditation ; 
 Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, 
 But meditating with two deep divines; 
 Not sleeping to engross 1 his idle body. 
 But praying to enrich his watchful soul: 
 Happy were England, would this virtuous prince 
 Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: 
 But, sure, I tear, we shall ne'er win him to it. 
 
 May. Marry, God defend, his grace should say 
 us nay ! 
 
 Buck. I fear, he will: Here Catesby come* 
 again ; — 
 
 Re-enter Catesby. 
 Now, Catesby, what says his grace? 
 
 Cate. He wonders to what end you have assembled 
 Such troops of citizens to come to him ; 
 His grace not being warn'd thereof before, 
 He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. 
 
 Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should 
 Suspect me, that I mean no good to him : 
 By heaven, we come to him in perfect love; 
 And so once more return and tell his grace. 
 
 [Exit Catesbt. 
 When holy and devout religious men 
 Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence; 
 So sweet is zealous contemplation. 
 
 Enter Gloster, in a Gallery above, between two 
 Bishops. Catesby returns. 
 
 May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two 
 clergymen ! 
 
 Buck. Two props of virtue for a christian prince, 
 To stay him from the fall of vanity: 
 And, see, a book of prayer in his hand ; 
 True ornaments to know a holy man. — 
 Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, 
 Lend favorable ear to our requests ; 
 And pardon us the interruption 
 Of thy devotion, and right-christian zeal. 
 
 Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology 
 I rather do beseech you pardon me, 
 Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
 Neglect the visitation of my friends. 
 But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure? 
 
 Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God 
 above, 
 And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. 
 
 Glo. I do suspect I have done some offence, 
 That seems disgracious in the city's eye ; 
 And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 
 ' Fatten. 
 
Scene V r II. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 555 
 
 Buck. You have, my lord; Would it might please 
 your grace, 
 On our entreaties to amend your fault! 
 
 Glo. Elsewl.e.cfore breathe I in a christian land 1 
 Buck. Know, then, it. is your fault, that you resign 
 The supreme seat, the throne majestical, 
 The sceptred office of your ancestors, 
 Your state of fortune, and your due of birlh, 
 The lineal glory of your royal house, 
 To the corruption of a blemish'd stock : 
 Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 
 (Which here we waken to our country's good,) 
 The noble isle dofh want her proper limbs; 
 Her face defaced with scars of infamy, 
 Her royal stock grail with ignoble plants, 
 And almost shoulder' J 8 in the swallowing gulf 
 Of dark forgetful! ess and deep oblivion. 
 Which to recure, 5 we heartily solicit 
 Your gracious self to take on you the charge 
 And kingly government of this your land: 
 Not as protector, steward, substitute, 
 Or lowly factor for another's gain : 
 But as successively, from blood to blood, 
 Your right of birth, your empery,' your own. 
 For this, ccnsortsd with the citizens, 
 Your very worshipful and loving friends, 
 And by their vehement instigation, 
 In this just suit come I to move your grace. 
 
 Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence, 
 Or bitterly to speak in your reproof. 
 Best fitteth my degree, or your condition : 
 If, not to answer, — you might haply think, 
 Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded 
 To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, 
 Which fondly you would here impose on me; 
 If to reprove you for this suit of yours, 
 So season'd with your faithful love to me, 
 Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. 
 Therefore — to speak, and to avoid the first; 
 And. then in speaking, not to incur the last, — 
 Definitely thus I answer you. 
 Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert 
 Unmeritable, shuns your high request. 
 First, if all obstacles were cut away, 
 And that my path were even to the crown, 
 As the ripe revenue and due of birth ; 
 let so much is my poverty of spirit, 
 So mighty, and so many my defects, 
 That I would rather hide me from my greatness, — > 
 Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, — 
 Than in my greatness covet to be hid, 
 And in the vapor of my glory smother'd. 
 But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me; 
 (And much I need 2 to help you, if need were;) 
 The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, 
 Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, 
 Will well become the seat of majesty, 
 And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 
 On him I lay what you would lay on me, 
 The right and fortune of his happy stars, — 
 Which, God defend, that I should wring from him ! 
 Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your 
 grace ; 
 But the respects thereof are nice 3 and trivial, 
 All circumstances well considered. 
 You say, that Edward is your brother's son ; 
 So say we too, but not by Edward's wife: 
 For first he was contract to lady Lucy, 
 Your mother lives a witness to his vow; 
 \nd afterwards 'by substitute betroth'd 
 To Bona, sister to the king of France. 
 
 • Thrust into. 
 
 • Want al illty. 
 
 1 Empire. 
 * Minute. 
 
 These both put by, a pool petitioner, 
 
 A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, 
 
 A beauty-waning and distressed widow, 
 
 Even in the afternoon of her best days, 
 
 Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, 
 
 Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts 
 
 To base declension and loath'd bigamy: 
 
 By her, in his unlawful bed, he got 
 
 This Edward, whom our manners call — the prince. 
 
 More bitterly could I expostulate, 
 
 Save that, for reverence to some alive, 
 
 I give a sparing limit to my tongue; 
 
 Then, good my lord, take to your royal self 
 
 This prolfer'd benefit of dignity :. 
 
 If not to bless us and the land withal, 
 
 Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry 
 
 From the corruption of abusing time, 
 
 Unto a lineal true-derived course. 
 
 May. Do, good my lord: your citizens entreat you 
 
 Buck. Refuse not, mightly lord, this proffer'd love 
 
 Cafe. O make them joyful, grant their lawful suit. 
 
 Glo. Alas.why would you heap those cares on me? 
 I am unfit for state and majesty : — 
 I do beseech you, take it not amiss; 
 I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you. 
 
 Buck. If you refuse it, — as in love and zeal, 
 Loath to depose the child, your brother's son; 
 As well we know your tenderness of heart, 
 And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, 
 Which we have noted in you to your kindred, 
 And equally, indeed, to all estates, — 
 Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no. 
 Your brother's son shall never reign our king; 
 But we will plant some other in your throne, 
 To the disgrace and downfall of your house. 
 And, in this resolution here we leave you; 
 Come, citizens, we will entreat no more. 
 
 [Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens. 
 
 Gate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their 
 suit; 
 If you deny them, all the land will rue it. 
 
 Glo. Will you enforce me to a world -f cares? 
 Well, call them again ; I am not made of stone, 
 But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Ex. Cate. 
 Albeit against my conscience and my soul. — 
 
 Re-enter Buckingham and the rest. 
 
 Cousin of Buckingham, — and sage, grave men,— 
 Since you will buckle fortune on my back, 
 To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no, 
 I must have patience to endure the load: 
 But if black scandal, or foul-faced reproach, 
 Attend the sequel of your imposition. 
 Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me 
 From all the impure blots and stains thereof: 
 For God he knows, and you may partly see, 
 How far I am from the desire of this. 
 
 May. God bless your grace ! we see it, and .will 
 say it. 
 
 Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth. 
 
 Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title, 
 Long live king Richard, England's worthy king ! 
 
 All. Amen. 
 
 Buck. To-moiTOw may it please you to bt 
 crown'd ] 
 
 Glo. Even when you please, since you will have 
 it so. 
 
 Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your grace 
 And so, most joyfully we take our leave. 
 
 Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again - 
 
 [To the Bishop* 
 Farewell, good cousin ; — farewell, gentle friends. 
 
 [Exeun. 
 
556 
 
 KING RICHARD HI. 
 
 Act "V 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before the Tower. 
 
 Enter, on one side, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess 
 of York, and Mar<iuis of Dorset: on the 
 other, Anne, Duchess of Gloster, leading Ladt 
 Margaret Plantagenet, Clarence's young 
 Daughter. 
 Duch.Who meets us here — my niece Plantagenet 
 
 Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster? 
 
 Now, for my life,* she's wandering to the Tower, 
 
 On pure heart's love to greet the tender prince. — 
 
 Daughter, well met. 
 
 Anne. God give your graces both 
 
 A happy and a joyful time of day ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister! Whither 
 
 away? 
 Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I guess, 
 
 Upon the like devotion as yourselves, 
 
 To gratulate the gentle princes there. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks ; we'll enter all to- 
 gether : 
 
 Enter Brakenburt. 
 And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. — 
 Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, 
 How doth the prince, and my young son of York ? 
 
 Brak. Right well, dear madam: By your patience, 
 I may not suffer you to visit them; 
 The king hath strictly charged the contrary. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The king! who's that? 
 
 Brak. I mean the lord protector. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly 
 title ! 
 Hath he set bounds between their love, and me ? 
 I am their mother, who shall bar me from them? 
 
 Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them. 
 
 Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their 
 mother : 
 Then bring me to their sights ; I'll bear thy blame, 
 And take thy office from thee, on thy peril. 
 
 Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so; 
 I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 
 
 [Exit Brakenburt. 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour 
 hence, 
 And I'll salute your grace of York as mother, 
 And reverend looker-on of two fair queens. 
 Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster. 
 [To the Duchess of Gloster. 
 There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 
 
 Q. EUz. Ah, cut my lace asunder ! 
 That my pent heart may have some scope to beat, 
 Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news. 
 
 Anne. Despiteful tidings ! unpleasing news! 
 
 Dor. Be of good cheer: Mother, how fares your 
 grace ? 
 
 Q. Eliz O Dorset, speak not to mc, get thee gone, 
 Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ; 
 Thy mother's name is ominous to children : 
 If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, 
 And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell. 
 Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house, 
 Lest thou increase the number of the dead ; 
 And make me die the thrall o^Margaret's curse, — 
 Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. 
 
 Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel, 
 madam :— 
 
 Take all the swift advantage of the hours ; 
 You shall have letters from me to my son 
 In your behalf, to meet you on the way : 
 Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. 
 
 Duch. ill-dispersing wind of misery! — 
 
 my accursed womb, the bed of death ; 
 
 A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, 
 Whose unavoided eye is murderous ! 
 
 Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was 
 sent. 
 
 Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.- 
 O, would to God that the inclusive verge 
 Of golden metal, that must round my brow, 
 Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ! 
 Anointed let me be with deadly venom ; 
 And die, ere men can say — God save the queen 
 
 Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory 
 To feed my humor, wish thyself no harm. 
 
 Anne. No ! why? — When he, that is my husban 
 now, 
 Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse ; 
 When scarce the blood was well-wash'd from hi* 
 
 hands, 
 Which issued from my other angel husband, 
 And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd 
 0, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, 
 This was my wish, — Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd, 
 For making me so young, so old a widow/ 
 And, when thou wecTst, let sorrow haunt thy bed; 
 And be thy wife {if any be so mad ) 
 More miserable by the life of thee, 
 Than thou hast made me by my dear lord 's death! 
 Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, 
 Even in so short a space, my woman's heart 
 Grossly grew captive to his honey words, 
 And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse ■ 
 Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest; 
 For never yet one hour in his bed 
 Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, 
 But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. 
 Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; 
 And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 
 
 Q Eliz. Poor heart, adieu ; I pity thy complain 
 ing. 
 
 Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn foi 
 yours. 
 
 Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory ! 
 
 Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave 
 of it! 
 
 Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune 
 guide thee ! — [To Dorset 
 
 Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee !— 
 
 [7b Annk 
 
 Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess 
 
 thee! — [To Q. Elizabeth 
 
 1 to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! 
 Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, 
 
 And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen 
 Q. Eliz. Stay yet ; look back, with me, unto thf 
 Tower. — 
 Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, 
 Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls! 
 Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! 
 Rude ragged nurse ! old sullen piay-fcllow 
 For tender princes, use my babies well! 
 So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 * Sorrow. 
 
.-CENE II. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 557 
 
 e$CENE II. — A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish of Trumpets. Richard, as King, upon 
 his Throne,- Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, 
 and others. 
 
 K.Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin of Bucking- 
 ham, 
 
 BurJ,: My gracious sovereign. 
 K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy 
 advice, 
 And thy assistance, is king Richard seated: — 
 But shall we wear these glories for a day ? 
 Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ? 
 
 Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last ! 
 K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the 
 touch, 5 
 To try if thou be current gold, indeed : — 
 Young Edward lives ; — Think now what I would 
 speak. 
 Buck. Say on, my loving lord. 
 K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be 
 
 king. 
 Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege. 
 K. Rich. Ha ! am I king? 'Tis so : but Edward 
 
 lives. 
 Buck. True, noble prince. 
 K. Rich. O bitter consequence, 
 
 That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince! — 
 Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull : 
 Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ; 
 And I would have it suddenly perform'd. 
 What say'^st thou now ? speak suddenly, be brief. 
 Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 
 K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness 
 freezes : 
 Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die ? 
 Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, 
 dear lord, 
 Before I positively speak in this : 
 I will resolve your grace immediately. 
 
 [Exit Buckingham. 
 Cate. The king is angry ; see, he gnaws his lip. 
 
 [Aside. 
 K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, 
 [Desce?ids from his Throne. 
 And unrespective 5 boys : none are for me, 
 That look into me with considerate eyes ; 
 High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. 
 
 Boy, 
 
 Page. My lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting 
 gold 
 Would tempt unto a close exploit 1 of death 1 
 
 Page. I know a discontented gentleman, 
 Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: 
 Gold were as good as twenty orators, 
 And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. 
 K. Rich. What is his name ? 
 Page. His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel. 
 
 K. Rich. I partly know the man ; Go, call him 
 hither, boy. [Exit Page. 
 
 The deep-revolving witty 5 Buckingham 
 No more shall be the neighbor to my counsels: 
 Hath he so long held out with me untir'd, 
 And stops he now for breath ? — well, be it so. — 
 
 Enter Stanley 
 How now, lord Stanley ? what's the news ? 
 
 Stan. Know, my loving lord, 
 
 The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled 
 To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. 
 
 « Touchstone. 
 • Secr«t act. 
 
 • Inconsiderate. 
 
 • Cunning. 
 
 K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumor it abroad, 
 That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick; 
 I will take order for her keeping close. 
 Inquire me out some mean-bom gentleman, 
 Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter 
 The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. — 
 Look, how thou dream'st ! — I say again, give out, 
 That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die: 
 About it; for it stands me much upon," 
 To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me.— 
 [Exit Catesby 
 I must be married to my brother's daughter. 
 Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass 
 Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! 
 Uncertain way of gain! But I am in 
 So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. 
 Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. — 
 
 Re-enter Page, with Tyrrel. 
 
 Is thy name Tyrrell 
 
 Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient sub- 
 ject. 
 K. Rich. Art thou, indeed? 
 Tyr. Prove me, my gracious lord 
 
 A'. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of 
 
 mine? 
 Tyr. Please you ; but I had rather kill two ene 
 mies. 
 A". Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep enemies! 
 Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, 
 Are they that I would have thee deal 1 upon; 
 Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. 
 
 Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them, 
 And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. 
 K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come 
 hither, Tyrrel ; 
 Go, by this token: — Rise, and lend thine ear: 
 
 [ Whispers 
 There is no more but so: — Say, it is done, 
 And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. 
 
 Tyr. I will despatch it straight. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Buckingham. 
 
 Buck. My lord, I have considered in my mind 
 The late demand that you did sound me in. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to 
 
 Richmond. 
 Buck. I hear the news, my lord. 
 K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son : — Well, 
 
 look to it. 
 Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by 
 promise, 
 For which your honor and your faith is pawn'd 
 The earldom of Hereford, and the movables,- 
 Which you have promised I shall possess. 
 
 K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey 
 Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. 
 
 Buck. What says your highness to my just re- 
 quest ? 
 A'. Rich. I do remember me, — Henry the sixth 
 Did prophesy, that Richmon 1 should be king, 
 When Richmond was a little peevish 3 boy. 
 
 A king ! — perhaps 
 
 Buck. My lord, 
 
 A'. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at 
 that time, 
 Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him ? 
 Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom,- - 
 A'. Rich. Richmond! — When last I was ai 
 Exeter, 
 The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, 
 
 9 It is of great consequence to my design? 
 « Act. Foolish 
 
658 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act I\ 
 
 And call'd it — Rouge-Mont: at which name, I 
 
 started ; 
 Because a bard of Ireland told me once, 
 I should not live long- after I saw Richmond. 
 
 Buck. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock ? 
 
 Buck. I am thus bold 
 
 To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me. 
 
 A'. Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock ? 
 
 Buck. Upon the stroke 
 
 Often. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let it strike. 
 
 Buck. Why, let it strike ? 
 
 K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, 3 thou keep'st 
 the stroke 
 Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. 
 I am not in the giving vein to-day. 
 
 Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no. 
 
 K. Rich. Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein. 
 [Exeunt King Richard and Train. 
 
 Buck. And is it thus ? repays he my deep service 
 With such contempt ? made I him king for this ? 
 0, let me think on Hastings ; and begone 
 To Brecknock, 4 while my fearful head is on. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same 
 Enter Tyrrel. 
 Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done ; 
 The most arch deed of piteous massacre, 
 That ever yet this land was guilty of. 
 Dighton and Forrest, whom .1 did suborn 
 To do this piece of ruthless butchery, 
 Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, 
 Melting with tenderness and mild compassion, 
 Wept like two children, in their death's sad story. 
 thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes, — 
 Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another, 
 Within their alabaster innocent arms: 
 Their lips ivere four red roses on a stalk, 
 Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other, 
 i book of prayers on their pillow lay, 
 Which once, quoth Forrest, almost changed my 
 
 mind, 
 But, 0, the devil — there the villain stopp'd ; 
 When Dighton thus told on, — we smothered 
 The most replenished sweet work of nature, 
 That, from the prime creation, ere she framed. 
 Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse, 
 They could not speak; and so I left them both, 
 To bear these tidings to the bloody king. 
 
 Enter King Richard. 
 And here he comes: — All health, my sovereign lord! 
 
 K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel ! am I happy in thy news 7 
 
 Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge 
 Beget your happiness, be happy then, 
 For it is done. 
 
 K. Rich. But didst thou see them dead 1 ? 
 
 Tyr. I did, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel? 
 
 Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; 
 But where, to say the truth, I do not know. 
 
 K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper, 
 When thou shalt tell the process of their death. 
 Mean time, but think how I may do thee good, 
 And be inheritof of thy desire. 
 Farewell, till then. 
 
 Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd 
 up close ; 
 
 » A Jack of the clock-house is an imago like those at St. 
 Duncan's church in Fleet-street, and was theD a common 
 iDpf" ndage to clocks. 
 
 • Hi* castle in Wales. 
 
 His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage 
 The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom 
 And Anne my wife hath bid the world good-nighl 
 Now, for I know the Bretagne 5 Richmond aims 
 At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 
 And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, 
 To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. 
 
 Enter Catfsbt. 
 Gate. My lord, — 
 K. Rich. Good news, or bad, that thou corn's! in 
 
 so bluntly? 
 Cate. Bad new«, my lord: Morton 6 is fled to 
 Richmond ; 
 And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, 
 Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. 
 K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more 
 near, 
 Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. 
 Come, — I have learn'd, that fearful commenting 
 Is leaden servitor to dull delay ; 
 Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary : 
 Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
 Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! 
 Go, muster men : My counsel is my shield ; 
 We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Before the Palace. 
 Enter Queen Margaret. 
 Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow, 
 And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
 Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, 
 To watch the waning of mine enemies. 
 A dire induction am I witness to, 
 And will to France ; hoping the consequence 
 Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
 Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret ! Who comes 
 
 here? 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of 
 York. 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender 
 babes ! 
 My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! 
 If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, 
 And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, 
 Hover about me with your airy wings, 
 And hear your mother's lamentation ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for right 
 Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 
 
 Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice, 
 That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute, — 
 Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead 1 
 
 Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet. 
 Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gen- 
 tle lambs, 
 And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? 
 When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done 1 
 Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet 
 
 son. 
 Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living 
 ghost, 
 Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due, by life 
 
 usurped, 
 Brief abstract and record of tedious days, 
 Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, 
 
 [Sifting down. 
 Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood ! 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford ■ 
 grave, 
 
 * The country in which Kichmond had taken refuge 
 
 • Bishop of Ely 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 559 
 
 As thou canst yielil a melar.choly seat; 
 
 Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here ! 
 
 Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we? 
 
 [Sifting down by her. 
 
 Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent, 
 Give mine the benefit of seniory, 1 
 And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. 
 If sorrow can admit society, 
 
 [Sitting down with them. 
 Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine : — 
 I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; 
 T had a husband, till i Richard kill'd him: 
 Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; 
 Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. 
 
 Duck. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill 
 him; 
 [ had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard 
 kill'd him. 
 From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
 A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: 
 That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, 
 To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood ; 
 That foul dcfacer of God's handy-work; 
 That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, 
 That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, 
 Thy womb let loose to chase us to our graves. — 
 
 upright, just, and true-disposing God, 
 How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur 
 Preys on the issue of his mother's body, 
 
 And makes her pew-fellow 8 with others' moan! 
 
 Duck. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes; 
 God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 
 
 Q. Mar. Bear with me, I am hungry for revenge, 
 And now I cloy me with beholding it. 
 Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward; 
 Thy other Edward dead to quit my Edward; 
 Young York he is but boot, 9 because both they 
 Match not the high perfection of my loss. 
 Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward ; 
 And the beholders of this tragic play, 
 The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, 
 Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 
 Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; 
 Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls, 
 And send them thither: But at hand, at hand, 
 Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : 
 Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
 To have him suddenly convey'd from hence: — 
 Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, 
 That I may live to say, The dog is dead ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time would 
 come, 
 That I should wish for thee to help me curse 
 That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. 
 
 Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my 
 fortune ; 
 
 1 call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; 
 The presentation of but what I was, 
 
 The flattering index of a direful pageant, 
 
 One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below: 
 
 A mother only mock'd with two fair babes; 
 
 A dream of what thou wast, a garish 1 flag, 
 
 To be the aim of every dangerous shot; 
 
 A sign of dignity '; breath, a bubble ; 
 
 A queen in jest, or.ly to fill the scene. 
 
 Where is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers ? 
 
 Where be thy two sons ? wherein dost thou joy ? 
 
 Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the 
 
 queen ? 
 Vhere be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? 
 
 * Seniority. 
 
 • Thrown into the bargain. 
 
 • Companion. 
 « Flaring. 
 
 Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee ' 
 Decline all this, and see what now thou an. 
 For happy wife, a most distressed widow ,• 
 For joyful mother, one that wails the name; 
 For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; 
 For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care ; 
 For one that scom'd at me, now scorn'd of me ; 
 For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ; 
 For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 
 Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, 
 And left thee but a very prey to time; 
 Having no more but thought of what thou wert, 
 To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 
 Thou didst usurp my place ; and dost thou not 
 Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? 
 Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke ; 
 From which even here I slip my wearied head, 
 And leave the burden of it all on thee. 
 Farewell, York's wife, — and queen of sad mis- 
 chance, — 
 These English woes shall make me smile in France, 
 
 Q. Eliz. thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while. 
 And teach me how to curse mine enemies ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the 
 day; 
 Compare dead happiness with living woe; 
 Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, 
 And he that slew them, fouler than he is: 
 Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse ; 
 Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. 
 
 Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O quicken them 
 with thine ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and 
 pierce like mine. [Exit Q. Margaret. 
 
 Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? 
 
 Q. Eliz. Windy attornies to their client woes, 
 Airy succeeders of intestate joys, 
 Poor breathing orators of miseries ! 
 Let them have scope : though what they do impar : , 
 Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. 
 
 Duch. If so, then be not tongue-tyed: go with me, 
 And in the breath of bitter words let's smother 
 My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd, 
 
 [Drum within- 
 I hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and hisTrain, marching. 
 
 K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition "' 
 Duch. 0, she, that might have intercepted thee, 
 By strangling thee in her accursed womb, 
 From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. 
 Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden 
 crown, 
 Where should be branded, if that right were r ight, 
 The slaughter of the prince that ow'd* that crown, 
 And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? 
 Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children? 
 Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy bro- 
 ther Clarence ? 
 And little Ned Plan tagenet, his son? 
 
 Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, 
 
 Grey ? 
 Duch. Where is kind Hastings ? 
 K.Rich. A flourish, trumpets! Strike alarum, 
 drums ! 
 Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
 Rail on the Lord's anointed : Strike, I say. — 
 
 [Flourish. Alarumt 
 Either be patient, and entreat me fair. 
 Or with the clamorous report of war 
 Thus will I drown your exclamations. 
 Duch. Art thou my son ? 
 » Owned. 
 
56C 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 K. Rieh. Ay ; I thank God, my father, and your- 
 self. 
 
 Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con- 
 dition," 
 That cannot brook the accent of reproof. 
 
 Duch. O, let me speak. 
 
 K. Rich. Do, then ; but I'll not hear. 
 
 Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. 
 
 K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in 
 haste. 
 
 Duch. Art thou so hasty ? I have staid for thee, 
 God knows, in torment and in agony. 
 
 K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you ? 
 
 Duch. No, by the holy rood, 4 thou know'st it well, 
 Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. 
 A grievous burden was thy birth to me ; 
 Tetchy 5 and wayward was thy infancy ; 
 Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and 
 
 furious 
 Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous; 
 Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody, 
 More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred : 
 What comfortable hour canst thou name, 
 That ever graced me in thy company ? 
 
 K. Rich. 'Faith none, but Humphrey Hour, that 
 call'd your grace 
 To breakfast once, forth of my company. 
 If I be so disgracious in your sight, 
 Let me march on, and not offend you, madam. 
 Strike up the drum. 
 
 Duch. I pr'ythee, hear me speak. 
 
 K. Rich. You speak too bitterly. 
 
 Duch. Hear me a word; 
 
 For I shall never speak to thee again. 
 
 A'. Rich. So. 
 
 Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi- 
 nance, 
 Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror : 
 Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish, 
 And never look upon thy face again. 
 Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse; 
 Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more, 
 Than all the complete armor that Ihou wear'st! 
 My prayers on the adverse party fight; 
 And there the little souls of Edward's children 
 Whisper the spirits of thine enemies, 
 And promise them success and victory. 
 Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; 
 Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less 
 spirit to curse 
 Abides in me; I say amen to her. [Going. 
 
 K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with 
 you. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood, 
 For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, — 
 They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; 
 And therefore level not to hit their lives. 
 
 K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd — Elizabeth, 
 Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 
 
 Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? 0,letherlive, 
 And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; 
 Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed ; 
 Throw over her the veil of infamy : 
 So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, 
 I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 
 
 K. Rich. Wrong - it her birth, she is ofroyal blood. 
 
 Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say — she is not so. 
 
 K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth. 
 
 Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers. 
 » Disposition. * Cross. » Touchy, fretful. 
 
 K. Rich. Lo, at their births, good stars were 
 
 opposite. 
 Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con- 
 trary. 
 K. Rich. All unavoided 8 is the doom of destiny. 
 Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny: 
 My babes were destined to a fairer death, 
 If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. 
 
 K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my 
 
 cousins. 
 Q.-EVj'z.Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd 
 Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. 
 Whose hands soever lanced their tender hearts, 
 Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction : 
 No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt, 
 Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, 
 To revel in the entrails of my lambs. 
 But that still 1 use of grief makes wild grief tame, 
 My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys, 
 Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; 
 And I, in such a desperate bay of death, 
 Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, 
 Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. 
 
 K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize, 
 And dangerous success of bloody wars, 
 As I intend more good to you and yours, 
 Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd ! 
 Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of 
 heaven, 
 To be discover'd, that can do me good ? 
 K. Rich. The advancement of your children, 
 
 gentle lady. 
 Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their 
 
 heads ? 
 K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, 
 The high imperial type of this earth's glory. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it ; 
 Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honor, 
 Canst thou demise 8 to any child of mine? 
 
 K. Rich. Even all I have ; ay, and myself and aK, 
 Will I withal endow a child of thine; 
 So in the Lethe of thy angry soul 
 Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, 
 Which thou supposest, I have done to thee. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy 
 kindness 
 Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. 
 K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I love 
 
 thy daughter. 
 Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her 
 
 soul. 
 K. Rich. What do you think? 
 Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter from 
 thy soul. 
 So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers, 
 And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it. 
 K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my mean- 
 ing-: 
 I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, 
 And do intend to make her queen of England. 
 Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall 
 
 be her king 1 
 K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen : Who 
 
 else should be? 
 Q.Eliz. What, thou? 
 K.Rich. Even so: What think you 
 
 of it, madam? 
 Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her ? 
 K. Rich. That I would learn of you, 
 
 As one being best acquainted with her humor. 
 Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ? 
 K. Rich. Madam, with all my heart 
 
 « Unavoidable. ' Constant. « B»4'ieato. 
 
ScKNE IV. 
 
 KENG RICHARD III. 
 
 561 
 
 Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her 
 brothers, 
 4. pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave, 
 EuVard, and York ; then, haply, 3 will she weep: 
 Therefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret 
 Did to thy father, steer/d in Rutland's blood, — 
 A handkerchief; whim, say to her, did drain 
 The purple sap from her sweet brother's body, 
 And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. 
 rf this inducement move her not to love, 
 Send her a letter of thy noble deeds; 
 Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence, 
 Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her sake, 
 Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt 
 Anne. 
 K. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not the 
 way 
 To win your daughter. 
 
 Q. Eliz. There is no other way ; 
 
 Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, 
 And not be Richard that hath done all this. 
 
 K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her ? 
 Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose 
 but have thee, 
 Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. 
 K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now 
 amended ; 
 Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, 
 Which after-hours give leisure to repent. 
 Tf I did take the kingdom from your sons, 
 To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. 
 If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, 
 To quicken your increase, I will beget 
 Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. 
 A grandam's name is little less in love, 
 Than is the doting title of a mother ! 
 They are as children, but one step below, 
 Even of your mettle, of your very blood; 
 Of all one pain, — save for a night of groans 
 E ndur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. 
 Your children were vexation to your youth, 
 But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 
 The loss you have, is but — a son being king, 
 And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen. 
 I cannot make you what amends I would, 
 Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 
 Dorset, your son, that with a fearful soul, 
 Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, 
 This fair alliance quickly shall call home 
 To high promotions and great dignity : 
 The king, that calls your beauteous daughter — wife, 
 Familiarly shall call thy Dorset — brother; 
 Again shall you be mother to a king, 
 And all the ruins of distressful times 
 Repair'd with double riches of content. 
 What! we have many goodly days to see: 
 The liquid drops of tears that you have shed, 
 Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl ; 
 Advantaging their loan, with interest 
 Of ten-times double gain of happiness. 
 Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go; 
 Make bold her bashful years with your experience; 
 Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale : 
 Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame 
 Of golden sovereignty ; acquaint the princess 
 With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys: 
 And when this arm of mine hath chastised 
 The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, 
 Bound with triumphant garlands will I come, 
 And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ! 
 To whom I will retail my conquest won, 
 ^nd she shall bo sole vict'ress, Caesar's Caesar. 
 • Perhaps. 
 
 Q. Eliz. What ware I best to say ? her father*! 
 brother 
 Would be her lord 1 Or shall I say, her uncle ? 
 Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles ? 
 Under what title shall I woo for thee, 
 That God, the law, my honor, and her love, 
 Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? 
 K.Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. 
 Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still last- 
 ing war. 
 K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command, 
 
 entreats. 
 Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King 
 
 forbids. 1 
 K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty 
 
 queen. 
 Q. Eliz. To wail the title as her mother doth. 
 K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. 
 Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last ! 
 K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. 
 Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life 
 
 last? 
 K. Rich. As long as heaven,and nature, length 
 
 ens it. 
 Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it. 
 K- Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low. 
 Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sove- 
 reignty. 
 K. Rich. Be eloquent, in my behalf, to her. 
 Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plain- 
 ly told. 
 K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving 
 
 tale. 
 Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a 
 
 style. 
 K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow, and too 
 
 quick. 
 Q. Eliz. 0, no, my reasons are too deep and 
 dead ; — 
 Two deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. 
 K. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam, that is 
 
 past. 
 Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings 
 
 break. 
 K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, 3 and 
 
 my crown, — 
 Q. Eliz. Profan'd, dishonor'd, and the third 
 
 usurp'd. 
 K. Rick. I swear. 
 
 Q. Eliz. By nothing; for this is no oath. 
 
 Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honor ; 
 Thy garter, blemish'd, pavvn'd his knightly virtue - , 
 Thy crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory : 
 If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd, 
 Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. 
 K. Rich. Now, by the world, — 
 Q. Eliz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. 
 
 K. Rich. My father's death, — 
 Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonor'd 
 
 K. Rich. Then, by myself, — 
 Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-misused 
 
 K. Rich. Why then, by God,— 
 Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all 
 
 If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, 
 The unity, the king thy brother made, 
 Had not been broken, nor my brother riain ; 
 If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him, 
 The imperial metal, circling now thy head, 
 Had graced the tender temples of my child • 
 And both the princes had been breathing here, 
 Which now, two tender hed-fellows for dust, 
 
 1 In the Levitical Law, chap, xviii. 14. 
 »The ensigns of the Order of thp Garter 
 
562 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Thy broken faith hath made, a prey for worms. 
 What canst thou swear by now 7 
 
 K. Rick. By the time to come. 
 
 Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time 
 o'erpast; 
 f"or I myself have many tears to wash 
 Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. 
 The children live, whose parents thou hast slaugh- 
 
 ter'd, 
 Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age : 
 The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd, 
 Old barren plants, to wail it in their age : 
 Swear not by time to come ; for that thou hast 
 Misused, ere used, by times ill-used o'er-past. 
 
 A". Rich, As I intend to prosper and repent, 
 So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 
 Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! 
 Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours! 
 Day yield me not thy light; nor night, thy rest! 
 Be opposite all planets of good luck 
 To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love, 
 Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
 I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter! 
 In her consists my happiness, and thine ; 
 Without her, follows to myself, and thee, 
 Herself, the land, and many a christian soul, 
 Death, desolation, ruin, and decay : 
 It cannot be avoided, but by this; 
 It will not be avoided, but by this. 
 Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,) 
 Be the attorney of my love to her. 
 Plead what I will be, not what I have been ; 
 Not my deserts, but what I will deserve : 
 Urge the necessity and state of times, 
 And be not peevish 3 found in great designs. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself to be myself] 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, if yourself 's remembrance wrong 
 yourself. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. 
 
 A'. Rich. But in your daughter's womb I bury 
 them : 
 Where, in that nest of spiscry, 4 they shall breed 
 Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will 7 
 
 K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I go. — Write to me very shortly, 
 And you shall understand from me her mind. 
 
 K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so 
 farewell. [Kissing her. Exit Q. Eliz. 
 Relenting fool, and shallow, changing — woman ! 
 How now] what news] 
 
 Enter Ratcliff; Catf.sbt following. 
 Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast 
 Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore 
 Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, 
 Unarm 'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back: 
 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; 
 And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
 Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore. 
 
 K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke 
 of Norfolk : — 
 Ratcliff, thyself, — or Catesby; where is he] 
 Cate. Here, my good lord. 
 K. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke. 
 
 Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. 
 K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: Post to Salisbury; 
 When thou co-n'st thither, — Dull unmindful villain, 
 
 [To Catesby. 
 Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke] 
 
 ' Foolish. 
 
 » The phceoix'r nest. 
 
 Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' 
 pleasure, 
 What from your grace I shall deliver to him. 
 K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby ; — Bid him le^ 
 straight 
 The greatest strength and power he can make, 
 And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. 
 
 Cate. I go. [Exit 
 
 Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at 
 
 Salisbury ] 
 K. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there, before 
 
 I go] 
 Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 K. Rich. My mind is changed. — Stanley, what 
 
 news with you ] 
 Stan. None good, my liege, to please you with 
 the hearing; 
 Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. 
 
 K. Rich. Heyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! 
 What need'st thou run so many miles about, 
 When thou mayst tell thy tale the nearest way ] 
 Once more, what news ] 
 
 Sta?i. Richmond is on the seas. 
 
 K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on 
 him ! 
 White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there 7 
 <S'tan.Iknow not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. 
 K. Rich. Well, as you guess 7 
 o/a». Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and 
 Morton, 
 He makes for England, here to claim the crown. 
 K. Rich. Is the chair empty 7 is the sword un- 
 sway'd 7 
 Is the king dead 7 the empire unpossess'd 7 
 What heir of York is there alive, but we 7 
 And who is England's king, but great York's heir 7 
 Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas 7 
 Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 
 K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege ; 
 You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. 
 Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 
 
 Stan. No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust ine not. 
 K. Rich. Where is thy power then, to beat him 
 back 7 
 W T here be thy tenants, and thy followers 7 
 Are they not now upon the western shore, 
 Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships 7 
 
 Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the 
 
 north. 
 K. Rick. Cold friends to me : what do they in the 
 north, 
 When they should serve their sovereign in the west? 
 Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty 
 king: 
 Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, 
 I'll muster up my friends ; and meet your grace, 
 Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. 
 K. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be one to join with 
 Richmond : 
 I will not trust you, sir. 
 
 Sfa?i. Most mighty sovereign, 
 
 You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful ; 
 I never was, nor never will be false. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, go, muster men. But, hear you, 
 leave behind 
 Your son, George Stanley ; look your heart be firm. 
 Or else his head's assurance is but frail. 
 
 Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. 
 [Exit Stanley 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, 
 
Act V. Scene I, 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 56fi 
 
 As I by friends am well advertised, 
 
 Sir Edward Courteney, and the haughty prelate, 
 
 Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, 
 
 With many more confederates, are in arms. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 i Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in 
 arms ; 
 And every hour more competitors' 
 Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Bucking- 
 ham — 
 
 K. Rich. Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of 
 
 death] [He strikes him. 
 
 There, take thou that, till thou bring better news. 
 
 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty, 
 Is, — that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
 Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ; 
 And he himself wander'd away alone, 
 No man knows whither. 
 
 K. Rich. O, I cry you mercy : 
 
 There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. 
 Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd 
 Reward to him that brings the traitor in ] 
 
 3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my 
 
 liege. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquis 
 
 Dorset, 
 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. 
 But this good comfort bring I to your high- 
 ness, — 
 The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempests : 
 Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 
 Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks, 
 If they were his assistants, yea, or no ; 
 Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham 
 Upon his party; he, mistrusting them, 
 Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bre- 
 tagne. 
 
 K. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up 
 in arms; 
 If not to fight with foreign enemies, 
 Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. 
 Enter Catesbt. 
 Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken 
 That is the best news ; That the earl of Richmond 
 Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
 Is colder news, but yet they must be told. 
 
 K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury; while we rea- 
 son here, 
 A royal battle might be won and lost: — 
 Some one take order, Buckingham be brought 
 To Salisbury ; — the rest march on with me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE V.— A Room in Lord Stanley's House. 
 Enter Stanley, and Sir Christopher Uhs- 
 wick. s 
 Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from 
 me: — 
 That, in the sty of this most bloody boar, 
 My son George Stanley is frank'd 1 up in hold; 
 If I revolt, off goes young George's head ; 
 The fear of that withholds my present aid. 
 But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now T 
 Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales. 
 Stan. What men of name resort to him 1 
 Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier ; 
 Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley ; 
 Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt, 
 And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ; 
 And many other of great fame and worth : 
 And towards London do they bend their course, 
 If by the way they be not fought withal. 
 
 Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord; commend me to 
 him ; 
 Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented 
 He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
 These letters will resolve him of my mind. 
 Farewell. [Gives Papers to Sir Christopher. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Salisbury. An open Place. 
 Enter the Sheriff, and Guard, with Buckingham, 
 led to Execution. 
 Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with 
 
 himl 
 Sher. No, my good lord ; therefore be patient. 
 Buck'. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, 
 Grey, 
 Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
 Vaughan, and all that have miscarried 
 By underhand corrupted foul injustice; 
 If that your moody discontented souls 
 Do througli the clouds behold this present hour, 
 
 Even for revenge mock my destruction ! 
 
 This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not ? 
 Sher. It is, my lord. 
 
 Buck. Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's 
 doomsday. 
 This is the day, which, in King Edward's time, 
 I wish'd might fill on me, when I was found 
 False to his children, or his wife's allies: 
 This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall 
 By the false faith of him whom most I trusted; 
 This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul, 
 • Associate*. 
 
 Is the determin'd respite of my wrongs.' 
 That high All-seer which I dallied with, 
 Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head, 
 And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. 
 Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
 To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms: 
 Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, — 
 When he, quoth she, shall split thy heart with sor- 
 row, 
 Remember Margaret was a prophetess.- — 
 Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame, 
 Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame 
 [Exeunt Buckinrham, <$c 
 SCENE II.— Plain near Tamwonh. 
 Enter, with Drum and Colors, Richmond, Ox- 
 ford, Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Her- 
 bert, and others, with Forces, marching. 
 Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most It ting 
 friends, 
 Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, 
 Thus far into the bowels of the land 
 Have we march'd on without impediment ; 
 
 • Chaplain to the countess of Richmond. 
 
 1 A frank is a sty in which hogs are fattened. 
 
 • Injurious practices. 
 
564 
 
 KING RICHARD HI. 
 
 Act V 
 
 And here receive we from our father Stanley 
 Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
 The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, 
 That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines, 
 Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his 
 
 trough 
 [n your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 
 Lies now even in the centre of this isle, 
 Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn: 
 From Tarn worth thither, is but one day's march. 
 In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, 
 To reap the haivest of perpetual peace 
 By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 
 
 Oxf. Every man's conscience is a thousand 
 
 swords, 
 To fight against that bloody homicide. 
 
 Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. 
 Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends 
 
 for fear ; 
 Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. 
 Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's 
 
 name, march : 
 True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings, 
 Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Bosworth Field. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and Forces,- the Duke of 
 Norfolk, Earl of Surrf.y, and others. 
 
 K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bos- 
 worth field. — 
 My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? 
 
 Stir. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. 
 
 K. Rich. My lord of Norfolk, 
 
 Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 
 
 K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks; Ha! 
 must we not? 
 
 Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie to- 
 night. 
 
 [Soldiers begin to set up the King's tent. 
 But where, to-morrow? — Well, all's one for that. — 
 Who hath descried the number of the traitors] 
 
 Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that account: 
 Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, 
 Which they upon the adverse faction want. 
 Up with the tent. — Come, noble gentlemen, 
 Let us survey the vantage of the ground; — 
 Call for some men of sound directions: — 
 Let's want no discipline, make no delay ; 
 For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [Exeunt. 
 Enter, on the other Side of the Field, Richmond, 
 
 Sir William Brandon, Oxford, and other 
 
 Lords. Some of the Soldiers pilch Richmond's 
 
 Tent. 
 
 Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, 
 And, by the bright track of his fiery car, 
 Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — 
 Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. — 
 Give me some ink and paper in my tent; 
 I'll draw the form and model of our battle, 
 Limit each leader to his several charge, 
 And part in just proportion our small power. 
 My lord of Oxford, — you, sir William Brandon. — 
 And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me: 
 The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment; 
 Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, 
 And by the second hour in the morning 
 Desire the earl to see me in my tent: — 
 Vci one thing more, good captain, do for me; 
 SYhere is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know? 
 
 Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colors much, 
 (Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done,) 
 His regiment lies half a mile at least 
 South from the mighty power of the king. 
 
 Richm. If without peril it be possible, 
 Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak 
 
 with him, 
 And give him from me this most needful note. 
 
 Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it; 
 And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! 
 
 Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come, 
 gentlemen, 
 Let us consult upon to-morrow's business; 
 In to my tent, the air is raw and cold. 
 
 [They withdraw into the Tent. 
 Enter, to his Tent, King Richard, Norfolk, 
 Ratcliff, and Catesbt. 
 
 K. Rich. What is't o'clock? 
 
 Cafe. It's supper time, my lord: 
 
 It's nine o'clock. 
 
 K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. — 
 
 Give me some ink and paper. — 
 What, is my beaver easier than it was? — 
 And all my armor laid into my tent? 
 
 Cate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in readi- 
 ness. ' 
 
 K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge 
 Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. 
 
 Nor. I go, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentlo 
 Norfolk. 
 
 Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 K. Rich. Ratcliff, 
 
 Rat. My lord? 
 
 K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms 
 
 To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power 
 Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall 
 Into the blind cave of eternal night. — 
 Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch : 9 — 
 
 [To Cateskt. 
 Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. — 
 Look that my staves ' be sound, and not too heavy. 
 Ratcliff, 
 
 Rat. My lord? 
 
 K. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord North- 
 umberland ? 
 
 Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself, 
 Much about cock-shut Q time, from troop to troop 
 Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers, 
 
 K. Rich. I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wino • 
 I have not that alacrity of spirit, 
 Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. — 
 So, set it down. — Is ink and paper ready ? 
 
 Rat. It is, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Bid my guard watch; leave me. 
 
 About the mid of night, come to my tent, 
 And help to arm me. — Leave me, I say. 
 
 *King Richard retires into his Tent. Exeunt 
 Ratcliff and Catesbt. 
 Richmond's Tent opens, and discovers him, una 
 his Officers, <$-c. 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm ! 
 
 Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford, 
 Be to thy person, noble father-in-law ! 
 Tell me, how fares our loving mother' 1 
 
 Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee hoin thy uhUici 
 Who prays continually for Richmond's gou' 3 . 
 So much for that. — The silent hours steal on. 
 And flaky darkness breaks within the east. 
 
 » A watch-light. • Wood of the ianoes. 
 
 a Twilight. 
 
Scene Eli 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 509 
 
 la brief, for so the season bids us be, 
 Prepare thy battle early in the morning ; 
 Ami put thy fortune to the arbitrement 
 Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war. 
 I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot,) 
 With best advantage will deceive the time, 
 And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: 
 But on thy side I may not be too forward, 
 Lest, being seen, thy brother tender George 
 Be executed in his father's sight. 
 Farewell: The leisure and the fearful time 
 Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love, 
 And ample interchange of sweet discourse, 
 Which so long-sunder'd friends should dwell upon ; 
 God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 
 Once more, adieu: — Be valiant, and speed well. 
 
 Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment; 
 I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap; 
 Lest leaden slumber peise 3 me down to-morrow, 
 When I should mount with wings of victory: 
 Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. 
 [Exeunt Lords, <$r. with Stanley. 
 Thou ! whose captain I account myself, 
 Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 
 Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, 
 That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
 The usurping helmets of our adversaries! 
 Make us thy ministers of chastisement, 
 That we may praise thee in thy victory ! 
 To thee I do commend my watchful soul, 
 Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes; 
 Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still ! [Sleeps. 
 
 The Ghost of Prince Edward, son to Henry 
 the Sixth, rises between the two Tents. 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 
 [To King Richard. 
 Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth 
 At Tewksbury; Despair, therefore, and die! — 
 Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls 
 Of buteher'd princes fight in thy behalf: 
 King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. 
 
 The Ghost o/"King Henry the Sixth rises. 
 
 Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body 
 [To King Richard. 
 By thee was punched full of deadly holes: 
 Think on the Tower, and me; Despair, and die! 
 Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die. — 
 Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king, 
 Doth comfort thee in thy sleep ; Live, and flourish ! 
 
 The Ghost of Clarence rises. 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 
 [To King Richard. 
 I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, 
 Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death! 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me, 
 And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! — 
 Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee ; 
 Good angels guard thy battle ! Live, and flourish ! 
 
 The Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, and Vaugh an, rise. 
 Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, 
 [To King Richard. 
 Rivers, that died at Pomfrct! Despair, and die! 
 Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul des- 
 pair! 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 » Weigh. 
 
 Vaugh. Think upon Vaughan ; and, with guiltv 
 fear, 
 Let fall thy lance ! Despair, and die ! — 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 All. Awake ! and think, our wrongs in Richard's 
 bosom [To Richmond. 
 
 Will conquer him ; — Awake, and win the day ! 
 The Ghost of Hastings rises. 
 Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake; 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 And in a bloody battle end thy days ! 
 Think on lord Hastings; and despair, and die! — 
 Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake ! 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake! 
 The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise. 
 Ghosts. Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the 
 Tower; 
 Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, 
 And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! 
 Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die. — 
 Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy; 
 Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy ! 
 Live, and beget a happy race of kings ! 
 Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 
 The Ghost of Queen Anne rises. 
 Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne 
 thy wife, 
 That never slept a quiet hour with thee, 
 Now fills thy sleep with perturbations: 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me, 
 And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! — 
 Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep; 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 Dream of success and happy victoiy; 
 Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 
 
 The Ghost of Buckingham rises. 
 Ghost. The first was I, that help'd thee to the 
 crown; [7b King Richard. 
 
 The last was I, that felt thy tyranny : 
 O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
 And die in terror of thy guiltiness! 
 Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death; 
 Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath! — 
 I died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid: 
 
 [To Richmond 
 But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd: 
 God, and good angels, fight on Richmond's side ; 
 And Richard falls in height of all his pride. 
 
 [The Ghosts vanish. King Richard staiis 
 out of his Dream. 
 K. Rich. Give me another horse, — bind up my 
 wounds, — 
 Have mercy, Jesu! — Soft; I did but dream. — 
 
 coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me '— 
 The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight. 
 Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
 What do I fear - ! myself? there's none else by: 
 Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. 
 
 Is there a murderer here] No; — Yes; I am: 
 Then fly, — What, from myself? Great reason 
 
 Why? 
 Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself 
 
 1 love myself. Wherefore? for any good, 
 That I myself have done unto myself? 
 O, no : alas, I rather hate myself, 
 
 For hateful deeds committed by myself. 
 
 I am a villain : Yet I lie, I am not. 
 
 Fool, of thyself speak well : — Fool, do not flatter 
 
 My conscience hath a thousand several tongues 
 
 And every tongue brings in a several taJp 
 
566 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Act V 
 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
 Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree, 
 Murder, stem murder, in the dir'st degree ; 
 All several sins, all used in each degree, 
 Throng to the bar, crying all,— Guilty! guilty! 
 I shall despair. — There is no creature loves me; 
 And, if I die, no soul will pity me: — 
 Nay, wherefore should they ] since that I myself 
 Find in myself no pity to myself. 
 Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd 
 Came to my tent: and every one did threat 
 To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
 
 Enter Ratcliff. 
 
 Rat. My lord, 
 
 K. Rich. Who's there? 
 
 Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village 
 cock 
 Hath twice done salutation to the morn; 
 Your friends are up, and buckle on their armor. 
 
 K. Rich. 0, Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful 
 dream ! 
 What thinkest thou ] will our friends prove all true] 
 
 Rat. No doubt, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Ratcliff, I fear, I fear, — 
 
 Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of sha- 
 dows. 
 
 K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, 
 Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers, 
 Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. 
 It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; 
 Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, 
 To hear, if any mean to shrink from me. 
 
 [Exeunt King Richard and Ratcliff. 
 
 Richmond wakes. Enter Oxford and others. 
 
 Lords. Good monow, Richmond. 
 Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentle- 
 men, 
 That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. 
 Lords. How have you slept, my lord ] 
 Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding 
 dreams, 
 That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, 
 Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
 Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard mur- 
 der'd, 
 Jame to my tent, and cried — On ! victory ! 
 I promise you, my heart is very jocund 
 In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
 How far into the morning is it, lords 1 
 Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 
 Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give di- 
 rection. — [He advances to the Troops. 
 More than I have said, loving countrymen, 
 The leisure and enforcement of the times 
 Forbids to dwell on : Yet remember this, — 
 God, and our good cause, fight upon our side; 
 The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, 
 Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; 
 Richard except, those, whom we fight against, 
 Had rather have us win, than him they follow. 
 For what is he they follow] truly, gentlemen, 
 A bloody tyrant and a homicide; 
 One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd; 
 One that made means to come by what he hath, 
 And slaughter'd those that were the means to help 
 
 him; 
 \ base foul stone, made precious by the foil 
 Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; 
 One that hath ever been God's enemy : 
 Then, if vou fight against God's enemy, 
 
 God will, injustice, ward 4 you as hi* soldiers. 
 If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, 
 You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; 
 If you do fight against your country's foes, 
 Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hue*, 
 If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, 
 Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; 
 If you do free your children from the sword, 
 Your children's children quit' it in your age. 
 Then, in the name of God, and all these rights. 
 Advance your standards, draw your willing sworda 
 For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 
 Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; 
 But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt 
 The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
 Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully, 
 God, and Saint George ! Richmond, and victory ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants, 
 and Forces. 
 
 K. Rich. What said Northumberland^ touching 
 Richmond ] 
 
 Rat. That he was never trained up in arms. 
 
 K. Rich. He said the truth : And what said Surrey 
 then ] 
 
 Rat. Hesmil'd and said, the better for our purpose. 
 
 K. Rich. He was i' the right ; and so, indeed, it is. 
 [Clock strikes. 
 Tell the clock there. — Give me a calendar. — 
 Who saw the sun to-day ] 
 
 Rat. Not T, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Then he disdains to shine ; for, by the 
 book, 
 He should have brav'd the east an hour ago : 
 A black day will it be to somebody. — 
 Ratciiff, 
 
 Rat. My lord] 
 
 K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day ; 
 The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
 I would, these dewy tears were from the ground. 
 Not shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me, 
 More than to Richmond ] for the self-same heaven, 
 That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. 
 Enter Norfolk. 
 
 Nor. Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the 
 field. 
 
 K. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle ; — Caparison my 
 horse ; 
 Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: — 
 I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, 
 And thus my battle shall be ordered. 
 My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, 
 Consisting equally of horse and foot; 
 Our archers shall be placed in the midst: 
 John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey, 
 Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. 
 They thus directed, we ourself will follow 
 In the main battle ; whose puissance on either side 
 Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 
 This, and Saint George to boot ! — What think'st 
 thou, Norfolk ] 
 
 Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. — 
 This found I on my tent this morning. 
 
 [Giving a Scroll 
 K. Rich. Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold, [Reads 
 For Dickon* thy master is bought and sold 
 A thing devised by the enemy. — 
 Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge: 
 Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls. 
 Conscience is but a word that cow tuns' use, 
 
 « Guard. • Kequite. 
 
 * The ancient familiarization of Richard. 
 
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe ; 
 
 Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law. 
 
 March on, join bravely, Ictus to't pell-mell; 
 
 If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. 
 
 What shall I say more than I have inferr'd ? 
 Remember whom you are to cope withal ; — 
 A sort 1 of vagabonds, rascals, and run-aways, 
 A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants, 
 Whom their o'er-cloyed country vomits forth 
 To desperate ventures and assured destruction. 
 You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest; 
 You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives, 
 They would restrain the one, distain the other. 
 And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow, 
 Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost? 
 A milk-sop, one that never in his life 
 Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow? 
 Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again ; 
 Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, 
 These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives ; 
 Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit, 
 For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd them- 
 selves: 
 ff we be conquer'd, let men conquer us, 
 And not these bastard Bretagnes ; whom our fathers 
 Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd, 
 And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. 
 Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives? 
 Ravish our daughters? — Hark, I hear their drum. 
 
 [Drum afar off. 
 Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! 
 Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head ! 
 Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; 
 Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 What says lord Stanley? will he bring his power? 
 
 Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. 
 
 K. Rich. Off instantly with his son George's head. 
 
 Nor. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh ; 
 After the battle let George Stanley die. 
 
 K. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within 
 my bosom : 
 Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; 
 Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
 Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! 
 Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarum: Excursions. Enter Norfolk, and 
 Forces; to him Catesby. 
 
 Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue ! 
 The king enacts more wonders than a man, 
 Oaring an opposite to every danger : 
 His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, 
 Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death : 
 Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost ! 
 
 ' Company. 
 
 Alarum. Enter King Richard. 
 K. Rich. A horse ! a hovse ! my kingdom for a 
 
 horse ! 
 Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse. 
 K. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die : 
 I think there be six Richmonds in the field ; 
 Five have I slain to-day instead of him : — 
 A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Alarums. Enter King Richard a«o? Richmond, 
 
 and exeunt fighting. Retreat, and Flourish. 
 
 Then enter Richmond, Stanley, bearing the 
 
 Crown, with divers other Lords, and Forces. 
 
 Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victorious 
 friends ; 
 The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. 
 
 Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou 
 acquit thee ! 
 Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty, 
 From the dead temples of this bloody wretch 
 Have I pluck'd off to grace thy brows withal; 
 Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 
 
 Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all: — 
 But, tell me first, is young George Stanley living? 
 
 Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town, 
 Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. 
 
 Richm. What men of name are slain on either side? 
 
 Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers, 
 Sir Robert Brackenbury, and sir William Brandon. 
 
 Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births 
 Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled, 
 That in submission will return to us; 
 And, then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, 
 We will unite the white rose with the red: 
 Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, 
 That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! — 
 What traitor hears me, and says not — Amen ? 
 England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; 
 The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, 
 The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, 
 The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire; 
 All this divided York and Lancaster, 
 Divided, in their dire division. — 
 O, now, let Richmoud and Elizabeth, 
 The true succeeders of each royal house, 
 By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! 
 And let their heirs, (God, if thy will be so,) 
 Enrich the time to cjnie with smooth-faced peace 
 With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days! 
 Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
 That would reduce these bloody days again, 
 And make poor England weep in streams cf blood! 
 Let them not live to taste this land's increase, 
 That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! 
 Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again . 
 That she may long live here, God say— -Amen. 
 
 [Exewtf 
 
KING HENRY VIIT 
 
 PARSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 rCiNG Henkt ihs Eighth. 
 
 Cardinal Wolset. 
 
 Cardinal Campeius. 
 
 Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor 
 
 Charles V. 
 Chanmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 Duke of Norfolk. 
 Duke of Buckingham. 
 Duke of Suffolk. 
 Earl or Surrey. 
 Lord Chamberlain. 
 Lord Chancellor. 
 
 Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester. 
 Bishop of Lincoln. 
 Lord Ahergavenny. 
 Lord Sands. 
 Sir Henry Guildford. 
 Sir Thomas Lovell. 
 Sir Anthony Dennt. 
 Sir Nicholas Vaux. 
 Secretaries to Wolsey. 
 Cromwell, Servant to Wolsey. 
 
 Griffith, Gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine 
 
 Three other Gentlemen. 
 
 DocTon Butts, Physician to the King. 
 
 Garter King at Arms. 
 
 Survtjtor to the Duke of Buckingham 
 
 Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms. 
 
 Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. 
 
 Porter and his Man. 
 
 Page to Gardiner. 
 
 A Crier. 
 
 Queen Katharine, Wife to King Henry, after 
 
 wards divorced. 
 Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honor; afterwards 
 
 Queen. 
 An old Lady, Friend to Anne Bullen. 
 Patience, Woman to Queen Katharine. 
 
 Several Lords and Ladies in the dumb shows; 
 Women attending upon the Queen; Spirits 
 which appear to her,- Scribes, Officers, Guara* 
 and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, chiefly in London and Westminster; once at Kimbolton. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 I come no more to make you laugh ; things now, 
 
 That bear a weighty and a serious brow, 
 
 Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, 
 
 Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow. 
 
 We now present. Those that can pity, here 
 
 May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; 
 
 The subject will deserve it. Such as give 
 
 Their money out of hope they may believe, 
 
 May here find truth too. Those, that come to see 
 
 Only a show or two, and so agree, 
 
 The play may pass; if they be still and willing, 
 
 I'll undertake, may see away their shilling 
 
 Richly in two short hours. Only they, 
 
 That come to hear a merry, bawdy play, 
 
 A noise of targets ; or to see a iellow 
 
 In a long motley coat, guarded ' with yellow, 
 
 Will be deceiv'd; for, gentle hearers, know, 
 To rank our chosen truth with such a show 
 As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting 
 Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring, 
 (To make that only true we now intend,') 
 Will leave us never an understanding friend. 
 Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known 
 The first and happiest hearers of the town, 
 Be sad, as we would make ye : Think, ye see 
 The very persons of our noble story, 
 As they were living; think you see them great, 
 And follow'd with the general throng, and sweat 
 Of thousand friends: then, in a moment, see 
 How soon this mightiness meets misery ! 
 And, if you can be merry then, I'll say, 
 A man may weep upon his wedding day. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. An Ante-chamber in the 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter the Duke of Norfolk, at one door; at the 
 other the Duke of Buckingham, and the Lord 
 Abergavenny. 
 
 Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have 
 you done, 
 Since last we saw in France 1 
 i Laced. 
 f5fi8l 
 
 l\or. I thank your gTuce 
 
 Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
 Of what I saw there. 
 
 Buck. An untimely ague 
 
 Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 
 Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,' 
 Met in the vale of Arde. 
 
 Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde 
 
 I was then present, saw them salute on horseback , 
 » Pretend. * Henry VIII, and Francis I, king of Franca 
 
Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 569 
 
 Beheld them, when they Lghtea, how they clung 
 In their embracement, as they grew together; 
 Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have 
 
 weigh'd 
 Such a compounded one 1 
 
 Buck. All the whole time 
 
 I was my chamoer's prisoner. 
 
 Nor. Then you lost 
 
 The view of earinly glory : Men might say, 
 Till this time, pomp was single ; but now married 
 To one above itself. Each following day 
 Became the next day's master, till the last 
 Made former wonders its: To day, the French, 
 All clinquant, 4 all in gold, like heathen gods, 
 Shone down the English: and, to-morrow, they 
 Made Britain, India: every man that stood, 
 Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 
 As cherubin, all gilt : the madams too. 
 Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
 The pride upon them, that their very labor 
 Was to them as a painting: now this mask 
 Was cry'd incomparable ; and the ensuing night 
 Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings, 
 Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, 
 As presence did present them ; him in eye, 
 Still him in praise: and, being present both, 
 'Twas said, they saw but one ; and no discerner 
 Durst wag his tongue in censure. 5 When these 
 
 suns 
 (For so they phrase them) by their heralds chal- 
 lenged 
 The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 
 Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous 
 
 story, 
 Being now seen possible enough, got credit, 
 That Bevis 6 was believ'd. 
 
 Buck. 0, you go far. 
 
 Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect 
 In honor honesty, the tract of every thing 
 Would by a good discourser lose some life, 
 Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal; 
 To the disposing of it nought rebell'd, 
 Order gave each thing view ; the office did 
 Distinctly his full function. 
 
 Buck. Who did guide, 
 
 I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
 Of this great sport together, as you guess ? 
 
 Nor. One, certes 1 that promises no element 3 
 In such a business. 
 
 Buck. I pray you, who, my lord? 
 
 Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion 
 Of the right reverend cardinal of York. 
 
 Buck. The devil speed him! no man's pie is 
 free'd 
 F'om his ambitious finger. What had he 
 To do in these fierce vanities'! I wonder, 
 That such a keech 9 can with his very bulk 
 Take up the rays o'the beneficial sun, 
 And keep it from the earth. 
 
 Nor. Surely, sir, 
 
 There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends: 
 For. being not propp'd by ancestry,, (whose grace 
 Chalks successors their way,) nor -call'd upon 
 For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied 
 To eminent assistance, but, spider-like, 
 Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note, 
 The force of his own merit makes his way ; 
 A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys 
 \ place next to '.he king. 
 
 Aber. I cannot tell 
 
 « Glittering, shining. ' in oj. uion, which was most noble. 
 • 3ir lfevis, an old romance. ' Certainly. 
 
 *ractcc. 9 Lump of fat. 
 
 What heaven hath given him, let some graver eye 
 
 Pierce into that but I can see his pride 
 
 Peep through each part of him : Whence has he 
 
 that? 
 If not from hell, the devil is a niggard; 
 Or has given all before, and he begins 
 A new hell in himself. 
 
 Buck. Why the devil, 
 
 Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, 
 Without the privity o'the king, to appoint 
 Who should attend on him ? He makes up the file 
 Of all the gentry; for the moit part such 
 Too, whom as great a charge as little honor 
 He meant to lay upon : and his own letter,' 
 The honorable board of council out, 
 Must fetch him in the papers. 
 
 Aber. I do know 
 
 Kinsmen of mine, three at tne least, that have 
 By this so sicken'd their estates, that never 
 They shall abound as formerly. 
 
 Buck. 0, many 
 
 Have broke their backs with laying manors on them 
 For this great journey. What did this vanity, 
 But minister communication of 
 A most poor issue ? 
 
 Nor. Grievingly I think 
 
 The peace between the French and us not values 
 The cost that did conclude it. 
 
 Buck. Every man, 
 
 After the hideous storm that follow'd, was 
 A thing inspir'd : and, not consulting, broke 
 Into a general prophecy, — That this tempest, 
 Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
 The sudden breach on't. 
 
 Nor. Which is budded out; 
 
 For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath at- 
 
 tach'd 
 Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. 
 
 Aber. Is it theiefore 
 
 The ambassador is silenced ? 
 
 Nor. Marry, is't. 
 
 Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and purchas'd 
 At a superfluous rate ! 
 
 ■Buck. Why, all this business 
 
 Our reverend cardinal carried. 3 
 
 Nor. 'Like it, your grace, 
 
 The state takes notice of the private difference 
 Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you, 
 (And take it from a heart that wishes towards you 
 Honor and plenteous safety,) that you read 
 The cardinal's malice and his potency 
 Together: to consider further, that 
 What his high hatred would effect, wants not 
 A minister in his power: You know his nature, 
 That he's revengeful ; and I know, his sword 
 Hath a sharp edge: it's long, and, it may be said. 
 It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend. 
 Thither he darts it. Bosom up my couns-e!, 
 You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock. 
 That I advise your shunning. 
 
 Enter Cardinal Wolset, (the Purse borne be- 
 fore Mm,} certain of the Guard, and two Sec- 
 retaries with Papers. The Cardinal in fus 
 passage fixeth his eye on Buckingham, and 
 Buckingham on him, both full of disdain. 
 
 Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor 1 ha ' 
 Where's his examination ? 
 
 1 Seer. Here, so please j ou. 
 
 Wol. Is he in person ready? 
 
 1 Seer. Ay, please your grace 
 
 1 Sets down in his letter without consulting the council. 
 a Conducted. 
 
 2 N 
 
570 
 
 KING HENRY VIII 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Wol. Well, we shall then know more ; and Buck- 
 ingham 
 Shall lessen this big look. 
 
 [Exeunt Wolset, and Train. 
 
 Buck. This butcher's cur 3 is venom-mouth'd, 
 and I 
 Have not the power to muzzle him : therefore best 
 Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book 
 Out-worths a noble's blood. 
 
 Nor. What, are you chafed 7 
 
 Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance 
 
 only, 
 Which your disease requires. 
 
 Buck. I read in his looks 
 
 Matter against me; and his eye revil'd 
 Me, as his abject object: at this instant 
 He bores 4 me with some trick: He's gone to the 
 
 king; 
 I'll follow, and out-stare him 
 
 Nor. Stay, my lord, 
 
 And let your reason with your choler question 
 What 'tis you go about: To climb steep hills 
 Requires slow pace at first: Anger is like 
 A full-hot horse ; who being allow'd his way, 
 Serf-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
 Can advise me like you; be to yourself 
 As you would to your friend. 
 
 Buck. I'll to the king, 
 
 And from a mouth of honor quite cry down 
 This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim, 
 There's difference in no persons. 
 
 Nor. Be advis'd: 
 
 Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
 That it do singe yourself: We may out-run, 
 By violent swiftness, that which we run at, 
 And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
 The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er, 
 In seeming to augment it, wastes it 7 Be advis'd: 
 I say 8«gain, there is no English soul 
 More stronger to direct you than yourself; 
 If with the sap of reason you would quench, 
 Or but ullay, the fire of passion. 
 
 Buck. Sir, 
 
 I am thankful to you; and I'll go along 
 By youi prescription : — but this top-proud fellow, 
 (Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but 
 From sinceie motions,) by intelligence, 
 And proofs as clear as founts in July, when 
 We see each grain of gravel, I do know 
 To be corrupt and treasonous. 
 
 Nor. Say not, treasonous. 
 
 Buck. To the king 111 say't; and make my 
 vouch as strong 
 As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, 
 Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous, 
 As he is subtle ; and as prone to mischief, 
 As able to perform it: his mind and place 
 Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,) 
 Only to show his pomp as well in France 
 As here at home, suggests 5 the king our master 
 To this last costly treaty, the interview, 
 That swallow'd so much treasure, and, like a glass, 
 Did break i'the rinsing 
 
 Nor. 'Faith, and so it did. 
 
 Buck. Pray, give me favor, sir. This cunning 
 cardinal 
 The articles of the combination drew, 
 As himself pleas'd ; and they were ratified, 
 As he cried, Thus let be: to as much end, 
 As give a crutch to the dead: But our count-car- 
 dinal 
 Has done this, and 'tis well ; for worthy Wolsey, 
 
 • W«>lsey was the son of a butcher * Stabs » Excites. 
 
 Who cannot err, he did it. Now thif follows, 
 (Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy 
 To the old dam, treason,) — Charles the emperor, 
 Under pretence to see the queen his aunt, 
 (For 'twas indeed, his color; but he came 
 To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation: 
 His fears were, that the interview, betwixt 
 England and France, might, through their amity, 
 Breed him some prejudice; for from this league 
 Peep'd arms that menaced him : He privily 
 Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, — 
 Which I do well; for, I am sure, the emperor 
 Paid ere he promis'd ; whereby his suit was granted, 
 Ere it was ask'd; — but when the way was made, 
 And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd ;— 
 That he would please to alter the king's course 
 And break the aforesaid peace. Let the king know, 
 (As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal 
 Does buy and sell his honor as he pleases, 
 And for his own advantage. 
 
 Nor. I am sorry 
 
 To hear this of him ; and could wish, he were 
 Something mistaken in't. 
 
 Buck. No, not a syllable; 
 
 I do pronounce him in that very shape, 
 He shall appear in proof. 
 
 Enter Brandon : a Sergeant-at-Arms before him 
 and two or three of the Guard. 
 
 Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it. 
 
 Se7-g. Sir, 
 
 My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl 
 Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I 
 Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
 Of our most sovereign king. 
 
 Buck. Lo you, my lord, 
 
 The net has fallen upon me; I shall perish 
 Under device and practice. 6 
 
 Bran. I am sorry 
 
 To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
 The business present: 'Tis his highness' pleasuie 
 You shall to the Tower. 
 
 Buck. It will help me nothing. 
 
 To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on me. 
 Which makes my whitest part black. The will of 
 
 heaven 
 Be done in this and all things! — I obey. — 
 
 my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well. 
 
 Bran. Nay, he must bear you company : — The 
 king [To Abergavenny. 
 
 Is pleas'd, you shall to the Tower, till you know 
 How he determines further. 
 
 Aber. As the duke said, 
 
 The will of heaven be done, and the king's plea- 
 sure 
 By me obey'd. 
 
 Bran. Here is a warrant from 
 
 The king, to attach lord Montacute ; and the bodies 
 Of the duke's confessor, John de la Court, 
 One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — 
 
 Buck. So, so; 
 
 These are the limbs of the plot : no more, I hope. 
 
 Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux. 
 
 Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins 7 
 
 Bran. He. 
 
 Buck. My surveyor is false ; the o'er-great car- 
 dinal 
 Hath show'd him gold : my life is spann'd already , 
 
 1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham ; 
 Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, 
 By dark'ning my clear sun. — My lord, farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 • Unfair stratagem. 
 
Scene II 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 571 
 
 SCENE II. — The Council-chamber. 
 Cornet". Enter King Hksrt, Cardinal Wot- 
 sky, the Lords of the Council, Sir Thomas 
 Lovell, Officers and Attendants. The King 
 enters, leaning on the Cardinal's shoulder. 
 K. Hen. My life itself and the best heart of it, 
 Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level 
 Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks 
 To you that chok'd it — Let He call'd before us 
 That gentleman of Buckingham's: in person 
 I'll hear him his confessions justify ; 
 And point by point the treasons of his master 
 He shall again relate. 
 
 The Ki ng takes his State. The Lords of the Council 
 take their several Places. TAcCaruinal places 
 hims-elf under the King's Feet, on his right Side. 
 
 A Noise within, crying. Room for the Queen. Enter 
 the Queen, usher'd by the Dukes of Nor- 
 folk and Suffolk: she kneels. The King 
 riseih from his State, takes her up, kisses, and 
 placeth her by him. 
 Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a 
 
 suitor. 
 K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us : Half your 
 suit 
 Never name to us; you have half our power: 
 The other moiety, ere you ask, is given; 
 Repeat your will, and take it. 
 
 Q. Kath. Thank your majesty. 
 
 That you would love yourself; and, in that love, 
 Not unconsider'd leave your honor, nor 
 The dignity of your office, is the point 
 Of my petition. 
 
 K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed. 
 
 Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, 
 And those of true condition, that your subjects 
 Are in great grievance: there hath been commis- 
 sions 
 Sent down among them, which hath flaw'd the heart 
 Of all their loyalties: — wherein, although, 
 My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches 
 Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
 Of these exactions, yet the king our master, 
 (Whose honor Heaven shield from soil !) even he 
 
 escapes not 
 Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
 The sides of loyalt}', and almost appears, 
 In loud rebellion. 
 
 Nor. Not almost appears, 
 
 It doth appear; for, upon these taxations, 
 The clothiers all, not able to maintain 
 The many to them 'longing, have put off 
 The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, 
 Uniit for other life, compell'd by hunger 
 And lack of other means, in desperate manner 
 Daring the event to the teeth, arc all in uproar, 
 And danger serves among them. 
 
 K. Hen. Taxation ! 
 
 Wherein ? and what taxation ? — My lord cardinal, 
 You that are blamed for it alike with us, 
 Know you of this taxation 1 ? 
 
 Wol. Please you, sir, 
 
 I know but of a single part, in aught 
 Pertains to the state; and front but in that file 
 Where others tell steps with me.' 
 
 Q. Kath. No, my lord, 
 
 You know no more than others: but you frame 
 Things that are known alike ; which are not whole- 
 some 
 To those which would not know them, and yet must 
 " X am only one among the other counsellors. 
 
 Perforce be their acquittance. These exactions, 
 Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
 Most pestilent to the hearing; and to bear them, 
 The back is sacrifice to the load. They say. 
 They are devis'd by you ; or else you suffer 
 Too hard an exclamation. 
 
 K. Hen. Still exaction! 
 
 The nature of it? In what kind, let's know, 
 Is this exaction ? 
 
 Q. Kath. I am much too venturous 
 In tempting of your patience ; but am bolden'd 
 Under your promis'd pardon. The subiect's grief 
 Comes through commissions, which compel from 
 
 each 
 The sixth part of his substance, to be levied 
 Without delay; and the pretence for this 
 Is named, your wars in France: This makes bold 
 
 mouths : 
 Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze 
 Allegiance in them ; their curses now 
 Live where their prayers did ; and it's come to pass, 
 That tractable obedience is a slave 
 To each incensed will. I would, your highness 
 Would give it quick consideration, for 
 There is no primer 8 business. 
 
 K. Hen. By my life, 
 
 This is against our pleasure. 
 
 Wol. And for me, 
 
 1 have no farther gone in this, than by 
 
 A single voice; and that not pass'd me, but 
 
 By learned approbation of the judges. 
 
 If I am traduced by tongues, which neither know 
 
 My faculties, nor person, yet will be 
 
 The chronicles of my doing, — let me say, 
 
 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 5 
 
 That virtue must go through. We must not stinl 
 
 Our necessary actions, in the fear 
 
 To cope' malicious censurers ; which ever, 
 
 As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow 
 
 That is new trimm'd ; but benefit no further 
 
 Than vainly longing. What we oft do best, 
 
 By sick interpreters, once 5 weak ones, is 
 
 Not ours, or not allow'd ; 3 what worst, as oft, 
 
 Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up 
 
 For our best act. If we shall stand still, 
 
 In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
 
 We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
 
 State statues only. 
 
 K. Hen. Things done well, 
 
 And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; 
 Things done without example, in their issue 
 Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
 Of this commission? I believe, not any. 
 We must not rend our subjects from our laws. 
 And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each' 
 A trembling contribution! Why, we take, 
 From e-very tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber 
 And though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd, 
 The air will drink the sap. To every county, 
 Where this is question'd, send our letters, with 
 Free pardon to each mar. that has denied 
 The force of this commission: Prsy, look to't; 
 I put it to your care. 
 
 Wol. A word with you. [To the Secretary 
 
 Let there be letters writ to every shire, 
 Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd com 
 
 mons 
 Hardly conceive of me; let it be nois'd, 
 That, through our intercession, this revokement 
 And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you 
 Further in the proceeding [Exit Secretary 
 
 s More important. " Thicket of thorns l Encounter 
 
 2 Sometime. » Approved 
 
572 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Enter Surveyor. 
 
 Q. Kaf.h. I am sorry that the duke of Buckingham 
 *s run in your displeasure. 
 
 K. Hen. It grieves many: 
 
 The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker, 
 To nature none more bound; his training such, 
 That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, 
 And never seek for aid out of himself. 
 Yet see. 
 
 When these so noble benefits shall prove 
 Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt, 
 They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly 
 Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, 
 Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, 
 Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find 
 His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady, 
 Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 
 That once were his, and is become as black 
 As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us: you shall hear 
 (This was his gentleman in trust) of him 
 Things to strike honor sad. — Bid him recount 
 The fore-recited practices ; whereof 
 We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 
 
 Wol. Stand forth ; and with bold spirit relate what 
 you, 
 Most like a careful subject, have collected, 
 Out of the duke of Buckingham. 
 
 K. Hen. Speak freely. 
 
 Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day 
 It would infect his speech, That if the king 
 Should without issue die, he'd carry it so 
 To make the sceptre his : These very words 
 I have heard him utter to his son-in-law, 
 Lord Abepga'ny; to whom by oath he menaced 
 Revenge upon the cardinal. 
 
 Wol. Please your highness, note 
 
 This dangerous conception in this point. 
 Not friended by his wish, to your high person 
 His will is most malignant; and it stretches 
 Beyond you, to your friends. 
 
 Q. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal, 
 
 Deliver all with charity. 
 
 K. Hen. Speak on : 
 
 How grounded he his title to the crown, 
 Upon our fail] to this point hast thou heard him 
 At any time speak aught ? 
 
 Surv. He was brought to this 
 
 By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. 
 
 K. Hen. What was that Hopkins ? 
 
 Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar, 
 
 His confessor, who fed him every minute 
 With words of sovereignty. 
 
 ■f. Hen. How know'st thou this? 
 
 Surv. Not long before your highness sped to 
 France, 
 The duke being at the Rose, 4 within the parish 
 Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand 
 What was the speech amongst the Londoners 
 Concerning the French journey : I replied, 
 Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious, 
 To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
 Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted, 
 'Tvvould prove the verity of certain words 
 Spoke by a holy monk; That off, says he, 
 Huth sent to me, wishing ?ne to per m it 
 John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour 
 To hear from him a matter of some moment: 
 Whom after under the confession's seal 
 He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke, 
 My chaplain to no creature living, but 
 To me, slnuld utter, with demure confidence 
 
 * Now Merchant Taylors' School. 
 
 This pausingly ensu'd, — Neither the king, nor h it 
 
 heirs, 
 {Tell you the duke,) shall prosper, bid him strive 
 To gain the love of the commonalty,- the duke 
 Shall govern England. 
 
 Q. Kath. If I know you well, 
 
 You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office 
 On the complaint o' the tenants: Take good heed, 
 You charge not in your spleen a noble person. 
 And spoil your nobler soul! I say, take heed; 
 Yes, heartily beseech you. 
 
 K. Hen. Let him on : — 
 
 Go forward. 
 
 Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. 
 I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions 
 The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dan- 
 gerous for him, 
 To ruminate on this so far, until 
 It forged him some design, which, being believ'd, 
 It was much like to do : He answer'd, Tush.' 
 It can do me no damage: adding further, 
 That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, 
 The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads 
 Should have gone off. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha! what, so rank? Ah, ha! 
 
 There's mischief in this man: Canst thou say 
 
 further ? 
 
 Surv. I can, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. Proceed. 
 
 Surv. Being at Greenwich. 
 
 After your highness had reprov'd the duke 
 About sir William Blomer, — 
 
 K. Hen. I remember, 
 
 Of such a time: — being my servant sworn, 
 The duke vetain'd him his. — But on ; What hence? 
 
 Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been committed, 
 As to the Tower, I thought, — I ivould have play'd 
 The part my father meant to act upon 
 The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury, 
 Made suit to come in his presence,- which if granted, 
 As he made semblance of his duty, would 
 Have put his knife into him. 
 
 K. Hen. A giant traitor ! 
 
 Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in 
 freedom, 
 And this man out of prison? 
 
 Q. Kath. God mend all ! 
 
 K. Hen. There's something more would out o* 
 thee ; What say'st ? 
 
 Surv. After — the duke his father, — with the 
 knife, — 
 He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger 
 Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes, 
 He did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenor 
 Was, — Were he evil used, he would out-go 
 His father, by as much as a performance 
 Does an irresolute purpose. 
 
 K. Hen. There's his period, 
 
 To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd ; 
 Call him to present trial :-ifhe may 
 Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none, 
 Let him not seek't of us : By day and night, 
 He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE UI.--A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain, and Lonu Sands. 
 Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should 
 juggle 
 Men into such strange mysteries ? 
 
 Sands. New custom*, 
 
 Though they be never so ridiculous, 
 Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 
 
 Cham. As far as I see, all the goo<' our EnglUi; 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 57a 
 
 Have got by the late voyage, is but merely 
 
 A tit 5 or two o'the face: but they are shrewd ones; 
 
 For when they hold them, you would swear directly, 
 
 Their very noses had been counsellors 
 
 To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so. 
 
 Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones ; 
 
 one would take it, 
 That never saw them pace before, the spavin, 
 A. springnalt 6 reign'd among them. 
 
 Cham. Death ! my lord, 
 
 Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
 That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How 
 
 now] 
 What news, sir Thomas Lovell 1 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. 
 
 Lov. 'Faith, my lord, 
 
 I hear of none but the new proclamation 
 That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 
 
 Cham. What is't fori 
 
 Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, 
 That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. 
 
 Cham. I am glad, 'tis there ; now I would pray 
 our monsieurs 
 To think an English courtier may be wise, 
 And never see the Louvre. 1 
 
 Lov. They must either 
 
 (For so run the conditions) leave these remnants 
 Of fool, and feather, that they got in France, 
 With all their honorable points of ignorance, 
 Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fireworks; 
 Abusing better men than they can be, 
 Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean 
 The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings, 
 Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, 
 And understand again like honest men; 
 Or pack to their old playfellows : there, I take it, 
 They nay, cum privilegio? wear away 
 The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. 
 
 Sands. 'Tis time to give them physic, their dis- 
 eases 
 Are grown so catching. 
 
 Cham. What a loss our ladies 
 
 Will have of these trim vanities ! 
 
 Lov. Ay, many, 
 
 There will be woe indeed, lords ; the sly whoresons 
 Have got a speedy trick to lay down ladies ; 
 A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow. 
 
 Sands. The devil fiddle them ! I am glad, they're 
 going; 
 (For, sure, there's no converting of them;) now 
 An honest country lord, as I am, beaten 
 A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song, 
 And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r-lady, 
 Held current music too. 
 
 Cham. Well said, lord Sands; 
 
 You. colt's tooth is not cast yet. 
 
 Sands. No, my lord; 
 
 Nor shall not, while I have a stump. 
 
 Cham. Sir Thomas, 
 
 Whither were you a going? 
 
 Lov. To the cardinal's; 
 
 Your lordship is a guest too. 
 
 Cham. O, 'tis true : 
 
 This night he makes a supper, and a great one, 
 To many lords and ladies; there will be 
 The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. 
 
 Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind 
 indeed, 
 A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; 
 Hi3 dews fall every where. 
 
 » Grima~e. 
 
 •• A raU-e at P*'is. 
 
 8 Diseaso incident to horses. 
 • With ai thority. 
 
 Cham. No doubt, he's noble; 
 
 He had a black mouth, that said other of him. 
 
 Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal; 
 in him 
 Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine; 
 Men of his way should be most liberal, 
 They are set here for examples. 
 
 Cham. True, they are so ; 
 
 But few now give so great ones. My barge stays 
 Your lordship shall along:— Come, good sir Thomas 
 We shall be late else . wnich I would not be, 
 For I was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildford, 
 This night to be comptrollers. 
 
 Sands. I am your lordship's 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Presence- Chamber in York 
 Place. 
 
 Hautboys. A small Table under a State for the 
 Cardinal, a longer Table for the Guests. Enter 
 at one door Anne Bullen, and divers Lords, 
 Ladies, and Gentlewomen, as Guests,- at another 
 Door, enter Sir Henrt Guildford. 
 Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace 
 Salutes ye all : This night he dedicates 
 To fair content, and you : none here, he hopes, 
 In all this noble bevy," has brought with her 
 One care abroad; he would have all as merry 
 As first-good company, good wine, good welcome, 
 
 Can make good people 0, my lord, you are 
 
 tardy ; 
 Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir 
 
 Thomas Lovell. 
 The very thought of this fair company 
 Clapp'd wings to me. 
 
 Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford 
 Sa?ids. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal 
 But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these 
 Should find a running banquet ere they rested, 
 I think, would better please them : By my life, 
 They are a sweet society of fair ones. 
 
 Lov. O, that your lordship were but now con- 
 fessor 
 To one or two of these ! 
 
 Saitds. I would I were; 
 
 They should find easy penance. 
 
 Lov. 'Faith, how easy ! 
 
 Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. 
 Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir 
 Harry, 
 Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this : 
 His grace is ent'ring. — Nay, you must not freeze - 
 Two women placed together makes cold weather: — 
 My lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking; 
 Pray, sit between these ladies. 
 
 Sa?ids. By my faith, 
 
 And thank your lordship. — By your leave, sweet 
 ladies; 
 [_Seats himself between Anne Bullen and 
 another Lady. 
 If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me 
 I had it from my father. 
 
 Anne. Was he mad, sir 7 
 
 Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too 
 But he would bite n«ne; just as I do now, 
 He would kiss you twenty with a breath. 
 
 Kisses net 
 Cham. Well said, my lord.- 
 
 So, now you are fairly seated. — Gentlemen, 
 The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies 
 ?ass away frowning. 
 
 » Company. 
 
574 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Sands. 
 Let ine alone. 
 
 For my little cure, 
 
 Hautbcys. Enter Cardinal Wolset, attended; 
 and takes his State. 
 
 Wol. You are welcome, my fair guests; that 
 ncsble lady, 
 Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, 
 Is not my friend : This, to confirm my welcome ; 
 And to you all good health. [Drinks. 
 
 Sands. Your grace is noble ; — 
 
 Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, 
 And save me so much talking. 
 
 Wol. My lord Sands, 
 
 I am beholden to you : cheer your neighbors. — 
 Ladies, you are not merry ; — Gentlemen, 
 Whose fault is this! 
 
 Sands. The red wine first must rise 
 
 In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 
 
 them 
 Talk us to silence. 
 
 Anne. You are a merry gamester, 
 
 My lord Sands. 
 
 Sands. Yes, if I make my play.' 
 
 Here's to your ladyship ; and pledge it, madam, 
 For 'tis to such a thing, — 
 
 Anne. You cannot show me. 
 
 Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon. 
 [Drum and Trumpets ivithin: Chambers' 1 
 discharged. 
 
 Wol. What's that] 
 
 Cham. Look out there, some of you. 
 
 [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Wol. What warlike voice] 
 
 And to what end is this ] — Nay, ladies, fear not ; 
 By all the laws of war you are privileged. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Cham. How now] whatis't] 
 Serv. A noble troop of strangers ; 
 
 For so they seem : they have left their barge, and 
 
 landed ; 
 And hither make, as great ambassadors 
 From foreign princes. 
 
 Wol. Good lord chamberlain, 
 
 Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French 
 
 tongue; 
 And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them 
 Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
 Shall shine at full upon them: — Some attend him. — 
 [Exit Chamberlain, attended. All arise, 
 and Tables removed. 
 You have now a broken banquet : but we'll menu it. 
 A good digestion to you all : and, once more, 
 I shower a welcome on you ;— Welcome all. 
 
 Hautboys. Enter the Ki ng, and twelve others, as 
 Maskers, habited like Shepherds, with sixteen 
 Torch-bearers ; ushered by Me Lord Chamberlain. 
 They pass directly before the Cardinal, and 
 gracefully salute him. 
 
 A noble company ! what are their pleasures 1 
 Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they 
 pray'd 
 To tell your grace: — That, having heard by fame 
 > Choose my game. » Small cannon. 
 
 Of this so nolle and so fair assembly 
 This night to meet here, they could do no less, 
 Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, 
 But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct 
 Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat 
 An hour of revels with them. 
 
 Wol. Say, lord chamberlain, 
 
 They have done my poor house grace; for which 1 
 
 pay them 
 A thousand thanks, and pray them take their plea- 
 sures. 
 [Ladies chosen for the Dance. The King 
 chooses Anne Bullen. 
 
 K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touched ! O, 
 beauty, 
 Till now I never knew thee. [Music. Dance 
 
 Wol. My lord, 
 
 Cham. Your grace 1 
 
 Wol. Pray tell them thus much from me 
 
 There should be one amongst them, by his person 
 More worthy this place than myself; to whom, 
 If I but knew him, with my love and duty 
 I would surrender it. 
 
 Cham. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Cham, goes to the Company, and returns. 
 
 Wol. What say they ] 
 
 Cham. Such a one, they all confess, 
 
 There is indeed ; which they would have your grace 
 Find out, and he will take it. 
 
 Wol. Let me see, then. — [Comes from his State. 
 By all your good leave, gentlemen ; — Here I'll make 
 My royal choice. 
 
 K. Hen. You have found him, cardinal : 
 
 [Unmasking, 
 You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord: 
 You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal, 
 I should judge now unhappily. 3 
 
 Wol. I am glad 
 
 Your grace is grown so pleasant. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord chamberlain, 
 
 Pr'ythee, come hither: What fair lady's that? 
 
 Cham. An't please your grace, sir Thomas Bul- 
 len's daughter, 
 The viscount Rochfort, one of her highness' women. 
 
 K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — 
 Sweetheart, • 
 
 I were unmannerly to take you out, 
 And not to kiss you. — A health, gentlemen, 
 Let it go round. 
 
 Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready 
 I' the privy chamber] 
 
 Lov. Yes, my lord, 
 
 Wol. Your grace, 
 
 I fear with dancing is a little heated. 
 
 K. Hen. I fear too much. 
 
 Wol. There's fresher air, my lord, 
 
 In the next chamber. 
 
 A'. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. — Sweet 
 partner, 
 I must not yet forsake you : Let's be merry : — 
 Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths 
 To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure ' 
 To lead them once again ; and then let's dream 
 Who's best in favor. — Let the music knock it. 
 
 [Exeunt, with Trumpet* 
 « Mischievously. * Dance. 
 
A.ct LI. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VILI. 
 
 i»76 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE L— A Street. 
 Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gent. Whither away so fast ? 
 
 2 Gent. O, — God save you ! 
 Even to the hall, to hear what shall become 
 
 Of the great duke of Buckingham. 
 
 Gent. I'll save you 
 
 That labor, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony 
 Of hringing back the prisoner. 
 2 Gent. Were you there? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 
 
 2 Gent. Pray speak, what has happen'd ? 
 
 1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. 
 
 2 Gent. Is he found guilty? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it. 
 
 2 Gent. I am sorry for't. 
 
 1 Gent. So are a number more. 
 
 2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it? 
 
 1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke 
 f'ame to the bar; where, to his accusations, 
 
 He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged 
 
 Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. 
 
 The king's attorney, on the contrary, 
 
 Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions, 
 
 Of divers witnesses ; which the duke desired 
 
 To him brought, viva voce, to his face: 
 
 At which appear'd against him, his surveyor; 
 
 Sir Gilbert Peck, his chancellor ; and John Court, 
 
 Confessor to him ; with that devil-monk, 
 
 Hopkins, that made this mischief. 
 
 2 Gent. That was he 
 That fed him with his prophecies? 
 
 1 Gent. The same. 
 All these accused him strongly; which he fain 
 Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could 
 
 not: 
 And so his peers, upon this evidence, 
 Have found him guilty of high treason. Much 
 He spoke, and learnedly, for life: but all 
 Was either pitied in him, or forgotten. 
 
 2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself? 
 
 1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, — 
 
 to hear 
 His knell rung out, his judgment, — he was stirr'd 
 With such an agony, he sweat extremely, 
 And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty : 
 But he fell to himself again, and, sweetly, 
 In all the rest show'd a most noble patience. 
 
 2 Gent. I do not think he fears death. 
 
 1 Gent. Sure, he does not, 
 He never was so womanish; the cause 
 
 He may a little grieve at. 
 
 2 Gent. Certainly, 
 The cardinal is the end of this. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis likely, 
 By all conjectures: First, Kildarc's attainder, 
 Then Deputy of Ireland ; who remov'd, 
 
 Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, 
 Lest he should help his father. 
 
 2 Gent. That trick of state 
 Was a deep envious one. 
 
 1 Gent. At his return, 
 No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted, 
 And generally; whoever the king favors, 
 The cardinal instantly will find employment, 
 And far enough from court too. 
 
 2 Gent. All the commons 
 
 Hate him perniciously, and o' my conscience, 
 Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much 
 They love, and dole on ; call him, bounteous Buck 
 
 ingham, 
 The mirror of all courtesy ; — 
 
 1 Gent. Stay there, sir, 
 And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. 
 
 Enter Buckingham from his Arraignment; Tip- 
 staves before him, the Axe with the Edge to- 
 wards him; Halberds on each Side: with him 
 Sir Thomas Lovkll, Sir Nicholas Vaux, 
 Sir William Sands, and common People. 
 
 2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. 
 Buck. All good people, 
 
 You that thus far have come to pity me, 
 Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 
 I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, 
 And by that name must die ; yet, heaven bear wit- 
 ness, 
 And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me, 
 Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful! 
 The law I bear no malice for my death, 
 It has done, upon the premises, but justice: 
 But those that sought it, I could wish more Chris 
 
 tians: 
 Be what they will, I heartily forgive them : 
 Yet let them look they glory not in mischief, 
 Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ; 
 For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. 
 For further life in this world I ne'er hope, 
 Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies 
 More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd 
 
 me, 
 And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
 His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave 
 Is only bitter to him, only dying, 
 Go, with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
 And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, 
 Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, 
 And lift my soul to heaven. — Lead on, o' God's 
 name. 
 
 Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity. 
 If ever any malice in your heart 
 Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. 
 
 Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you. 
 As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; 
 There cannot be those numberless offences 
 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with : no blaek envy 
 Shall make my grave. — Commend me to his grace: 
 And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him, 
 You met him half in heaven : my vows and prayen 
 Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake me, 
 Shall cry for blessings on him : May he live 
 Longer than I have time to tell his years! 
 Ever belov'd, and loving, may his lule be! 
 And, when old time shall lead him to his end. 
 Goodness and he fill up one monument! 
 
 Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace 
 Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, 
 Who undertakes you to your end. 
 
 Vaux. Prepare there, 
 
 The duke is coming : see, the barge be ready ; 
 And fit it with such furniture, as suits 
 The greatness of his person. 
 
 Buck. Nay, sir Nicnolas. 
 
 Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. 
 When I came hither, I was lord high constable 
 
576 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act TI 
 
 And duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward 
 
 Bohun: 
 Yet I am richer than my base accusers, 
 That never kn*w what truth meant : I now seal it ; 
 And with that blood will make them one day groan 
 
 for't. 
 My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, 
 Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, 
 Flying for succor to his servant Banister, 
 Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, 
 And without trial fell; God's peace be with him ! 
 Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
 My father's t^ss, like a most royal prince, 
 Restor'd me to my honors, and, out of ruins, 
 Made my name once more noble. Now his son, 
 Henry the Eighth, life, honor, name, and all 
 That made me happy, at one stroke has taken 
 For ever from the world. I had my trial, 
 And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes 
 
 me 
 A little happier than my wretched father; 
 Vet thus far we are one in fortunes: — Both 
 Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most; 
 A most Mnnatural and faithless service! 
 Heaven has an end in all : Yet, you that hear me, 
 This from a dying man receive as certain ; 
 Where you are liberal of y,ur loves, and counsels, 
 Be sure, you be not loose; for those you make friends, 
 And give your hearts to, when they once perceive 
 The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
 Like water from ye, never found again 
 But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, 
 Pray for me ! I must now forsake ye ; the last hour 
 Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
 Farewell : 
 
 And when you would say something that is sad, 
 Speak how I fell. — I have done ; and God forgive 
 
 me! [Exeunt Buckingham and Train. 
 
 1 Gent. O, this is full of pity ! — Sir, it calls, 
 I fear, too many curses on their heads, 
 
 That were the authors. 
 
 2 Cent. If the duke be guiltless, 
 'Tis full of woe : yet I can give you inkling 
 
 Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, 
 Greater than this. 
 
 1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us ! 
 Where may it be? you do not doubt my faith, sir? 
 
 2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require 
 A strong faith to conceal it. 
 
 1 Gent. Let me have it; 
 I do not talk much. 
 
 2 Gent. I am confident; 
 
 You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear 
 A buzzing, of a separation 
 Between ihe king and Katharine ? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, but it held not; 
 For when the king once heard it, out of anger 
 He sent command to the lord mayor straight 
 
 To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues 
 Tha* durst disperse it. 
 
 2 Gent. But that slander, sir, 
 Is found a truth now : for it grows again 
 Fresher than e'er it was ; and held for certain, 
 The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, 
 Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
 
 To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple 
 That will undo her: To confirm this too, 
 Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately; 
 As all think, for this business 
 
 . Gent. 'Tis the cardinal ; 
 
 And merely to revenge him on the emperor, 
 For not bestowing on him, at his asking, 
 1'hc archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 
 
 2 Gent. I think, you have hit the mark : but is't 
 not cruel, 
 Thatshe should feel the smart of this? The cardinal 
 Will have his will, and she must fall. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis woful. 
 
 We are too open here to argue this; 
 Let's think in private monj. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — An Ante-chamber in ihe Palace-. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a Letter. 
 
 Cham . My lord, — The horses your lordsh ip sen 
 for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, rid- 
 den, and furnished. They were young and hand- 
 some,- and of the best breed in the north. When 
 they were ready to set out for London, a man of 
 my lord cardinal's, by commission, and main pow- 
 er, took'' em from me,- with this reason, — Hismaa 
 ter would be served, before a subject, if not befort 
 the king; which stopp'dour mouths, sir. 
 I fear, he will, indeed ; Well, let him have them : 
 He will have all, I think. 
 
 Enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Nor. Well met, my good 
 
 Lord chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good day to both your graces. 
 
 Suf. How is the king employ'd ? 
 
 Cham. I left him private, 
 
 Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 
 
 Nor. What's the cause? 
 
 Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's 
 wife 
 Has crept too near his conscience. 
 
 Suf. No, his conscience 
 
 Has crept too near another lady. 
 
 Nor. 'Tis so; 
 
 This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: 
 That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, 
 Turns what he lists. The king will know him one 
 day. 
 
 Suf. Pray God, he do ! he'll never know him- 
 self else. 
 
 Nor. How holily he works in all his business ! 
 And with what zeal ! For, now he has crack'd the 
 
 league 
 Between us and the emperor, the queen's great 
 
 nephew, 
 He dives into the king's soul ; and there scatters 
 Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, 
 Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage : 
 And, out of all these to restore the king, 
 He counsels a divorce : a loss of her, 
 That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years 
 About his neck, yet never lost her lustre: 
 Of her, that loves him with that excellence 
 That angels love good men with ; even of her 
 That, when the greatest stoke of fortune falls, 
 Will bless the king : And is not this course pious ? 
 
 Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ! 'Tis 
 most true, 
 These news are every where; every tongue speaks 
 
 them, 
 And every true heart weeps for't : All, that dare 
 Look into these affairs, see this main end, — 
 The French king's sister. Heaven will one day opefa 
 The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon 
 This bold bad man. 
 
 Suf. And free us from his slavery, 
 
 Nor. We had need pray, 
 And heartily, for our deliverance; 
 Or this imperious man will work us all 
 From princes into pagta. all men's honors 
 
Scene III 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 trn 
 
 Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
 Into what pitch he please. 
 
 Suf. For me, my lords, 
 
 1 love him not. nor fear him ; there's my creed: 
 As I am made without him, so I'll stand, 
 If the king please ; his curses and his blessings 
 Touch me alike, they are breath I not believe in. 
 I knew him, and I know him ; so I leave him 
 To him, that made him proud, the pope. 
 
 No*. Let's in; 
 
 And, with some other business, put the king 
 From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon 
 
 him 1 — 
 My lord, you'll bear us company ? 
 
 Cham. Excuse me; 
 
 The king hath sent me other-where : besides, 
 You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: 
 Health to your lordships. 
 
 Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 
 
 [Exit Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Norfolk opens a Folding-door. The King is dis- 
 covered sitting and reading pensively. 
 
 Sitf. How sad he looks ! sure, he is much afflicted. 
 
 A'. Hen. Who is there ? ha? 
 
 Nor. 'Pray God, he be not angry. 
 
 K. Hen. Who's there, I say ? How dare you 
 thrust yourselves 
 Into my private meditations? 
 Who am I? ha? 
 
 Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences 
 Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty, this way, 
 Is business of estate ; in which, we come 
 To know your royal pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. You are too bold ; 
 
 Go to ; I'll make ye know your times of business : 
 Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha? — 
 
 Enter Wolsey and Cajipeius. 
 
 Who's there ? my good lord cardinal ? — my 
 
 Wolsey, 
 The quiet of my wounded conscience, 
 Thou art a cure fit for a king.— You're welcome, 
 
 [To Campeius. 
 Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom ; 
 Use us, and it: — My good lord, have great care 
 I he not found a talker. [7b Wolset. 
 
 Wol. Sir, you cannot. 
 
 I would your grace would give us but an hour 
 Of private conference. 
 
 K. Hen. We are busy; go. 
 
 [To Norfolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Nor. This priest has no pride in him ? 
 
 Suf. Not to speak of; 
 
 I would not be so sick though, 5 for his 
 
 w ft .. P lace: f ,- ^ Aside 
 
 But this cannot continue. 
 
 Nor. If it do, 
 
 I'll venture one heave at him. 
 
 Suf. I another. 
 
 [Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom 
 Above all princes, in committing freely 
 Your scruple to the voice of Christendom : 
 Who can be angry now? what en.y reach you? 
 The Spaniard, tied by blood and favor to her, 
 Must now confess, if they have any goodness, 
 The trial just and noble. All the r' -ks, 
 I mean, the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms, 
 Have their free voices ; Rome, the nurse of judgment, 
 Invited by your noble self, hath sent 
 One general tongue unto us, this good man, 
 • So sick as he is proud. 
 
 
 This just and learned priest, cardinal Campelu- 
 Whom, once more, I present unto your highnrai. 
 K. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms, I bid 
 him welcome, 
 And thank the holy conclave for their lo\cs , ) 
 They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd 
 for. 
 Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all stran- 
 gers' loves, 
 You are so noble : To your highness' hand 
 I tender my commission; by whose virtue, 
 (The court of Rome commanding,) — you, my lord 
 Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant, 
 In the impartial judging of this business. 
 
 K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be 
 acquainted 
 Forthwith, for what you come; — Where's Gardiner? 
 Wol. I know your majesty has always lov'd her 
 So dear in heart not to deny her that 
 A woman of less place might ask by law, 
 Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her. 
 
 K. Hen. Ay, and the best she shall have ; and my 
 
 favor 
 
 To him that does best; God forbid else. Cardinal, 
 
 Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary; 
 
 I find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolsey 
 
 Re-enter Wolsey, with Gardiner. 
 
 Wol. Give me your hand : much j oy and favor 
 to you ; 
 You are the king's now. 
 
 Card. But to be commanded 
 
 For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. 
 
 [Aside 
 
 K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. 
 
 [They converse apart 
 
 Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace 
 In this man's place before him? 
 
 Wol. Yes, he was. 
 
 Cam. Was he not held a learned man ? 
 
 Wol. Yes, surely. 
 
 Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then 
 Even of yourself, lord cardinal. 
 
 Wol. ^ How! of me? 
 
 Cam. They will not stick to say you envied him , 
 And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, 
 Kept him a foreign man 6 still ; which so griev'd him, 
 That he ran mad, and died. 
 
 Wol. Heaven's peace be with him ! 
 
 That's Christian care enough : for living murmurers. 
 There's places of rebuke. He was a fool; 
 For he would needs be virtuous: That good fellow, 
 If I command him, follows my appointment; 
 I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother. 
 We live not to be griped by meaner persons. 
 
 K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. 
 [Exit Gardiner. 
 The most convenient place that I can think of, 
 For such receipt of learning, is Black-Friars; 
 There ye shall meet about this weighty business - — 
 My Wolsey, see it fumish'd. — my lord, 
 Would it not grieve an able man, to leave 
 So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience,- 
 0, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— An Ante-chamber >n ihe Queen's 
 
 Apartments. 
 
 Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady. 
 
 Anne. Not for that neither; — Here's the pang 
 
 that pinches: 
 
 His highness having liv'dso long with her: md sb> 
 
 • Out of the king's presence. 
 
*?8 
 
 KING HENRY VI II. 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 So good a lady, that no tongue could ever 
 Pronounce dishonor of her, — by my nfe, 
 She never knew harm-doing; — now, after 
 So mar.y courses of the sun enthron'd. 
 Still growing in a majesty and pomp, — the which 
 To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than 
 'Tis sweet at first to acquire, — after this process. 
 To give her the avaunt ! it is a pity 
 Would move a monster. 
 
 Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 
 
 Melt and lament for her. 
 
 Anne. 0, God's will! much better, 
 
 She ne'er had known pomp : though it be temporal, 
 Yet, if that quarrel, 1 fortune, do divorce 
 It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging 
 As soul and body severing. 
 
 Old L. Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 She's a stranger now again. 
 
 Anne. So much the more 
 
 Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 
 I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, 
 And range with humble livers in content, 
 Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
 And wear a golden sorrow. 
 
 Old L. Our content 
 
 Is our best having. 8 
 
 Anne. By my troth, and maidenhead, 
 
 I would not be a queen. 
 
 Old L. Beshrew me, I would, 
 
 And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you, 
 For all this spice of your hypocrisy: 
 You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, 
 Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet 
 Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 
 Which, to say sooth, 9 are blessings: and which gift, 
 (Saving your mincing,) the capacity 
 Of yo'ir soft cheveril' conscience would receive, 
 If you might please to stretch it. 
 
 Anne. Nay, good troth, — 
 
 Old L. Yes, troth, and troth, — You would not 
 be a queen] 
 
 Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 
 
 Old L. 'Tis strange, a three-pence bow'd 2 would 
 hire me, 
 Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you, 
 What think you of a duchess] have you limbs 
 To bear that load of title ] 
 
 Anne. No, in truth. 
 
 Old L. Then you are weakly made : Pluck off 
 a little ; 
 I would not be a young count in your way, 
 For more than blushing comes to: if your back 
 Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak 
 Ever to get a boy. 
 
 Anne. How you do talk! 
 I swear again, I would not be a queen 
 For all the world. 
 
 Old L. In faith, for little England 
 
 You'd venture an emballing: I myself 
 Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd 
 No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes 
 here] 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth 
 to know 
 The secret of your confidence ] 
 
 Anne. My good lord, 
 
 Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
 Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 
 
 Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
 
 * Quarreller. • Possession. ■ Truth. 
 
 KM-«kin. » Crook'd 
 
 The action of good women : there is hope. 
 All will be well. 
 
 Anne. Now, I pray God, amen ? 
 
 Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and Leaveni* 
 blessings 
 Follow such creatures. That you may, fair laajr, 
 Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note 's 
 Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
 Commends his good opinion to you, and 
 Does purpose honor to you no less flowing 
 Than marchioness of Pembroke; to which title 
 A thousand pound a year, annual support, 
 Out of his grace he adds. 
 
 Anne. I do not know, 
 
 What kind of my obedience I should tender ; 
 More than my all is nothing : nor my prayers 
 Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
 More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers, and 
 
 wishes, 
 Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship, 
 Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience, 
 As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; 
 Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. 
 
 Cham. Lady, 
 
 I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit 3 
 The king hath of you. — I have perus'd her well ; 
 
 [Aside. 
 Beauty and honor in her are so mingled, 
 That they have caught the king: and who knows yet, 
 But from this lady may proceed a gem, 
 To lighten all this isle ] — I'll to the king, 
 And say, I spoke with you. 
 
 Anne. My honor'd lord. 
 
 [Exit Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Old L. Why, this it is; see, see! 
 I have been begging sixteen years in court, 
 (Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could 
 Come pat betwixt too early and too late, 
 For any suit of pounds : and you, (0 fate !) 
 A very fresh-fish here, (fye, fye upon 
 This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fill'd up, 
 Before you open it. 
 
 Anne. This is strange to me. 
 
 Old L. How tastes it] is it bitter 1 forty pence, no. 
 There was a lady once, ('tis an old story,) 
 That would not be a queen, that would she not, 
 For all the mud in Egypt: — Have you heard it] 
 
 Anne. Come, you are pleasant. 
 
 Old L. With your theme, I could 
 
 O'ermountthe lark. The marchioness of Pembroke! 
 A thousand pounds a year! for pure respect; 
 No other obligation : By my life, 
 That promises more thousands : Honor's train 
 Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time, 
 I know, your back will bear a duchess; — Say, 
 Are you not stronger than you were ] 
 
 Anne. Good lady, 
 
 Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 
 And leave me out on't. 'Would I had no being, 
 If this salute my blood a jot ; it faints me, 
 To think what follows. 
 The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
 In our long absence : Pray, do not deliver 
 What here you have heard, to her. 
 
 Old L. What do you think me? 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Hall in Black-Fi.ars. 
 
 Trumpets, Sennets," and Cornets. Enter two Ver- 
 gers, with short sutvr tVands,- next them, two 
 Scribes, in the naoiisuf Z/aciwoj after them Ike 
 Archbishop of Canterbuht, awne,- after him. 
 » Opinion. * nourish on corneta. 
 
SCKNK IV 
 
 KING HENRY VTII. 
 
 r >7l> 
 
 the Bishops or Lincoln, Elt, Rochester, and 
 Saint Asaph; next them, with some small dis- 
 tance, follows a Gentleman bearing the Purse, 
 with the great Seal, and a Cardinal's Hat,- then 
 two Priests, bearing each a silver Cross,- then a 
 Gentleman-Usher bare-headed, accompanied 
 with a Sergeant at Arms bearing a silver Mace,- 
 then two Gentlemen, bearing two great silver 
 Pillars,-* after them, side by side, the two Cardi- 
 nals, Wolset. and Campeius; two Noblemen 
 with the Sword and Mace. Then enter the King 
 and Queen, and their Trains. The King takes 
 place under the Cloth of State,- the two Cardinals 
 sit under him as Judges. The Queen takes 
 place at some distance from the King. The Bi- 
 shops place themselves on each side of the Court, 
 in manner of a Consistory ,- between them, the 
 Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The 
 Crier and the rest of the Attendants stand in con- 
 venient order about the Stage. 
 Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, 
 
 Let silence be commanded. 
 
 K. Hen. What's the need? 
 
 It hath already publicly been read, 
 
 And on all sides the authority allow'd; 
 
 You may then spare that time. 
 
 Wol. Be't so : — Proceed. 
 
 Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into 
 
 the court. 
 Crier. Henry king of England, &c. 
 K. Hen. Here. 
 Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come 
 
 into court. 
 Crier. Katharine queen of England, &c. 
 
 [The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her 
 Chair, goes about the Court, comes totheKma, 
 and kneels at his feet,- then speaks. 
 Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you dome right and justice; 
 And to bestow your pity on me ; for 
 I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, 
 Born out of your dominions; having here 
 No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
 Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, 
 In what have I offended you ? what cause 
 Hath my behavior given to your displeasure, 
 That thus you should proceed to put me off, 
 A nd take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, 
 I have been to you a true and humble wife, 
 At all times to your will comformable : 
 Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, 
 Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry, 
 As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour, 
 I ever contradicted your desire, 
 Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your friends 
 Have I not strove to love, although I knew 
 He were mine enemy? what friend of mine 
 That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 
 Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice 
 He was from thence discharged ? Sir, call to mind 
 That I have been your wife, >n this obedience, 
 Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 
 With many children by you : If, in the course 
 And process of this time, you. can report, 
 And prove it too, against mine honor aught, 
 My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty, 
 Against your sacred person, in God's name, 
 Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 
 Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
 To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir, 
 The king, your father, was reputed for 
 A pr»nce most prudent, of an excellent 
 
 • Ensigns of dignity carried before cardinals. 
 
 And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand, 
 My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one 
 The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by manj 
 A year before : It is not to be question'd 
 That they had gather'd a wise council to them 
 Of every realm, that did debate this business. 
 Who deem'd our marriage lawful: Wherelbre I 
 
 humbly 
 Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 
 Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose counsel 
 I will implore : If not, i' the name of God, 
 Your pleasure be fulfill'd ! 
 
 Wol. You have here, lady, 
 
 (And of your choice,) these reverend fathers ; men 
 Of singular integrity and learning, 
 Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled 
 To plead your cause : It shall be therefore bootless,' 
 That longer you desire the court; as well 
 For your own quiet, as to rectify 
 What is unsettled in the king. 
 
 Cam. His grace 
 
 Hath spoken well and justly : Therefore, madam 
 It's fit this royal session do proceed; 
 And that, without delay, their arguments 
 Be now produced and heard. 
 
 Q. Kath. Lord cardinal, — 
 
 To you I speak. 
 
 Wol. Your pleasure, madam 1 
 
 Q. Kath. Sir, 
 
 I am about to weep; but, thinking that 
 We are a queen, (or long have dream'd so,) certain 
 The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
 I'll turn to sparks of fire. 
 
 Wol. Be patient yet. 
 
 Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble; nay, before, 
 Or God will punish me. I do believe, 
 Induced by potent circumstances, that 
 You are mine enemy ; and make my challenge, 
 You shall not be my judge: for it is you 
 Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, — 
 Which God's dew quench ! — Therefore, I say again, 
 I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul, 
 Refuse you for my judge ; whom, yet once more, 
 I hold my most malicious foe, and think not 
 At all a friend to truth. 
 
 Wol. I do profess 
 
 You speak not like yourself; who ever yet 
 Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects 
 Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
 O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me 
 
 wrong : 
 I have no spleen against you ; nor injustice 
 For you or any : how far I have proceeded, 
 Or how far further shall, is warranted 
 By a commission from the consistory, 
 Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge m» 
 That I have blown this coal : I do deny it : 
 The king is present : if it be known to him, 
 That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, 
 And worthily, my falsehood ? yea, as much, 
 As you have done my truth. But if he know 
 That I am free of your report, he knows, 
 I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him 
 It lies, to cure me; and the cure is, to 
 Remove those thoughts from you: The which beloro 
 His highness shall speak in, I do beseech 
 You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking 
 And to say so no more. 
 
 Q. Kath. My lord, my lord, 
 
 I am a simple woman, much too weak 
 To oppose your cunning. You are meeK., a») 
 humble-mouth'd ; 
 
580 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 You sign, your place and calling, in full seeming, 
 With meekness and humility : but your heart 
 fs cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. 
 You have by fortune, and his highness' favors, 
 Gone slightly o'er low steps; and now are mounted 
 Where powers are )'our retainers: andyourwords, 
 Domestics to you, serve your will, as't please 
 Yourself pronounce their office I must tell you, 
 You ten ler more your person's honor, than 
 Your high profession spiritual: That again 
 I do refuse you for my judge; and here, 
 Before you all, appeal unto the pope, 
 To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness, 
 And to be judged by him. 
 
 [She curtesies to the King, and offers to depart. 
 
 Cam. The queen is obstinate, 
 
 Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and 
 Disdainful to be try'd by it; 'tis not well. 
 She's going away. 
 
 K. Hen. Call her again. 
 
 Crier. Katherine, queen of England, come into 
 the court! 
 
 Grif. Madam, yen are call'd back. 
 
 Q. Kafh. What need you note it? pray you, 
 keep your way : 
 When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help, 
 They vex me pa^t my patience ! — Pray you, pass on: 
 ' will not tarry: no, nor ever more, 
 Upon this business, my appearance make 
 !n any of their courts. 
 
 [Exeunt Queen, Griffith, and her other 
 Attendants. 
 
 K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate : 
 
 That man i' the world who shall report he has 
 4 batter wife, let him in nought be trusted, 
 For speaking false in that: Thou art, alone, 
 (If t'.iy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
 Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, — 
 Obeying in commanding, and thy parts 
 Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,) 
 Th? queen of earthly queens: — She is noble born; 
 hud, like her true nobility, she has 
 Carried herself towards me. 
 
 Wol. Most gracious sir, 
 
 In humblest manner I require your highness, 
 That it shall please you to declare in hearing 
 Of all these ears, (for where I'm robb'd and bound, 
 There must I be unloos'd ; although not there 
 At once and fully satisfied,) whether ever I 
 Did broach this business to your highness; or 
 Laid any scruple in your way, which might 
 Induce you to the question on't ? or ever 
 Have to you, — but with thanks to God for such 
 A royal lady, — spake one the least word, might 
 Be to the prejudice of her present state, 
 Or touch of her good person 1 
 
 K. Hen. My lord cardinal, 
 
 I do excuse you, yea, upon mine honor, 
 I free you from't. You are not to be taught 
 That you have many enemies, that know not 
 Why they are so, but, like to village curs, 
 Bark when their fellows do: by some of these 
 The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd: 
 But will you be more justified 1 you ever 
 Have wish'd the sleeping of this business ; never 
 Desir'd it to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd; oft 
 The passages made 1 toward it ; — on my honor, 
 I speak, my good lord cardinal, to this point, 
 And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't, — 
 I will heboid with time and your attention: — 
 Then mark the inducement. Thus it came — give 
 heed to't 
 
 C1ob«1, or fastened. 
 
 My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness, 
 
 Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd 
 
 By the bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador, 
 
 Who had been hither sent on the debating 
 
 A marriage, 'twixt the duke of Orleans and 
 
 Our daughter Mary : I' the progress of this business 
 
 Ere a determinate resolution, he 
 
 (I mean the bishop) did require a respite; 
 
 Wherein he might the king his lord advertise 
 
 Whether our daughter were legitimate, 
 
 Respecting this our marriage with the dowager, 
 
 Sometime our brother's wife. This respite shook 
 
 The bosom of my conscience, entei'd me, 
 
 Yea, with a splitting power, and made to trembl* 
 
 The region of my breast; which forced such way, 
 
 That many maz'd considerings did throng. 
 
 And press'd in with this caution. First, methought, 
 
 I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had 
 
 Commanded nature, that my lady's womb, 
 
 If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should 
 
 Do no more offices of life to't than 
 
 The grave does to the dead ; for her male issue 
 
 Or died where they were made, or shortly after 
 
 This world had air'd them ; Hence I took a thought 
 
 This was a judgment on me ; that my kingdom, 
 
 Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not 
 
 Be gladded in't by me: Then follows, that 
 
 I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in 
 
 By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me 
 
 Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling* in 
 
 The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer 
 
 Toward this remedy, whereupon we are 
 
 Now present here together : that's to say, 
 
 I meant to rectify my conscience, — which 
 
 I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, — 
 
 By all the reverend fathers of the land, 
 
 And doctors learn'd. — First. I began in private 
 
 With you, my lord of Lincoln; you remember 
 
 How under my oppression I did reek, 9 
 
 When I first mov'd you. 
 
 Lira. Very well, my liege. 
 
 K. Hen. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself 
 to say 
 How far you satisfied me. 
 
 Lin. So please your highness, 
 
 The question did at first so stagger me, — 
 Bearing a state of mighty moment in't, 
 And consequence of dread, — that I committed 
 The daring'st counsel which I had, to doubt; 
 And did entreat your highness to this course, 
 Which you are running here. 
 
 K. Hen. I then mov'd you, 
 
 My lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave 
 To make this present summons : — Unsolicited 
 I left no reverend person in this court; 
 But by particular consent proceeded, 
 Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on : 
 For no dislike i' the world against the person 
 Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points 
 Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward: 
 Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life, 
 And kingly dignity, we are contented 
 To wear our mortal state to come, with her, 
 Katharine our queen, before the primest creature 
 That's paragon'd 1 o' the; world. 
 
 Cam. So please your highness, 
 
 The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness 
 That we adjourn this court till further day : 
 Mean while must be an earnest motion 
 Made to the queen, to call back her appeal 
 She intends unto his holiness. [They rise to depart- 
 
 j • Floating without guidance. • Waste, or wear away 
 
 1 Without compare. 
 
Act III. Scene I. 
 
 KIN\J} HENRY VIII. 
 
 3S I 
 
 K. Hen. I may perceive, [Aside. 
 
 These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor 
 This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. 
 My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, 
 
 Pr'ythee return ! with thy approach, I know, 
 My comfort comes along. Break up the court: 
 I say, set on. 
 
 [Exeunt, in manner as they entered 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Palace at Bridewell. A Room in 
 the Queen's Apartment. 
 
 The Queen, and some of her Women at Work. 
 
 Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench : my soul grows 
 sad with troubles ; 
 Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave 
 working. 
 
 SONG. 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees, 
 And the mountain-tops, that freeze, 
 
 Bow themselves, tohen. he did sing: 
 To his music, plants, and flowers, 
 Ever sprung,- as sim, and showers, 
 There had been a lasting spring. 
 
 Every thing that heard him play, 
 Even the billows of the sea, 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
 In sweet, music is such art,- 
 Killing care, and grief of heart, 
 Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 Q. Kath. How now 1 ? 
 
 Gent. An't please your grace, the two great car- 
 dinals 
 Wait in the presence. 2 
 
 Q. Kath. Would they speak with me ? 
 
 Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 
 Q. Kath. Pray their graces 
 
 To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their 
 
 business 
 With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favor? 
 I do not like their coming, now I think on't. 
 They should be good men; their affairs as righteous: 
 But all hoods make not monks. 
 
 Enter Wolsey and Campeius. 
 Wot. Peace to your highness ! 
 
 Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a 
 housewife ; 
 I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
 What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords ? 
 Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to with- 
 draw 
 Into vour private chamber, we shall give you 
 The full cause of our coming. 
 
 Q. Kath. Speak it here; 
 
 There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, 
 Deserves a corner: 'Would all other women 
 Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
 My lords, I care not (so much I am happy 
 Above a number) if my actions 
 Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them, 
 Envy and base opinion set against them, 
 I know my life so even: If your business 
 Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, 
 Out with it boldly; Truth loves open dealing. 
 Wol. Tanta est ergd te mentis integritas, re- 
 
 gina sercnissima, — 
 Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ; 
 1 am not such a truant since my coming, 
 As not to know the language I have liv'd in: 
 » Presence chamber. 
 
 A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, 
 
 suspicious; 
 Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank 
 
 you, 
 If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake ; 
 Believe me, she has had much wrong: Lord cardina . 
 The willing'st sin I ever yet committed, 
 May be absolv'd in English. 
 
 Wol. Noble lady, 
 
 I am sorry, my integrity should breed 
 (And service to his majesty and you) 
 So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
 We come not by the way of accusation, 
 To taint that honor every good tongue blesses; 
 Nor to betray you any way to sorrow; 
 You have too much, good lady : but to know 
 How you stand minded in the weighty difference 
 Between the king and you ; and to deliver, 
 Like free and honest men, our just opinions, 
 And comforts to your cause. 
 
 Cam. Most honor'd madam, 
 
 My lord of York, — out of his noble nature, 
 Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace ; 
 Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
 Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) — 
 Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, 
 His service and his counsel. 
 
 Q. Kath. To betray me. [Aside 
 
 My lords, I thank you both for your good wills, 
 Ye speak like honest men, (pray God ye prove so 
 But how to make you suddenly an answer, 
 In such a point of weight, so near mine honor, 
 (More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit, 
 And to such men of gravity and learning, 
 In truth, I know not. I was set at work 
 Among my maids; full little, God knows, looking 
 Either for such men, or such business. 
 For her sake that I have been, (for I feel 
 The last fit of my greatness,) good your graces, 
 Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause. 
 Alas! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless 
 
 Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these 
 fears ; 
 Your hopes and friends are infinite. 
 
 Q. Kath. In England. 
 
 But little for my profit: Can you think, lords. 
 That any Englishman dare give me counsel 1 
 Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure, 
 (Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,) 
 And live a subject ? Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
 They that must weigh out 3 my afflictions, 
 They that my trust must grow to, live not here ; 
 They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, 
 In mine own country, lords. 
 
 Cam. I would, your grau. 
 
 Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 
 Q. Kath. How, sir'' 
 
 Cam. Put your main cause into the king's pi* 
 tection ; 
 He's loving, and most gracious; 'twill Jv» muct 
 Both for your honor better, and your cause -, 
 For, if the trial of the law o'ertake yo;i. 
 You'll part away disgraced. 
 
 a Outweigh. 
 
582 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Wol. He tells you rightly. 
 
 Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin: 
 [s this your christian counsel ? out upon ye ! 
 Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a Judge, 
 That no king can corrupt. 
 
 Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 
 
 Q. Kath. The more shame for ye ; holy men I 
 thought ye, 
 Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues: 
 But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye: 
 Mend them for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? 
 The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady ? 
 A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd ? 
 I will not wish ye half my miseries, 
 I have more charity: But say, I warn'd ye; 
 Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once 
 The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. 
 
 Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; 
 You turn the good we offer into envy. 
 
 Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing: Woe upon ye, 
 And all such false professors ! Would ye have me 
 (Ef you have any justice, any pity ; 
 If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits) 
 Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? 
 Alas ! he has banish'd me his bed already ; 
 His love, too, long ago : I am old, my lords, 
 And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
 Is only my obedience. What can happen 
 To me, above this wretchedness? all your studies 
 Make me a curse like this. 
 
 Cam. Your fears are worse. 
 
 Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long — (let me speak 
 myself, 
 Since virtue finds no friends) — a wife, a true one? 
 A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory) 
 Never yet branded with suspicion ? 
 Have I with all my full affections 
 Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey'd 
 
 him ? 
 Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him ? 
 Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
 And am I thus rewarded ? 'tis not well, lords. 
 Bring me a constant woman to her husband, 
 One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure; 
 And to that woman, when she has done most, 
 Yet will I add an honor, — a great patience. 
 Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. 
 Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so 
 guilty, 
 To give up willingly that noble title 
 Y our mastei wed me to ; nothing but death 
 Shall e'er divorce my dignities. 
 
 Wol. 'Pray, hear me. 
 
 Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this English 
 earth, 
 Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! 
 Ye have angels' faces, bu t heaven knows your hearts. 
 What will become of me now, wretched lady? 
 I am the most unhappy woman living. — 
 Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? 
 [To her Women. 
 Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, 
 No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me, 
 Almost no grave allow'd me : — Like the lily, 
 That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, 
 I'll hang my head and perish. 
 
 Wol. If your grace 
 
 Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest. 
 You'd feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, 
 Upon what cause, wrong you? alas! our places, 
 The way of our profession is against it ; 
 We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them. 
 For goodness' sake, consider what you do : 
 
 How you may hurt yourself, ay, utieiiy 
 Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage 
 The hearts of princes kiss obedience, 
 So much they love it; but, to stubborn spirits. 
 They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
 I know, you have a gentle, noble temper, 
 A soul as even as a calm : Pray, think us 
 Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and ser- 
 vants. 
 Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your 
 virtues 
 With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, 
 As yours was put into you, ever casts 
 Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves 
 
 you; 
 Beware you lose it not: For us, if you please 
 To trust us in your business, we are ready 
 To use our utmost studies in your service. 
 
 Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords : And, pray, 
 forgive me, 
 If I have used 4 myself unmannerly ; 
 You know, I am a woman, lacking wit 
 To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
 Pray, do my service to his majesty: 
 He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers, 
 While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, 
 Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs, 
 That little thought, when she set footing here, 
 She should have bought her dignities so dear. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Ante-chamber to the King's Apart- 
 ment. 
 Enter the Duke of Norfolk, & Duke of Suf- 
 folk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord 
 
 Chamberlain. 
 
 Nor. If you will now unite in your complaints, 
 And force 5 them with a constancy, the cardinal 
 Cannot stand under them: If you omit 
 The offer of this time, I cannot promise, 
 But that you shall sustain more new disgraces, 
 With these you bear already. 
 
 Stir. I am joyful 
 
 To meet the least occasion, that may give me 
 Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, 
 To be revenged on him. 
 
 Suf. Which of the peers 
 
 Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least 
 Strangely neglected ? when did he regard 
 The stamp of nobleness in any person, 
 Out of himself?. 
 
 Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasure* 
 What he deserves of you and me, I know; 
 What we can do to him, (though now the time 
 Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot 
 Bar his access to the king, never attempt 
 Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft 
 Over the king in his tongue. 
 
 Nor. O, fear him not ; 
 
 His spell in that is out: the king hath found 
 Matter against him, that for ever mars 
 The honey of his language. No, he's settled, 
 Not to come off, in his displeasure. 
 
 Sur. Sir, 
 
 I should be glad to hear such news as this 
 Once every hour. 
 
 Nor. Believe it, this is true. 
 
 In the divorce, his contrary proceedings 
 Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears, 
 As I could wish mine enemy. 
 
 Sur. How camo 
 
 His practices to light? 
 
 4 Behaved. • Eaforefc 
 
Scene IT 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 58?J 
 
 Suf. Most strangely. 
 
 Sur. 0, how, how ] 
 
 Suf. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried, 
 And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read, 
 How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
 1 o stay the judgment o' the divorce: For if 
 It did take place, / do, quoth he, perceive 
 My king is tangled in affection to 
 A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen. 
 
 Sur. Has the king this! 
 
 Suf. Believe it. 
 
 Stcr. Will this work ? 
 
 Cham, The king in this perceives him how he 
 coasts. 
 And hedges, his own way. But in this point 
 All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
 After his patient's death: the king already 
 Hath married the fair lady. 
 
 Sur. 'Would he had ! 
 
 Suf. May you be happy in your wish, my lord ! 
 For, I profess, you have it. 
 
 Sur. Now all my joy 
 
 Trace 6 the conjunction! 
 
 Suf. My amen to't ! 
 
 Nor. All men's. 
 
 Suf. There's order given for her coronation : 
 Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left 
 To some ears unrecountcd. — But, my lords, 
 She is a gallant creature, and complete 
 In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her 
 Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
 In it be memoriz'd. 1 
 
 Sur. But, will the king 
 
 Digest this letter of the cardinal's 1 
 The Lord forbid ! 
 
 Nor. Marry, amen! 
 
 Suf. No, no ; 
 
 There be more wasps that buz about his nose, 
 Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius 
 Is stolen away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave; 
 Has left the cause o'the king unhandled; and 
 Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal, 
 To second all his plot. I do assure you, 
 The king cry'd, ha ! at this. 
 
 Cham.. Now, God incense him, 
 
 And let him cry, ha, louder! 
 
 Nor. But, my lord, 
 
 When returns Cranmer? 
 
 Suf. He is return'd, in his opinions; which 
 Have satisfied the king for his divorce, 
 Together with all famous colleges 
 Almost in Christendom : shortly, I believe, 
 His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 
 Her coronation. Katharine no more 
 Shall be call'd queen ; but princess-dowager, 
 And widow to prince Arthur. 
 
 Nor. This same Cranmer's 
 
 A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
 In the king's business. 
 
 Suf. He has ; and we shall see him 
 
 For it, an archbishop. 
 
 Nor. So I hear. 
 
 Suf. 'Tis so. 
 
 The cardinal — 
 
 Enter Wolset and Cromwell. 
 
 Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody. 
 
 Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king ? 
 Crom. To his own hand, in his bed-chamber. 
 Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper ? 
 Crom. Presently 
 
 He did unseal them : and the first he view'd, 
 Follow. ' Made memorable. 
 
 He did it with a serious mind ; a heed 
 Was in his countenance: You, he bade 
 Attend him here this morning. 
 
 Wol. Is he ready 
 
 To come abroad ? 
 
 Crom. I think, by this he is. 
 
 Wol. Leave me a while. — [Exit Chomwkil 
 It shall be to the duchess of Alencon, 
 The French king's sister: he shall marry ber. — 
 Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him: 
 There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen ! 
 No, we'll no Bullens. — Speedily I wish 
 To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pem- 
 broke ! 
 
 Nor. He's discontented. 
 
 Suf. May be, he hears the king 
 
 Does whet his anger to him. 
 
 Sur. Sharp enough. 
 
 Lord, for thy justice! 
 
 Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman ; a knight's 
 daughter, 
 To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! — ■ 
 This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; 
 Then, out it goes. — What though I know her vir 
 
 tuous, 
 And well-deserving'? yet I know her for 
 A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to 
 Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of 
 Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up 
 A heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one 
 Hath crawl'd into the favor of the king, 
 And is his oracle. 
 
 Nor. He is vex'd at something. 
 
 Suf. I would, 'twere something that would fret 
 the string, 
 The master-cord of his heart ! 
 
 Enter the Kixo, reading a Schedule,- and Lovell, 
 
 Suf. The king, the king 
 
 K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumu 
 lated 
 To his own portion ! and what expense by the houi 
 Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of Christ, 
 Does he rake this together? — Now, my lords; 
 Saw you the cardinal? 
 
 Nor. My lord, we have 
 
 Stood here observing him : Some strange commo- 
 tion 
 Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts; 
 Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, 
 Then, lays his finger on his temple; straight, 
 Springs out into fast gait; 8 then, stops again, 
 Strikes his breast hard ; and anon, he casts 
 His eye against the moon : in most strange postures 
 We have seen him set himself. 
 
 K. Hen. It may well be; 
 
 There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning 
 Papers of state he sent me to peruse. 
 As I requir'd; and wot 9 you, what I found 
 There; on my conscience, put unwittingly] 
 Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, — 
 The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, 
 Rich stuffs and ornaments of household; which 
 I find at such proud rate, that it outspeaks 
 Possession of a subject. 
 
 Nor. It's heaven's will; 
 
 Some spirit put this paper in the packet, 
 To bless your eye withal. 
 
 K. Hen. If we did think 
 
 His contemplation were above the earth, 
 And fix'd on spiritual object, he should stiU, 
 Dwell in his musings* but, I am afraid, 
 
 « Steps. » Xmow 
 
684 
 
 rUNG riENRY VIII. 
 
 Act 111. 
 
 His thin-kings are below the moon, not worth 
 His serious considering. 
 
 [He takes his Seat, and whispers Lovell, 
 who goes to Wolsey. 
 
 Wol. Heaven forgive me ! 
 
 Ever God bless your highness ! 
 
 K. Hen. Good, my lord, 
 
 You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the in- 
 ventory 
 Of your best graces in your mind; the which 
 You are now running o'er; you have scarce time 
 To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span, 
 To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that 
 I deem you an ill husband; and am glad 
 To have you therein my companion. 
 
 Wol. Sir, 
 
 For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
 To think upon the part of business, which 
 I bear i' the state; and nature does require 
 Her times of preservation, which, perforce, 
 I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
 Must give my tendance to. 
 
 K. Hen. You have said well. 
 
 Wol. And ever may your highness yoke together 
 As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
 With my well saying ! 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis well said again: 
 
 And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well: 
 And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you : 
 He said, he did ; and with his deed did crown 
 His word upon you. Since I had my office, 
 I have kept you next my heart; have not alone 
 Employ 'd you where high profits might come home, 
 But par'd my present havings, to bestow 
 My bounties upon you. 
 
 Wol. What should this mean 1 ? 
 
 Sur. The Lord increase this business ! [Aside. 
 
 K. Hen. Have I not made you 
 
 The prime man of the state ? I pray you, tell mc, 
 If what I now pronounce, you have found true: 
 And, if you may confess it, say withal, 
 If you are bound to us, or no. What say you? 
 
 Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, 
 Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could 
 My studied purposes requite ; which went 
 Beyond all man's endeavors: — my endeavors 
 Have ever come too short of my desires, 
 Yet, fil'd with my abilities: Mine own ends 
 Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed 
 To the good of your most sacred person, and 
 The profit of the state. For your great graces 
 Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I 
 Can nothing render but allegiant thanks ; 
 My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty, 
 Which ever has, and ever shall be growing. 
 Till death, that winter, kill it. 
 
 K. Hen. Fairly answer'd; 
 
 A loyal and obedient subject is 
 Therein illustrated: The honor of it 
 Does pay the act of it ; as, i' the contrary, 
 The foulness is the punishment. I presume, 
 That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
 My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honor, 
 
 more 
 On you, than any; so your hand, and heart, 
 Your brain, and every function of your power, 
 Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, 
 Xi. 'twere in love's particular, be more 
 To me, your friend, than any. 
 
 Wol. I do profess, 
 
 That for your highness' good I ever labor'd 
 More than mine own ; that am, have, and will be, 
 Though all the world should crack their duty to you, 
 
 And throw it from their soul: though perils did 
 Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and 
 Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty, 
 As doth a rock against the chiding flood, 
 Should the approach of this wild river break, 
 And stand unshaken yours. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken : 
 
 Take notice, lords, he has a loya'l breast, 
 For you have seen him open't. — Read o'er this • 
 
 [Giving him Papers* 
 And, after, this: and then to breakfast, with 
 What appetite you have. 
 
 [Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wol 
 
 set: the Nobles throng after him, smiling, 
 
 and whispering. 
 Wol. What should this mean 9 
 
 What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it 1 
 He parted frowning from me, as if min 
 Leap'd from his eyes : So looks the chafed lion 
 Upon 'the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; 
 Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper, 
 I fear, the story of his anger. — 'Tis so; 
 This paper has undone me : — 'Tis the account 
 Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
 For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the popedom, 
 And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence, 
 Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil 
 Made me put this main secret in the packet 
 I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this? 
 No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
 I know, 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
 A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune 
 Will bring me off again. What's this — To the Pope? 
 The letter, as I live, with all the business 
 I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell! 
 I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness ; 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see me more. 
 
 Re-enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the 
 
 Eaiil of SunnET, and the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal ; who 
 commands you 
 To render up the great seal presently 
 Into our hands; and to confine yourself 
 To Asher-House, 1 my lord of Winchester's, 
 Till you hear further from his highness. • 
 
 Wol. Stay, 
 
 Where's your commission, lords? words cannoi 
 
 carry 
 Authority so weighty. 
 
 Suf. Who dare cross them ? 
 
 Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? 
 
 Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it 
 (I mean your malice,) know, officious lords, 
 I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel 
 Of what coarse metal ye are moulded — envy. 
 How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, 
 As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton 
 Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin ! 
 Follow your envious courses, men of malice; 
 You have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt, 
 In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, 
 You ask with such a violence, the king 
 (Mine and your master) with his own hand gave me : 
 Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honors, 
 During my life; and, to confirm his goodness, 
 Tied it by letters patent: Now, who'll take it? 
 
 Sur. The king, that gave it. 
 
 Wol. It must be himself then 
 
 i Behcr in Surrey. 
 
SCENK U. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 585 
 
 ^ur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 
 Wol. Proud lord, thou liest; 
 
 Within these forty hours, Surrey durst better 
 Have burnt that tongue, than said so. 
 
 Sur Thy ambition, 
 
 Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
 Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law: 
 The heads of all thy brother cardinals, 
 (With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,) 
 Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy ! 
 You sent me deputy for Ireland ; 
 Far from his succor, from the king, from all 
 That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him ; 
 Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
 Absolv'd him with an axe. 
 
 Wol. This, and all else 
 
 This f alk:ng lord can lay upon my credit, 
 I answer, is most false. The duke by law 
 Found his deserts: how innocent I was 
 From any private malice in his end, 
 His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
 If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you, 
 You have as little honesty as honor; 
 That I, in the way of loyalty and truth 
 Toward the king, my ever royal master, 
 Dare mate 2 a sounder man than Surrey can be, 
 And all that love his follies. 
 
 Sur. By my soul, 
 
 Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou shouldst 
 
 feel 
 My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. — My lords. 
 Can ye endure to hear this arrogance? 
 And from this fellow 1 If we live thus tamely, 
 To be thus jaded 3 by a piece of scarlet, 
 Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, 
 And dare us with his cap, like larks. 4 
 
 Wol. All goodness 
 
 Is poison to thy stomach. 
 
 Sur. Yes, that goodness 
 
 Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, 
 Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion; 
 The goodness of your intercepted packets, 
 You writ to the pope, against the king; your good- 
 ness, 
 Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. — 
 My lord of Norfolk, — as you are truly noble, 
 As you respect the common good, the state 
 Of our despis'd nobility, our issues, 
 Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, — 
 Produce the grand sum of his. sins, the articles 
 Collected from his life: — I'll startle you 
 Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench 
 . Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 
 
 Wi/l. How much, methinks, I could despise this 
 man, 
 But that I am bound in charity against it! 
 
 Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's 
 hand : 
 Rut, thus much, they are foul ones. 
 
 Wol. So much fairer, 
 
 And spotless, shall mine innocence arise, 
 When the king knows my truth. 
 
 Sur. This cannot save you : 
 
 I thank my memory, I yet remember 
 Some of these articles ; and out they shall. 
 Now, if you can, blush, and cry guilty, cardinal, 
 You'll show a little honesty. 
 
 Wol. Speak on, sir : 
 
 1 dare your worst objections: If I blush, 
 ft is, to see a nobleman want manners. 
 
 * E iuf.1. 3 Ridden down. 
 
 * A cardinal's hat is scarlet, and the method of daring 
 larks is sv email mirrors on scarlet cloth. 
 
 Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have 
 at you. 
 First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge, 
 You wrought to be a legate ; by which power 
 You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 
 
 Nor. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else 
 To foreign princes, Ego et Rex meus 
 Was still inscribed; in which you brought the 
 
 king 
 To be your servant. 
 
 Suf. Then, that without the knowledge 
 
 Either of king or council, when you went 
 Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
 To carry into Flanders the great seal. 
 
 Sur. Item, you sent a large commission 
 To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude, 
 Without the king's will, or the state's allowance, 
 A league between his highness and Ferrara. 
 
 Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd 
 Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. 
 Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- 
 stance, 
 (By what means got, I leave to your own con- 
 science,) 
 To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways 
 You have for dignities; to the mere* undoing 
 Of all the kingdom. Many more there are; 
 Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
 I will not taint my mouth with. 
 
 Cham. my lord, 
 
 Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue: 
 His faults lie open to the laws; let them, 
 Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him 
 So little of his great self. 
 
 Sur. I forgive him. 
 
 Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure 
 is> — 
 Because all those things, you have done of late 
 By your power legatine within this kingdom, 
 Fall into the compass of a praemunire," — 
 That therefore such a writ be sued against you; 
 To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, 
 Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
 Out of the king's protection: — This is my charge. 
 Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations 
 How to live better. For your stubborn answer, 
 About the giving back the great seal to us, 
 The king shall know it, and no doubt, shall thank 
 
 you. 
 So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Wolset. 
 Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honors thick upon him: 
 The third da}', comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
 And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 His greatness is a ripening — nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory; 
 But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
 At length broke under me; and now has left mf 
 Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide mc. 
 Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ; 
 I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors' 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin. 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have 
 
 ' Absolute. 
 
 • A writ incurring a penalty. 
 2 O 
 
88 
 
 56 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 And whei. he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again. — 
 
 Enter Chomwell, amazedly. 
 
 Why, how now, Cromwell? 
 
 Crora. I have no power to speak, sir. 
 
 Wol. What, amaz'd 
 
 tit my misfortunes'? can thy spirit wonder, 
 A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, 
 i am fallen indeed. 
 
 Crorn. How does your grace .' 
 
 Wol. Why, well; 
 
 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
 I know myself now; and I feel within me 
 A peace above all earthly dignities, 
 A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, 
 [ humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders, 
 These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
 A load would sink a navy, too much honor; 
 0, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, 
 Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 
 
 Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right 
 use of it. 
 
 Wol. I hope, I have: I am able now, methinks, 
 (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) 
 To endure more miseries, and greater far, 
 Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
 What news abroad? 
 
 Crom. The heaviest and the worst, 
 
 Is your displeasure with the king. 
 
 Wol. God bless him ! 
 
 Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen 
 Lord chancellor in your place. 
 
 Wol. That's somewhat sudden: 
 
 But he's a learned man. May he continue 
 Long in his highness' favor, and do justice 
 For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones, 
 When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
 May have a tomb of orphans' tears 1 wept on 'em ! 
 What more? 
 
 Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, 
 Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Wol. That's news indeed. 
 
 Crom. Last, the lady Anne, 
 
 Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
 This day was view'd in open, as his queen, 
 Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
 Only about her coronation. 
 
 Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. 
 O Cromwell, 
 The king has gone beyond me, all my glories 
 \ii that one woman I have lost for ever: 
 No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, 
 Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
 
 Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell, 
 
 I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
 
 To be thy lord and master: Seek the king; 
 
 That sun, I pray, may never set ! I have told him 
 
 What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee 
 
 Some little memory of me will s*ir him 
 
 (I know his noble nature) not to let 
 
 Thy hopeful service perish too: Gouii (Jromw^K 
 
 Neglect him not; make use 8 now, and provide 
 
 For thine own future safety. 
 
 Crom. O, my lord, 
 
 Must I then leave you ? Must I needs foi«-go 
 So good, so noble, and so true a master? 
 Bear witness, all, that have not hearts of iron, 
 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
 The king shall have my service; but my prayers 
 For ever, and for ever, shall be yours. 
 
 Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me 
 Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 
 Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell 
 And — when I am forgotten, as I shall be; 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 Of me more must be heard of — say, I taught thee, 
 Say, Wolsey — that once trod the ways of glory, 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor — 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ; 
 By that sin fell the angels; how can man then, 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? 
 Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate 
 
 thee; 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not ; 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, Crom- 
 well, 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king, 
 And, — Pr'ythee lead me in: 
 There take an inventory of all I have, 
 To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe, 
 And my integrity to heaven, is all 
 I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 
 Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
 I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies. 
 
 Crom. Good sir, have patience. 
 
 Wol. So I have. Farewell 
 
 The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do dwell. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street in Westminster. 
 Enter two Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gem. You are well met once again. 
 
 2 Gent. And so are you. 
 
 1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, and 
 
 behold 
 "he lady Anne pass from her coronation? 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last en- 
 
 counter, 
 The duke of Buckingham came for his trial. 
 
 I Gent. 'Tis very true: but that time offer'd sorrow; 
 Thi-', general joy. 
 
 ' Vh.e chuicellor is the guardian of orphans. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis well : the citizens, 
 
 I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds , 
 As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward 
 In celebration of this day with shows, 
 Pageants, and sights of honor. 
 
 1 Gent. Never greater, 
 Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains 
 That paper in your hand? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes ; 'tis the list 
 
 Of those that claim their offices this day 
 By custom of the coronation. 
 The uuke of Suffolk is the first, and claims 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 587 
 
 I'o be high steward; next, the duke of Norfolk, 
 He to be earl marshal; you may read the rest. 
 2 Gent. I thank you, sir ; had I not known those 
 customs, 
 I should have been beholden to your paper. 
 But, I boseeeh you, what becomes of Katharine, 
 The princess-dowager ? how goes her business 1 
 
 1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The arch- 
 
 bishop 
 Of Canterbury, accompanied with other 
 Learned and reverend fathers of his order, 
 Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off 
 From Ampthill, where the princess lay ; to which 
 She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not: 
 And to be short, for not appearance, and 
 The king's late scruple, by the main assent 
 Of all these learned men she was divorced, 
 And the late marriage made of none effect: 
 Since which, she was remov'd to Kimbolton, 
 Where she remains now, sick. 
 
 2 Gent. Alas, good lady ! — 
 
 [Trumpets. 
 The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is 
 coming. 
 
 THE ORDEH OF THE PROCESSIONS 
 
 A lively flourish of Trumpets; then enter, 
 
 1. Two Judges. 
 
 2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace be- 
 
 fore him. 
 
 3. Choristers singing. [Music. 
 
 4. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then 
 
 Garter, i?i his coat of' arms, and, on his 
 head, a gilt copper crown. 
 
 5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on 
 
 his head a demi-coronal of gold. With 
 him, the Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod 
 of silver, with the dove, crowned with an 
 earl's coronet. Collars of SS. 
 
 6. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coro- 
 
 net on his head, bearing a long white 
 wand, as high steward. With him the 
 Duke of Norfolk, with the rod of marshal- 
 ship, a coronet on h is head. Collars of SS. 
 
 7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports,- 
 
 under it, the Queen in her robe,- in her 
 hair, richly adorned with pearl, crowned. 
 On each side of her, the Bishops of Lon- 
 don and Winchester. 
 
 8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of 
 
 gold, wrought loith flowers, bearing the 
 Queen's train. 
 
 9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain cir- 
 
 cles of gold without flowers. 
 2 Gent. A royal train, believe me, — These I 
 know ; — 
 Who's that, that bears the sceptre ? 
 
 1 Gent. Marquis Dorset : 
 And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 
 
 2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman: And that 
 
 should be 
 The duke of Suffolk. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the same ; high-steward. 
 
 2 Gent. And that, my lord of Norfolk] 
 
 1 Gent. Yes. 
 
 2 Gent. Heaven bless thee ! 
 
 [Looking on the Queen. 
 Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. — 
 Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel; 
 Our king has all the Indies in his arms, 
 And more, and richer, when he strains that lady: 
 I cannot blame his conscience. 
 
 I Gent. They, that bear 
 
 The cloth of honor over her, are four barons 
 Of the Cinque-ports. 
 
 2 Gent. Those men are happy; and so are ali 
 are near her. 
 I take it, she that carries up the train, 
 Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk. 
 
 1 Gent. It is ; and all the rest are countesses. 
 
 2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars 
 
 indeed; 
 And, sometimes, falling ones. 
 
 1 Gent. No more of that. 
 
 [Exit Procession, with a great flourish o 
 Trumpets. 
 
 v nter a Third Gentleman. 
 
 God save you, sir! where have you been broiling': 
 
 3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the abbey; where a 
 
 finger 
 Could not be wedg'd in more ; and I am stifled 
 With the mere rankness of their joy. 
 
 2 Gent. You saw 
 The ceremony 1 
 
 3 Gent. That I did. 
 
 1 Gent. How was it 1 
 3 Gent. Well worth the seeing. 
 
 2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us 
 
 3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich strean 
 Of lords, and ladies, having brought the queen 
 To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off 
 
 A distance from her ; while her grace sat down 
 To rest a while, some half an hour, or so, 
 In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 
 The beauty of her person to the people. 
 Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman 
 That ever lay by man; which when the people 
 Had the mil view of, such a noise arose 
 As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 
 As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks, 
 (Doublets, I think,) flew up; and had their faces 
 Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 
 I never saw before. Great-bellied women, 
 That had not half a week to go, like rams 
 In the old time of war, would shake the press, 
 And make them reel before them. No man living 
 Could say, This is my wife, there; all were woven 
 So strangely in one piece. 
 
 2 Gent. But, 'pray, what follow'd? 
 
 3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest 
 
 paces 
 Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and, saint- 
 like, 
 Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. 
 Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people : 
 When by the archbishop of Canterbury 
 She had all the royal makings of a queen; 
 As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, 
 The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
 Laid nobly on her: which pcrrorm'd, the choir, 
 With all the choicest music of the kingdom. 
 Together sung Te Deum. So she parted, 
 And with the same full state paced back again 
 To York-place, where the feast is held. 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, you 
 Must no more call it York-place, that is past. 
 For, since the cardinal fell, that title's' lost; 
 'Tis now the king's, and call'd — Whitehal' 
 
 3 Gent. I know it: 
 
 But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name 
 Is fresh about me. 
 
 2 Gent. What two ieveit id bishopb 
 Were those that went on each side of the i|ueen'' 
 
 3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner ; the om >>fWin 
 
 Chester. 
 
588 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act I? 
 
 (Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,) 
 The other, London. 
 
 2 Gent. He of Winchester 
 
 s held no great good lover of the archbishop's, 
 The virtuous Cranmer. 
 
 '.I Gent. All the land knows that : 
 
 However, yet there's ho great breach; when it comes, 
 Oanmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 
 
 2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you ? 
 
 3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell ; 
 A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 
 A worthy friend. — The king 
 
 Has made him master o' the jewel-house, 
 And one, already, of the privy-council. 
 
 2 Gent. He will deserve more. 
 
 3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt. 
 Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 
 
 Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests; 
 Something I can command. As I walk thither, 
 I'll tell ye more. 
 
 Both. You may command us, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Kimbolton. 
 
 Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick; led between 
 
 Griffith and Patience. 
 
 Grif. How does your grace 1 
 
 Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death: 
 
 My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, 
 Willing to leave their burden: Reach a chair; — 
 So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
 Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, 
 That the great child of honor, cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead] 
 
 Grif. Yes, madam ; but I think, your grace, 
 Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to 't. 
 
 Kath. Pr'y thee, good Griffith, tell me how he died : 
 [f well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 9 
 For my example. 
 
 Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam: 
 
 Far after the stout earl Northumberland 
 Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
 (As a man sorely tainted) to his answer, 
 He fell sick suddenly, and g> - ew so ill 
 He could not sit his mule. 
 
 Kath. Alas ! poor man ! 
 
 Grif. At last,with easy roads, he came to Leicester, 
 Ludg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
 With all his convent, honorably receiv'd him ; 
 To whom he gave these words, — 0, father abbot, 
 An old man, broken with the storms of state, 
 Ts come to lay his weary bones among ye,- 
 Give him a little earth jor charity.' 
 So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness 
 Pursu'd him still ; and three nights after this, 
 About the hour of eight, (which he himself 
 Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance, 
 Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, 
 He gave his honors to the world again, 
 His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 
 
 Kath. So may he- rest; his faults lie gently on 
 him ! 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
 And yet with charity, — He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himself with princes; one that by suggestion 
 Ty'd all the kingdom: simony was fair play; 
 His own opinion was his law ; I' the presence' 
 He would say untruths; and be ever double 
 Both in his words and meaning: He was never, 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful: 
 His promises were, as he then was, mighty; 
 But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
 » Haply. » Of the king. 
 
 Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
 The clergy ill example. 
 
 Grif. Noble madam. 
 
 Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues 
 We write in water. May it please your highnts* 
 To hear me speak his good now ? 
 
 Kath. Yes, good Griffith 
 
 I were malicious else. 
 
 Grif. The cardinal, 
 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fashion'd to much honor. From his cradk 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
 Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading: 
 Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not; 
 But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer 
 And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
 (Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam, 
 He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
 Those twins of learning, that he raised in you, 
 Ipswich, and Oxford! one 3 of which fpll with him, 
 Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; 
 The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 
 So excellent in art, and still so rising, 
 That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
 For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
 And found the blessedness of being little: 
 And, to add greater honors to his age 
 Than man could give him, he died, fearing God. 
 Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 To keep mine honor from corruption, 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
 With thy religious truth, and modesty, 
 Now in his ashes honor: Peace be with him ! — 
 Patience, be near me still; and set me lower: 
 I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
 Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
 I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
 On that celestial harmony I go to. 
 
 Sad and solemn Music. 
 Grif She is asleep. Good wench, let's sit down 
 quiet, 
 For fear we wake her; — Softly, gentle Patience. 
 Tlie Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after 
 another, six Personages, clad in white robes, 
 ivearing on their heads garlands of bays and 
 golden vizards on their faces: brunches of bays 
 or palm in their hands. They first congee untc 
 her, then dance,- and, at certain changes, thefi?-st 
 two hold a spare garland over her head; at which, 
 the other four make reverend courfsies,- then the 
 two that held the garland, deliver the same to the 
 other next two, who observe the same order in 
 their changes, and 'holding the garland over Iter 
 head,- which done, they deliver the same garland 
 to the last two, who likewise observe the same or- 
 der.- at which, (as it were by inspiration.) she 
 makes in her sleep sig?is of rejoicing, an d holdeth 
 up her hands to heaven.- and so in their dancing 
 they vanish, carrying the garland, with them 
 The music continues. 
 
 Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye ? Are ye all 
 gone? 
 And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ? 
 Grif. Madam, we are here. 
 Kath. It is not you I call for: 
 
 Saw ye none enter, since I slept? 
 
 Grif None, madam. 
 
 Kath. No? Saw you in t, even now, a blessed tiooji 
 * Ipswich. 
 
•vct V. Scene I. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 589 
 
 invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces 
 
 Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? 
 
 They p-omis'd me eternal happiness ; 
 
 And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
 
 [ am not worthy yet to wear: I shall, 
 
 Assuredly. 
 
 Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
 Possess your fancy. 
 
 Kath. Bid the music leave, 
 
 They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases. 
 
 Pat. Do you note, 
 
 How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden] 
 How long her face is drawn ? How pale she looks, 
 And of an earthy cold ? Mark you her eyes ' 
 Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray. 
 Pat. Heaven comfort her ? 
 
 Eni%r a Messenger. 
 Mess. An't like your grace, — 
 Kath. You are a saucy fellow ; 
 
 Deserve we no more reverence ? 
 
 Grif. You are to blame, 
 
 Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness, 
 To use so rude behavior : go to, kneel. 
 
 Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon: 
 My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying 
 A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. 
 Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this 
 fellow 
 Let me ne'er see again. 
 
 [Exeunt Griffith a?id Messenger. 
 Re-enter Griffith with Cafucius. 
 If my sight fail not, 
 You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
 My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 
 Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. 
 Kath. O, my lord, 
 
 The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely 
 With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, 
 What is your pleasure with me ? 
 
 Cap. Noble lady, 
 
 First, mine own service to your grace ; the next, 
 The king's request that I would visit you; 
 Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me 
 Sends you his princely commendations, 
 And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 
 Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too 
 late; 
 'Tis like a pardon after execution : 
 That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me ; 
 But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. 
 How does his highness ? 
 
 Cap. Madam, in good health. 
 
 Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish, 
 
 When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
 Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is that letter, 
 I caus'd you write, yet sent away ? 
 
 Pat. No, madam. 
 
 [Giving it to Katharine, 
 
 Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver 
 This to my lord the king. 
 
 Cap. Most willing, madam. 
 
 Kath. In which I ha ve commended to his goodness 
 The model of our chaste loves, his young daugh 
 
 ter; 3 — 
 The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! — 
 Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding ; 
 (She is young, and of a noble modest nature ; 
 I hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little 
 To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him, 
 Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
 Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
 Upon my wretched women, that so long 
 Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully : 
 Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
 (And now I should not lie,) but will deserve 
 For virtue, and true beauty of the soul. 
 For honesty, and decent carriage, 
 A right good husband, let him be a noble ; 
 And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them. 
 The last is, for my men : — they are the poorest. 
 But poverty could never draw them from me: — 
 That they may have their wages duly paid them, 
 And something over to remember me by; 
 If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life, 
 And able means, we had not parted thus. 
 These are the whole contents: — And, good my 
 
 lord, 
 By that you love the dearest in this world, 
 As you wish christian peace to souls departed, 
 Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 
 To do me this last right. 
 
 Cap. By heaven, I will ; 
 
 Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 
 
 Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
 In all humility unto his highness: 
 Say, his long trouble now is passing 
 Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd him, 
 For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell, 
 My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
 You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; 
 Call in move women. When I am dead, good wench 
 Let me be used with honor ; strew me over 
 With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
 I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, 
 Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like 
 A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
 I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Katharine 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Gallery in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Page, 
 with a Torch before him, met by Sir Thomas 
 
 LoVELL. 
 
 Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not? 
 
 Boy. It hath struck. 
 
 Gar. These should be hours for necessities, 
 Not for delights ; times to repair our nature 
 With comforting repose, and not for us 
 To waste these times. — Good hour of night, sir 
 
 Thomas \ 
 Whither so late ? 
 
 Tjor. Came you from the lung, my lord? 
 
 Gar. I did, sir Thomas ; and left him at prirriero 4 
 With the duke of Suffolk. 
 
 Lov. I must to him too, 
 
 Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. 
 
 Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the 
 matter ? 
 It seems, you are in haste : an if there be 
 No great offence belongs to't, give your friend 
 Some touch of your late business : Affairs, that walk 
 (As, they say, spirits do) at midnight, hav. 
 In them a wilder nature, than the business 
 That seeks despatch by day. 
 
 Lov. My lord, I love you 
 
 » Afterwards queen Mary. * A game at carda. 
 
590 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act \ 
 
 And durst commend a secret to your ear 
 
 .Much weightier than this work. The queen's in 
 
 labor, 
 They say, in great extremity ; and fear'd, 
 She'll with the labor end. 
 
 Gar. The fruit, she goes with, 
 
 I pray for heartily ; that it may find 
 Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir Thomas, 
 I wish it grubb'd up now. 
 
 Lov Methinks, I could 
 
 Cry the amen ; and yet my conscience says 
 She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
 Dese-ve our better wishes. 
 
 Gar. But, sir, sir, — 
 
 He?r me, sir Thomas: you are a gentleman 
 Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; 
 And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, — 
 'Twill not, sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me, 
 Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, 
 Sleep in their graves. 
 
 Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two 
 
 The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Crom- 
 well, — 
 Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master 
 O' the rolls, and the king's secretary : further, sir, 
 Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, 
 With which the time will load him : The archbishop 
 Is the king's hand, and tongue ; And who dare speak 
 One syllable against him ? 
 
 Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, 
 
 There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd 
 To speak my mind of him : and, indeed, this day, 
 Sir, (I may tell it you,) I think, I have 
 Incens'd 5 the lords o' the council, that he is 
 (For so I know he is, they know he is) 
 A most arch heretic, a pestilence 
 That does infect the land : with which they moved, 
 Have broken with 6 the king ; who hath so far 
 Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace 
 And princely care ; foreseeing those fell mischiefs, 
 Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded, 
 To-morrow morning to the council-board 
 He be convented. 1 He's a rank weed, sir Thomas, 
 And we must root him out. From your affairs 
 I hinder you too long : good night, sir Thomas. 
 
 Lov. Many good nights, my lord ; I rest your 
 servant. [Exeunt Gardiner and Page. 
 
 As Lovell is going out, enter the King and the 
 Duke of Suffolk. 
 
 K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night; 
 My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me. 
 
 Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before. 
 
 K. Hen. But little, Charles; 
 Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. — 
 Now. Lovell, from the queen what is the news'! 
 
 Lov. I could not personally deliver to her 
 What you commanded me, but by her woman 
 I sent your message; who return'd her thanks 
 In the greatest humbleness, and desired your high- 
 ness 
 Most heartily to pray for her. 
 
 K. Hen. What say'st thou ? ha ! 
 
 To pray for her? what, is she crying out? 
 
 Lov. So said her woman ; and that her suffer- 
 ance made 
 Almost each pang a death. 
 
 K. Hen. Alas, good lady ! 
 
 Suf God safely quit her of her burden, and 
 With gentle travail, to the gladding of 
 Tour highness with an heir! 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis midnight, Charles, 
 
 • Set on. * Told their minds tr ' Summoned. 
 
 Pr'ythee, to bed ; and in thy prayers remember 
 The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone 
 For I must think of that, which company 
 Will not be friendly to. 
 
 Suf. I wish your highness 
 
 A quiet night, and my good mistress will 
 Remember in my prayers. 
 
 K. Hen. Charles, good night. 
 
 [Exit Suffolk. 
 Enter Sir Anthony Denny. 
 Well, sir, what follows? 
 
 Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop 
 As you commanded me. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha! Canterbury? 
 
 Den. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis true : Where is he, Denny? 
 
 Den. He attends your highness' pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. Bring him to us. 
 
 [Exit Dknny. 
 
 Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake; 
 I am happily come hither. [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer. 
 
 K. Hen. Avoid the gallery. 
 
 [Lovell seems to stay 
 Ha ! — I have said. — Be gone. 
 What — [Exeunt Lovell and Dennt 
 
 Cran. I am fearful: Wherefore frowns he thus? 
 'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well. 
 
 K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire to 
 know 
 Wherefore I sent for you. 
 
 Cran. It is my duty, 
 
 To attend your highness' pleasure. 
 
 K. Hen. Pray you, arise, 
 
 My good and gracious lord of Canterbury. 
 Come, you and I must walk a turn together; 
 I have news to tell you : Come, come, give me 
 
 your hand. 
 Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, 
 And am right sorry to repeat what follows: 
 I have, and most unwillingly, of late 
 Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, 
 Grievous complaints of you ; which,being consider' J, 
 Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall 
 This morning come before us ; where, I know, 
 You cannot with such freedom purge yourself, 
 But that, till further trial in those charges 
 Which will require your answer, you must take 
 Your patience to you, and be well contented 
 To make your house our Tower : You a brother >f 
 
 us, 8 
 It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness 
 Would come against you. 
 
 Cran. I humbly thank your highness 
 
 And am right glad to catch this good occasion 
 Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chafl 
 And corn shall fly asunder : for, I know, 
 There's none stands under more calumnious 
 
 tongues, 
 Than I myself, poor man. 
 
 K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury; 
 
 Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted 
 In us, thy friend : Give me thy hand, stand up; 
 Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame, 
 What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd 
 You would have given me your petition, that 
 I should have ta'en some pains to bring together 
 Yourself and your accusers ; and to have heard you 
 Without indurance, further. 
 
 Cran. Most dread liege, 
 
 The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty 
 » One of the council. 
 
ScHNE II 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 591 
 
 If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, 
 Will tiiumph o'er my person; which I weigh not, 
 Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing 
 What can be said against me. 
 
 K. Hen. Know you not how 
 
 Your state stands i' the world, with the whole world? 
 Your enemies 
 
 Are many, and not small ; their practices 
 Must bear the same proportion : and not ever 
 The justice and the truth o' the question carries 
 The due o' the verdict with it: At what ease 
 Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt 
 To swear against you? such things have been done. 
 You are potently oppos'd; and with a malice 
 Of as great size. Ween 9 you of better luck. 
 I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master, 
 Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd 
 Upon this naughty earth ? Go to, go to ; 
 You take a precipice for no leap of danger, 
 And woo your own destruction. 
 
 Cran. God, and your majesty, 
 
 Protect mine innocence, or I fall into 
 The trap is laid for me ! 
 
 K. Hen. Be of good cheer ; 
 
 They shall no more prevail, than we give way to. 
 Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see 
 You do appear before them : if they shall chance, 
 In charging you with matters, to commit you, 
 The best persuasions to the contrary 
 Fail not to use, and with what vehemency 
 The occasion shall instruct you : if entreaties 
 Will render you no remedy, this ring 
 Deliver them, and your appeal to us 
 There make before them. — Look, the good man 
 
 weeps ! 
 He's honest, on mine honor. God's blest mother ! 
 I swear, he is true-hearted ; and a soul 
 None better in my kingdom. — Get you gone, 
 And do as I have bid you. — [Exit Crajjmer.] He 
 
 has strangled 
 His language in his tears. 
 
 Enter an old Lady. 
 
 Gent. [ Within.'] Come back ; What mean you 1 
 
 Lady. I'll not come back : the tidings that I bring 
 Will make my boldness manners. — Now, good 
 
 angels 
 Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person 
 Under their blessed wings ! 
 
 K. Hen. Now, by thy looks 
 
 I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd? 
 Say, ay ; and of a boy ? 
 
 Lady. Ay, ay, my liege ; 
 
 And of a lovely boy: The God of heaven 
 Both now and ever bless her! — 'tis a girl, 
 Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen 
 Desires your visitation, and to be 
 Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you 
 Vs cherry is to cherry. 
 
 A'. Hen. Lovell, — 
 
 Enter Lovell. 
 Lor.. Sir. 
 
 K. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to 
 the queen. [Exit King. 
 
 Lady. An hundred marks ! by this light, I'll have 
 
 more : 
 n ordinary groom is for such payment; 
 I will have more, or scold it out of him. 
 Said I for this, the girl is like to him ? 
 I will have more, or else unsay't ; and now 
 While \ is hot, I'll put it to the '^ue. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Lobby before the Council- Ckarnbei 
 
 Enter Cranmer; Servants, Door-Keeper, $c., 
 
 attending. 
 
 Cran. I hope, I am not u>o late; and yet the 
 gentleman, 
 That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me 
 To make great haste. All fast ? what means this ? 
 
 — Hoa! 
 Who waits there? — Sure you know me \ 
 
 D. Keep. Yes, my lord: 
 
 But yet I cannot help vou. 
 
 Cran. Why? 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace must wait till you be call'd 
 for. 
 
 Enter Doctor Butts. 
 
 Cran. So. 
 
 Butts. This is a piece of malice ; I am glad 
 I came this way so happily : The king 
 Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts.. 
 
 Cran. [Aside.] 'Tis Butts, 
 
 The king's physician : As he past along, 
 How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me ! 
 Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain, 
 This is of purpose lay'd, by some that hate me, 
 (God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice,) 
 To quench mine honor : they would shame to make 
 
 me 
 Wait else at door; a fellow-counsellor, 
 Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But theii 
 
 pleasures 
 Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. 
 Enter, at a Window above, the King and Butts. 
 
 Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight, — 
 
 K. Hen. What's that, Butts 1 
 
 Butts. I think your highness saw this many a day 
 
 K. Hen. Body o' me, where is it ? 
 
 Butts. There, my lord. 
 
 The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury; 
 Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, 
 Pages, and footboys. 
 
 K. Hen. Ha ! 'Tis he, indeed : 
 
 Is this the honor they do one another ? 
 'Tis well, there's one above them yet. I had thought. 
 They had parted so much honesty amongst them, 
 (At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer 
 A man of his place, and so near our favor, 
 To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, 
 And at the door too, like a post with packets. 
 By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery: 
 Let them alone, and draw the curtain close ; 
 We shall hear more anon. — [Exeunt 
 
 The Council- Chamber. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Dukes of Suffoik 
 and Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, Lord Cham- 
 berlain, Gardiner, and Cromwell. The 
 Chancellor places himself at the upper end oj 
 the Table, on the left hand,- a Seat being left 
 void ab-ove him, as for the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury. The rest seat themselves in or- 
 der on each side. Cromwell at the lower end 
 as Secretary. 
 Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary 
 
 Why are we met in council? 
 
 Cram. Please yon- honors, 
 
 The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury 
 Gar. Has he had knowledge of it? 
 Crom. Yes. 
 
 Nor. Who waits there * 
 
 D. Keep. Without, my noble lords 1 
 Gar. v e* 
 
692 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act V 
 
 D. Keep. My lord archbishop; 
 
 And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. 
 Chan. Let him come in. 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace may enter now. 
 
 [CiiANMKn approaches the Council-Table. 
 Chan. My good lord archbishop. I am very sorry 
 To sit here at this present, and behold 
 That chair stand empty : But we all are men, 
 In our own natures frail ; out of which frailty, 
 And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, 
 Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, 
 Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling 
 The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chap- 
 lains, 
 (For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions, 
 Divers and dangerous, which are heresies, 
 And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. 
 
 Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, 
 My noble lords : for those that tame wild horses, 
 Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle ; 
 But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 
 
 them, 
 Till they obey the manage. If we suffer 
 (Out of our easiness and childish pity 
 To one man's honor) this contagious sickness, 
 Farewell, all physic; And what follows then? 
 Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
 Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbors, 
 The upper Germany, can dearly witness, 
 Yet freshly pitied in our memories. 
 
 Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress 
 Both of my life and office, I have labor'd, 
 And with no little study, that my teaching, 
 And the strong course of my authority, 
 Might go one way, and safely ; and the end 
 Was ever, to do well: nor is there living, 
 (I speak it with a single heart, my lords,) 
 A man, that more detests, more stirs against, 
 Both in his private conscience, and his place, 
 Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 
 'Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart 
 With less allegiance in it ! Men, that make 
 Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, 
 Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, 
 That, in this case of justice, my accusers, 
 Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, 
 And freely urge against me. 
 
 Suf. Nay, my lord, 
 
 That cannot be ; you are a counsellor, 
 And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 
 Gar. My lord, because we have business of more 
 moment, 
 We will be short with you. "Pis his highness' 
 
 pleasure, 
 And our consent, for better trial of you. 
 From hence you be committed to the Tower; 
 Where, being but a private man again, 
 You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, 
 More than, I fear, you are provided for. 
 
 Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank 
 you, 
 You are always my good friend ; if your will pass, 
 I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, 
 You are so merciful : I see your end, 
 Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord, 
 Become a churchman better than ambition ; 
 Win straying souls with modesty again, 
 Oast none away. That I shall clear myself, 
 Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
 f make as little doubt, as you do conscience, 
 In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, 
 But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 
 Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary, 
 
 That's the plain truth ; your painted gloss discovers, 
 To men that understand you, words and weakness 
 
 Cram. My lord of Winchester, you are a littte 
 By your good favor, too sharp; men so noble 
 However faulty, yet should find respeci 
 For what tbey have been : 'tis a cruelty, 
 To load a falling man. 
 
 Gar. Good master secretary 
 
 I cry your honor mercy ; you may, worst 
 Of all this table, say so. 
 
 Crom. Why, my lord : 
 
 Gar. Do not I know you for a favorer 
 Of this new sect? Ye are not sound. 
 
 Crom. Not sound . 
 
 Gar. Not sound, I say. 
 
 Crom. 'Would you were half so honest! 
 
 Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears 
 
 Gar. I shall remember this bold language. 
 
 Crom. Do. 
 
 Remember your bold life too. 
 
 Chan. This is too much ; 
 
 Forbear, for shame, my lords. 
 
 Gar. I have done. 
 
 Crom. And I. 
 
 Chan. Then thus for you, my lord, — It stands 
 agreed, 
 I take it, by all voices, that forthwith 
 You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner ; 
 There to remain, till the king's further pleasure 
 Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords 1 
 
 All. We are. 
 
 Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, 
 
 But I must needs to the Tower, my lords? 
 
 Gar. What other 
 
 Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome* 
 Let some o' the guard be ready there. 
 Enter Guard. 
 
 Cran. For me ? 
 
 Must I go like a traitor thither ? 
 
 Gar. Receive him, 
 
 And see him safe i' the Tower. 
 
 Cran. Stay, good my lords ; 
 
 I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords ; 
 By virtue of that ring, I take my cause 
 Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it 
 To a most noble judge, the king my master. 
 
 Cham. This is the king's ring. 
 
 Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit. 
 
 Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven : I told ye all, 
 When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 
 'Twould fall upon ourselves. 
 
 Nor. Do you think, my lords. 
 
 The king will suffer but the little finger 
 Of this man to be vex'd ? 
 
 Cham. 'Tis now too certain : 
 
 How much more is his life in value with him ? 
 'Would I were fairly out on't. 
 
 Crom. My mind gave me, 
 
 In seeking tales, and informations, 
 Against this man, (whose honesty the devil 
 And his disciples only envy at,) 
 Ye blew the fire that burns ye : Now have at ye. 
 Enter King, frowning on them,- takes his Seat. 
 
 Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound 
 to heaven 
 In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ; 
 Not only good and wise, but most religious: 
 One that, in all obedience, makes the church 
 The chief aim of his honor; and, to strengthen 
 That holy duty, out of dear respect, 
 His royal self in judgment comes to hear 
 The cause betwixt, her and this'great ofl'endei ! 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 593 
 
 A. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commen- 
 dations, 
 Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not 
 To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ; 
 They are too thin and base to hide offences. 
 To me you cannot reach ; you play the spaniel, 
 And think with wagging of your tongue to win 
 
 me; 
 But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure, 
 Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. — 
 Good man, [To Cranmeh.] sit down. Now let 
 
 me see the proudest 
 He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee: 
 By all's that's holy, he had better starve, 
 Than but once think this place becomes thee not. 
 Sur. May it please your grace, — 
 K. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me. 
 
 I had thought I had had men of some under- 
 standing 
 And wisdom, of my council; but I find none. 
 Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, 
 This good man, (few of you deserve that title,) 
 This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy 
 At chamber door ? and one as great as you are 7 
 Why, what a shame was this7 Did my commis- 
 sion 
 Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye 
 Power, as he was a counsellor, to try him, 
 Not as a groom : There's some of ye, I see, 
 More out of malice than integrity, 
 Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; 
 Which ye shall never have, while I live. 
 
 Chun. Thus far, 
 
 My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
 To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd 
 Concerning his imprisonment, was rather 
 (If there be faith in men) meant for his trial, 
 And fair purgation to the world, than malice, 
 I am sure, in me. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him ; 
 
 Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. 
 I will say thus much for him, If a prince 
 May be beholden to a subject, I 
 Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
 Make me no more ado, but all embrace him ; 
 Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Can- 
 terbury, 
 I have a suit which you must not deny me ; 
 That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism, 
 You must be godfather, and answer for her. 
 
 Cran. The greatest monarch now alive ma*' glory 
 In such an honor; How may I deserve it, 
 That am a poor and humble subject to you? 
 K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your 
 spoons ;' you shall have 
 Two noble partners with you; the old duchess of 
 
 Norfolk, 
 And lady marquis Dorset ; Will -these please you 7 
 Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, 
 Embrace, and love this man. 
 
 Gar. With a true heart, 
 
 And brother-love, I do it. 
 
 Cran. And let heaven 
 
 Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 
 K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy 
 true heart. 
 The common voice, I see, is verified 
 Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canterbury 
 A shreiud turn, and he is your friend for ever. — 
 Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long 
 To have this young one made a Christian. 
 
 » It was an ancient custom for sponsors to present 
 ipoons to their god-children. 
 
 As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; 
 So I grow stronger, you more honor gain. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE III.— The Palace Yard. 
 
 Noise and Tumult within. Enter Porter and his 
 Man. 
 Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: 
 Do you take the court for Paris-garden ^ ye rude 
 slaves, leave your gaping. 3 
 
 [ Within.'] Good master porter, I belong to the 
 larder. 
 
 Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you 
 rogue : Is this the place to roar in 7 — Fetch me a 
 dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are 
 but switches to them. — I'll scratch your heads: 
 You must be seeing christenings 7 Do you look for 
 ale and cake here, you rude rascals? 
 
 Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible 
 (Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons) 
 To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep 
 On May-day morning; which will never be: 
 We may as well push against Paul's, as stir them. 
 Port. How got they in, and be hang'd 7 
 Man. Alas, I know not: How gets the tide in * 
 As much as one sound cudgel of four foot 
 (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, 
 I made no spare, sir. 
 
 Port. You did nothing, sir. 
 
 Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Col- 
 brand, 4 to mow them down before me: but, if I 
 spared any, that had a head to hit, either young 
 or old, he or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me 
 never hope to see a chine again ; and that I would 
 not for a cow, God save her. 
 
 [Within.] Do you hear, master porter? 
 Port. I shall be with you presently, good master 
 puppy. — Keep the door close, siirah. 
 Man. What would you have me do ? 
 Port. What should you do but knock them down 
 by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? 
 or have we some strange Indian with the great tool 
 come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless 
 me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my 
 Christian conscience, this one christening will oe- 
 get a thousand ; here will be father, godfather, and 
 all together. 
 
 Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There 
 is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be 
 a brazier by his face, for, o' my conscieme, twenty 
 of the dog-days now reign in's nose ; all that stand 
 about him are under" the line, they need no other 
 penance: That fire-drake did I hit three times on 
 the head, and three times was his nose discharged 
 against me ; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, 
 to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of 
 small wit near him, that railed upon me till her 
 pink'd porringer' fell off her head, for kindling such 
 a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor 6 
 once, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs.' 
 when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers 
 draw to her succor, whi.h were the hope of the 
 Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on ■ 
 I made good my place; at length they came to the 
 broomstaff with me, I defied them still; when sud- 
 denly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, deliv- 
 ered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to 
 draw mine honor in, and let them win the work 
 The devil was amongst them, I think, surely. 
 Port. These are the youths that thunder at s 
 
 5 The bear garden on the Bank-side • Roaring. 
 
 * Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrnnd the Danish giant. 
 » Pink'd cap. « The braiier 
 
594 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Act "V 
 
 play-house, and fight for bitten apples; that no 
 audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the 
 Limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to 
 endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum,' 1 
 and there they are like to dance these three days ; 
 besides the running banquet of two beadles, 8 that is 
 to come. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! 
 They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, 
 As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these porters, 
 These lazy knaves'! — Ye have made a fine hand, 
 
 fellows, 
 There's a trim rabble let in : Are all these 
 Your faithful friends o' the suburbs! We shall have 
 Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, 
 When they pass back from the christening. 
 
 Port. An't please your honor, 
 
 We are but men ; and what so many may do, 
 Not being torn a pieces, we have done : 
 An army cannot rule them. 
 
 Cham. As I live, 
 
 If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all 
 By the heels, and suddenly ; and on your heads 
 Clap round fines, for neglect : You are lazy knaves; 
 And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, 9 when 
 Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound ; 
 They are come already from the christening : 
 Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
 To let the troop pass fairly ; or I'll find 
 A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months. 
 
 Port. Make way there for the princess. 
 
 Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll 
 make your head ache. 
 
 Port. You i' the camblet, get up o' the rail ; I'll 
 pick 1 you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Palace? 
 
 Enter Trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, 
 Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Nor- 
 folk, with his Marshal's Staff, Duke of Suf- 
 folk, two Noblemen bearing great standing 
 Bowls for the Christening Gifts,- then four 
 Noblemen, bearing a Canopy, under which the 
 Duchess of Norfolk, Godmother, bearing the 
 Child richly habited in a Mantle, <$(C., Train 
 borne by a Lady; then follows the Marchion- 
 ess of Dorset, the other Godmother, and 
 Ladies. The Troop pass once about the Stage, 
 and Garter speaks. 
 
 Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send 
 prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high 
 and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, and Train. 
 
 Cran. [Kneeling.'] And to your royal grace, and 
 the good queen, 
 My noble partners, and myself, thus pray: — 
 All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady. 
 Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, 
 May hourly fall upon ye ! 
 
 K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop ; 
 
 What is her name ? 
 
 Cran. Elizabeth. 
 
 K. Hen Stand up, lord. — 
 
 [The King kisses the Child. 
 vVith this kiss take my blessmg : God protect thee! 
 Into whose hands I give thy life. 
 
 Cran. Amen. 
 
 » Place of confinement. • A dessert of whipping. 
 
 • Black leather vessels to hold beer. 
 
 ' Pitch. * At Greenwich. 
 
 K. Hen. My nolle gossips, ye have been to- 
 prodigal: 
 I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, 
 When she has so mucn English. 
 
 Cran. Let me speak, si 
 
 For heaven now bids me : and the words I utter 
 Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth 
 This royal infant, (Heaven still move about her! 
 Though in her cradle, yet now promises 
 Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
 Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall bt 
 (But few now living can behold that goodness) 
 A pattern to all princes living with her, 
 And all that shall succeed : Sheba was never 
 More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue, 
 Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces, 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
 With all the virtues that attend the good, 
 Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her. 
 Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: 
 She shall be lov'd and fear'd: Her own shall bless her: 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 
 And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows 
 
 with her: 
 In her days, every man shall eat in safety 
 Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors. 
 God shall be truly known ; and those about her 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of honor, 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
 [Nor 3 shall this peace sleep with her: But as when 
 The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, 
 Her ashes new create another heir, 
 As great in admiration as herself; 
 So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 
 (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of 
 
 darkness,) 
 Who, from the sacred ashes of her honor, 
 Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, 
 And so stand fix'd : Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 
 That were the servants to this chosen infant, 
 Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; 
 Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 
 His honor and the greatness of his name 
 Shall be, and make new nations: He shall flourish, 
 And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
 
 To all the plain* about him: Our children's 
 
 children 
 Shall see this, and bless heaven. 
 
 K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders.] 
 
 Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England, 
 An aged princess; many days shall see her, 
 And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
 'Would I had known no more ! but she must die, 
 She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, 
 A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
 To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. 
 
 K. Hen. O lord, archbishop, 
 Thou hast made me now a man ; never, before 
 This happy child, did I get any thing: 
 This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me, 
 That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire 
 To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. — 
 I thank ye all : — To you, my good lord mayor, 
 And your good brethren, I am much beholden; 
 I have received much honor by your presence, 
 And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords; 
 Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye, 
 She will be sick else. This day, no man think 
 He has business at his house; for all shall stay: 
 This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt 
 
 5 This and the following serenteen lines were probablj 
 written by B Jonson, after the accession of king James. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 595 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 'Tie ten to one, this play can never please 
 
 All that are here: Some come to take their ease, 
 
 And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear, 
 
 We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, 
 
 They'll say, 'tis naught: others, to hear the city 
 
 Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — that's witty.' 
 
 Which we have not done neither : that, I fear, 
 
 All the expected good we are like to hear 
 For this play at this time, is only in 
 The merciful construction of good women: 
 For such a one we show'd them; If they smile, 
 And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while 
 All the best men are ours ; for, 'tis ill hap, 
 If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap. 
 
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Trojan Commanders. 
 
 Priam, King of Troy. 
 
 Hector, 
 
 Troilus, 
 
 Paris, \-his Sons. 
 
 Dkiphobcs, 
 
 Helenus, 
 
 -•Eneas, 
 
 Antenor, 
 
 Calchas, a Trojan Priest, taking part <mth the 
 
 Greeks. 
 Pandarus, Uncle to Cressida. 
 Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam. 
 Alexander, Servant to Cressida. 
 Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to 
 
 Diomedes. 
 
 SCENE, Troy, and the 
 
 ■Grecian Commanders. 
 
 Agamemnon, the Grecian General. 
 
 Menelaus, his Brother. 
 
 Achilles, 
 
 Ajax, 
 
 Ulysses, 
 
 Nestor, 
 
 Diomedes, 
 
 PATnOCLUS, 
 
 Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian 
 
 Helen, Wife to Menelaus. 
 Andromache, Wife to Hector. 
 Cassandra, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetess 
 Cressida, Daughter to Calchas. 
 
 Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendant*. 
 
 Grecian Camp before it. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of Greece 
 The princes orgulous, 1 their high blood chafed, 
 Have to the port of Athens sent their ships, 
 Fraught with the ministers and instruments 
 Of cruel war : Sixty and nine, that wore 
 Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay 
 Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made, 
 To ransack Troy; within whose strong immures 
 The ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen, 
 With wanton Paris sleeps; and that's the quarrel. 
 To Tenedos they come; 
 
 And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
 Their warlike fraughtage : a Now on Dardan plains 
 The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 
 Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city, 
 Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, 
 
 And Antenorides, with massy staples, 
 
 And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 
 
 Speer 8 up the sons of Troy. 
 
 Now, expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 
 
 On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 
 
 Sets all on hazard : — And hither am I come 
 
 A prologue arm'd, — but not in confidence 
 
 Of author's pen, or actor's voice; but suited 
 
 In like conditions as our argument, — 
 
 To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 
 
 Leaps o'er the vaunt 6 and firstlings of those broils. 
 
 'Ginning in the middle ; starting thence away 
 
 To what may be digested in a play. 
 
 Like, or find fault; do as your pleasures are; 
 
 Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
 
 Enter Troilus, armed, and Pandarus. 
 
 Tro. Call here my varlet, 3 I'll unarm again : 
 Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
 That find such cruel battle here within? 
 Each Trojan, that is master of his heart, 
 Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. 
 Pan. Will ihis gear 4 ne'er be mended? 
 ■ P'oud, disdainful. 9 Freight. * Servant. « Habit. 
 [596] 
 
 Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their 
 strength, 
 Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant . 
 But I am weaker than a woman's tear, 
 Tamer than sleep, fonder 1 than ignorance; 
 Less valiant than the virgin in the night, 
 And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy. 
 
 Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : for 
 my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. Hs, 
 « Shut. s A vaunt, wiiat went befo^b. ' Weaker. 
 
Scene II 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 507 
 
 that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry 
 the grinding. 
 
 Tro. Have I not tarried ? 
 
 Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry the 
 •olting. 
 
 Tro. Have I not tarried? 
 
 Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the 
 ieavening. 
 
 Tro. Still have I tarried. 
 
 Pan. Ay, to the leavening ; but here's yet in the 
 word — hereafter, the kneading, the making of the 
 cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking ; nay, 
 you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance 
 to burn your lips. 
 
 Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, 
 Doth lesser blench 8 at sufferance than I do. 
 At Priam's royal table do I sit: 
 And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, — 
 
 So, traitor ! when she comes ! When is she 
 
 thence? 
 
 Pan. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever 
 I saw her look, or any woman else. 
 
 Tro. I was about to tell thee, — When my heart, 
 As wedged with a sigh, would rive 9 in twain; 
 Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, 
 I have (as when the sun doth light a storm) 
 Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: 
 But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, 
 Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 
 
 Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than 
 Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more com- 
 parison between the women, — But, for my part, 
 she is ir.y kinswoman ; I would not, as they term 
 it, praise her, — But I would somebody had heard 
 her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise 
 your sister's Cassandra's wit; but — 
 
 Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus, — 
 When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd, 
 Reply not in how many fathoms deep 
 They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad 
 In Cressid's love: Thou answer'st, She is fair; 
 Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart 
 Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice ; 
 Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, 
 In whose comparison all whites are ink, 
 Writing their own reproach ; to whose soft seizure 
 The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense 
 Hard as the palm of ploughman! This thou tell'st me, 
 As true thou tell'st me, when I say, — I love her ; 
 But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, 
 Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me 
 The knife that made it. 
 
 Pan. I speak no more than truth. 
 
 Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 
 
 Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as 
 she is : if she be fair, 'tis the better for her; an she 
 be not, she has the mends in her own hands. 
 
 Tro. Good Pandarus! how now, Pandarus? 
 
 Pan. I have had my labor for my travel; ill- 
 thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you : gone 
 between and between, but small thanks for my labor. 
 
 Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? what, 
 with me 1 
 
 Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's 
 not so fair as Helen: an she were not kin to me, 
 she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sun- 
 day. But what care I ? I care not, an she were 
 a black-a-moor; 'tis all one to me. 
 
 Tro. Say I, she is not fair? 
 
 Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's i 
 a fool to stay behind her father; let her to the | 
 Greeks; and so I'll tell her the next time I see her: I 
 • Shrink. » Split. 
 
 For my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the 
 matter. 
 
 Tro. Pandarus, — 
 
 Pan. Not I. 
 
 Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — 
 
 Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me; I wi.1 
 leave all as I found it, and there an end. 
 
 [Exit Pandarus. An Alarum. 
 
 Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamors ! peace, 
 rude sounds! 
 Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair. 
 When with your blood you daily paint her thus. 
 I cannot fight upon this argument ; 
 It is too starv'd a subject for my swoi 1. 
 But, Pandarus — O gods, how do you plague me! 
 I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar; 
 And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo, 
 As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. 
 Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love, 
 What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we? 
 Her bed is India; there she lies, a pearl: 
 Between our Ilium, and where she resides, 
 Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood; 
 Ourself, the merchant : and this sailing Pandar, 
 Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. 
 Alarum. Enter .Eneas. 
 
 Mne. How now, prince Troilus? wherefore not 
 a-field? 
 
 Tro. Because not there : This woman's answei 
 sorts, 1 
 For womanish it is to be from thenci. 
 What news, ^Eneas, from the field to-day ? 
 
 Mne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt. 
 
 Tro. By whom, .Eneas? 
 
 Mne. Troilus, by Menelaus. 
 
 Tro. Let Paris bleed : 'Tis but a scar to scorn ; 
 Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. 
 
 Mne. Hark ! what good sport is o-ut of town to- 
 day ! 
 
 Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were 
 may. — 
 But, to the sport abroad ; — Are you bound thither? 
 
 Mne. In all swift haste. 
 
 Tro. Come, go we then together 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Il.—A Street. 
 Enter Cressida and Alexander. 
 
 Cres. Who were those went by ? 
 
 Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen. 
 
 Cres. And whither go they ? 
 
 Alex. Up to the eastern tower, 
 
 Whose height commands as subject all the vale, 
 To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
 Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd: 
 He chid Andromache, and struck his armorer; 
 And, like as there were husbandry in war, 
 Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light, 
 And to the field goes he; where every flower, 
 Did as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
 In Hector's wrath. 
 
 Cres. What was his cause of angei ? 
 
 Alex. The noise goes, this : There is among thf 
 Greeks 
 A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector, 
 They call him Ajax. 
 
 Cres. Good ; and what of him ? 
 
 Alex. They say he is a very man per se,* 
 And stands alone. 
 
 Cres. So do all men; unless they are drunk sick 
 or have no legs. 
 
 ' Suits. » Bv himself 
 
598 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts 
 of their particular additions ; 3 he is as valiant as the 
 lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant : a 
 man into whom nature hath so crowded humors, 
 that his valor is crushed into* folly, his folly sauced 
 with discretion: there is no man hath a virtue that 
 he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint 
 but he carries some stain of it: he is melancholy 
 withoutcause, and merry against the hair: 6 He hath 
 the joints of every thing; but every thing so out of 
 joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and 
 no use; or purblind Atgus, all eyes and no sight. 
 
 Ores. But how should this man, that makes me 
 smile, make Hector angry ? 
 
 Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in 
 the battle, and struck him down ; the disdain and 
 shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting 
 and waking. 
 
 Enter Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. Who comes here! 
 
 Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. Hector's a gallant man. 
 
 Alex. As may be in the world, lady. 
 
 Pan. What's that? what's that? 
 
 Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid: what do 
 you talk of? — Good morrow, Alexander. — How 
 do you, cousin? When were you at Ilium? 
 
 Cres. This morning, uncle. 
 
 Pan. What were you talking of when I came? 
 Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? 
 Helen was not up, was she ? 
 
 Cres. Hector was gone ; but Helen was not up. 
 
 Pan. E'en so ; Hector was stirring early. 
 
 Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger. 
 
 Pan. Was he angry? 
 
 Cres. So he says, here. 
 
 Pan. True, he was so ; I know the cause too ; 
 he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that: and 
 there is Troilus will not come far behind him ; let 
 them take heed of Troilus; I can tell them that too. 
 
 Cres. What, is he angry, too ? 
 
 Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man 
 if the two. 
 
 Cres. 0, Jupiter! there's no comparison. 
 
 Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? 
 Do you know a man, if you see him ? 
 
 Cres. Ay, if ever I saw him before, and knew him. 
 
 Part. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Then you say as I say ; for I am sure he is 
 not Hector. 
 
 Part. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some 
 degrees. 
 
 Cres. 'Tis just to each of them ; he is himself. 
 
 Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus ! I would he 
 were, — 
 
 Cres. So he is. 
 
 Pan. — 'Condition, I had gone barefoot to India. 
 
 Cres. He is not Hector. 
 
 Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself. — 'Would 
 'a were himself! Well, the gods are above; Time 
 must friend, or end: Well, Troilus, well, — I would 
 "ny heart were in her body ! — No, Hector is not a 
 oetter man than Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Excuse me. 
 
 Part. He is elder. 
 
 Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 
 
 Pan. The other's not come to't; you shall tell 
 me another tale, when the other's come to 't. Hector 
 shall not have his wit this year. 
 
 Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. 
 
 * Characters. 
 
 * Ming.ed >mh. 
 
 Part. Nor his qualities: 
 
 Cres. No matter. 
 
 Part. Nor his beauty. 
 
 Cres. 'Twould not become him, his own's bet 
 ter. 
 
 Pa/1. You have no judgment, niece: Helen he< 
 self swore the other day, that Troilus, for a browi. 
 favor, (for so 'tis, I must confess,) — Not brows 
 neither. 
 
 Cres. No, but brown. 
 
 Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown 
 
 Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 
 
 Part. She praised his complexion above Paris 
 
 Cres. Why, Paris hath color enough. 
 
 Part. So he has. 
 
 Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : if she 
 praised him above, his complexion is higher than 
 his ; he having color enough, and the other higher, 
 is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I 
 had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended 
 Troilus for a copper nose. 
 
 Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him 
 better than Paris. 
 
 Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed. 
 
 Part. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to 
 him the other day into a compassed 6 window, — 
 and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs 
 on his chin. 
 
 Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon 
 bring his particulars therein to a total. 
 
 Part. Why, he is very young; and yet will he, 
 within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. 
 
 Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter V 
 
 Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him ; 
 — she came, and puts me her white hand to his 
 cloven chin, — 
 
 Cres. Juno have mercy ! — How came it cloven? 
 
 Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think, his 
 smiling becomes him better than any man in all 
 Phrygia. 
 
 Cres. 0,he smiles valiantly. 
 
 Part. Does he not? 
 
 Cres. yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 
 
 Paw. Why, go to then: — But to prove to you 
 that Helen loves Troilus, 
 
 Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll 
 prove it so. 
 
 Paw. Troilus? why he esteems her no more 
 than I esteem an addle egg. 
 
 Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you 
 love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell- 
 Part. I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she 
 tickled his chin; — Indeed, she has a marvellous 
 white hand, I must needs confess. 
 
 Cres. Without the rack. 
 
 Pa??. And she takes upon her to spy a white 
 hair on his chin. 
 
 Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer. 
 
 Pan. But, there was such laughing; — Queen 
 Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. 
 
 Cres. With mill-stones. 8 
 
 Part. And Cassandra laughed. 
 
 Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under 
 the pot of her eyes; — Did her eyes run o'er too? 
 
 Part. And Hector laughed. 
 
 Cres. At what was all this laughing? 
 
 Pa«. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied 
 on Troilus' chin. 
 
 Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have 
 laughed too. 
 
 Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair as 
 at his pretty answer. 
 
 • Bow. 1 Thief • A proverbial saying. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 51*9 
 
 Cres. What was his answer? 
 Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hairs 
 on your chin, ana one. of them is tuhite. 
 Cres. This is her question. 
 Pan. That's true ; make no question of that. One 
 and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one white: That 
 white hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. 
 Jupiter! quoth she, tuhich of these hairs is Paris 
 my husband? The forked one, quoth he ; pluck it 
 out, and give it him. But there was such laugh- 
 ing! and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, 
 and all the rest so laughed, that it passed. 9 
 
 Cres. So let it now; for it has been a great 
 while going by. 
 
 Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday; 
 think on't. 
 
 Cres. So 1 do. 
 
 Pan. I'll be sworn, 'tis true; he will weep you 
 an 'twere a man born in April. 
 
 Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere 
 
 a nettle against May. [A Retreat sounded. 
 
 Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field : Shall 
 
 we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward 
 
 Ilium] good niece, do; sweet niece Cressida. 
 
 Cres. At your pleasure. 
 
 Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place ; here 
 we may see most bravely : I'll tell you them all 
 by their names, as they pass by ; but mark Troilus 
 above the rest. 
 
 iEsfEAS passes over the Stage. 
 Cres. Speak not so loud. 
 
 Pan. That's ^Eneas; Is not that a brave man] 
 he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you : But 
 mark Troilus; you shall see anon. 
 Cres. Who's that] 
 
 Antenor passes over. 
 Pan. That's Antenor; he has a shrewd wit, I 
 can tell you ; and he's a man good enough : he's 
 one o'the soundestjudgmentsinTroy, whosoever, 
 and a proper man of person: — When comes Troi- 
 lus] — I'll show you Troilus anon; if he see me, 
 you shall see him nod at me. 
 
 Cres. Will he give you the nod]' 
 
 Pan. You shall see. 
 
 Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. 
 
 Hector passes over. 
 Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that : 
 There's a fellow ! — Go thy way, Hector ; — There's 
 a brave man, niece. — O brave Hector! — Look, 
 how he looks ! there's a countenance : Is't not a 
 brave man] 
 
 Cres. 0, a brave man ! 
 
 Pan. Is 'a not] It does a man's heart good. — 
 Look you what hacks are on his helmet! look you 
 yonder, do you see] look you there ! There's no 
 jesting: there's laying on; take't off who will, as 
 'hey say : there be hacks ! 
 Cres. Be those with swords] 
 
 Paris passes over. 
 Pan. Swords] any thing, he cares not: an the 
 devil come to him, it's all one: By god's lid it does 
 one's heart good: — Yonder comes Paris, yonder 
 comes Paris : look ye yonder, niece ; Is't not a gal- 
 lant man, too, is't not ] — Why, this is brave now. 
 — Who said, he came hurt home to-day ] he's not 
 hurt: why this will do Helen's heart good now. — 
 Ha! would I could see Troilus now! — you shall 
 fee Troilus anon. 
 Cres. Who's that] 
 
 8 Went beyond bounds. 
 
 1 A term in the game at cards called noidy. 
 
 Hklenus passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Helenus, — I man el, where TroiI\i« 
 is: — That's Helenus; — I think he went not forth 
 to-day : — That's Helenus. 
 
 Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle ] 
 
 Pan. Helenus] no; — yes, he'll fight indifferent 
 well: — I marvel, where Troilus is! — Hark; do 
 you not hear the people cry, Troilus] — Helenus is 
 a priest. 
 
 Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder] 
 Trojltjs passes over. 
 
 Pan. Where] yonder] that's Deiphobus: 'Tia 
 Troilus ! there's a man, niece ! — Hem ! — Brave 
 Troilus! the prince of chivalry ! 
 
 Cres. Peace, for shame, peace ! 
 
 Pan. Mark him ; note him ; — O brave Troilus ! 
 — look well upon him, niece ; look you, how his 
 sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than 
 Hector's; And how he looks, and how he goes! 
 — admirable youth ! he ne'er saw three and 
 twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way ; had I 
 a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess, he 
 should take his choice. admirable man ! Paris ] 
 — Paris is dirt to him ; and, I warrant, Helen, to 
 change, would give an eye to boot. 
 
 Forces pass over the Stage. 
 
 Cres. Here come more. 
 
 Pan. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff 
 and bran; porridge after meat! I could live and die 
 i' the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look ; the 
 eagles are gone ; crows and daws, crows and daws! 
 I had rather be such a man as Troilus, »b.an Aga- 
 memnon and all Greece. 
 
 Cres. There is among the Greeks, Ats.illes; a 
 better man than Troilus. 
 
 Pan. Achilles] a drayman, a porter, a very camel. 
 
 Cres. Well, well. 
 
 Pan. Well, well] — Why, have you any discre- 
 tion ] have you any eyes] Do you know what a 
 man is 1 Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, 
 manhrod, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, libe- 
 rality, and such like, the spice and salt that season 
 a man ] 
 
 Cres. Ay, a minced man: and then to be baked 
 with no date 5 in the pye, — for then the man's date 
 is out 
 
 Pan. You are such a woman ! one knows nol at 
 what ward 3 you lie. 
 
 Cres. Upon my back, to defend my belly ; upon 
 my wit, to defend my wiles; upon my secrecy, to 
 defend mine honesty; my mask, to defend* my 
 beauty ; and you to defend all these : and at all 
 these wards I lie, at a thousand watches. 
 
 Pan. Say one of your watches. 
 
 Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that; and that's 
 one of the chiefest of them too : if I cannot ward 
 what I would not have hit, I can watch you for 
 telling how I took the blow ; unless it swell past 
 hiding, and then it is past watching. 
 Enter Troilus' Boy. 
 
 Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. 
 Pan. Where] 
 
 Boy. At your own house ; there he unarms him. 
 Pan. Good boy, tell him I come: [Exit Boy.] 
 I doubt he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece. 
 Cres. Adieu, ■uncle. 
 Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by-and-by. 
 
 Cres. To bring, uncle, 
 
 Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 
 
 o Dates were an ingredient in ancient pastry of almow 
 every kind. a Guard. 
 
000 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Cres. B) r the same token—you are a bawd. — 
 [Exit Pandaiius. 
 Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice, 
 He offers in another's enterprize: 
 But more in Troilus thousand fold I see 
 Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be: 
 Vet hold I off. Women arc angels, wooing : 
 Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing: 
 That she belov'd knows nought, that knows not 
 
 this, — 
 Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is: 
 That she was never yet that ever knew 
 Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue : 
 Therefore this maxim out of love I teach,— *■ 
 Achievement is command; ungain'd, beseech: 
 Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear, 
 Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Grecian Camp. Before 
 Agamemnon's Tent. 
 
 Trumpets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulys- 
 ses, Menelaus, and others. 
 Agam. Princes, 
 What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? 
 The ample proposition, that hope makes 
 In all designs begun on earth below, 
 Fails in thepromis'd largeness; checks and disasters 
 Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd ; 
 As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain 
 Tortive and errant* from his course of growth. 
 Nor, princes, is it matter new to us, 
 That we come short of our suppose so far, 
 That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand ; 
 Sith s every action that hath gone before, 
 Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
 Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, 
 And that unbodied figure of the thought 
 That gave't surmised shape. Why then, you princes, 
 Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works; 
 And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought 
 
 else 
 But the protractive trials of great Joye, 
 To find persistive constancy in men ? 
 The fineness of which metal is not found 
 In fortune's love ; for them, the bold and coward, 
 The wise and fool, the artist and unread, 
 The hard and soil, seem all affined 6 and kin : 
 But, in the wind and tempest of her frown, 
 Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, 
 Puffing at all, winnows the light away: 
 And what hath mass, or matter, by itself 
 Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled. 
 
 Nest. With due observance of thy godlike seat, 
 Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
 Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance, 
 Lies the true proof of men: The sea being smooth, 
 How many shallow bauble boats dare sail 
 Upon her patient broast, making their way 
 With those of nobler bulk! 
 But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
 The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold 
 The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut, 
 Bounding between the two moist elements, 
 Like Perseus' horse: Where's then the saucy boat, 
 Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
 Co-rival'd greatness? either to harbor fled, 
 Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
 Doth valor's show, and valor's worth, divide, 
 in storms of fortune: For, in her ray and bright- 
 ness, 
 
 * Twisted and rambling. » Since. 
 
 « Joined by affinity. 
 
 The herd hath more annoyance by the brizr, 
 Than by the tiger: but when the splitting winC 
 Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, 
 And flies fled under shade, why, then, the thing of 
 
 courage, 
 As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize, 
 And, with an accent tuned the self-same key, 
 Returns to chiding fortune. 
 
 Ulyss. Agamemnon, — 
 
 Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, 
 Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit, 
 In whom the tempers and the minds of all 
 Should be shut up, — hear what Ulysses speaks. 
 Besides the applause and approbation, 
 The which, — most mighty for thy place and 
 
 sway, — [To Agamemnon. 
 
 And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life, — ■ 
 
 [To Nestor. 
 I give to both your speeches, — which were such, 
 As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
 Should hold up high in brass; and such again, 
 As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver, 
 Should with a bond of air, (strong as the axle-tree 
 On which heaven rides,) knit all the Gieekish ears 
 To his experienced tongue, — yet let it please 
 
 both, — 
 Thou great, — and wise, — to hear Ulysses speak. 
 Agam. Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be'trof 
 
 less expect 8 
 That matter needless, of importless burden, 
 Divide thy lips: than we are confident, 
 When rank Thersites opes his mastiff* jaws, 
 We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. 
 
 Ulyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, 
 And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, 
 But for these instances. 
 The specialty of rule 9 hath been neglected : 
 And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
 Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions. 
 When that the general is not like the hive, 
 To whom the foragers shall all repair, 
 What honey is expected? Degree being vizarded, 1 
 The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask. 
 The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre, 
 Observe degree, priority, and place, 
 Insisture, 2 course, proportion, season, form, 
 Office, and custom, in all line of order; 
 And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol, 
 In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
 Amidst the other; whose med'cinable eye 
 Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
 And posts, like the commandment of a king, 
 Sans 3 check, to good and bad: But when the planets, 
 In evil mixture, to disorder wander, 
 What plagues, and what portents? what mutiny? 
 What raging of the sea ? shaking of earth ? 
 Commotion in the winds ? frights, changes, horrors, 
 Divert and crack, rend and deracinate* 
 The unity and married calm of states 
 Quite from their fixture? O, when degree is shaked, 
 Which is the ladder of all high designs, 
 The enterprize is sick ! How could communities, 
 Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, 
 Peaceful commerce from dividable 5 shores, 
 The primogenitive and due of birth, 
 Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
 But by degree, stand in authentic place? 
 Take but degree away, untune that string, 
 And, hark, what discord follows! each thing meets 
 
 ' The gad-fly that stings cattle. 9 Expectation. 
 
 ' Rights of authority. ' Masked. 
 
 » Constancy. 3 Without. 
 
 4 Force up by the roots. 'Divided. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 601 
 
 fn mere 6 oppugnancy : The bounded waters 
 Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, 
 And make a sop of all this solid globe: 
 Strength should be lord of imbecility, 
 And the rude son shouk strike his father dead : 
 Force should be right; or, rather, right and wrong 
 (Between whose endless jar justice resides) 
 Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 
 Then every thing includes itself in power, 
 Power into will, will into appetite ; 
 And appetite, an universal wolf, 
 So doubly seconded with will and power, 
 Must make perforce an universal prey, 
 And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 
 This chaos, when degree is suffocate, 
 Follows the choking. 
 And this neglection of degree it is, 
 That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 
 It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd 
 By him one step below ; he, by the next ; 
 That next by him beneath: so every step, 
 Exampled by the first pace that is sick 
 Of his superior, grows to an envious fever 
 Of pale and bloodless emulation: 
 And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, 
 Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 
 Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. 
 Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd 
 The fever whereof all our power is sick. 
 
 Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, 
 What is the remedy ] 
 
 Ulyss. The great Achilles, — whom opinion crowns 
 The sinew and the forehand of our host, — 
 Having his ear full of his airy fame, 
 Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent 
 Lies mocking our designs: With him, Patroclus, 
 Upon a lazy bed the live-long day, 
 Breaks scurril jests; 
 And with ridiculous and awkward action 
 (Which, slanderer, he imitation calls) 
 He pageants 7 us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, 
 Thy topless 8 reputation he puts on ; 
 And, like a strutting player, — whose conceit 
 Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
 To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 
 'Twixt his stretch 'd footing and the scaffoldage, 9 
 Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested 1 seeming 
 He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks, 
 'Tis like a chime a mending; with terms unsquared, 
 Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd, 
 Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff, 
 The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling, 
 From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause; 
 Cries — Excellent.' 'tis Agamemnon just. — 
 Now play me Nestor ; — hem, and stroke thy beard. 
 As he, being drest to some oration. 
 That's done ; — as near as the extremest ends 
 Of parallels; as like as Vulcan and his wife: 
 Vet good Achilles still cries, Excellent.' 
 Tis Nestor right.' Now play him me, Patroclus, 
 Arming to answer in a night alarm. 
 And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
 Must be the scene of mirth; to cough and spit, 
 And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, 
 Shake in and out the rivet: — and at this sport, 
 Sir Valor dies; cries, 0/ — enough, Patroclus; — 
 Or give me ribs of steel.' I shall split all 
 In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashion, 
 All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
 Severals and generals of grace exact, 
 Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, 
 
 6 Absolute. 
 • Supreme. 
 
 ' In modern language, takes us off. 
 » Stage. ' Beyond the truth. 
 
 Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, 
 Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves 
 As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. 
 
 Nest. And in the imitation of these twain, 
 (Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
 With an imperial voice,) many are infect. 
 Ajax is grown self-will'd ; and bears his head 
 In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
 As broad Achilles: keeps his tent like him ; 
 Makes factious feasts; rails on our state of war. 
 Bold as an oracle: and sets TJiersites 
 (A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint) 
 To match us in comparisons with dirt ; 
 To weaken and discredit our exposure, 
 How rank soever rounded in with danger. 
 
 Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice 
 Count wisdom as no member of the war; 
 Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 
 But that of hand: the still and mental parts, — 
 That do contrive how many hands shall strike, 
 When fitness calls them on ; and know, by measure 
 Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, — 
 Why, this hath not a finger's dignity : 
 They call this — bed-work, mappery, closet-war: 
 So that the ram, that batters down the wall, 
 For the great swing and rudeness of his poi*,e, 
 They place before his hard that made the engine ; 
 Or those, that with the fineness of their souls 
 By reason guide his execution. 
 
 Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse 
 Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trumpet sounded. 
 
 Agam. What trumpet] look, Menelaus 
 
 Enter ^Eneas. 
 
 Men. From Troy. 
 
 Agam. What would you 'fore our tent] 
 
 Mne. Is this 
 
 Great Agamemnon s tent, I pray] 
 
 Agam. Even this. 
 
 Mne. May one that is a herald, and a prince, 
 Do a fair message to his kingly ears ] 
 
 Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 
 'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice 
 Call Agamemnon head and general. 
 
 Mne. Fair leave and large security. How may 
 A stranger to those most imperial looks 
 Know them from eyes of other mortals] 
 
 Again. How? 
 
 Mne. Ay ; 
 I ask that I might waken reverence, 
 And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
 Modest, as morning when she coldly eyes" 
 The youthful Phoebus : 
 Which is that god in office, guiding men 1 
 Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon] 
 
 Agam. This Trojan scorns us; or the men of 
 Troy 
 Are ceremonious courtiers. 
 
 Mne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm 'd, 
 As bending angels; that's their fame in peace: 
 But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls, 
 Good arms, strong joints, true swords; and, Jove's 
 
 accord, i 
 
 Nothing so full of heart. But peace, .&neas, 
 Peace, Trojan; lay thy finger on thy lips! 
 The worthiness of praise disdains his worth, 
 If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth ■ 
 But what the repining enemy commends, 
 That breath fame follows; that praise, sole pure, 
 transcends. 
 
 Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourselLEneas 1 
 
 Mne. Ay Greek, that is my name 
 
 Agam vVhat's your affair, I pray vou ' 
 
 IP 
 
r 
 
 61W 
 
 TROILUS AND ORESS1DA. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Mite. SSir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. 
 
 Amim. He hears nought privately, that comes 
 fiom Troy. 
 
 JEnc. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him : 
 I bring a trumpet to awake his ear: 
 To set his sense on the attentive bent, 
 And then to speak. 
 
 Agam. Speak frankly, as the wind ; 
 
 !t is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour: 
 That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake, 
 He tells thee so himself. 
 
 JEne. Trumpet, blow loud, 
 
 Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents ; — 
 And every Greek of mettle, let him know, 
 What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud. 
 
 [Trumpet sounds. 
 We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 
 A prince called Hector, (Priam is his father,) 
 Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
 Is rusty grown: he bade me take a trumpet, 
 And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords ! 
 If there be one among the fair'st of Greece, 
 That holds his honor higher than his ease ; 
 That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril ; 
 That knows his valor, and knows not his fear ; 
 That loves his mistress more than in confession, 
 (With truant vows to her own lips he loves, - ) 
 And dare avow her beauty and her worth, 
 In other arms than hers, — to him this challenge. 
 Hector, in view i>f Trojans and of Greeks, 
 Shall make it good, or do his best to do it, 
 He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, 
 Than ever Greek did compass in his arms; 
 And will to-morrow with his trumpet call, 
 Midway between your tents and walls of Troy, 
 To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : 
 If any come, Hector shall honor him ; 
 If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires, 
 The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth 
 The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 
 
 Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord iEneas ; 
 If none of them have soul in such a kind, 
 We left them all at home : But we are soldiers ; 
 And ma} that soldier a mere recreant prove, 
 That means not, hath not, or i3 not in love ! 
 If then one is, or hath, or means to be, 
 That one meets Hector; if none else, I am he. 
 
 Nest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man 
 When Hector's grandsire suck'd: he is old now; 
 But, if there be not in our Grecian host 
 One noble man, that hath one spark of fire 
 To answer for his love, tell him from me, — 
 I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver, 
 And in my vantbrace 2 put this wither'd brawn; 
 And, meeting him, will tell him, That my lady 
 Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste 
 As may be in the world : His youth in flood, 
 I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood. 
 
 AJne. Now heaven forbid such scarcity of youth! 
 Ulyss. Amen. 
 
 Agam. Fair lord iEneas, let me touch your hand; 
 To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
 Achilles shall have word of this intent; 
 So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent: 
 Yourself shall feast with us before you go, 
 *» nd find the welcome of a noble foe. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestoh. 
 
 Ulyss. Nestor, 
 
 Nest. What says Ulysses? 
 Ulyss. I have a young conception in my brain, 
 fie you my time to bring it to some shape. 
 Nest. What is 't? 
 
 * An armor for the arm 
 
 Ulyss. This 'tis : 
 Blunt wedges rive hard knots: The seeded prid*. 
 That hath to this maturity blown up 
 In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, 
 Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 
 To overbulk us all. 
 
 Nest. Well, and how? 
 
 Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector 
 sends, 
 However it is spread in general name, 
 Relates in purpose only to Achilles. 
 
 Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub 
 stance, 
 Whose grossness little characters sum up: 
 And, in the publication, make no strain, 
 But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
 As banks of Lybia, — though, Apollo knows, 
 'Tis dry enough, — will with great speed of judg 
 
 merit, 
 Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 
 Pointing on him. 
 
 Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think you ? 
 
 Nest. Yes, 
 
 It is most meet : Whom may you else oppose, 
 That can from Hector bring those honors off. 
 If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat, 
 Yet in the trial much opinion dwells; 
 For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute 
 With their fin'st palate : And trust to me, Ulysses, 
 Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd 
 In this wild action : for the success, 
 Although particular, shall give a scantling 3 
 Of good or bad unto the general; 
 And in such indexes, although small pricks 4 
 To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
 The baby figure of the giant mass 
 Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd, 
 He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice: 
 And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, 
 Makes merit her election ; and doth boil, 
 As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd 
 Out of her virtues; Who miscarrying, 
 What heart receives from hence a conquering part, 
 To steel a strong opinion to themselves? 
 Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments, 
 In no less working, than are swords and bows 
 Directive by the limbs. 
 
 Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech ; — 
 Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. 
 Let us, like merchants, show our foulest w-ares, 
 And think, perchance, they'll sell; if not, 
 The lustre of the better shall exceed, 
 By showing the worst first. Do not consent, 
 That ever Hector and Achilles meet; 
 For both our honor and our shame, in this, 
 Are dogg'd with two strange followers. 
 
 Nest. I see them not with my old eyes ; what 
 are they? 
 
 Ulyss. What glory our Achilles shares froiv 
 Hector, 
 Were he not proud, we all should share with him . 
 But he already is too insolent ; 
 And we were better parch in Afric sun, 
 Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes, 
 Should he 'scape Hector fair: If he were foil'd, 
 Why, then we did our main opinion 8 crush 
 In taint of our best man. No, make a lotd?ry, 
 And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw 
 The sort 6 to fight with Hector: Among ou reti?*, 
 Give him allowance for the better man, 
 For that will physic the great Myrmidon. 
 
 » Size, measure. 4 Small points compared with the 
 
 volumes. ' Estimation of «haraefer. « Lot. 
 
Act II. Scene I. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 603 
 
 Who broils in loud applause; and make him fall 
 His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. 
 If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, 
 We'll dress him up in voices: If he fail, 
 5Tet go we under our opinion ' still 
 That we have better men. But, hit or miss, 
 Our project's life this shape of sense assumes, — 
 rvjax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes. 
 
 Nest. Ulysses, 
 Now I begin to relish thy advice ; 
 And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
 To Agamemnon: go we to him straight. 
 Two curs shall tame each other; Pride alone 
 Must tarre 1 the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Another Part of the Grecian Camp. 
 Enter Ajax and Thersites. 
 
 Ajax. Thersites, 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon — how if he had boils 1 full, 
 all over, generally ? 
 
 Ajax. Thersites, 
 
 liter. And these boils did run? — Say so, — did 
 not the general run then ? were not that a botchy 
 sore? 
 
 Ajax. Dog, 
 
 "ther. Then would come some matter from him ; 
 I see none now. 
 
 Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not 
 hear? Feel then. [Strikes him. 
 
 Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou 
 mongrel beef-witted lord! 
 
 Ajax. Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak: 
 I will beat thee into handsomeness. 
 
 Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and holi- 
 ness: but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an 
 oration, than thou learn a prayer without book. — 
 Thou canst strike, canst tho" 1 a red murrain o'thy 
 jade's tricks! 
 
 Ajax. Toads-stool, leam me the proclamation. 
 
 Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou 
 strikest me thus? 
 
 Aj-ax. The proclamation, — 
 
 Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. 
 
 Ajax. Do not, porcupine, do not ; my fingers itch. 
 
 Ther. I would thou didst itch from head to foot, 
 and I had the scratching of thee; I would make 
 thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou 
 art forth in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as 
 another. 
 
 Ajax. I say, the proclamation, 
 
 Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on 
 Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his great- 
 ness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that 
 thou barkest at him. 
 
 Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! 
 
 Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. 
 
 Ajax. Cobloaf! 
 
 Ther. He would pun 8 thee into shivers with his 
 fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 
 
 Ajax. You whoreson cur. [Beating him. 
 
 Ther. Do, do. 
 
 Ajax. Thou stool for a witch ! 
 
 Ther. Ay, do, do : thou sodden-witted lord ! thou 
 hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an 
 assinego s may tutor thee : Thou scurvy valiant ass! 
 thou art here put to thrash Trojans ; and thou art 
 bought and sold among those of any wit, like a 
 Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will 
 begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, 
 thou thing of no bowels, thou ! 
 
 Ajax. You dog ! 
 
 Ther. You scurvy lord ! 
 
 1 Character. 8 Pound. 
 
 ' Ass. a cant term for a foolish fellow. 
 
 Ajax. You cur ! [Beating him 
 
 Ther. Mars his idiot! do, rudeness; do, camel 
 do, do. 
 
 Enter Achilles and Patrocltjs 
 
 Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you 
 thus? 
 How now, Thersites ? what's the matter, man ? 
 
 The>: You see him there, do you ? 
 
 Achil. Ay; what's the matter? 
 
 Ther. Nay, look upon him. 
 
 Achil. So I do; What's the matter? 
 
 Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 
 
 Achil. Well, why I do so. 
 
 Ther. But yet you look not well upon him: lo/ 
 whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 
 
 Achil. I know that, fool. 
 
 Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 
 
 Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 
 
 Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he 
 utters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I have 
 bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones : 
 I will buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his pia 
 mater 1 is not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. — 
 This lord, Achilles, Ajax, — who wears his wit in 
 his belly, and his guts in his head, — I'll tell you 
 what I say of him. 
 
 Achil. What? 
 
 Ther. I say this, Ajax 
 
 Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 
 
 [Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles 
 interposes. 
 
 Ther. Has not so much wit — 
 
 Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 
 
 Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, 
 for whom he comes to fight. 
 
 Achil. Peace, fool ! 
 
 Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the 
 fool will not : he there ; that he; look you there. 
 
 Ajax. thou damned cur ! I shall 
 
 Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's? 
 
 Ther. No, I warrant you; for a fool's will 
 shame it. 
 
 Patr. Good words, Thersites. 
 
 Achil. What's the quarrel ? 
 
 Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go, learn me the tenor 
 of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. 
 
 Ther. I serve thee not. 
 
 Ajax. Well, go to, go to. 
 
 Ther. I serve here voluntary. 
 
 Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not 
 voluntary; no man is beaten voluntary ; Ajax was 
 here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. 
 
 Ther. Even so? — a great deal of your wit too' 
 lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector 
 shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of 
 your brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty n Jt witb 
 no kernel. 
 
 Achil. What, with me too, Thersites T 
 1 Provoke. a The membrane that nrotects the brain 
 
604 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIUA- 
 
 Act (I 
 
 Ther. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor, whose 
 wit was mouldy, ere your grandsires had nails on 
 their toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make 
 you plough up the wars. 
 
 Achil. What, what? 
 
 Ther. Yes, good sooth; to, Achilles! to, Ajax! 
 to! 
 
 Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 
 
 Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as 
 thou, afterwards. 
 
 Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace. 
 
 Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach 3 
 bids me, shall I? 
 
 Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. 
 
 ■Ther. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere 
 I come any more to your tents; I will keep where 
 ♦here is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Patr. A good riddance. 
 
 Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaim'd through all 
 our host: 
 That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, 
 Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, 
 To-morrow morning call some knight to arms, 
 That hath a stomach ; and such a one, that dare 
 Maintain — I know not what ; 'tis trash : Farewell. 
 
 Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? 
 
 Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise, 
 He knew his man. 
 
 Ajax. O, meaning you : — I'll go learn more of it. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
 
 Enter Priam, Hector, Troiltjs, Paris, and 
 
 Heleucs. 
 
 Pro. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent, 
 Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks : 
 Deliver Helen, and all damage else — 
 As honor, loss of time, travel, expense, 
 Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is con- 
 sumed 
 In hot digestion of this cormorant war — 
 Shall be struck off: — Hector, what say you to't ? 
 
 Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks 
 than I, 
 As far as toucheth my particular, yet, 
 Dread Priam, 
 
 There is no lady of more softer bowels, 
 »lore spungy to suck in the sense of fear, 
 More ready to cry out — Who fc?iows what follows? 
 Than Hector is: The wound of peace is surety, 
 Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd 
 The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
 To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : 
 Since the first sword was drawn about this question, 
 Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes, 4 
 Hath been as dear as Helen ; I mean of ours: 
 If we have lost so many tenths of ours, 
 To guard a thing not ours; not worth to us, 
 Had it our name, the value of one ten ; 
 What merit's in that reason, which denies 
 The yielding of her up ? 
 
 Tro. Fye, fye, my brother! 
 
 Weigh you the worth and honor of a king, 
 So great as our dread father, in a scale 
 Of common ounces'! will you with counters sum 
 The past-proportion of his infinite? 
 And buckle-in a waist most fathomless, 
 With spans and inches so diminutive 
 ^s fears and reasons? fye, for godly shame! 
 
 Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at 
 reasons, 
 » Bitch, hound. « Tenths. 
 
 You are so empty of them. Should not our fattier 
 Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons, 
 Because your speech hath none, that tells him so ' 
 
 Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother 
 priest, 
 You fur your gloves with reason. Here are youi 
 
 reasons : 
 You know, an enemy intends you harm ; 
 You know, a sword employ'd is perilous, 
 And reason flies the object of all harm : 
 Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds 
 A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
 The very wings of reason to his heels ; 
 And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove, 
 Or like a star disorb'd ? — Nay, if we talk of reason. 
 Let's shut our gates and sleep : Manhood and honoi 
 Should have hare hearts, would they but fat theii 
 
 thoughts 
 With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect' 
 Make livers pale, and lustihood deject. 
 
 Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost 
 The holding. 
 
 Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued ? 
 
 Hect. But value dwells not in particular will; 
 It holds his estimate and dignity 
 As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
 As in the prizer: 'tis mad idolatry. 
 To make the service greater than the god , 
 And the will dotes, that is attributive 
 To what infectiously itself affects, 
 Without some image of the affected merit. 
 
 Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
 Is led on in the conduct of my will: 
 My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears. 
 Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
 Of will and judgment: How may I avoid, 
 Although my will distaste what it elected, 
 The wife I chose? there can be no evasion 
 To blench 6 from this, and to stand firm by honor 
 We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, 
 When we have soil'd them; nor the remainder viands 
 We do not throw in unrespective sieve, 
 Because we now are full. It was thought meet, 
 Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks: 
 Your breath with full consent bellied his sails ; 
 The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce, 
 And did him service : he touch'd the ports desir'd , 
 And, foran old aunt, 1 whom the Greeks held captive, 
 He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and 
 
 freshness 
 Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning. 
 Why keep we her? the Grecians keep our aunt: 
 Is she worth keeping ? why, she is a pearl, 
 Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
 And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
 If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went, 
 (As you must needs, for you all cry'd — Go, go,'; 
 If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize, 
 (As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands, 
 And cry'd — Inestimable/) why do you now 
 The issue of your proper wisdoms rate; 
 And do a deed that fortune neve"r did. 
 Beggar the estimation which you priz'd 
 Richer than sea or land ? O theft most base ; 
 That we have stolen what we do fear to keep! 
 But, thieves unworthy of a thing so stolen. 
 That in their country did them that disgrace, 
 We fear to warrant in our native plar?! 
 
 Cas. [Within.'] Cry, Trojans, cry ! 
 
 Pri. What noise? what shriek is this 1 
 
 Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice. 
 
 ' Caution. • Shrink, or fly off. 
 
 ' Priam's sister, Hesiont>. 
 
Scene III 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 60o 
 
 Cos. [Within.'] Crv.Troians! 
 Heel. It is Cassandra. 
 
 Enter Cassaxdha, raving. 
 
 Cat, Cry, Trojans, cry! lend me ten thousand eyes, 
 And I will fill them with prophetic tears. 
 Hect. Peace, sister, peace. 
 
 Cos. Virgins and boys, mid-age, and wrinkled 
 elders, 
 Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry, 
 Add to my clamors! let us pay betimes 
 A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry! practise your eyes with tears! 
 Trov must not be. nor goodly Ilion stand; 
 Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen and a woe : 
 Cry. cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit. 
 Hect. Xow, youthful Troilus, do not these high 
 strains 
 Of divination in our sister work 
 Some touches of remorse ? or is your blood 
 So madly hot. that no discourse of reason, 
 Xor fear of bad success in a bad cause, 
 Can qualify the same ? 
 
 Tro. Why, brother Hector, 
 
 We mav not think the justness of each act 
 Such and no other than event doth form it ; 
 Xor once deject the courage of our minds 
 Because Cassandra's mad ; her brain-sick raptures 
 Cannot distaste 5 the goodness of a quarrel, 
 Which hath our several honors all engaged 
 To make it gracious. For my private part, 
 I am no more touched than all Priam's sons: 
 And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us 
 Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
 To fight for and maintain ! 
 
 Par. Else might the world convince 9 of levity 
 As well my undertakings as your counsels ; 
 But I attest the gods, your full consent 
 Gave wings to my propension, and cut off 
 All fears attending on so dire a project 
 For what, alas, can these my single arms ? 
 What propugnation' is in one man's valor 
 To stand the push and enmity of those 
 This quarrel would excite ? Yet, I protest, 
 Were I alone to pass the difficulties, 
 And had as ample power as I. have will, 
 Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, 
 Xor faint in the pursuit. 
 
 Pri. Paris, you speak 
 
 Like one besotted on your sweet delights : 
 You have the honey still, but these the gall ; 
 So to be valiant, is no praise at all. 
 
 Par. Sir, 1 propose not merely to myself 
 The pleasures such a beauty brings with it ; 
 But I would have the soil of her fair rape 
 Wiped off, in honorable keeping her. 
 What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, 
 Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me, 
 Xow to deliver her possession up, 
 On terms of base compulsion? Can it be, 
 That so degenerate a strain as this. 
 Should once set footing in your generous bosoms? 
 There's not the meanest spirit on our party, 
 Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw. 
 When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble, 
 Whose life were ill beslow'd, or death unfamed, 
 Where Helen is the subject: then, I say, 
 Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well, 
 The world's large spaces cannot parallel. 
 
 Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well : 
 
 ' Corrupt, change tc a worse state. 
 1 Defence. 
 
 * Convict. 
 
 And on the cause and question now in hand 
 
 Have gloz'd,* — but superficially; not much 
 
 Unlike young men. whom Aristotle thought 
 
 Unfit to hear moral philosophy : 
 
 The reasons, you allege, do more conduce 
 
 To the hot passion of distemper'd blood, 
 
 Than to make up a free determination 
 
 'T wixt right and wrong ; For pleasure, and reven ge 
 
 Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
 
 Of any true decision. Xalure craves, 
 
 All dues be render'd to their owners ; Xow 
 
 What nearer debt in all humanity. 
 
 Than wife is to the husband? if this law 
 
 Of nature be corrupted through affection ; 
 
 And that great minds, of 3 partial indulgence 
 
 To their benumbed wills, resist the same; 
 
 There is a law in each well-order'd nation, 
 
 To curb those raging appetite's that are 
 
 Most disobedient and refractory. 
 
 If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king,— 
 
 As it is known she is, — these moral laws 
 
 Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud 
 
 To have her back retum'd: Thus to persist 
 
 In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong, 
 
 But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion 
 
 Is tliis, in way of truth : yet ne'ertheless, 
 
 My spritely brethren, I propend 1 to you 
 
 In resolution to keep Helen still; 
 
 For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependence 
 
 Upon our joint and several dignities. 
 
 Tro. Why, there youtouch'd the life of our design : 
 Were it not glory that we more affected, 
 Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 
 I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
 Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, 
 She is a theme of honor and renown ; 
 A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds; 
 Whose present courage may beat down our foes, 
 And fame, in time to come, canonize us: 
 For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
 So rich advantage of a promis'd glory, 
 As smiles upon the forehead of this action, 
 For the wide world's revenue. 
 
 Hect. I am yours, 
 
 You valiant offspring of great Priamus. — 
 I have a roisting 5 challenge sent amongst 
 The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, 
 Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits 1 : 
 I was advertis'd, their great general slept, 
 Whilst emulation 6 in the army crept; 
 This, I presume, will wake him. [Exeunt 
 
 SCEXE III.— The Grecian Camp. Before 
 Achilles' Tent. 
 
 Enter Thersites. 
 Ther. How, now, Thersites ? what, lost in the 
 labyrinth of thy fury ? Shall the elephant Ajax 
 carry it thus ? he beats me. and I rail at him : O 
 worthy satisfaction ! 'would, it were otherwise ; that 
 I could beat him, whilst he railed at me : 'Sfoot, I'll 
 learn to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some is- 
 sue of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achil- 
 les, — a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken, till these 
 two undermine it. the walls will stand till they fall 
 of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of 
 Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of 
 gods; and, Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft 
 of thy Caduceus;' if ye take not that little little 
 less-than-litlle wit from them that they have! which 
 
 a Commented Through. 4 Incline. 
 
 » Blusterinj;. « Envy. 
 
 ' The wand of Mercury, which u wreathed with eer 
 peats. 
 
GOG 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESS1DA. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 short-armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant 
 scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly 
 from a spider, without drawing their massy irons, 
 and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on 
 the whole camp ! or, rather, the bone-ache ! for that, 
 methinks, is the curse dependent on those that war 
 for a placket. I have said my prayers ; and devil, 
 envy, say Amen. — 'What, ho! my lord Achilles! 
 
 Enter Patroclus. 
 
 Pair. Who's there? Thersites? Good Thersites, 
 come in and rail. 
 
 Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt coun- 
 terfeit, thou wouldst not have slipped out of my 
 contemplation : but it is no matter ; Thyself upon 
 thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and 
 ignorance, be thine in great revonue ! heaven bless 
 thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near 
 thee! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy 
 death ! then if she, that lays thee out, says — thou 
 art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she 
 never shrouded any but lazars. 8 Amen. — Where's 
 Achilles '] 
 
 Patr. What, art thou devout? wast thou in 
 prayer 1 
 
 Ther. Ay; The heavens hear me ! 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil. Who's there? 
 
 Pair. Thersites, my lord. 
 
 Achil. Where, where? — Art thou come? Why, 
 my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served 
 thyself in to my table so many meals ? Come ; 
 what's Agamemnon ? 
 
 Ther. Thy commander, Achilles; — Then tell 
 me, Patroclus, what's Achilles? 
 
 Patr. Thy lord, Thersites ; Then tell me, I pray 
 thee, what's thyself? 
 
 Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus; Then tell me, 
 Patroclus, what art thou ? 
 
 Patr. Thou mayst tell, that knowest. 
 
 Achil. O, tell, tell. 
 
 Ther. I'll decline the whole question. Agamem- 
 non commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord ; I am 
 Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus is a fool. 
 
 Patr. You rascal ! 
 
 Ther. Peace, fool ; I have not done. 
 
 Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Ther- 
 sites. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ; 
 Thersites is a fool ; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is 
 a fool. 
 
 Achil. Derive this ; come. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command 
 Achilles; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of 
 Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to serve such a 
 fool; and Patroclus is a fool positive. 
 
 Patr. Why am I a fool? 
 
 Ther. Make that demand of the prover. — It suf- 
 6ces me, thou art. Look you, who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Dio- 
 medes, and Ajax. 
 
 Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody : — 
 Oome in with me, Thersites. [Exit. 
 
 Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and 
 such knavery ! all the argument is, a cuckold, and 
 a whore; A good quarrel, to draw emulous 9 fac- 
 tions, and bleed to death upon. Now the dry ser- 
 pigo 1 on the subject! and war, and lechery, con- 
 found all ! [Exit. 
 
 Agam. Where is Achilles? 
 
 l-eprous personf » Envious. l Tetter, scab. 
 
 Patr. Within his tent; but ill-dispos'd, my lord 
 
 Agam. Let it be known to him that we are here 
 He shent 2 our messengers; and we lay by 
 Our appertainments 3 visiting of him : 
 Let him be told so; lest, perchance, he think 
 We dare not move the question of our place. 
 Or know not what we arc. 
 
 Patr. I shall say so to him. [Exit 
 
 Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent 
 He is not sick. 
 
 Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you 
 may call it melancholy, if you will favor the man, 
 but, by my head, 'tis pride : But why, why ? let 
 him show us a cause. — A word, my lord. 
 
 [Takes Agamemnon aside. 
 
 Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. 
 
 Nest. Who? Thersites? 
 
 Ulyss. He. 
 
 Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost 
 his argument. 4 
 
 Ulyss. No ; you see, he is his argument, that has 
 his argument; Achilles. 
 
 Nest. All the better; their fraction is more oui 
 wish, than their faction: But it was a strong com 
 posure, a fool could disunite. 
 
 Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knits not, folly 
 may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. 
 Re-enter Patroclus. 
 
 Nest. No Achilles with him. 
 
 Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none ftw 
 «ourtesy : his legs are legs for necessity, not for 
 flexure. 
 
 Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sony 
 If any thing more than your sport and pleasure 
 Did move your greatness, and this noble state, 
 To call upon him ; he hopes, it is no other, 
 But, for your health and your digestion's sake, 
 An after-dinner's breath. 5 
 
 Again. Hear you, Patroclus; — 
 
 We are too well acquainted with these answers: 
 But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, 
 Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
 Much attribute he hath ; and much the reason 
 Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues, — 
 Not virtuously on his own part beheld, — 
 Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss; 
 Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish, 
 Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him, 
 We come to speak with him : And you shall not sin 
 If you do say — we think him ovei-proud, 
 And under-honest; in self-assumption greater, 
 Than in the note ofjudgment; and worthier than 
 
 himself 
 Here tend 6 the savage strangeness he puts ou , 
 Disguise the holy strength of their command, 
 And underwrite 1 in an observing kind 
 His humorous predominance ; yea, watch 
 His pettish lunes, 8 his ebbs, his flows, as if 
 The passage and whole carriage of this action 
 Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this; and add, 
 That, if he overhold his price so much, 
 We'll none of him ; but let him like an engine 
 Not portable, lie under this report — 
 Bring action hither, this cannot go to war : 
 A stirring dwarf we do allowance 5 give 
 Before a sleeping giant: — Tell him so. 
 
 Pah: I shall; and bring his answer presently 
 
 [Exit 
 
 - Rebuked, rated. 
 « Subject. 
 
 • Attend. 
 
 • Fits of lunacy. 
 
 3 Appendage of rank or dignity 
 
 * Exercise. 
 
 ' Subscribe, obey 
 
 » ApBrobaticm. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 CATl 
 
 Agam. In second voice we'll not be satisfied, 
 VVe come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter. 
 
 [Exit Ultssf.s. 
 ■ ijax. What is Lfc /nore than another? 
 Agam. No more than what he thinks he is. 
 
 .Ijax. Is he so much! Do you not think, he 
 'hinks himself a better man than I am ? 
 
 Agam. No question. 
 
 Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say — 
 he is 1 ' 
 
 Agam. No, noble Ajax: you are as strong, as 
 '■aliant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, 
 and altogether more tractable. 
 
 Ajax. Why should a man be proud ? How doth 
 pride growl I know not what pride is. 
 
 Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your 
 virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up him- 
 self: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his 
 own chronicle; and whatever praises itself but in 
 the deed, devours the deed in the praise. 
 
 Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the en- 
 gendering of toads. 
 
 Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not 
 strange? [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Ulysses. 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. 
 Agam. What's his excuse? 
 Ulyss. He doth rely on none; 
 
 But carries on the stream of his dispose, 
 Without observance or respect of any, 
 'n will peculiar and in self-admission. 
 
 Again. Why will he not, upon our fair request, 
 IJntent his person, and share the air with us? 
 Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's 
 sake only, 
 He makes important: Possess'd he is with greatness; 
 And speaks not to himself, but with a pride 
 That quarrels at self-breath : imagin'd worth 
 Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse, 
 That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, 
 Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, 
 And batters down himself: What should I say? 
 He is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it 
 Cry — No recovery. 
 
 Agam. Let Ajax go to him. — 
 
 Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent: 
 'Tis said, he holds you well ; and will be led, 
 At your request, a little from himself. 
 
 Ulyss. Agamemnon, let it not be so ! 
 We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
 When they go from Achilles: Shall the proud 
 
 lord, 
 That bastes his arrogance with his own seam ;' 
 And never suffers matter of the world 
 Enter his thoughts, — save such as do revolve 
 And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd 
 Of that we hold an idol more than he ? 
 No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord • 
 Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd; 
 Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, 
 As amply titled as Achilles is, 
 By going to Achilles: 
 That were to enlard his fat-already pride; 
 And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns 
 With entertaining great Hyperion. 
 This lord go to him ! Jupiter, forbid ; 
 \.nd say in thunder — Achilles, go to him. 
 Nest. 0, this is well; he rubs the vein of him. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Dio. And how his silence drinks up this ap- 
 plause ! [Aside. 
 » Fat. 
 
 Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash 
 him 
 Over the face. 
 
 Agam. O, no, you shall not go. 
 Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze' his 
 pride : 
 Let me go to him. 
 
 Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon oui 
 quarrel. 
 
 Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow, 
 
 Nest. How he describes 
 
 Himself! [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. Can he not be sociable? 
 Ulyss. The raven 
 
 Chides blackness. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. I will let his humors blood. 
 
 Agam. He'll be physician, that should be the 
 patient. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. An all men 
 
 Were o' my mind, 
 
 Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Ajax. He should not bear it so, 
 He should eat swords first : Shall pride carry it ? 
 Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside. 
 Ulyss. He'd have ten shares, 
 
 [Aside. 
 Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple ; — 
 Nest. He's not yet thorough warm : force 1 him 
 with praises : 
 Pour in, pour in ; his ambition is dry. [Aside. 
 
 Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dis- 
 like. [To Agamemnon 
 Nest. O noble general, do not do so. 
 Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 
 Ulyss. Why,'tis this naming of him does him harm. 
 Here is a man — But 'tis before his face; 
 I will be silent. 
 
 Nest. Wherefore should you so? 
 
 He is not emulous, 5 as Achilles is. 
 
 Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. 
 Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter' thus 
 with us ! 
 I would, he were a Trojan ! 
 
 Nest. What a vice 
 
 Were it in Ajax now 
 
 Ulyss. If he were proud ? 
 
 Dio. Or covetous of praise ? 
 Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne' 1 
 
 Dio. Or strange, or self-affected ? 
 Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweel 
 composure ; 
 Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck: 
 Famed be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
 Thrice-famed, beyond all erudition : 
 But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight, 
 Let Mars divide eternity in twain, 
 And give him half: and, for thy vigor, 
 Bull-bearing Milo his addition 1 yield 
 To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, 
 Which, like a bourn, 8 a pale, a shore, confines 
 Thy spacious and dilated parts: Here's Nestor, — 
 Instructed by the antiquary times, 
 He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; — 
 But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
 As green as Ajax, and your brain so tempered. 
 You should not have the eminence of him. 
 But be as Ajax. 
 
 Ajax. Shall I call you father? 
 
 Nest. Ay, my good son. 
 
 Dio. Be lul'd bv him. k»rd Ajai 
 
 » Strike. 
 • Trifle. 
 
 » Comb or curry. 
 ' Titles. 
 
 4 Stuff. » Enviout 
 • Bouudary. 
 
608 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Ulyss. There is no tarrying here; the hart Archilles 
 Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 
 To call together all his state of war; 
 Fresh kings are come to Troy : To-morrow, 
 We must with all our main of power stand fast : 
 
 And here's a lord, — come knights from east to west 
 And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. 
 
 Again. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep. 
 
 Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw 
 
 deep. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
 Enter Paitdards and a Servant. 
 
 Pan. Friend! you! pray you, a word: Do not 
 you follow the young lord Paris! 
 
 Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 
 
 Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean? 
 
 Serv. Sir, I do depend upon that lord. 
 
 Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman; 
 [ must needs praise him. 
 
 Serv. The lord be prais'd! 
 
 Pan. You know me, do you not] 
 
 Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially. 
 
 Pan. Friend, know me better; I am the lord 
 Pandarus. 
 
 Serv. I hope I shall know your honor better. 
 
 Pan. I do desire it. 
 
 Serv. You are in the state of grace. 
 
 [Music within. 
 
 Pan. Grace ! not so, friend ; honor and lordship 
 are my titles ; — What music is this? 
 
 Serv. I do but partly know, sir ; it is music in 
 parts. 
 
 Pan. Know you the musicians? 
 
 Serv. Wholly, sir. 
 
 Pan. Who play they to ? 
 
 Serv. To the hearers, sir. 
 
 Pan. At whose pleasure, friend? 
 
 Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 
 
 Pan. Command, I mean, friend ? 
 
 Serv. Who shall I command, sir? 
 
 Pan. Friend, we understand not one another ; I 
 am too courtly, and thou art too cunning: At 
 whose request do these men play? 
 
 Serv. That's to' t, indeed, sir : Marry, sir, at the 
 request of Paris my lord, who is there in person; 
 with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of 
 beauty, love's invisible soul, 
 
 Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida? 
 
 Serv. No, sir, Helen; Could you not find out 
 that by her attributes? 
 
 Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not 
 seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris 
 from the prince Troilus: I will make a compli- 
 mental assault upon him, for my business seeths." 
 
 Serv. Sodden business ! there's a stewed phrase, 
 indeed ! 
 
 Enter Pahis and Helen, attended. 
 
 Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair 
 company! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly 
 guide them; especially to you, fair queen! fair 
 thoughts be your fair pillow ! 
 
 Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 
 
 Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. 
 — Fair prince, here is good broken music. 
 
 Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by my 
 life, you shall make it whole again ; you shall piece 
 it out with a piece of your performance: — Nell, 
 fcf's is full of harmony. 
 
 Pan. Truly, lady, no. 
 
 Ifckn. sir, 
 
 • Boili. 
 
 Pan. Rude, in sooth; in good sooth, very rude 
 
 Par. Well said, my lord ! well, vou say so ii 
 fits. 1 
 
 Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen : — 
 My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ? 
 
 Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out: we'll 
 hear you sing certainly. 
 
 Pa?i. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with 
 me. — But (marry) thus, my lord, — My dear lord, 
 and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus, — 
 
 Helen. My lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet lord, — 
 
 Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to: — commends 
 himself most affectionately to you. 
 
 Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody 
 if you do, our melancholy upon your head ! 
 
 Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ; that's a sweet 
 queen, i' faith, 
 
 Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a soui 
 offence. 
 
 Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; that 
 shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such 
 words ; no, no. — And, my lord, he desires you. 
 that, if the king call for him at supper, you wil- 
 make his excuse. 
 
 Helen. My lord Pandarus, 
 
 Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very 
 very sweet queen? 
 
 Par. What exploit's in hand ? where sups he 
 to-night ? 
 
 Helen. Nay, but my lord, 
 
 Pan. What says my sweet queen ? — My cousir 
 will fall out with you. You must not know where 
 he sups. 
 
 Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. 
 
 Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide;" - 
 come, your disposer is sick. 
 
 Par. Well, I'll make excuse. 
 
 Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say 
 — Cressida? no, your poor disposer's sick. 
 
 Par. I spy. 
 
 Pan. You spy ! what do you spy ? — Come, givt 
 me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. Why, this is kindly done.^ 
 
 Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing 
 you have, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not 
 my lord Paris. 
 
 Pan. He ! no, she'll none of him; they two are 
 twain. 
 
 Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make 
 them three. 
 
 Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; I'll 
 sing you a song now. 
 
 Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth, 
 sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 
 
 Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 
 
 Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo 
 us all. 0, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid! 
 
 Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i' faith. 
 
 Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing bol 
 love. 
 
 Pan. In good troth, it begins so : 
 
 1 Parts of a song. 3 Wide of your mark. 
 
ScKNE II. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 609 
 
 Love, love, nothing but love, still more! 
 
 For, oh, love's bow 
 
 Shoots buck and doe: 
 
 The shaft confounds, 
 
 Not that it wounds, 
 But tickles still the sore. 
 
 These lovers cry — Oh! oh! they die! 
 
 Yet that which seems the wound to kill,' 
 Doth turn oh! oh! to ha! ha! he! 
 
 So dying love lives still- 
 Oh! oh! a while, but ha! ha! ha! 
 Oh! oh! groans out for ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Hey ho ! 
 
 Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of the nose. 
 
 Par. He eats nothing but doves, love; and that 
 breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, 
 and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is 
 love. 
 
 Pan. Is this the generation of love? hot blood, 
 hot thoughts, and hot deeds? — Why, they are vi- 
 pers: Is love a generation of vipers? Sweet lord, 
 who's a-field to-day ? 
 
 Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and 
 all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed 
 to-night, but my Nell would not have it so. How 
 chance my brother Troilus went not? 
 
 Helen. He hangs the lip at something; — you 
 know all. lord Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Not I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to hear 
 how they sped to-day. — You'll remember your 
 brother's excuse? 
 
 Par. To a hair. 
 
 Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. Commend me to your niece. 
 
 Pan. I will, sweet queen. [Exit. 
 
 [A Retreat sounded. 
 
 Par. They are come from field : let us to Priam's 
 hall, 
 To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo 
 
 you 
 Tc help unarm our Hector: his stubborn buckles, 
 With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd, 
 Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel, 
 Or force of Greekish sinews : you shall do more 
 7'han all the island kings, disarm great Hector. 
 Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant, 
 Paris : 
 Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty, 
 Gives us more palm in beauty than we have ; 
 Yea, overshines ourself. 
 
 Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Pandarus' Orchard. 
 Enter Pandarus and a Servant, nteeting. 
 ?an. How now? where's thy master? at my 
 cousin Cressida's? 
 
 Serv. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct him 
 thither. 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 Pun. 0, here he comes. — How now, how now ? 
 
 Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Pan. Have you seen my cousin ? 
 
 Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door, 
 Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks 
 Staying for waftage. 0, be thou my Charon, 
 And give me swift transportance to those fields, 
 Where I may wallow in the lily beds 
 Propos'd for the deserver! O gentle Pandarus, 
 From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted winy*, 
 And fly with me to Cressid! 
 
 Pan. Walk here i' the orchard, I'll bring her 
 straight. [Exit Pandarus 
 
 Tro. I am giddy ; expectation whirls me round 
 The imaginary relish is so sweet 
 That it enchants my sense; What will it be, 
 When that the watery palate tastes indeed 
 Love's thrice-reputed nectar? death, I fear me; 
 Swooning destruction : or some joy too fine, 
 Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharp in sweetness, 
 For the capacity of my ruder powers: 
 I fear it much; and I do tear besides, 
 That I shall lose distinction in my joys; 
 As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
 The enemy flying. 
 
 Re-enter Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. She's makingherready, she'll come straight: 
 you must be witty now. She does so blush, and 
 fetches her wind so short, as if she were frayed with 
 a sprite : I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain : 
 — she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en 
 sparrow. [Exit Pandarus. 
 
 Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my 
 bosom : 
 My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; 
 'And all my powers do their bestowing lose, 
 Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring 
 The eye of majesty. 
 
 Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 
 
 Pan. Come, come, what need you blush? shame's 
 a baby. — Here she is now : swear the oaths now to 
 her, that you have sworn to me. — What, are you 
 gone again ? you must be watched ere you be made 
 tame, must you? Come your ways, come your 
 ways; an you draw backward, we'll put you i' the 
 fills. 3 — Why do you not speak to her? — Come, draw 
 this curtain, and let's see your picture. Alas, the 
 day, how loath you are to offend day-light! an 
 'twere dark, you'd close sooner. So, so; rub on, 
 and kiss the mistress. 4 How now ? a kiss in fee- 
 farm ? build there, carpenter ; the air is sweet. — 
 Nay, you shall fight your hearts out, ere I part you. 
 The falcon as the tercel, 5 for all the ducks i' the 
 river : go to, go to. 
 
 75-o. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 
 
 Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds : but 
 she'll bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your 
 activity in question. What billing again ? Here's 
 — In witness whereof the parties interchangeably 
 — Come in, come in ; I'll go get a fire. 
 
 [Exit Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 
 
 Tro. Cressida, how often have I wished me 
 thus'' 
 
 Cres. Wished, my lord ? — The gods grant ! — 
 my lord ! 
 
 Tro. What should they grant ? what makes this 
 pretty abruption? What too curious dreg espies 
 my sweet lady in the fountain of our love? 
 
 Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears have 
 eyes. 
 
 Tro. Fears make devils cherubims ; they never 
 see truly. 
 
 Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reascn leads, finds 
 safer footing than blind reason stumbling without 
 fear : To fear the worst, oft cures the worst. 
 
 Tro. 0, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all 
 Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster 
 
 Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neithei ? 
 
 3 Shafts of a carriage. 
 
 4 The allusion is to boxling; what is now called th» 
 jack was formerly termed the mistress. 
 
 ' The tercel is the male and the falcon the female hawk 
 
f>10 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings : when we 
 v»»w to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers : 
 thinking it harder for our mistress to devise im- 
 position enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty 
 imposed. This is the inonstruosity in love, lady, — 
 that the will is infinite, and the execution confined ; 
 that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave to 
 limit. 
 
 Cres. They say, all lovers swear more perform- 
 ance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability 
 that they never perform ; vowing more than the 
 perfection of ten, and discharging less than the 
 tenth part of one. They that have the voice of 
 lions, and the act of hares, are they not monsters T 
 
 Tro. Are there such ? such are not we : Praise 
 us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our head 
 shall go bare, till merit crown it: no perfection in 
 reversion shall have a praise in present: we will 
 not name desert before his birth; and, being born, 
 his addition s shall be humble. Few words to fair 
 faith : Troilus shall be such to Cressid,as what envy 
 can say worst, shall be a mock for his truth; and 
 what truth can speak truest, not truer than Troilus 1 ? 
 
 Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 
 
 He-enter Pandahus. 
 
 Pan. What, blushing still ? have you not done 
 talking yet ? 
 
 Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedi- 
 cate to you. 
 
 Pan. I thank you for that; if my lord get a boy 
 of you, you'll give him me: Be true to my lord: 
 if he flinch, chide me for it. 
 
 Tro. You know now your hostages ; your un- 
 cle's word, and my firm faith. 
 
 Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too ; our 
 kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, 
 they are constant, being won : they are burs, I can 
 tell you ; they'll stick where they are thrown. 
 
 Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me 
 heart : — 
 Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day 
 For many weary months. 
 
 Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win? 
 
 Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my lord, 
 With the first glance that ever — Pardon me ; — 
 If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
 I love you now ; but not, till now, so much 
 But I might master it: — in faith, I lie; 
 My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown 
 Too headstrong for their mother : See, we fools ! 
 Why have I blabb'd? who shall be true to us, 
 When wc are so unsecret to ourselves? 
 But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not; 
 And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man; 
 Or that we women had men's privilege 
 Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue ; 
 For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak 
 The thing I shall repent. See, see your silence, 
 Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
 My very soul of counsel: Stop my mouth. 
 
 Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. 
 
 Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 
 
 Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me; 
 'Twas not my purpose thus to beg a kiss : 
 I am ashamed ; — O heavens ! what have I done ? — 
 For this time will I take my leave, my lord. 
 
 Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ? 
 
 Pan. Leave ! an you take leave till to-morrow 
 morning, 
 
 Cres. Pray you, content you. 
 
 Tn . What offends you, lady? 
 
 • Title* 
 
 Cres. Sir, mine own company. 
 
 Tro. You cannot shun 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Cres. Let mi go and try : 
 I have a kind of self resides with you , 
 But an unkind silf, that itself will leave. 
 To be another's fool. I would be gone : 
 Where is my wit ? I know not what I speak. 
 
 Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speajt 
 so wisely. 
 
 Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craff 
 than love; 
 And fell so roundly to a large confession, 
 To angle for your thoughts: But you are wise; 
 Or else you love not; for to be wise and love, 
 Exceeds man's might: that dwells with gods abovp 
 
 Tro. O, that I thought it could be in a woman. 
 (As, if it can, I will presume in you,) 
 To feed for aye T her lamp and flames of love 
 To keep her constancy in plight and youth, 
 Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
 That doth renew swifter than blood decays ; 
 Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, — 
 That my integrity and truth to you 
 Might be affronted 8 with the match and weight 
 Of such a winnow'd purity in love; 
 How were I then uplifted ! but alas, 
 I am as true as truth's simplicity, 
 And simpler than the infancy of truth. 
 
 Cres. In that I'll war with you. 
 
 Tro. O virtuous fight, 
 
 When right with right wars, who shall be most 
 
 right ! 
 True swains in love, shall, in the world to come, 
 Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes, 
 Full of protest, of oath, and big compare, 9 
 Want similes, truth tired with iteration, — 
 As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, 
 As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, 
 As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre, — 
 Yet, after all comparisons of truth, 
 As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
 As true as Troilus shall crown up ' the verse, 
 And sanctify the numbers. 
 
 Cres. Prophet may you be ! 
 
 If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth. 
 When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
 When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
 And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
 And mighty states characterless are grated 
 To dusty nothing ; yet let memory, 
 From false to false, among false maids in love, 
 Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said — as 
 
 false 
 As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, 
 As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
 Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son ; 
 Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood, 
 As false as Cressid. 
 
 Pan. Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; 
 I'll be the witness. — Here, I hold your hand; here, 
 my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another, 
 since I have taken such pains to bring you together, 
 let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's 
 end after my name, call them all — Pandars ; let all 
 inconstant men be Troiluses, all false women Cres- 
 sids, and all brokers-between Pandars ! say, amen. 
 
 Tro. Amen. 
 
 Cres. Amen. 
 
 Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you a 
 chamber and a bed, which bed, because it shall rxl 
 
 ' Ever. 
 
 Comparison 
 
 • Met with and availed. 
 ' Conclude. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 HU 
 
 speak of your pretty encounters, press it to death: 
 
 away. 
 
 And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here, 
 Bed. chambec Pandar, to provide this gear! 
 
 [Exe unt. 
 
 SCENE HI.— The Grecian Camp. 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, 
 Ajax, Men klaus, and Calchas. 
 
 Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you, 
 The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
 To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind, 
 That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jove 
 I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
 Incurr'd a traitor's name; exposed myself, 
 From certain and possess'd conveniences, 
 To doubtful fortunes, sequest'ring from me all 
 That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, 
 Made tame and most familiar to my nature; 
 And here, to do you service, am become 
 As new into the world, strange, unacquainted: 
 I do beseech you, as in way of taste, 
 To give me now a little benefit, 
 Out of those many register'd in promise, 
 Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. 
 
 Agam. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan"! make 
 demand. 
 
 Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner call'd Antenor, 
 Yesterday took ; Troy holds him very dear, 
 Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore) 
 Desired my Cressid in right great exchange, 
 Whom Troy hath still denied: But this Antenor, 
 I know, is such a wrest in their affairs, 
 That their negotiations all must slack, 
 Wanting his manage ; and they will almost 
 Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
 In change of him : let him be sent, great princes, 
 And he shall buy my daughter: and her presence 
 Shall quite strike off all service I have done, 
 In most accepted pain. 
 
 Agam. Let Diomedes bear him, 
 
 And bring us Cressid hither; Calchas shall have 
 What he requests of us. — Good Diomcd, 
 Furnish you fairly for this interchange: 
 Withal, bring word — if Hector will to-morrow 
 Be answer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready. 
 
 Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 'tis a burden 
 Which I am proud to bear. 
 
 [Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas. 
 
 Enter Achilles arcrfPATRocLus, beforetheir Tent. 
 
 Ulyss. Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent: — 
 Please it our general to pass strangely 2 by him, 
 As if he were forgot; and princes all, 
 Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : 
 I will come last: 'Tis like, he'll question me, 
 Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd 
 
 on him : 
 If so, I have derision med'cinable, 
 To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
 Which his own will shall have desire to drink; 
 It may do good: pride hath no other glass 
 To show itself, but pride; for supple knees 
 Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. 
 
 Agam. We'll execute your purpose, and put on 
 A form of strangeness as we pass along; — 
 So do each lord; and either greet him not. 
 Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more 
 Thau if not look'd on. I will lead the way. 
 
 Achil. What, comes the general to speak with 
 me! 
 You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. 
 J Like a stranger. 
 
 Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught 
 with us? 
 
 Nest. Would you, my lord, augnt with the general' 
 
 Achil. No. 
 
 Nest. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Agam. The bettei. 
 
 [Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestoh 
 
 Achil. Good day, good day. 
 
 Men. How do you ? how do you ? [Exit Men. 
 
 Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me? 
 
 Ajax. How now, Patroclus? 
 
 Achil. Good morrow, Ajax 
 
 Ajax. Ha ? 
 
 Achil. Good morrow. 
 
 Ajax. Ay, and good next day too. 
 
 [Exit Ajax 
 
 Achil. What mean these fellows ? Know they 
 not Achilles? 
 
 Patr. They pass by strangely : they were used 
 to bend, 
 To send their smiles before them to Achilles: 
 To come as humbly as they used to creep 
 To holy altars. 
 
 Achil. What, am I poor of late? 
 
 'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune, 
 Must fall out with men too : What the declin'd is, 
 He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, 
 As feel in his own fall: for men, like butterflies, 
 Show not their mealy wings but to the summer; 
 And not a man, for being simply man, 
 Hath any honor; but honor for those honors 
 That are without him, as place, riches, favor, 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merit: 
 Which when they fall, as being slippery standers, 
 The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, 
 Do one pluck down another, and together 
 Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me : 
 Fortune and I are friends; I do enjoy 
 At ample point all that I did possess, 
 Save these men's looks; who do, methinks, find. 
 
 out 
 Something not worth in me such rich beholding 
 As they have often given. Here is Ulysses; 
 I'll interrupt his reading. — 
 How now, Ulysses? 
 
 Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son ? 
 
 Achil. What are you reading ? 
 
 Ulyss. A strange fellow here 
 
 Writes me, that man — how dearly ever parted,' 
 How much in having, or without, or in, — 
 Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, 
 Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; 
 As when his virtues shining upon others 
 Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
 To the first giver. 
 
 Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 
 
 The beauty that is borne here in the face 
 The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
 To others' eyes : nor doth the eye itself 
 (That most pure spirit of sense) behold itself, 
 Not going from itself; but eye to eye oppos'd 
 Salutes each other with each other's form. 
 For speculation turns not to itself, 
 Till it hath travell'd, and is married there 
 Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all 
 
 Ulyss. I do not strain at the position, 
 It is familiar; but at the author's drift: 
 Who, in his circumstance,' expressly proves — 
 That no man is the lord of any thing, 
 (Though in and of him there be much consisting.' 
 Till he communicate his parts to otherr: 
 Nor doth he of himself know them for a'ujht 
 » Excellently endowed. * Detail cf argument 
 
612 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Till he behold them form'd in the applause 
 Wnere they are extended, which, like an arch, re- 
 verberates 
 The voice again ; or like a gate of steel 
 Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
 His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this ; 
 And apprehended here immediately 
 The unknown Ajax. 
 
 Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ; 
 That has he knows not what. Nature, what things 
 
 there are, 
 Most abject in regard, and dear in use ! 
 What things again most dear in the esteem, 
 And poor in worth! now shall we see to-morrow, 
 An act that very chance doth throw upon him, 
 Ajax renown'd. heavens, what some men do, 
 While some men leave to do! 
 How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall, 
 Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes! 
 How one man eats into another's pride, 
 While pride is fasting in his wantonness ! 
 To see these Grecian lords! — why, even already 
 They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder; 
 As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast, 
 And great Troy shrinking. 
 
 Achil. I do believe it : for they pass'd by me, 
 As misers do by beggars; neither gave to me 
 Good word, nor look : What, are my deeds forgot ? 
 Ulyss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
 Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
 A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : 
 Those scraps are good deeds past: which are de- 
 
 vour'd 
 As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
 As done : Perseverance, dear my lord, 
 Keeps honor bright: To have done is to hang 
 Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail 
 In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ; 
 For honor travels in a strait so narrow, 
 Where one but goes abreast: keep then the path; 
 For emulation hath a thousand sons, 
 That one by one pursue: if you give way, 
 Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 
 Like to an enter'd tide they all rush by, 
 And leave you hindmost; — 
 Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank, 
 Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, 
 O'er-run and trampled on : Then what they do in 
 
 present, 
 Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours: 
 For time is like a fashionable host, 
 That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand ; 
 And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly, 
 Grasps in the comer: Welcome ever smiles, 
 And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue 
 
 6eek 
 Remuneration for the thing it was; 
 For beauty, wit, 
 
 High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, 
 Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
 To envious and calumniating time. 
 One touch of nature makes the whole world kin, — 
 That all. with one consent, praise new-born gawds, 5 
 Though they are made and moulded of things past; 
 And give to dust, that is a little gilt, 
 More laud than gilt o'er-dusted. 
 The present eye praises the present object : 
 Then marvel not, thou great and complete man, 
 That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax; 
 Since things in motion sooner catch the eye, 
 Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee, 
 \nd *till it might; and yet it may again, 
 • New-fwhionrd toys. 
 
 If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alive, 
 And case thy reputation in thy tent; 
 Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late, 
 Made emulous missions 6 'mongst the gods them 
 
 selves, 
 And drave great Mars to faction. 
 
 Achil. Of this my privacy 
 
 I have strong reasons. 
 
 Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy 
 
 The reasons are more potent and heroical : 
 'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love 
 With one of Priam's daughters. 1 
 
 Achil. Ha' known 1 
 
 Ulyss. Is that a wonder! 
 The providence that's in a watchful state, 
 Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold ; 
 Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps; 
 Keeps place with thought, and .almost like the gods, 
 Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
 There is a mystery (with whom relation 
 Durst never meddle) in the soul of state; 
 Which hath an operation more divine, 
 Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to; 
 All the commerce that you have had with Troy, 
 As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord; 
 And better would it fit Achilles much, 
 To throw down Hector, than Polyxena: 
 But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home, 
 When fame shall in our islands sound her trump, 
 And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, — 
 Great Hector's sister did Achilles win; 
 Bui our great Ajax bravely beat down him. ' 
 Farewell, my lord: I as your lover 8 speak; 
 The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Pair. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you ' 
 A woman impudent and mannish grown 
 Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man 
 In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this, 
 They think, my little stomach to the war, 
 And your great love to me, restrains you thus: 
 Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid 
 Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold, 
 And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane, 
 Be shook to air. 
 
 Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector 1 
 
 Pair. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honor by 
 
 him. 
 Achil. I see, my reputation is at stake; 
 My fame is shrewdly gor'd. 
 
 Pair. O, then beware ; 
 
 Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves ■ 
 Omission to do what is necessary 
 Seals a commission to a blank of danger; 
 And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
 Even then when we sit idly in the sun. 
 
 Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus' 
 I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him 
 To invite the Trojan lords after the combat, 
 Toseeushereunarm'd: I have a woman's longing, 
 An appetite that I am sick withal, 
 To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; 
 To talk with him, and to behold his visage, 
 Even to my full of view. A labor sav'd! 
 
 Enter Thersites 
 
 Ther. A wonder! 
 Achil. What? 
 
 Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking 
 lor himself. 
 
 Achil. How so? 
 
 « The descent of the deities to combat on either side. 
 1 Polyxena. • friend 
 
Act IV. Scene I. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 613 
 
 Ther. He must figh. singly to-morrow with Hec- 
 tor; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical 
 cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing. 
 
 Achil. How can that be 1 
 
 Ther, Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock, 
 a stride, and a stand : ruminates, like an hostess, 
 that hath no arithmetic but her brain to set down 
 tier reckoning: bites his lip with a politic regard, 
 as who should say — there were wit in this head, an 
 'twould out ; and so there is ; but it lies as coldly in 
 him as fire in a flint, which will not show without 
 knocking. The man's undone forever; for if Hector 
 break not his neck i' the combat, he'll break it him- 
 self in vain glory. He knows not me : I said, Good- 
 morrow, Ajax; and he replies, Thanks, Agamemnon. 
 What think you of this man, that takes me for the 
 general ? He has grown a very land-fish, language- 
 less, a monster. A plague of opinion ! a man may 
 wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin. 
 
 Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him, 
 Thersites. 
 
 Ther. Who, II why, he'll answer nobody ; he 
 professes not answering; speaking is for beggars ; 
 he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his 
 presence; let Patroclus make demands to me, you 
 shall see the pageant of Ajax. 
 
 Achil. To him, Patroclus : Tell him, — I humbly 
 desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous 
 Hector to come unarmed to my tent; and to procure 
 safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and 
 most illustrious, six-or-seven-times honored captain- 
 genaral of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this. 
 
 Patr. Jove bless great Ajax ! 
 
 Ther. Humph! 
 
 Pair. I come from the worthy Achilles, 
 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite 
 Hector to his tent, 
 
 Ther. Humph! 
 
 Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga- 
 memnon. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon 1 
 
 Patr. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Patr. Wht sayyouto't? 
 
 Ther. God 'je wi' you, with all my heart. 
 
 Patr. Your answer, sir. 
 
 Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock 
 it will go one way or other ; howsoever, he shall pay 
 for me ere he has me. 
 
 Patr. Your answer, sir. 
 
 Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. 
 
 Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he ? 
 
 Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus. What music 
 will be in him when Hector has knock'd out his 
 brains, I know not : But, I am sure, none ; unless the 
 fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings 1 on. 
 
 Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to him 
 straight. 
 
 Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that's 
 the more capable* creature. 
 
 Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; 
 And I myself see not the bottom of it. 
 
 [Exeunt Achilles and Pathoclus. 
 
 Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were 
 clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had 
 rather be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant 
 ignorance. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE :.--W-. A Street. 
 
 Enter, at one side. JSne^s v*d Servant, with a 
 Torch; at the other, Paxis, Deiphobus, Ante- 
 nor, Diomedes, %md others, with Torches. 
 
 Par. See, ho! who's that there? 
 
 Dei. Tis the lord ^Eneas. 
 
 Mne. Is the prince there in person 1 — 
 Hid I so good occasion to lie long, 
 As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business 
 Should rob my bed-mate of my company. 
 
 Dio. That's my mind too. — Good morrow, lord 
 ^Eneas. 
 
 Par. A valiant Greek, ^Eneas ; take his hand : 
 Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
 You told — how Diomed, a whole week by days, 
 Did haunt you in the field. 
 
 Mne. Health to yon, valiant sir, 
 
 During all question 9 of the gentle truce: 
 But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, 
 As heart can think, or courage execute. 
 
 Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
 Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, health : 
 But when contention and occasion meet, 
 By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life, 
 With all my force, pursuit, and policy. 
 
 Mne. And thou shalt hunt a lion that will fly 
 With his face backward. — In humane gentleness, 
 Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life, 
 Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear, 
 No man alive can love, in such a sort, 
 The thing he means to .kill, more excellently. 
 
 Pin. We sympathize : — Jove, let .iEneas live, 
 9 Conversation. 
 
 If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
 A thousand complete courses of the sun ! 
 But, in mine emulous honor, let him die, 
 With every joint a wound : and that to-morrow ! 
 
 Mne. We know each other well. 
 
 Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse. 
 
 Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, 
 The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. — 
 What business, lord, so early 1 
 
 Mne. I was sent for to the king; but why, I 
 know not. 
 
 Par. His purpose meets you: 'Twas to bring this 
 Greek 
 To Calchas' house; and there to render him, 
 For the enfreed Ancenor, the fair Cressid : 
 Let's have your company : or, if you please, 
 Haste there before us: I constantly do think, 
 (Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,) 
 My brother Troilus lodges there to-night; 
 Rouse him, and give him note of our approach, 
 With the whole quality wherefore : I fear 
 We shall be much unwelcome. 
 
 Mne. That I assure you » 
 
 Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, 
 Than Cressid borne from Troy. 
 
 Par. There is no heit 
 
 The bitter disposition of the time 
 Will have it so. On, lord; we'll follow you. 
 
 Mne. Good morrow, all. [Exit, 
 
 Par. And tell me, noble Diomed ; 'faith, tell me 
 true, 
 Even in the soul of sound good-fell owshi r 
 
 1 L,ute-string£ male of catgut 
 <~ Intelligent 
 
614 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen best, 
 Myself or Menelaus ? 
 
 Dio. Both alike : 
 
 He merits well to have her, that doth seek her 
 (Not making any scruple of her soilure) 
 With such a hell of pain, and world of charge: 
 And you as well to keep her, that defend her 
 (Not palating the taste of her dishonor) 
 With such a costly loss of wealth and friends : 
 He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
 The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; 
 You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
 Are pleas'd to breed out your inheritors : 
 Both merits pois'd,each weighs nor less nor more; 
 But he as he, the heavier for a whore. 
 
 Par. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. 
 
 Dio. She's bitter to her country: Hear me, 
 Paris, — 
 For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
 A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple 
 Of her contaminated carrion weight, 
 A Trojan hath been slain: since she could speak, 
 She hath not given so many good words breath, 
 As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death. 
 
 Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, 
 Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
 But we in silence hold this virtue well, — 
 We'll not commend what we intend to sell. 
 Here lies oui way. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Court before the House of Pandarus. 
 Enter Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the morn is cold. 
 
 Cres. Then, sweet rny lord, I'll call mine uncle 
 down 
 He shall unbolt the gates. 
 
 Tro. Trouble him not: 
 
 To bed, to Led: Sleep kill those pretty eyes, 
 And give as soft attachment to thy senses, 
 As infants' empty of all thought ! 
 
 Cres. Good morrow then. 
 
 Tro Pr'ythee now, to bed. 
 
 Cres, Are you aweary of me ? 
 
 Tro. Cressida ! but that the busy day, 
 Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald 3 crows, 
 And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, 
 I would not from thee. 
 
 Cres. Night hath been too brief. 
 
 Tro. Beshrew the witch ! with venomous wights 
 she stays, 
 as tediously as hell ; but flies the grasps of love, 
 With wings more momentary-swift than thought. 
 You will catch cold, and curse me. 
 
 Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry ; — 
 
 You men will never tarry. 
 
 foolish Cressid ! — I might have still held off, 
 And then you would have tarried. Hark! there's 
 
 one up. 
 Pan. [ Within.'] What, are all the doors open here? 
 Tro. It is your uncle. 
 
 Enter Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. A pestilence on him ! now will he be 
 mocking ; 
 
 1 shall have such a life, 
 
 Pan. How now, how now ! how go maiden- 
 heads ? 
 —Here, you maid! where's my cousin Cressid? 
 Cres. Go hang yourself, you naughty mocking 
 uncle! 
 V'ou bring me to do,' and then you flout me too. 
 
 * Noisy. 
 
 * To do is her > ut*ri in a wanton sense. 
 
 Pan. To do what? to do what? — let her say 
 what; what have I brought you to do? 
 
 Cres. Come, come ; beshrew your heart ! you'll 
 ne'er be good, 
 Nor suffer others. 
 
 Pan. Ha, ha! Alas, poor wretch! a poor ca- 
 pocchia! 5 — hast not slept to-night? wt jld he nr-<, 
 a naughty man, let it sleep? a bugbear take him! 
 
 [Knocki?}g. 
 Cres. Did I not tell you? — 'would he were 
 knock'd o' the head ! — 
 Who's that at door ? good uncle, go and see. — 
 My lord, come you again into my chamber: 
 You smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily 
 Tro. Ha, ha ! 
 
 Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I thinK of no such 
 thing. — [Knocking. 
 
 How earnestly they knock! pray you, come in ; 
 I would not for half Troy have you seen here. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus and Cressida. 
 Pan. [Going to the door.] Who's there? what's 
 the matter ? will you beat down the door ? How 
 now? what's the matter? 
 
 Enter ^Eneas. 
 
 JEne. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. 
 
 Pan. Who's there? my lord ^Eneas? • By mj 
 troth, I knew you not: what news with you so 
 early ? 
 
 JEne. Is not prince Troilus here ? 
 
 Pan. Here! what should he do here? 
 
 JEne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him, 
 It doth import him much to speak with me. 
 
 Pan, Is he here, say you? 'tis more than I know, 
 I'll be sworn: — For my own part, I came in late: 
 What should he do here? 
 
 JEne. Who ! — nay, then : — 
 Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware : 
 You'll be so true to him, to be false to him : 
 Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither; 
 Go. 
 
 As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus. 
 
 Tro. How now? what's the matter? 
 
 Mne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you, 
 My matter is so rash: 6 There is at hand 
 Paris your brother, and Deiphobus, 
 The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
 Deliver'd to us ; and for him forthwith, 
 Ere the first sacrifice within this hour, 
 We must give up to Diomedes' hand 
 The lady Cressida. 
 
 Tro. Is it so concluded? 
 
 Mne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy , 
 They are at hand, and ready to effect it. 
 
 Tro. How my achievements mock me ! 
 I will go meet them : and, my lord .-Eneas, 
 We met by chance ; you did not find me here. 
 
 JEne. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of nature 
 Have not more gift in taciturnity. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus and ^Eneas. 
 
 Pan. Is't possible? no sooner got, but lost? The 
 devil take Antenor! the young prince will go mad. 
 A plague upon Antenor, I would they had broke's 
 neck! 
 
 Enter Cressida. 
 Cres. How now? What is the matter? Who 
 was here? 
 
 Pan. Ah, ah! 
 
 Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? where'a 
 my lord gone ? • 
 Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter? 
 
 s An Italian w^-i for poor fool. 
 
 « Hasty. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 61ft 
 
 Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as 
 I am above ! 
 
 Crts. the gods ! — what's the matter ? 
 
 Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in; 'Would thou hadst 
 ne'er been born ! I knew, thou wouldst be his 
 leath : — O poor gentleman ! — A plague upon An- 
 te nor ! 
 
 Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, 
 I beseech you, what's the matter? 
 
 Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be 
 gone; thou art changed for Antenor; thou must 
 to thy father, and be gone from Troilus; 'twill be 
 his death: 'twill be his bane; he cannot bear it. 
 
 Cres. you immortal gods! — I will not go. 
 
 Pan. Thou must. 
 
 Cres. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my father; 
 I know no touch of consanguinity j 1 
 No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me, 
 As the sweet Troilus. — O you gods divine ! 
 Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood, 
 If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death, 
 Do to this hotly what extremes you can ; 
 But the strong base and building of my love 
 Is as the very centre of the earth, 
 Drawing all things to it. — I'll go in, and weep ; — 
 
 Pan. Do, do. 
 
 Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my 
 praised cheeks, 
 Crack my clear voice with sobs, and break my heart 
 With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Before Pandarus' House. 
 
 Enter Paris, Troilus, ^Eneas, Deiphobus, 
 Antexor, and Diomedes. 
 
 Par. It is great morning ; and the hour prefix'd 
 Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 
 Comes fast upon: — Good my brother Troilus, 
 Tell you the lady what she is to do, 
 And haste her to the purpose. 
 
 Tro. Walk into her house ; 
 
 I'll bring her to the Grecian presently: 
 And to his hand when I deliver her, 
 Think it an altar ; and thy brother Troilus 
 A priest, there offering to it his own heart. [Exit. 
 
 Par. I know what 'tis to love ; 
 And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help ! — 
 Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in Pandarus' House. 
 
 Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 
 Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. 
 Cres. Why tell you me of moderation"? 
 The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, 
 And violenteth in a sense as strong 
 As that which causeth it : How can I moderate it? 
 If I could temporize with my affection, 
 Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, 
 The like allay ment could I give my grief: 
 My love admits no qualifying dross : 
 No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 
 Enter Troilus. 
 Pan. Here, here, here he comes. — Ah, sweet 
 du:ks! 
 
 Cres. Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracing him. 
 Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here ! Let me 
 
 embrace too : O heart! as the goodly saying is, 
 
 — — heart, O heavy heart, 
 
 Why sigh'st thou without breaking? 
 where he answers again, 
 
 1 Sense or feeling of relationship. 
 
 Because thou canst not ease thy smart, 
 By friendship, nor by speaking. 
 There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast awaj 
 nothing, for we may live to have need of such h 
 verse ; we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs ? 
 
 Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity, 
 That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy, 
 More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
 Cold lips blow to their deities — take thee from me. 
 
 Cres. Have the gods envy ? 
 
 Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay; 'tis too plain a case. 
 
 Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy? 
 
 Tro. A hateful truth. 
 
 Cres. What, and from Troilus tor' 
 
 T'ro. From Troy and Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Is it possible ? 
 
 Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance 
 Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
 All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
 Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
 Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 
 Even in the birth of our own laboring breath: 
 We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
 Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
 With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
 Injurious time now, with a robber's haste, 
 Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how : 
 As many farewells as be stars in heaven, 
 With distinct breath and consign 'd 8 kisses to them, 
 He fumbles up into a loose adieu; 
 And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, 
 Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 
 
 Mne. [ Within.] My lord ! is the lady ready ? 
 
 Tro. Hark! you arecall'd: Some say, the Genius 
 so 
 Cries, Come.' to him that instantly must die. — 
 Bid them have patience : she shall come anon. 
 
 Pan. Where are my tears ? rain, to lay this wind, 
 or my heart will be blown up by the root ! 
 
 [Exit Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. I must then to the Greeks? 
 
 Tro. No remedy. 
 
 Cres. A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks! 
 When shall we see again ? 
 
 Tro. Hear me, my love ! Be thou but true of 
 heart, 
 
 Cres. I true ! how now ? what wicked deem 9 is 
 this? 
 
 Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly. 
 For it is parting from us: 
 I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee; 
 For I will throw my glove to death himself, 
 That there's no maculation 1 in thy heart: 
 But, be thou true, say I, to fashion in 
 My sequent 2 protestation: be thou true, 
 And I will see thee. 
 
 Cres. 0, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers 
 As infinite as imminent! but, I'll be true. 
 
 Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear 
 this sleeve. 
 
 Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you! 
 
 Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, 
 To give thee nightly visitations. 
 But yet, he true. 
 
 Cres. O heavens ! — be true again ? 
 
 Tro. Hear why I speak it, love ; 
 The Grecian youths arc full of quality;* 
 They're loving, well compos : ), with gifts of nature 
 
 flowing, 
 And swelling o'er with arts and exercise; 
 How novelty may move, and parts with person. 
 
 » Sealed. » Surmise. Spot 
 
 » Following. 3 Highly accomplished 
 
016 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Alas, a kind of godly jealousy 
 
 (Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin) 
 
 Makes me afeard. 
 
 Cres. O heavens ! you love me not. 
 
 Tro. Die I a villain then ! 
 In this I do not call your faith in question, 
 So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing, 
 Nor heel the high lavolt,' nor sweeten talk, 
 Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, 
 To which the Grecians are most prompt and preg- 
 nant ; 
 But I can tell, that in each grace of these 
 There ljrks a still and dumb-discoursive devil, 
 That tempts most cunningly : but be not tempted. 
 
 Cres. Do you think I will ? 
 
 Tro. No. 
 But something may be done, that we will not : 
 And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, 
 When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, 
 Presuming on their changeful potency. 
 
 JEne. [Within.} Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Tro. Come, kiss; and let us part. 
 
 Par. [Within.'] Brother Troilus ' 
 
 Tro. Good brother, come you hither ; 
 
 And bring iEneas, and the Grecian, with you. 
 
 Ores. My lord, will you be true? 
 
 Tro. Who, I 1 alas, it is my vice, my fault: 
 While others fish with craft for great opinion, 
 I with great truth catch mere simplicity; 
 Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns, 
 With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
 Fear not my truth ; the moral of my wit 
 Is — plain, and true, — there's all the reach of it. 
 
 Enter .Eneas, Paris, Antksoh, Deiphobus, 
 and Diomedes. 
 
 Welcome, sir Diomed ! here is the lady, 
 Which for Antenor we deliver you; 
 At the port, 5 lord, I'll give her to thy hand ; 
 And, by the way, possess 8 thee what she is. 
 Entreat her fair; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
 If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword, 
 Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe 
 As Priam is in Ilion. 
 
 Dio. Fair lady Cressid, 
 
 So please you, save the thanks this prince expects : 
 The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek, 
 Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed 
 You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. 
 
 Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously, 
 To shame the zeal of my petition to thee, 
 In praising her: I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
 She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises, 
 As thou unworthy to be called her servant. 
 I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge; 
 For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not, 
 Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, 
 I'll cut thy throat. 
 
 Dio. 0, be not mov'd, prince Troilus: 
 
 Let me be privileged by my place, and message, 
 To be a speaker free ; when I am hence, 
 I'll answer to my lust: 1 And know you, lord, 
 I'll nothing do on charge ; To her own worth 
 She shall be priz'd; but that you say — be't so, 
 I'll speak it in my spirit and honor, — no. 
 
 Tro. Come, to the port. — I'll tell thee, Diomed, 
 This brave, shall oft make thee to hide thy head. — 
 Lady, give me your hand; and, as we walk, 
 To our own selves bend we our needful talk. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus, Cressida, and Diomed. 
 [Trumpet heard. 
 
 * A dance. 
 « Inform. 
 
 » Gate. 
 
 ' Pleasure, will 
 
 Par. Hark! Hector's trumpet. 
 
 JEne. How have we spent this morning' 
 
 The prince must think me tardy and remiss, 
 That swore to ride before him to the field. 
 
 Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: Come, come to field 
 with him. 
 
 Dei. Let us make ready straight. 
 
 JEne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, 
 Let us address to tend on Hector's heels: 
 The glory of our Troy doth this day lie, 
 On his fair worth and single chivalry. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — The Grecian Camp. Lists set out. 
 
 Enter Ajax armed; Agamemxon, Achilles, 
 
 Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and 
 
 others. 
 
 Agam. Here art thou in appointment 8 fresh and 
 fair, 
 Anticipating time with starting courage. 
 Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
 Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air 
 May pierce the head of the great combatant, 
 And hale him hither. 
 
 Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my purse 
 
 Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe : 
 Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
 Out-swell the colic of puff'd Aquilon: 
 Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood ; 
 Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpet sounds 
 
 Ulyss. No trumpet answers. 
 
 Achil. 'Tis but early days. 
 
 Agam. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas' daugh- 
 ter? 
 
 Ulyss. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait : 
 He rises on the toe : that spirit of his 
 In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 
 
 Enter Diomed, with Cressida. 
 
 Agam. Is this the lady Cressid? 
 
 Dio. Even she. 
 
 Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks 
 sweet lady. 
 
 Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss. 
 
 Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular; 
 'Twere better, she were kiss'd in general. 
 
 Nest. And very courtly counsel: I'll begin.— 
 So much for Nestor. 
 
 Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair 
 lady : 
 Achilles bids you welcome. 
 
 Men. I had good argument for kissing once. 
 
 Patr. But that's no argument for kissing now ' 
 For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment; 
 And parted thus you and your argument. 
 
 Ulyss. O deadly gall and theme of all our scorns ! 
 For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. 
 
 Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss ; — this, mine : 
 Patroclus kisses you. 
 
 Men. 0, this is trim ! 
 
 Patr. Paris, and I, kiss evermore for him. 
 
 Men. I'll have my kiss, sir: — Lady, by your 
 leave. 
 
 Cres. In kissing do you render or receive ? 
 
 Patr. Both take and give. 
 
 Cres. I'll make my match to live, 
 
 The kiss you take is better than you give; 
 Therefore no kiss. 
 
 Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three fo 
 one. 
 
 Cres. You're an odd man; give even or give 
 none. 
 
 Men. An odd man, lady? every man is ouiJ 
 • Preparation. 
 
•SCENE V. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 617 
 
 Cres. No, Paris is not ■ for, you know, 'tis true, 
 That you are odd, and he is even with you. 
 Men. You fillip me o' the head. 
 Cres. No, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Ulyss. It were no match, your nail against his 
 horn. — 
 May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you! 
 Cres. Vou may. 
 Ulyss. I do desire it. 
 
 Cres. Why, beg then. 
 
 Ulyss. Why then for Venus' sake, give me a kiss, 
 When Helen is a maid again, and his. 
 
 Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due. 
 Ulysr. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you. 
 Dio. Lady, a word ; I'll hring you to your father. 
 [Diomed leads out Cressida. 
 Nest. A woman of quick sense. 
 Ulyss. Fye, fye upon her! 
 
 There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, 
 Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out 
 At every joint and motive 9 of her body. 
 0, these encounterers, so glib of tongue, 
 That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, 
 And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
 To every ticklish reader! set them down 
 For sluttish spoils of opportunity, 
 And daughters of the game. [Trumpet within. 
 All. The Trojans' trumpet. 
 Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 
 
 Enter Hector, armed; ^Eneas, Troilus, and 
 other Trojans, with Attendants. 
 Mne. Hail, all the state of Greece ! what shall 
 be done 
 To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose, 
 A victor shall be known? will you the knights 
 Shall to the edge of all extremity 
 Pursue each other; or shall they be divided 
 By any voice or order of the field? 
 Hector bade ask. 
 
 Agam. Which way would Hector have it? 
 
 Mne. He cares not, he'll obey conditions. 
 Achil. 'Tis done like Hector ; but securely done, 
 A little proudly, and great deal misprising 
 The knight oppos'd. 
 
 Mne. If not Achilles, sir, 
 
 What is your name? 
 
 Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 
 
 Mne. Therefore Achilles: But, whate'er, know 
 this ; — 
 In the extremity of great and little, 
 Valor and pride excel themselves in Hector; 
 The one almost as infinite as all, 
 The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
 And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy. 
 This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood: 
 In love whereof, half Hector stays at home; 
 Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek 
 This, blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek. 
 Achil. A maiden battle then ? — 0, 1 perceive you. 
 
 Re-enter Diomed. 
 Agam. Here is sir Diomed : — Go, gentle knight, 
 Stand by our Ajax: as you and lord iEneas 
 Consent upon the order of their fight, 
 So be it; either to the uttermost, 
 Or else a breath:' the combatants being kin, 
 Half stints their strife before their strokes begin. 
 
 [Ajax and Hector enter the Lists. 
 Ulyss. They are oppos'd already. 
 Agam. What Trojan is that same that looks so 
 
 heavy ? 
 Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight; 
 • Motion. > Breathing, exercise. 
 
 Not yet mature, yet matchless; firm of word; 
 Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue; 
 Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd ■ 
 His heart and hand both open, and both free ; 
 For what he has, he gives ; what thinks, he shows 
 Yet gives he not, till judgment guide his bounty, 
 Nor dignifies an impair 5 thought with breath: 
 Manly as Hector, but more dangerous; 
 For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 3 
 To tender objects ; but he, in heat of action, 
 Is more vindicative than jealous love : 
 They call him Troiius; and on him erect 
 A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
 Thus says JEneas: one that knows the youth 
 Even to his inches, and, with private soul, 
 Did in great Ilion thus translate 4 him to me. 
 
 [Alarum. Hector and Ajax fight 
 Agam. They are in action. 
 Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own ! 
 Tro. Hector, thou sleep'st, 
 
 Awake thee! 
 
 Agam. His blows are well dispos'd: — there, Ajax ! 
 Dio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease. 
 Mne. Princes, enough, so please you. 
 
 Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. 
 Dio. As Hector pleases. 
 
 Hect. Why, then, will I no more : — 
 
 Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son, 
 A cousin-german to great Priam's seed; 
 The obligation of our blood forbids 
 A gory emulation 'twixt us twain : 
 Were thy commixion Greek and Trojan so, 
 That thou couldst say — This hand is Grecian all. 
 And this is Trojan; the sinews of this leg 
 All Greek, and this all Troy,- my mother's blood 
 Runs on the dexter 5 cheek, and this sinister' 
 Bounds-in my father's,- by Jove multipotent, 
 Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish mem- 
 ber 
 Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
 Of our rank feud : But the just gods gainsay, 
 That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother, 
 My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
 Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax : 
 By him that thunder*, thou hast lusty arms; 
 Hector would have them fall upon him thus. 
 Cousin, all honor to thee ! 
 
 Ajax. I thank thee, Hector: 
 
 Thou art too gentle, and too free a man : 
 I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 
 A great addition earned in thy death. 
 Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable 
 (On whose bright crest, Fame with her loud'st yes 
 Cries, This is he,} could promise to himself 
 A thought of added honor torn from Hector. 
 
 Mne. There is expectance here from both the sides, 
 What further you will do. 
 
 Hect. We'll answer it 
 
 The issue is embracement: — Ajax, farewell. 
 
 Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success, 
 (As seld : I have the chance,) I would desire 
 My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 
 
 Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish : and great Achilles 
 Doth long to see unarm 'd the valiant Hector. 
 
 Hect. iEneas, call my brother Troiius to me: 
 And signify this loving interview 
 To the expecters of our Trojan part; 
 Desire them home. — Give me thy hand, my cousin; 
 I will go eat with thee, and see your knights. 
 Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us -him. 
 
 » Unsuitable to his character. 
 * Explain his character. 
 « Left. 
 
 2 Q 
 
 » Yields, give* way 
 » Right 
 'Seldom. 
 
r 
 
 fiis 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Hect. The worthiest of fi^m tell me name by 
 name; 
 But for Achilles, my own searching eyes 
 Shall find him by his large and portly size. 
 
 Again. Worthy of arms, as welcome as to one 
 That would be rid of such an enemy; 
 Bnt that's no welcome: Understand more clear, 
 What's past, and what's to come, is strew'd with 
 
 husks 
 And formless ruin of oblivion; 
 But in this extant moment, faith and troth, 
 Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing 
 Bids thee, with most divine integrity, 
 From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome. 
 
 Hect. I thank thee, most imperious" Agamemnon. 
 
 Again. My well-famed lord of Troy, no less to 
 you. [7b Troilus. 
 
 Men. Let me confirm my j'lnoely brother's 
 greeting ; — 
 You brace of warlike brothers, vvelcome hither. 
 
 Hect. Whom must we answer? 
 
 Men. The noble Menelaus. 
 
 Hect. you, my lord? by Mars his gauntlet, 
 thanks ! 
 Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath ; 
 Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove: 
 She's well, but bade me not commend her to you. 
 
 Men. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly theme. 
 
 Hect. O pardon ; I offend. 
 
 Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, 
 Laboring for destiny, make cruel way 
 Through ranks of Greekish youth : and I have seen 
 
 thee, 
 As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, 
 Despising many forfeits and subduements, 
 When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air, 
 Not letting it decline on the declin'd ; 
 That I have said to some my standers-by, 
 Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life! 
 And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath, 
 When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in, 
 Like an Olympian wrestling: This have I seen; 
 But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel, 
 I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire, 9 
 And once fought with him: he was a soldier good; 
 But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, 
 Never like thee: Let an old man embrace thee; 
 And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents. 
 
 Mne. 'Tis the old Nestor. 
 
 Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle, 
 That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time: — 
 Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 
 
 Nest. I would, my arms could match thee in 
 contention, 
 As they contend with thee in courtesy. 
 
 Hect. I would they could. 
 
 Nest. Ha! 
 By this white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow. 
 Well, welcome, welcome ! I have seen the time — 
 
 Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands, 
 When we have here her base and pillar by us. 
 
 Hect. I know your favor, lord Ulysses, well. 
 Ah, sit, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead, 
 Since first I saw yourself and Diomed 
 In Dion, on your Greekish embassy. 
 
 Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue : 
 My prophecy is but half his journey yet; 
 For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, 
 Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds, 
 Musi kiss thel. own feet. 
 
 Hut I must not believe you : 
 
 '"uere they stand yet ; and modestly I think, 
 > Imperial. * Laomedon. 
 
 The fall of ever} 7 Phrygian stone will cost 
 A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all; 
 And that old common arbitrator. Tim? 
 Will one day end it. 
 
 Ulyss. So to him we leave it. 
 
 Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome: 
 After the general, I beseech you next 
 To feast with me, and see me at my tent. 
 
 Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou !• ■• 
 Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee; 
 I have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector, 
 And quoted ' joint by joint 
 
 Hect. Is this Achilles? 
 
 Achil. I am Achilles. 
 
 Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee 
 
 Achil. Behold thy fill. 
 
 Hect. Nay, I have done already. 
 
 Achil. Thou art too brief; I will the second time, 
 As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 
 
 Hect. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me 
 o'er; 
 But there's more in me than thou understand'st. 
 Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ? 
 
 Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part oi 
 his body 
 Shall I destroy him ? whether there, there, or there ? 
 That I may give the local wound a name; 
 And make distinct the very breach whereout 
 Hector's great spirit flew: Answer me, heavens! 
 
 Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud 
 man, 
 To answer such a question : Stand again : 
 Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly, 
 As to prcnominate 3 in nice conjecture, 
 Where thou wilt hit me dead ? 
 
 Achil. I tell thee, yea. 
 
 Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
 I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well 
 For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there; 
 But, by the forge that stithicd 3 Mars his helm, 
 I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. — 
 You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag, 
 His insolence draws folly from my lips; 
 But I'll endeavor deeds to match these words, 
 Or may I never 
 
 Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ; — 
 
 And you, Achilles, let these threats alone, 
 Till accident, or purpose, bring you to't; 
 You may have every day enough of Hector, 
 If you have stomach; the general state, I fear, 
 Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 
 
 Hect. I pray you, let us sec you in the field ; 
 We have had pelting wars, since you refus'd 
 The Grecians' cause. 
 
 Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hectoi ! 
 
 To-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death: 
 To-night, all friends. 
 
 Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 
 
 Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my 
 tent; 
 There in the full convive' we: afterwards, 
 As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
 Concur together, severally entreat him. — 
 Beat loud the tabourines,' let the trumpets blow. 
 That this great soldier may his welcome know. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Tjioilus and Ulysses 
 Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you, 
 In what place of the field doth Calchas keep ' 
 
 Ulyss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely Troilus 
 There Diomed doth feast with him to-night ; 
 Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth, 
 
 » Observed. 
 * Feast. 
 
 » Forename. « Stithy, is a smith's shop 
 • Small drum? 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 m, 
 
 But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
 On the fair Cressid. 
 
 Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much, 
 \fter we part from Agamemnon's tent, 
 To bring me thither ? 
 
 Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. 
 
 \s gentle tell me, of what honor was 
 
 This Cressida in Troy? Had she no lover there 
 That wails her absence? 
 
 Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scar*, 
 A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord ? 
 She was belov'd, she lov'd; she is, and doth: 
 But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles' 
 Tent. 
 
 Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 
 
 Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine 
 to-night, 
 Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. — 
 Patroclus. let us feast him to the height 
 
 Pair. Here comes Thersites. 
 
 Enter Thersites. 
 Achil. How now, thou core of envy ! 
 
 Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news? 
 
 Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, 
 and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for thee. 
 Achil. From whence, fragment ? 
 Ther. Why thou full dish of fool, from Troy. 
 Pair. Who keeps the tent now? 
 Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. 
 Pair. Well said, Adversity! 6 and what need 
 Ihese tricks ? 
 
 Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy; I profit not by 
 thy talk: thou art thought to be Achilles' male 
 varlet. 
 
 Patr. Male varlet, you rogue ! what's that ? 
 Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rot- 
 ten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, 
 catarrhs, loads o* gravel i' the back, lethargies, cold 
 palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, 
 bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i' 
 the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee- 
 simple of the tetter, take and take again such pre- 
 posterous discoveries! 
 
 Patr. Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, 
 what meanest thou to curse thus ? 
 Ther. Do I curse thee? 
 
 Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson 
 indistinguishable cur, no. 
 
 Ther. No ? why art thou exasperate, thou idle 
 immaterial skein of sleive' silk, thou green sarcenet 
 flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, 
 thou ! Ah, how the poor world is pestered with 
 such water-flies; diminutives of nature ! 
 Patr. Out, gall ! 
 Ther. Finch-egg! 
 
 Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite 
 From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
 Here is a letter from queen Hecuba ; 
 A token from her daughter, my fair love ; 
 Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep 
 An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it: 
 Fall, Greeks; fail, fame; honor, or go, or stay, 
 
 My major vow lies here, this I'll obey. 
 
 Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent ; 
 This night in banqueting must all be spent. 
 Away, Patroclus. 
 
 [Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. 
 
 Ther. With too much blood and too little brain, 
 
 these two may run mad; but if with too much 
 
 irain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer 
 
 • O ntrariety. ' Coarse, unwrought. 
 
 of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, — an hones* 
 fellow enough, and one that loves quails;' but h«- 
 has not so much brain as ear-wax: And the goodly 
 transformation of Jupiter there, his brother, the bull, 
 — the primitive statue, and oblique memorial of 
 cuckolds; 9 a thrifty shoeing-hom in a chain, hang- 
 ing at his brother's leg, — to what form, but that he 
 is, should wit larded with malice, and malice forced' 
 with wit, turn him to? To an ass, were nothing: 
 he is both ass and ox: to an ox, were nothing; he 
 is both ox and ass. To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a 
 fitchew, 3 a toad, a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a her- 
 ring without a roe, I would not care: but to be 
 MenelMis, — I would conspire against destiny. Ask 
 me not what I would be, if I were not Thersites; 
 for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, 3 so I were 
 not Menelaus. — Hey-day ! spirits and fires ! 
 
 Enter Hectoii, Troilds, Ajax, Agamemnon, 
 Ulysses, Nkstor, Menelaus, and Diomed. 
 
 with Lights. 
 
 Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong. 
 Al ax ' No, yonder 'tis 
 
 There, where we see the lights. 
 
 Hect. I trouble you. 
 
 Ajax. No, not a whit. 
 
 Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil. Welcome, brave Hector: welcome, princes 
 
 all ! 
 Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good- 
 night. 
 Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. 
 
 Hect. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks' 
 
 general. 
 Men. Good night, my lord. 
 Hect. Good night, sweet Menelaus 
 
 Ther. Sweet draught : 4 Sweet, quoth 'a ! sweet 
 sink, sweet sewer. 
 
 Achil. Good night, 
 And welcome, both to those that go or tarry. 
 Agam. Good night. 
 
 [Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus. 
 ^ Achil. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, Diomed, 
 Keep Hector company an hour or two. 
 
 Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important business, 
 The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great 
 Hector. 
 Hect. Give me your hand. 
 Ulyss. Fellow his torch, he goes 
 
 To Calchas' tent ; I'll keep you company. 
 
 [Aside to Troilus. 
 Tro. Sweet sir, you honor me. 
 Hect. And so good night. 
 
 [Exit Diomed ; Ulysses and Troilus-. 
 following. 
 Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 
 
 [Exeunt Achilles, Hecior, Ajax, una 
 Nestor. 
 
 • Harlots. 
 » Polecat 
 
 • Menelaus. 
 
 * A diseased beggar. 
 
 • Stuffed 
 «PriTT 
 
62C 
 
 TROIL JS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Ther. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, 
 a most unjust knave ; I will no more trust him 
 when he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses : 
 he will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler 
 the hound ; but when he performs, astronomers 
 foretell it : it is prodigious,' there will come some 
 change ; the sun borrows of the moon, when 
 I Homed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see 
 Hector, than not to dog him : they say, he keeps a 
 Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent : 
 I'll after. — Nothing but lechery ! all incontinent 
 varlets ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Before Calchas' Tent. 
 Enter Biomedes. 
 Dio. What, are you up here, ho ? speak. 
 Cat. [Within.'] Who calls] 
 Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Where's 
 your daughter ? 
 
 Cal. [ Within.'] She comes to you. 
 
 E??terTiioiLus and Ulysses, at a distance,- after 
 them Thersites. 
 Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us. 
 
 Enter Cressida. 
 Tro. Cressid come forth to him ! 
 Dio. How now, my charge? 
 
 Cres. Now, my sweet guardian ! — Hark ! a word 
 with you. [Whispers. 
 
 Tro. Yea, so familiar ! 
 Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 
 Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take 
 her cliff, 6 she's noted. 
 
 Dio- Will you remember? 
 Cres. Remember? yes. 
 
 Dio. Nay, but do then ; 
 
 ind lev your mind be coupled with your words. 
 Tro. What should she remember ? 
 Ulyst* List! 
 Cres Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to 
 
 «blly. 
 Ther. Roguery! 
 Dio. Nay, then, — 
 
 Ores. I'll tell you what : 
 
 Dio. JPho, pho ! come, tell a pin : You are for- 
 sworn. — 
 Cres. in faith, I cannot : What would you have 
 
 uie do? 
 Ther. A juggling trick, to be — secretly open. 
 Dio. What did you swear you would bestow on 
 
 n«3? 
 Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath ; 
 b<d me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. 
 Dio. Gi A night. 
 Tro. Hold, patience ! 
 
 Ulyss. How now, Trojan ? 
 
 Cres. Diomed, 
 
 Dio. Nc, -io, good night : I'll be your fool no more. 
 Tro. Thy better must. 
 
 Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear. 
 
 Tro. plague and madness ! 
 Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart, I 
 pr^y you, 
 t est your Jispleasure should enlarge itself 
 T wrathlul terms: this place is dangerous; 
 Tne time ight deadly ; I beseech you, go. 
 Tro. Behold, I pray you ! 
 Ulyss. Now, good my lord, go off: 
 
 I ,m flow to great destruction : come, my lord. 
 Tro. 1 pr'ythee, stay. 
 
 Ulyss You have not patience, come. 
 
 » Portentous, ominous. • Key. 
 
 Tro. I pray you, stay; by hell, anu all hell's tor 
 ments, 
 I will not speak a word. 
 
 Dio. And so, good night 
 
 Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 
 
 Tro. Doth that grieve thee ' 
 
 wither'd truth ! 
 
 Ulyss. Why, how now, lord? 
 
 Tro. By Jove, 
 
 1 will be patient. 
 
 Cres. Guardian! — why, Greek! 
 
 Dio. Pho, pho ! adieu ; you palter. 1 
 
 Cres. In faith, I do not ; come hither once again, 
 
 Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something; will 
 you go? 
 You will break out. 
 
 Tro. She strokes his cheek! 
 
 Ulyss. Come, come. 
 
 Tro. Nay, stay; by Jove, I will not speak a word: 
 There is between my will and all offences 
 A guard of patience ; — stay a little while. 
 
 Ther. How the devil luxury, with his fat rump 
 and potatoe finger, tickles these together! Fry. 
 lechery, fry ! 
 
 Dio. But will you then? 
 
 Cres. In faith, I will, la ; never trust me else. 
 
 Dio. Give me some token for the surpty of it. 
 
 Cres. I'll fetch you one. [Exit 
 
 Ulyss. You have sworn patience. 
 
 Tro. Fear me not, my lord ; 
 I will not be myself, nor have cognition" 
 Of what I feel ; I am all patience. 
 
 Re-enter Cressida. 
 
 Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now ! 
 
 Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 
 
 Tro. beauty ! where's thy faith ? 
 
 Ulyss. My lord, 
 
 Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will. 
 
 Cres. You look upon that sleeve; Behold it we'll.— 
 He lov'd me — false wench ! — Give't me again. 
 
 Dio. Who was't? 
 
 Cres. No matter, now I have't again. 
 
 I will not meet with you to-morrow night: 
 I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. 
 
 Ther. Now she sharpens; — Well said, whet- 
 stone. 
 
 Dio. I shall have it. 
 
 Cres. What, this? 
 
 Dio. Ay, that. 
 
 Cres. O, all you gods ! — pretty, pretty pledge ' 
 Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
 Of thee and me ; and sighs, and takes my glove, 
 And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, 
 As I kiss thee. — Nay, do not snatch it from me ; 
 He, that takes that, must take my heart withal. 
 
 Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 
 
 Tro. I did swear patience. 
 
 Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed ; 'faith you 
 shall not; 
 I'll give you something else. 
 
 Dio. I will have this; Whose was it? 
 
 Cres. 'Tis no mattei. 
 
 Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 
 
 Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better than you 
 will. 
 But, now you have it, take it. 
 
 Dio. Whose was it? 
 
 Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yonder," 
 And by herself, I will not tell you whose. 
 
 Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm ; 
 
 And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge rt 
 
 * Shuffle. « Knov loctee. Stars. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 TR JILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 021 
 
 Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn, 
 It should be challenged. 
 
 Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past; — And yet 
 it is not; 
 I will not keep my wotd. 
 
 Dio. Why then, farewell; 
 
 Thou never shalt moot Diomed again. 
 
 Cres. You shall not go: — One cannot speak a 
 word, 
 But it straight starts you. 
 
 Dio. I do not like this fooling. 
 
 Ther. Nor I, by Pluto ; but that that likes not 
 you, pleases me best. 
 
 Dio. What, shall I cornel the hour? 
 
 Cres. Ay, come : — O Jove ! — 
 
 Dc come: — I shall be plagued. 
 
 Dio. Farewell till then. 
 
 Cres. Good night. I pr'ythee, come. — 
 
 [Exit Diomedes. 
 Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ; 
 But with my heart the other eye doth see. 
 Ah ! poor our sex ! this fault in us I find, 
 The error of our eye directs our mind : 
 What error leads, must err; O then conclude, 
 Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude. 
 
 [Exit Cressida. 
 
 Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish 
 more, 
 Unless she said, My mind is now turn'd whore. 
 
 Ulyss. All's done, my lord. 
 
 Tro. It is. 
 
 Ulyss. Why stay we then ? 
 
 Tro. To make a recordation' to my soul 
 Of every syllable that here was spoke. 
 But, if I tell how these two did co-act, 
 Shall I not lie in publishing a truth 1 
 Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, 
 An esperance so obstinately strong, 
 That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears ; 
 As if those organs had deceptious functions, 
 Created only to calumniate. 
 Was Cressid here 1 
 
 Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 
 
 Tro. She was not, sure. 
 
 Ulyss. Most sure she was. 
 
 Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness. 
 
 Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but 
 now. 
 
 Tro. Let it not be believ'd for" womanhood ! 
 Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage 
 To stubborn critics' — apt, without a theme, 
 For depravation, — to square the general sex 
 By Cressid's rule: rather think this not Cressid. 
 
 Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil 
 our mothers ? 
 
 Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she. 
 
 Ther. Will he swagger himself out on'sown eyes. 
 
 Tro. This she? no, this is Diomed's Cressida: 
 If beauty have a soul, this is not she; 
 If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony, 
 If sanctimony be the gods' delight, 
 If there be rule in unity itself, 
 This was not she. O madness of discourse, 
 That cause sets up with and against itself! 
 Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt 
 Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
 Without revolt ; this is, and is not, Cressid ! 
 Within my soul there doth commence a fight 
 Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate 
 Divides more wider than the sky and earth; 
 And yet the spacious breadth of this division 
 Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle 
 
 » Bemembiance. » Fcr the sake ot • Cynic*. 
 
 As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter. 
 Instance, O instance! strong as Pluto's gates; 
 Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven : 
 Instance, O instance! strong as heaven itself; 
 The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissol v'd, and loos'd. 
 And with another knot, five-finger-tied, 
 The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, 
 The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy relics 
 Of her o'er-eaten faith are bound to Diomed. 
 
 Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be naif attach'd 
 With that which here his passion doth express . 
 
 Tro. Ay, Greek ; and that shall be divulged we. 
 In characters as red as Mars his heart 
 Inflam'd with Venus : never did young man fancy' 
 With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
 Hark, Greek ; — As much as I do Cressid love, 
 So much by weight hate I her Diomed : 
 That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm ; 
 Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill, 
 My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout, 
 Which shipmen do the hurricano call, 
 Constringed 5 in mass by the almighty sun, 
 Shall dizzy with more clamor Neptune's ear 
 In his descent, than shall my prompted sword 
 Falling on Diomed. 
 
 Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy. 6 
 
 Tro. Cressid ! O false Cressid! false, false, false! 
 Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, 
 And they'll seem glorious. 
 
 Ulyss. O, contain yourself; 
 
 Your passion draws ears hither. 
 Enter -<Eneas. 
 
 Mne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord 
 Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; 
 Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 
 
 Tro. Have with you, prince: — My courteous 
 lord, adieu : 
 Farewell, revolted fair ! — and, Diomed, 
 Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! 
 
 Ulyss. I'll bring you to the gates. 
 
 Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus, JEneas, and Ulysses. 
 
 Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed! 
 I would croak like a raven; I would bode, I woulo 
 bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the in 
 telligence of this whore: the parrot will not dc 
 more for an almond, than he for a commodiou* 
 drab. Lechery, lechery ; still, wars and lechery , 
 nothing else holds fashion: A burning devil take 
 them ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
 Enter Hector and Andromache. 
 
 And. When was my lord so much ungently 
 temper'd, 
 To stop his ears against admonishment • 
 Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 
 
 Hect. You train me to offend you : get you in : 
 By all the everlasting gods, I'll go. 
 
 And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to !h* 
 day. 
 
 Hect. No more, I say. 
 
 Enter Cassandra. 
 
 Cos. Where is my brother Hecioi ' 
 
 And. Here, sister; arm'd, and bloody in intent. 
 Consort with me in loud and dear petition, 
 Pursue we him on knees; for I have dream'd 
 Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night 
 Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughte 
 
 Cos. O, it is true. 
 
 Hect. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound 
 
 4 Love. » Compressed • Concu pis««no» 
 
622 
 
 TR01LUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act \ 
 
 Cos. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet 
 
 brother. 
 Hect. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me 
 
 swear. 
 Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and pee - Ish 1 vows; 
 They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
 Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 
 
 And. O ! be persuaded : Do not count it holy 
 To hurt by being just: it is as lawful, 
 For we would give much, to use violent thefts, 
 And rob in the behalf of charity. 
 
 Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow; 
 But vows, to every purpose, must not hold: 
 Unarm, sweet Hector. 
 
 Hect. Hold you still, I say; 
 
 Mine honor keeps the weather of my fate : 
 Life every man holds dear; but the dear man 
 Holds honor far more precious-dear than life, — 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 How now, young man, mean'st thou to fight to-day? 
 
 And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 
 
 [Exit Cassandra. 
 Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus; doff' thy har- 
 ness, youth, 
 am to-day i' the vein of chivalry: 
 Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, 
 And tempt not yet the brushes of the war. 
 Unarm thee, go; and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
 I'll stand, to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy. 
 
 Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you 
 Which better fits a lion, than a man. 
 
 Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus ? chide me 
 
 for it. 
 Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall, 
 Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword, 
 You bid them rise, and live. 
 Hect. O, 'tis fair play. 
 
 Tro. Fool's play, by heaven, Hector. 
 
 Hect. How now 7 how now 1 
 Tro. For the love of all the gods, 
 
 Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother ; 
 And when we have our armors buckled on, 
 The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ; 
 Spur them to ruthful 9 work, rein them from ruth. 1 
 Hect. Fye, savage, fye ! 
 
 Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. 
 
 Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day. 
 Tro. Who should withhold me ? 
 Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars 
 Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; 
 Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, 
 Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; 
 Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 
 Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way, 
 But by my ruin. 
 
 Re-enter Cassandra, with Priam. 
 Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast: 
 He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay, 
 Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, 
 Fall all together. 
 
 Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back: 
 
 Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had visions; 
 Cassandra doth foresee, and I myself 
 Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt, 
 To tell thee — that this day is ominous, 
 Therefore, come back. 
 
 Hect. iEneas is a-field ; 
 
 And I do stand engaged to many Greeks, 
 Even in the faith of valor, to appear 
 This morning to them. 
 
 Pri But thou shalt not go. 
 
 * ?ooliah. ' Put off. 9 Rueful, ^oful. Mercy. 
 
 Hect. I must not break my faith. 
 You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir, 
 Let me not shame respect; but give me leave 
 To take that course by your consent and voice, 
 Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 
 Cas. Priam, yield not to him. 
 And. Do not, dear fathei 
 
 Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you : 
 Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 
 
 [Exit AsinojucHii 
 Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl. 
 Makes all these bodements. 
 
 Cas. farewell, dear Hector. 
 
 Look, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns pale! 
 Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents! 
 Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out ! 
 How poor Andromache shrills her dolors forth ! 
 Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement, 
 Like witless antics, one another meet, 
 And all cry — Hector ! Hector's dead ! O Hector 
 . Tro. Away ! — Away ! 
 
 Cas. Farewell. Yet soft: — Hector, I take my 
 
 leave; 
 
 Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit. 
 
 Hect. You are amaz'd,my liege, nt her exclaim; 
 
 Go in, and cheer the town : we'll forth and fight: 
 
 Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. 
 
 Pri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand about 
 
 thee! 
 
 [Exeunt several!?/ Priam and Hector. 
 Alarums. 
 Tro. They are at it; hark! Proud Diomed, believe, 
 I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 
 As Troilcs is going out, enter, from the other side, 
 Pandarus. 
 Pan. Do you hear, my lord? do you hear? 
 Tro. What now? 
 
 Pan. Here's a letter from yon' poor girl. 
 Tro. Let me read. 
 
 Pan. A whoreson phthisic, a whoreson rascally 
 phthisic so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of 
 this girl ; and what one thing, what another, that 1 
 shall leave you one o' these days : And I have a 
 rheum in mine eyes too ; and such an ache in my 
 bunes, that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot tell 
 what to think on 't. — What says she there ? 
 
 Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from 
 the heart; [Tearing the Letter. 
 
 The effect doth operate another way. — 
 Go wind, to wind, there turn and change together. 
 My love with words and errors still she feeds; 
 But edifies another with her deeds. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Between Troy and the Grecian 
 Camp. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Thersitxs. 
 
 Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another ; 
 I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable var- 
 let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy, doting, fool- 
 ish young knave's sleeve of Troy there, in his helm : 
 I would fain see them meet; that that same young 
 Trojan ass, that loves the whore there, might send 
 that Greekish whoremaster villain with the sleeve, 
 back to the dissembling luxurious drab, on a sleeve- 
 less errand. O' the other side, The policy of those 
 crafty swearing rascals, — that stale old mouse-eaten 
 dry cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox Ulysses, 
 — is not proved worth a black-berry : — They set 
 me up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against 
 that dog of as bad x kind, Achilles: and now is the 
 cur Ajax nroudei than the cur Achilles, and wil/ 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 623 
 
 not arm to-day : Wiereupon the Grecians begin to 
 proclaim barbarism, and policy grows into an ill 
 opinion. Soft! here come sleeve, and t'other. 
 
 Enter Diomedes, Troilus following. 
 
 Tro. Fly not ; for, shouldst thou take the river 
 &tyx, 
 [ would swim a^er. 
 
 Dio. Thou dost miscall retire : 
 
 [ do not fly ; but advantageous care 
 Withdrew me from the odds of multitude : 
 Have at thee! 
 
 Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian! — now for thy 
 
 whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the sleeve ! 
 
 [Exeunt Troilus and Diombves, fighli?ig. 
 
 Enter Hector. 
 
 Hect. What art thou, Greek ? art thou for Hec- 
 tor's match? 
 \.rt thou of blood, and honor] 
 
 Ther. No, no , — I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing 
 knave ; a very filthy rogue. 
 
 Hect. I do believe thee ; — live. [Exit. 
 
 Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe me; 
 But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me! 
 What's become of the wenching rogues ? I think, 
 they have swallowed one another: I would laugh 
 at that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. 
 I'll seek them. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V.— The same. 
 Enter Diomedes and a Servant. 
 
 Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse; 
 Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid: 
 Fellow, commend my service to her beauty ; 
 Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan, 
 And am her knight by proof. 
 
 Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Enter Agamemnon. 
 
 Agam. Renew, renew ! The fierce Polydamus 
 Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon 
 Hath Doreus prisoner: 
 And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam," 
 Upon the pashed 3 corses of the kings 
 Epistrophus and Cedius: Polixenes is slain; 
 Amphimachus, and Thoas, deadly hurt; 
 Patroclus ta'en or slain ; and Palamedes 
 Sore hurt and bruis'd : the dreadful Sagittary 
 Appals our numbers; haste we, Diomed, 
 To reinforcement, or we perish all. 
 
 Enter Nestor. 
 
 Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles: 
 And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame. — 
 There is a thousand Hectors in the field ; 
 Now here he fights on Galathe his horse, 
 And there lacks work; anon, he's there afoot, 
 And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls 4 
 Before the belching whale ; then is he yonder, 
 And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge, 
 Fall down before him, like the mower's swath: 
 Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes ; 
 Dexterity so obeying appetite, 
 That what he will, he does; and does so much, 
 That proof is called impossibility. 
 
 Enter Ulysses. 
 Ulysi. 0, courage, courage, princes! great Achilles 
 Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance : 
 Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood, 
 « Lance » Bruised, crushed. ' Shoal of fish. 
 
 Together with his mangled Myrmidoi b, 
 
 That noseless, handless, hack'd and chirjp'd, come 
 
 to him, 
 Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend. 
 And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it, 
 Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day 
 Mad and fantastic execution ; 
 Engaging and redeeming of himself, 
 With such a careless force, and forceless care, 
 As if that luck, in very spite of cunning, 
 Bade him win all. 
 
 Enter Ajax. 
 Ajax. Troilus ! thou coward Troilus ! [Exit. 
 Dio. Ay, there, there. 
 
 Nest. So, so, we draw together. 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 Achil. ' Where is this Hectoil 
 
 Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face : 
 Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. 
 Hector! where's Hector! I will none but Hector 
 
 SCENE VI.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Enter Ajax. 
 Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy 
 head! 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 Dio. Troilus, I say ! where's Troilus ? 
 Ajax. What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Dio. I would correct him. 
 Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst have 
 my office, 
 Ere that correction : — Troilus, I say! what, Troilus ! 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 Tro. traitor Diomed !- turn thy false face, 
 thou traitor, 
 And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse ! 
 Dio. Ha ! art thou there ? 
 Ajax. I'll fight with him alone: stand, Diomed 
 Dio. He is my prize, I will not look upon. 
 Tro. Come both, you cogging 5 Greeks ; have at 
 you both. [Exeunt, fighting. 
 
 Enter Hector. 
 Hect . Yea, Troilus ? O, well fought, my youngest 
 brother ! 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 Achil. Now do I see thee: Ha! — Have at thee. 
 
 Hector. 
 Hect. Pause, if thou wilt. 
 Achil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. 
 Be happy that my arms are out of use: 
 My rest and negligence befriend thee now, 
 But thou anon shalt hear of me again; 
 Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit 
 
 Hect. Fare thee well :— 
 
 I would have been much more a fresher man, 
 Had I expected thee. — How now, my brother? 
 Re-enter Troilus. 
 Tro. Ajax hath ta'en -.-Eneas; Shall it be? 
 No, by the flame of yondei gkmous heaven, 
 He shall not carry 6 him; I'll be taken too. 
 Or bring him off: — Fate, hes.r me what I say ! 
 I reck ' not though I end my life to-day. [Exit 
 
 Enter one in sumptuous Armor. 
 
 Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek ? thou art a good 
 ly mark: — 
 N >1 wilt thou not? — I like thy armor well - 
 
 » Lying. • Prevail over Car* 
 
624 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Act V 
 
 I'll frush 8 it, and unlock the rivets all, 
 
 But I'll be master of it: — Wilt thou not, beast, 
 
 abide ? 
 Why, then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Nil.— The same. 
 Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. 
 Achil. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons; 
 Mark what I say. — Attend me where I wheel : 
 Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath ; 
 And when I have the bloody Hector found, 
 Empale him with your weapons round about; 
 In fellest manner execute your arms. 
 Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye: 
 It is decreed — Hector the great must die. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— The same. 
 
 Enier Menelaus and Pahis, fighting: then 
 
 Thersites. 
 Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are 
 at it: Now, bull! now, dog! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo ! 
 now my double-henned sparrow ! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo ! 
 The bull has the game : — 'ware horns, ho ! 
 
 [Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. 
 
 Enter Margarelon. 
 
 Mar. Turn, slave, and fight 
 
 Ther. What art thou 1 
 
 Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. 
 
 Ther. I am a bastard too ; I love bastards : I am 
 a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, 
 bastard in valor, in every thing illegitimate. One 
 bear will not bile another, and wherefore should 
 one bastard? Take heed, the quarrel's most omin- 
 ous to us : if the son of a whore fight for a whore, 
 he tempts judgment: Farewell, bastard. 
 
 Mar. The devil take thee, coward ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Enter Hector. 
 Hect. Most putrefied core, so fair without, 
 Thy goodly armor thus hath cost thy life. 
 Now is my day's work done ; I'll take good breath ; 
 Rest, sword; thou hast thy fill of blood and death! 
 [Puts off his Helmet, and hangs his Shield 
 behind him. 
 
 Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 
 Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set, 
 How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
 Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun, 
 To close the day up, Hector's life is done. 
 
 Hect. I am unarm'd ; forego this vantage, Greek. 
 Achil. Strike, fellows, strike; this is the man I 
 seek. [Hector falls. 
 
 So Ilion, fall thou next ! now, Troy, sink down ; 
 Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. — 
 On, Myrmidons; and cry you all amain, 
 Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain.' 
 
 [A Retreat sounded. 
 Hark ! a retreat upon our Grecian part. 
 Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my 
 
 lord. 
 Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads 
 the earth, 
 And, stickler 1 lik°, the armies separates. 
 My halHsupp'd sword, that frankly' would have fed, 
 Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. — 
 
 [Sheathes his sword. 
 9«»t. • An arbitrator at athletic gameg. > Fattening. 
 
 Come, tie his body to my horse's tail; 
 
 Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.—Tke same. 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor. 
 Diomedes, and others, marching. Shout* 
 within. 
 Agam. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that ? 
 Nest. Peace, drums. 
 
 [ Within.'] Achilles . 
 
 Achilles ! Hector's slain ! Achilles ! 
 
 Dio. The bruit 1 is — Hector's slain, and bj 
 
 Achilles. 
 Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ; 
 Great Hector was as good a man as he. 
 
 Agam. March patiently along: — Let one be sen 
 To pray Achilles see us at our tent. — 
 If in his death the gods have us befriended, 
 Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended 
 [Exeunt marching 
 
 SCENE XL— Another Part of the Field. 
 Enter ^Eneas and Trojans. 
 Mne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field ■ 
 Never go home ; here starve we out the night. 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 Tro. Hector is slain. 
 
 All. Hector 1 — The gods forbid 
 
 Tro. He's dead; and at the murderer's horse's tail, 
 In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful 
 
 field.— 
 Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed ' 
 Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy ! 
 I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, 
 And linger not our sure destructions on ! 
 
 JEne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host 
 Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so: 
 I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ; 
 But dare all imminence, that gods and men, 
 Address their dangers in. Hector is gone ! 
 Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba 1 
 Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd, 
 Go in to Troy, and say there — Hectnr's dead : 
 There is a word will Priam turn to stone; 
 Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, 
 Cold statues of the youth; and, in a word, 
 Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away; 
 Hector is dead ; there is no more to say. 
 Stay yet; — You vile abominable tents, 
 Thus proudly pight 3 upon our Phrygian plains, 
 Let Titan rise as early as he dare, 
 I'll through and through you ! — And thou, great 
 
 siz'd coward! 
 No space of earth shall sunder our two hates : 
 I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still, 
 That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts. — 
 Strike a free march to Troy ! — with comfort go 
 Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 
 
 [Exeunt ^Eneas and Trojans. 
 
 As Troilus is going out, enter, from the other 
 side, Pandarcs. 
 
 Pan. But hear you, hear you ! 
 
 Tro. Hence, broker lackey! ignomy* and shame 
 Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name ! 
 
 [Exit Troiltjs. 
 
 Pan. A goodly raed'cine for my aching bones ! — 
 world ! world ! world ! thus is the poor agent 
 despised ! O traitors and bawds, how earnestly are 
 you set a' work, and how ill requited ! Why should 
 
 « Noise, rumor. » Pitched, fixed. « Ignominy 
 
Scene Xl. 
 
 TROILUS AND CKESSIDA. 
 
 «!» 
 
 our endeavor oe so loved, and the performance so 
 loathed] what verse for it] what instance for it! — 
 Let me see : — 
 
 Full merrily the humble-bee doth sing, 
 Till he hath lost his honey, and his sting: 
 And being once subdued in armed tail, 
 Sweet honey and sweet notes together fail. — 
 
 Good traders in the flesh, set this in your painted 
 cloths.' 
 
 » Can va«g hanging* for rooms, palated wttfc wWwm 
 to! mottoe* 
 
 As many as be here of panders' hall, 
 Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall: 
 Or, if you cannot weep, jet give some groans, 
 Though not for me, yet for your aching boiies. 
 Brethren, and sisters, of the hold-door trade, 
 Some two months hence my will shall here be made. 
 It should be now, but that my fear is this, — 
 Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss : 
 Till then I'll sweat, and seek about for eases; 
 And, at that time, bequeath you my diseases. 
 
 [Exit 
 
TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Timon, u t oble Athenian. 
 
 Lucius, } 
 
 Luculxus, > Lords, and Flatterers of Timon. 
 
 Sempronius, ) 
 
 Ventid/us, one of Timon's false Friends. 
 
 Apemantus, a churlish Pkilosovfier. 
 
 Alcibiades, an Athenian General 
 
 Flavius, Steward to Timon. 
 
 Flaminius, ) 
 
 Lucilius, > Timon's Servants. 
 
 Seuvilius, ) 
 
 C APHIS, 
 
 Phi lotus, 
 Titus, 
 Lucius, 
 Hortensius, 
 
 > Servants to Timon's Creditors. 
 
 Two Servants of Varro. 
 
 The Servant of Isidore. 
 
 Two of Timon's Creditors. 
 
 Cupid and Maskers. 
 
 Three Strangers. 
 
 Poet. 
 
 Painter. 
 
 Jeweller. 
 
 Merchant. 
 
 An old Athenian. 
 
 A Page. A Fool. 
 
 Phhtnia, 
 Timandra 
 
 ,1 
 
 Mistresses to Alcibiades. 
 
 Other Lords, Senators, Officers, Soldiers, T/iievet, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, Athens; and the Woods adjoining. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — Athens. A Haa in Timon's House. 
 
 Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and. 
 others, at several doors. 
 
 Poet. Good-day, sir. 
 
 Pain. I am glad you are well. 
 
 Poet. I have not seen you long ; How goes the 
 world 1 
 
 Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows. 
 
 Poet. Ay, that's well known : 
 
 But what particular rarity 1 what strange, 
 Which manifold record not matches'? See, 
 Magic of bounty! all these spirits thy power 
 Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant. 
 
 Pain. I know them both ; t'other's a jeweller. 
 
 Mer. 0, 'tis a worthy lord ! 
 
 Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd. 
 
 Mer. A most incomparable man ; breath'd,' as 
 it were, 
 To an untirable and continuate 3 goodness: 
 He passes. 1 
 
 Jew. I have a jewel here. 
 
 Mer. O, pray, let's see't : For the lord Timon, sir 1 
 
 Jew. If he will touch the estimate; But, for that — 
 
 Poet. When we for recompense have prais'd the 
 vile, 
 Tt stains the glory in that happy verse 
 Which aptly sings the good. 
 
 Mer. 'Tis a good form. 
 
 [Looking at thejewa 
 
 Jew. And rich: here is a water, look you. 
 
 * Inured by constant practice. a Continual. 
 
 *» t. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds. 
 
 Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some de- 
 dication 
 To the great lord. 
 
 Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me. 
 
 Our poesy is as a gum, which oozes 
 From whence 'tis nourished : The fire i' the flint 
 Shows not till it be struck; our gentle flame 
 Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies 
 Each bound it chafes. What have you there ? 
 
 Pai?i. A picture, sir. — And when comes youi 
 book forth? 
 
 Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment, 4 sir 
 Let's see your piece. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis a good piece. 
 
 Poet. So 'tis : this comes off well and excellent 
 
 Pain. Indifferent. 
 
 Poet. Admirable : How this grace 
 
 Speaks his own standing! what a mental power 
 This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination 
 Moves in this lip! to the dumbness of the ges 
 
 ture 
 One might interpret. 
 
 Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
 Here is a touch; Is't goodl 
 
 Poet. I'll say of it, 
 
 It tutors nature: artificial strife* 
 Lives in these touches, livelier than life. 
 
 Enter certain Senators, and pass over 
 
 Pain. How this lord's follow'd ! 
 
 Poet. The senators of Athens: Happy men 
 
 * As soon as my book has been presented to TimoM 
 
 • t. e. The contest of art with nature 
 
bCFNE 1. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 62? 
 
 Pain. Look, more ! 
 
 Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood 
 of visitors. 
 I have in this rough work, shaped out a man 
 Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug 
 With amplest entertainment : My free drift 
 Halts not particularly," but moves itself 
 In a wide sea of wax: no levelled malice 
 Infects one comma in the course I hold ; 
 But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, 
 Leaving no tract behind. 
 
 Pain. How shall I understand you? 
 Poet. I'll unbolt to you. 
 
 You see how all conditions, how all minds, 
 (As well of glib and slippery creatures, as 
 Of grave and austere quality,) tender down 
 Their services to lord Timon : his large fortune, 
 Upon his good and gracious nature hanging, 
 Subdues and properties to his love and tendance 
 All sorts of hearts: yea, from the glass-faced flatterer' 
 To Apemantus, that few things loves better 
 Than to abhor himself; even he drops down 
 The knee before him, and returns in peace 
 Most rich in Timon's nod. 
 
 Pain. I saw them speak together. 
 
 Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill, 
 Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd: The base o'the mount 
 Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures, 
 That labor on the bosom of this sphere 
 To propagate their states: 8 amongst them all, 
 Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fixed, 
 One do I personate of lord Timon's frame, 
 Whom Fortune with her ivory hands wafts to her ; 
 Whose present grace to present slaves and servants 
 Translates his rivals. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. 
 
 This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks, 
 With one man beckon'd from the rest below, 
 Bowing his head against the steepy mount 
 To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
 In our condition. 
 
 Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on : 
 
 All those which were his fellows but of late, 
 (Some better than his value,) on the moment 
 Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance 
 Rain'Siicrificial whisperings in his ear, 
 Make sacred even his stirrup, and through him 
 Drink the free air. 
 
 Pain. Ay, marry, what of these? 
 
 Poet. When fortune in her shift and change of 
 mood, 
 Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants, 
 Which labor'd after him to the mountain's top, 
 Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down, 
 Not one accompanying his declining foot. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis common : 
 A thousand moral paintings I can show 
 That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune 
 More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well, 
 To show lord Timon that mean eyes have seen 
 The foot above the head. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the 
 Servant of Ventipius talking with him. 
 Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you ? 
 
 Ven. Serv. Ay, my good lord : five talents is his 
 debt; 
 His means most short, his creditors most strait : 
 Your honorable letter he desires 
 To those have shut him up ; which failing to him, 
 Periods his comfort. 
 
 • My design does not stop at any particxilar character. 
 ' One who shows by reflection the looks of his patron. 
 ' To advance their conditions of life 
 
 Tim. Noble Ver.tidius! Well; 
 
 I am not of that feather, to shake off 
 My friend when he must need me. I do Know him 
 A gentleman, that well deserves a help, 
 Which he shall have : I'll pay the debt, and free him 
 Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him. 
 Tim. Commend me to him : I will send hia 
 ransom ; 
 And being enfranchis'd, bid him^ome to me: — 
 'Tis not enough to help the feeble up, 
 But to support him after. — Fare you well. 
 
 Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honor! [Exit. 
 
 Enter an old Athenian. 
 Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak. 
 Tim. Freely, good father. 
 
 Old Ath. Thou hast a servant named Lucilius. 
 Tim. I have so : What of him ? 
 Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man be- 
 fore thee. 
 Tim. Attends he here, or no ? — Lucilius ! 
 
 Enter Lucilius. 
 Luc. Here, at your lordship's seivice. 
 Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy 
 creature, 
 By night frequents my house. I am a man 
 That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift ; 
 And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd, 
 Than one which holds a trencher. 
 
 Tim. Well ; what further ' 
 
 Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin elst. 
 On whom I may confer what I have got: 
 The maid is fair, o' the youngest for a bride, 
 And I have bred her at my dearest cost, 
 In qualities of the best. This man of thine 
 Attempts her love : I pr'ythee, noble lord, 
 Join with me to forbid him her resort ; 
 Myself have spoke in vain. 
 
 Tim. The man is honest 
 
 Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon : 
 His honesty rewards him in itself, 
 It must not bear my daughter. 
 
 Tim. Does she love him? 
 
 Old Ath. She is young and apt: 
 Our own precedent passions do instruct us 
 What levity's in youth. 
 
 Tim. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid? 
 Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. 
 Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be 
 missing, 
 I call the gods to witness, I will choose 
 Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world, 
 And dispossess her all. 
 
 Tim. How shall she be endow'd, 
 
 If she be mated with an equal husband ? 
 
 Old Ath. Three talents, on the present ; in fu 
 
 ture, all. 
 Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me 
 long; 
 To build his fortune, I will strain a little, 
 For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter : 
 What you bestow, in hiin I'll counterpoise, 
 And make him weigh with her. 
 
 Old Ath. Most noble lord. 
 
 Pawn me to this your honor, she is his. 
 
 Tim. My hand to thee ; mine honor on my pro- 
 mise. 
 Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship; Nevei may 
 That state or fortune fall into my keeping, 
 Which is not ow'd to you ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian 
 Poet. Vouchsafe rav labor, and long live voui 
 lordship ! 
 
628 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act I 
 
 Tim. I thank you ; you shall hear from me anon: 
 Go not away. — What have you there, my friend ? 
 
 Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech 
 Your lordship to accept. 
 
 Tim. Painting is welcome. 
 
 The painting is almost the natural man ; 
 For since dishonor traffics with man's nature, 
 He id but outside: These pencil'd figures are 
 Even such as they give out. I like your work; 
 And you shall find, I like it : wait attendance, 
 Till you hear further from me. 
 
 Pain. The gods preserve you ! 
 
 Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen : <nve me your 
 hand: 
 We must needs dine together. — Sir, your jewel 
 Hath suffer'd under praise. 
 
 Jew. What, my lord ? dispraise ? 
 
 Tim. / mere satiety of commendations. 
 If I shoUid pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd, 
 [t would unclew 9 me quite. 
 
 Jew. My lord, 'tis rated 
 
 As those, which sell, would give: But you well know, 
 Things of like value, differing in the owners, 
 Are prized hy their masters ; believe't, dear lord, 
 You mend the jewel by wearing it. 
 
 Tim. Well mock'd. 
 
 Met: No, my good lord ; he speaks the common 
 tongue, 
 Which all men speak with him. 
 
 Tim. Look, who comes here ? Will you be chid? 
 
 Enter Apemantus. 
 
 Jew. We will bear, with your lordship. 
 
 Mer. He'll spare none. 
 
 Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ' 
 
 Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good mor- 
 row; 
 vVher thou art Timon's dog, and these knaves 
 honest. 
 
 Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves'! thou 
 know'st them not. 
 
 Apem. Are they not Athenians'! 
 
 Tim. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then I repent not. 
 
 Jew. You know me, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou knowest, I do ; I call'd thee by thy 
 aame. 
 
 Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not 
 like Timon. 
 
 Tim. Whither art going] 
 
 Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. 
 
 Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for. 
 
 Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the 
 
 AW. 
 
 Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. The best, for the innocence. 
 
 Tim. Wrought he not well that painted it? 
 
 Apem. He wrought better, that made the paint- 
 er ; and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. 
 
 Pain. You are a dog. 
 
 Apen. Thy mother's of my generation; What's 
 she, if I be a dog ? 
 
 Tim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. No; I eat not lords. 
 
 Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. 
 
 Apem. O, they eat lords ; so they come by great 
 bellies. 
 
 Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. 
 
 Apem. So thou apprehend'st it; Take it for thy 
 abor. 
 
 Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus? 
 •Ruin. 
 
 Apem. Not so well as plain dealing,' which will 
 not cost a man a doit. 
 
 Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth ? 
 
 Apem. Not worth my thinking. — Hownow^oe** 
 
 Poet. How now, philosopher? 
 
 Apem. Thou liest. 
 
 Poet. Art not one 7 
 
 Apem. Yes. 
 
 Poet. Then I lie not. 
 
 Apem. Art not a poet? 
 
 Poet. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then thou liest: look in thy last work, 
 where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow. 
 
 Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so. 
 
 Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay 
 thee for thy labor: He that loves to be flattered, is 
 worthy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord ' 
 
 Tim. What wouldst do then, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a 
 lord with my heart. 
 
 Tim. What, thyself? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. Wherefore? 
 
 Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. — 
 Art not thou a merchant ? 
 
 Mer. Ay, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Traffic confound thee, if the gods will 
 not! 
 
 Mer. If traffic do it, the gods do it. 
 
 Apem. Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound 
 thee! 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. 
 Tim. What trumpet's that ? 
 Serv. 'Tis Alcibiades and 
 
 Some twenty horse, all of companionship. 
 
 Tim. Pray, entertain them ; give them guide to 
 
 us. — [Exeunt some Attendants. 
 
 You must needs dine with me: — Go not you hence, 
 
 Till I have thank'd you ; and when dinner's done, 
 
 Show me this piece. — I am joyful of your sights. — 
 
 Enter Alcibiades, with his Company. 
 Most welcome, sir ! They salute. 
 
 Apem. So, so; there! — 
 
 Aches contract and starve your supple joints! — 
 That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet 
 
 knaves, 
 And all this court'sy ! The strain of man's bred out 
 Into baboon and monkey. 
 
 Alcih. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed 
 Most hungrily on your sight. 
 
 Tim. Right welcome, sir : 
 
 Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time 
 In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Apemantus 
 Enter two Lords. 
 1 Lord. What time a day is't, Apemantus 1 
 Apem. Time to be honest. 
 
 1 Lord. That time serves still. 
 
 Apem. The most accursed thou, that still omit'st 
 it. 
 
 2 Lord. Thou art going to lord Timon's feast. 
 Apem. Ay ; to see meat fill knaves, and wine 
 
 heat fools. 
 2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. 
 Apem. Thou art a fool, to bid me farewell twice. 
 2 Lord. Why, Apemantus? 
 Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for 1 
 mean to give thee none. 
 1 Lord. Hang thyself. 
 
 » Alluding to the proverb : Plsin dealing ig s> jewel, but 
 they who use it beggars 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 629 
 
 Apern. No, I will do Lothing at thy bidding; 
 make thy requests to thy frier.d. 
 
 2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn 
 thee hence. 
 
 Apem I will fly like a dog, the heels of the ass. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 1 Lord. He s opposite to humanity. Come, shall 
 
 we in, 
 And taste lord Timon's bounty! he outgoes 
 The very heart of kindness. 
 
 2 Lord. He pours it out; Plutus the god of gold 
 Is hut his steward: no meed, 2 but he repays 
 Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him, 
 
 But breeds the giver a return exceeding 
 All use of quittance. 3 
 
 1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries, 
 That ever govern'd man. 
 
 2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes ! Shall 
 
 we in? 
 1 Lord. I'll keep you company. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room of State in Timon's House. 
 
 Hautboys playing loud Music. A great Banquet 
 served in,- Fiavius and others attending; then 
 enter Timon, Alcibiades, Lucius, Ldcuuus, 
 Sempronius, and other Athenian Senators, with 
 Vejjtidius, and Attendants. Then comes, drop- 
 ping after all, Apemasttus, discontentedly. 
 Ven. Most honor'd Timon, 'thath pleas'd the 
 gods remember 
 My father's age, and call him to long peace. 
 He is gone happy, and has left me rich : 
 Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 
 To your free heart, I do return those talents, 
 Doubled with thanks, and service, from whose help 
 I deriv'd liberty. 
 
 Tim. 0, by no means, 
 
 Honest Ventidius : you mistake my love ; 
 I gave it freely ever ; and there's none 
 Can truly say, he gives, if he receives : 
 If our betters play at that game, we must not dare 
 To imitate them ; Faults that are rich, are fair. 
 Ven. A noble spirit. 
 [They all stand ceremoniously looking on Timojt. 
 Tim. Nay, my lords, ceremony 
 
 Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss 
 On faint deeds, hollow welcomes, 
 Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown ; 
 But where there is true friendship, there needs 
 
 none. 
 Pray sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes, 
 Than my fortunes to me. [^ e ,y *& 
 
 1 Lord. My lord, we always have confessed it. 
 Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it? hang'd it, have you 
 
 not? 
 Tim. O, Apemantus ! — you are welcome. 
 Apem. No. 
 
 You shall not make me welcome : 
 I come to have thee thrust me ou* of doors. 
 
 Tim. Fye, thou art a churl, you have got a 
 humor there 
 Does not become a man, 'tis much to blame: 
 They say, my lords, that ira furor brevis est* 
 But yond' man's ever angry. 
 Go, let him have a table by himself; 
 For he does neither affect company, 
 Nor is he fit for it, indeed. 
 
 Apem. Let me stay at thine own peril, Timon ; 
 I come to observe, I give thee warning on't. 
 Tim. I take no heed of thee : thou art an Athe- 
 
 » Meed here means desert. 
 
 * i. e. All the customary returns made in discharge of 
 •bligations. * Aager is a short madness. 
 
 nian; therefore welcome: I myself would have no 
 power: pr'ythee, let my meat make thee silent. 
 
 Apem. I scorn thy meat ; 'twould choke me, for 
 I should 
 Ne'er flatter thee. — you gods ! wha * number 
 Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not! 
 It grieves me to see so many dip their meat 
 In one man's blood; and all the madness is, 
 He cheers them up too. 5 
 
 I wonder men dare trust themselves with men . 
 Methinks they should invite them without knives; 
 Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. 
 There's much example for't; the fellow, that 
 Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and pledges 
 The breath of him in a divided draught, 
 Is the reediest man to kill him : it has been prov'd. 
 Ifl 
 
 Were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals ; 
 Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes: 
 Great men should drink with harness 6 on their 
 throats. 
 
 Tim. My lord, in heart; 7 and let the health go 
 round. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 
 
 Apem. Flow this way ! 
 
 A brave fellow ! — he keeps his tides well. Timon, 
 Those healths will make thee, and thy state, look ill 
 Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, 
 Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire : 
 This, and my food, are equals; there's no odds, 
 Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 
 
 Apemantus's Grace. 
 Immortal gods, I crave no pelf- 
 I pray for no man but myself- 
 Grant I may never prove so fond," 
 To trust man on his oath or bond,- 
 Or a harlot for her weeping,- 
 Or a dog that seems a sleeping,- 
 Or a keeper with my freedom,- 
 Or my friends, if 1 should need' em. 
 Amen. So fall to't: 
 Rich men sin, and I eat root. 
 
 [Eats and drinks 
 Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus ! 
 
 Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field 
 now. 
 
 Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. 
 Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of ene- 
 mies, than a dinner of friends. 
 
 Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, 
 there's no meat like them ; I could wish rny best 
 friend at such a feast. 
 
 Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine 
 enemies then ; that then thou might'stkill 'em, and 
 bid me to 'em. 
 
 1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my 
 lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby 
 we might express some part of our zeals, we should 
 think ourselves for ever perfect. 
 
 Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods 
 themselves have provided that I shall have much 
 help from you : How had you been my friends else? 
 why have you that charitable title from thousands, 
 did you not chiefly belong to my heart? I have told 
 more of you to myself, than you can with modesty 
 speak in your own behalf: and thus far I confirm 
 you. O, you gods, think I, what need we have any 
 friends, if we should never have need of them ' 
 
 » The allusion is to a pack of hounds trained to pursuit 
 by being gratified with the blood of an animal which the* 
 kill : and the wonder is, that the animal, on which the» 
 are feeding, cheers them to the chase. 
 
 e Armor. ' With sincer ; tv. • Foolis". 
 
630 
 
 TIMOiN OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 they were the most needless creatures living, should 
 we ne'er have use for them ; and would most re- 
 semble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that 
 keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I have 
 often wished myself poorer, that I might come 
 nearer to you. We are born to do benefits: and 
 what better or properer can we call our own, than 
 the riches of our friends? O, what a precious 
 comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, com- 
 manding one another's fortunes ! O joy, e'en made 
 away ere it can be born ! Mine eyes cannot hold 
 out water, methinks: to forget their faults, I drink 
 to you. 
 
 Apem. Thou weepeaC to make them drink, Timon. 
 
 2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our eyes, 
 And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up. 
 
 Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe a 
 bastard. 
 
 3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me 
 
 much. 
 Apem. Much! 9 [Tucket sounded. 
 
 Tim. What means that trump? — How now? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies 
 most desirous of admittance. 
 
 Tim. Ladies ? what are their wills ? 
 
 Serv. There comes with them a forerunner, my 
 lord, which bears that office, to signify their pleasures. 
 
 Tim. I pray, let them be admitted. 
 
 Enter Cupid. 
 Cup. Hail to thee, worthv Timon ; — and to all 
 That of his bounties taste ! — The five best senses 
 Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely 
 To gratulate thy plenteous bosom : The ear, 
 Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from thy table rise ; 
 They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 
 Tim. They are welcome all ; let them have kind 
 admittance : 
 Music, make their welcome. [Exit Cupid. 
 
 1 Lord. You see, my lord, how ample you are 
 belov'd. 
 
 Music. Re-enter Cupid, with a Masque of Ladies 
 as Amazons, with Lutes in their Hands, dancing, 
 and playing. 
 
 Apem. Hey day, what a sweep of vanity comes 
 this way ! 
 
 They dance ! they are mad women. 
 
 Like madness is the glory of this life, 
 
 As this pomp shows to a little oil, and root. 
 
 We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves; 
 
 And spend our flatteries, to drink those men, 
 
 Upon whose age we void it up again, 
 
 With poisonous spite, and envy. Who lives, that's 
 not 
 
 Depraved, or depraves ? who dies, that bears 
 
 Not one spurn to their graves of their friends' gift? 
 
 [ should fear, those, that dance before me now, 
 
 Would one day stamp upon me : It has been done; 
 
 Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 
 
 The Lords rise from Table with much adoring of 
 Timon; and to show their Loves, each singles out 
 an Amazon, and all dance, Men with Women, a 
 lofty Strain or two to the Hautboys, and cease. 
 Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, 
 fair ladies. 
 
 Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, 
 
 Which was not half so beautiful and kind ; 
 
 Vou have added worth unto't, and lively lustre, 
 
 • Much, was formerly an expression of contemptuous 
 admiration. 
 
 And entertain'd me with mim own device; 
 I am to thank you for it. 
 
 1 Lady. My lord, you take us even at the best, 
 
 Apem. 'Faith, for the worst is filthy ; and would 
 not hold taking, I doubt me. 
 
 Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet 
 Attends you : Please you to dispose yourselves 
 
 All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Cupid, and Ladies. 
 
 Tim. Flavius, 
 
 Flav. My lord. 
 
 Tim. The little casket bring me hither 
 
 Flav. Yes, ray lord. — More jewels yet! 
 There is no crossing him in his humor; [Aside. 
 Else I should tell him, — Well, — i'faith, I should, 
 When all's spent, he'd be cross'd' then, an he could, 
 'Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind; 
 That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind.' 
 [Exit, and returns with the Casket. 
 
 1 Lord. Where be our men ? 
 
 Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness. 
 
 2 Lord. Our horses. 
 
 Tim. O my friends, I have one word 
 
 To say to you: — Look you, my good lord, I must 
 Entreat you, honor me so much, as to 
 Advance this jewel ; 
 Accept, and wear it, kind my lord. 
 
 1 Lord. I am so far already in your gifts, — 
 All. So are we all. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate 
 Newly alighted, and come to visit you. 
 Tim. They are fairly welcome. 
 Flav. I beseech your honor, 
 
 Vouchsafe me a word : it does concern you near. 
 Tim. Near ? why then another time I'll hear thee : 
 I pr'ythee, let us be provided 
 To show them entertainment. 
 
 Flav. I scarce know now. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. May it please your honor, the lord Lucius, 
 Out of his free love, hath presented to you 
 
 Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver. 
 
 Tim. I shall accept them fairly: let the presents 
 Enter a third Servant. 
 Be worthily entertain'd. — How now, what news? 
 
 3 Serv. Please you, my lord, that honorable 
 gentleman, lord Lucullus, entreats your company 
 to-morrow to hunt with him ; and has sent your 
 honor two brace of greyhounds. 
 
 Tim. I'll hunt with him ; And let them be re- 
 ceiv'd, 
 Not without fair reward. 
 
 Flav. [Aside.'] What will this come to*. 
 
 He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, 
 And all out of an empty coffer. — 
 Nor will he know his purse; or yield me this, 
 To show him what a beggar his heart is, 
 Being of no power to make his wishes good; 
 His promises fly so beyond his state, 
 That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes 
 For every word ; he is so kind, that he now 
 Pays interest for't; his land's put to their books. 
 Well, 'would I were gently put out of office, 
 Before I were forced out! 
 Happier is he that has no friend to feed, 
 Than such as do even enemies exceed. 
 I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit. 
 
 i Shakspeare plays on the word crossed ; alluding to the 
 piece of silver money called a cross. 
 
 ■* For his nobleness of soul 
 
Act II. Scene i. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 631 
 
 Tim. You do yourselves 
 
 Much wrong you bate too much of your own merits: 
 Here, my loid, a trifle of our love. 
 
 2 Lord. With more than common thanks I will 
 
 receive it. 
 
 3 fjord. O, he is the very soul of bounty ! 
 Tim. And now I remember me, my lord, you gave 
 
 Good words the other day of a bay courser 
 I rode on : it is yours, because you liked it. 
 
 2 Lord I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in 
 that. 
 
 Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I know, 
 no man 
 Can justly praise, but what he does affect : 
 J weigh my friend's affection with' mine own : 
 I'll tell you true. I'll call on you. 
 
 All Lords. None so welcome. 
 
 Tim. I take all and your several visitations 
 So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give; 
 Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends, 
 And ne'er be weary. — Alcibiades, 
 Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich, 
 It comes in charity to thee: for all thy living 
 Is 'mongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast 
 Lie in a pitch'd field. 
 
 Alcib. Ay, defiled land, my lord. 
 
 1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound, 
 
 Tim. And so 
 
 Am I to you. 
 
 2 Lord. So infinitely endear'd, 
 
 Tim. All to you.' — Lights, more lights. 
 
 1 Lord. The best of happiness, 
 
 Honor, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon! 
 
 Tim. Ready for his friends. 
 
 [Exeunt Alcibiades, Lords, dj-c. 
 
 Apem. What a coil's here ! 
 
 Serving of becks,' and jutting out of bums! 
 I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums 
 That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs : 
 Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs 
 Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. 
 
 Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen, 
 I'd be good to thee. 
 
 Apem. No, I'll nothing: for, 
 
 If I should be brib'd too, there would be none left 
 To rail upon thee; and then thou wouldst sin the 
 
 faster. 
 Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me, thou 
 Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly : 
 What need these feasts, pomps, and vain glories '! 
 
 Tim. Nay, 
 
 An you begin to rail on society once, 
 I am sworn, not to give regard to you. 
 Farewell ; and come with better music. [Exit, 
 
 Apem. So ; — 
 
 Thou'lt not hear me now, — thou shalt not then, I'll 
 
 lock 
 Thy heaven 8 from thee. O, that men's ears should be 
 To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in a Senator's House. 
 Enter a Senator, with Papers in his Hand. 
 
 Sen. And late, five thousand to Varro ; and to 
 Isidore 
 He owes nine thousand ; beside my former sum, 
 Which makes it five-and-twenty. — Still in motion 
 Of raging waste ? It cannot hold; it will not. 
 If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog, 
 And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold: 
 If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
 Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon, 
 Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, 
 And able horses: No porter at his gate; 
 But rather one that smiles, and still invites 
 All that pass by. It cannot hold; no reason 
 Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho ! 
 Caphis, I say! 
 
 Enter Caphis. 
 
 Caph. Here, sir ; What is your pleasure ? 
 
 Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord 
 Timon ; 
 Importune him for my monies: be not ceased 3 
 With slight denial ; nor then silenced, when — 
 Commend me to your master — and the cap 
 Plays in the right hand thus: — but tell him, sirrah, 
 My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 
 Out of mine own; his days and times are past, 
 And my reliances on his fracted dates 
 Have smit my credit: I love, and honor him; 
 But must not break my back, to heal his finger. 
 Immediate are my needs; and my relief 
 Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, 
 But find supply immediate. Get you gone: 
 Put on a most importunate aspect, 
 •V visago of demand; for, I do fear, 
 » Stopped. 
 
 When every feather sticks in his own wing, 
 
 Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, 
 
 Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. 
 
 Caph. I go, sir. 
 
 Sen. I go, sir? — take the bonds along with you, 
 And have the dates in compt. 
 
 Caph. I will, sir. 
 
 Sen. Go. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — ^4 Hall in Timon's House. 
 Enter Flavius, with many Bills in his Hand. 
 
 Flav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of expense, 
 That he will neither know how to maintain it, 
 Nor cease his flow of riot: Takes no account 
 How things go from him ; nor resumes no care 
 Of what is to continue: Never mind 
 Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. 
 What shall be done? He will nut hear, till feel: 
 I must be round with him now he comes from 
 
 hunting. 
 Fye, fye, fye, fye ! 
 
 Enter Caphis, and the Servants of Isidore and 
 Varro. 
 
 Caph. Good even, Varro : What, 
 
 You come for money? 
 
 Var. Sen: Is't not your business too? 
 
 Caph. It is; — And yours too, Isidore? 
 
 lsid. Sen'. It is so. 
 
 Caph. 'Would we were all discharged! 
 
 Var. Serv. I fear it 
 
 Caph. Here comes the lord. 
 
 Enter Timox, Alcibiades, and Lords, 4r 
 
 Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again 
 My Alcibiades. — With me? What'» your will ? 
 
 Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues 
 
 ♦ i. e. All happiness to you. » Offering salutations 
 
 • By his heaven he means good advice. 
 
832 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 \CT 11 
 
 Tim. Dues? Whence are you? 
 
 Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Go to my steward. 
 
 Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off 
 To the succession of new days this month: 
 My master is awaked by great occasion, 
 To call upon his own ; and humbly prays you, 
 That with your other noble parts you'll suit, 
 In giving him his right. 
 
 Tim. Mine honest friend, 
 
 I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning. 
 
 Caph. Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. 
 
 Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord : — 
 
 hid. Serv. From Isidore; 
 He humbly prays your speedy payment, 
 
 Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's 
 wants, 
 
 Var. Serv. "Twas due, on forfeiture, my lord, six 
 weeks, 
 And past, 
 
 Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord ; 
 And I am sent expressly to your lordship. 
 
 Tim. Give me breath: 
 
 [ do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; 
 
 [Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords. 
 I'll wait upon you instantly. — Come hither, pray 
 you; [To Flavius. 
 
 How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd 
 With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, 
 And the detention of long-since-due debts, 
 Against my honor? 
 
 Flav. Please you, gentlemen, 
 
 The time is unagreeable to this business: 
 Your importunacy cease, till after dinner; 
 That I may make his lordship understand 
 Wherefore you are not paid. 
 
 Tim. Do so, my friends: 
 
 Bee them well entertain'd. [Exit Timon. 
 
 Flav. I pray, draw near. [Exit Flavius. 
 Enter Apemantus and a Fool. 
 
 Caph. Stay, stay; here comes the fool with Ape- 
 mantus ; let's have some sport with 'em. 
 
 Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us. 
 
 Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog ! 
 Var. Serv. How dost, fool? 
 
 Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow ? 
 ' Var. I speak not to thee. 
 
 Apem. No ; 'tis to thyself, — Come away. 
 
 [To the Fool. 
 
 Isid. Serv. [To Vak. Serv.] There's the fool 
 hangs on your back already. 
 
 Apem. No, thou stand'st single, thou art not on 
 him yet. 
 
 Caph. Where's the fool now? 
 
 Apem. He last asked the question. — Poor rogues, 
 and usurers' men ' bawds between gold and want ! 
 
 All Serv. What are we, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. Asses. 
 
 All Serv. Why 1 
 
 Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not 
 know yourselves. — Speak to 'em, fool. 
 
 Fool. How do you, gentlemen? 
 
 All Serv. Gramercies, good fool: how does your 
 mistress ? 
 
 Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald such 
 chickens as you are. 'Would, we could see you 
 at Corinth. 
 
 Apem. Good! gramercy. 
 
 Enter Page. 
 Fcol. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. 
 Page. [To the Fool.] Why, how now, captain? 
 
 what do you in this wise company ? — How dosi 
 thou, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I 
 might answer thee profitably. 
 
 Page. Pr'ythee, Apemantus, read me the super 
 scription of these letters; I know not which is which 
 
 Apem. Canst not read? 
 
 Page. No. 
 
 Apem. There will little learning die then, that 
 day thou art hanged. This is to lord Tirnon ; this 
 to Alcibiades. Go ; thou wast born a bastard, and 
 thou'lt die a bawd. 
 
 Page. Thou wast whelped a dog ; and thou shalt 
 famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool, 
 I will go with you to lord Timon's. 
 
 Fool. Will you leave me there ? 
 
 Apem. If Timon stay at home. — You three serve 
 three usurers? 
 
 All Serv. Ay; 'would they served us! 
 
 Apem. So would I, — as good a trick as ever 
 hangman served thief. 
 
 Fool. Are you three usurers' men ? 
 
 All. Serv. Ay, fool. 
 
 Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his ser- 
 vant: My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When 
 men come to borrow of your masters, they approach 
 sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mis- 
 tress' house merrily, and go away sadly : The rea- 
 son of this? 
 
 Var. Serv. I could render one. 
 
 Apem. Do it then, that we may account thee a 
 whoremaster, and a knave; which notwithstanding 
 thou shalt be no less esteemed. 
 
 Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool ? 
 
 Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like 
 thee. 'Tis a spirit : sometime, it appears like a lord ; 
 sometime, like a lawyer ; sometime, like a philoso- 
 pher, with two stones more than his artificial one: 
 He is very often like a knight; and, generally in all 
 shapes, that man goes up and down in, from four- 
 score to thirteen, this spirit walks in. 
 
 Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 
 
 Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man : as much 
 foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest. 
 
 Apem. That answer might have become Ape- 
 mantus. 
 
 All Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes lord Timon. 
 
 Re-enter Timon and Flavius. 
 
 Apem. Come with me, fool, come. 
 
 Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brothel 
 and woman ; sometime, the philosopher. 
 
 [Exeunt Apemantus and Fool. 
 
 Flav. 'Pray you, walk near; I'll speak with you 
 anon. [Exeunt Serv 
 
 Tim. You make me marvel : Wherefore, ere this 
 time, 
 Had you not fully laid my state before me; 
 That I might so have rated my expense, 
 As I had leave of means? 
 
 Flav. You would not hear me, 
 
 At many leisures I propos'd. 
 
 Tim. Goto: 
 
 Perchance, some single vantages you took, 
 When my indisposition put you back ; 
 And that unaptness made your minister. 
 Thus to excuse yourself. 
 
 Flav. O my good lord! 
 
 At many times I brought in my accounts, 
 Laid them before you ; you would throw thero <% 
 And say, you found them in mine honesty. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS 
 
 633 
 
 When, for some trifling present, you have bid me 
 Return so much, 1 I have shook my head, and wept; 
 Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you 
 To hold your hand more close: I did endure 
 Not seldom, nor no slight checks ; when I have 
 Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate, 
 And your great flow of debts. My dear-lov'd lord, 
 Though you hear now, (too late !) yet now's a time, 
 The greatest of your having lacks a half 
 To pay your present debts. 
 
 Tim. Let all my land be sold. 
 
 Flav. 'Tis all engaged, some forfeited and gone ; 
 And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
 Of present dues: the future comes apace: 
 What shall defend the interim 1 and at length 
 How goes our reckoning! 
 
 Tim. To Lacedsmon did my land extend. 
 
 Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word; 
 Were it all yours to give it in a breath, 
 How quickly were it gone ! 
 
 Tim. You tell me true. 
 
 Flav. If you suspect my husbandry, or falsehood, 
 Call me before the exactest auditors, 
 And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me, 
 When all our offices 8 have been oppress'd 
 With riotous feeders ; when our vaults have wept 
 With drunken spilth of wine ; when every room 
 Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy ; 
 I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock, 
 And set mine eyes at flow. 
 
 Tim. Pr'ythee, no more. 
 
 Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this 
 lord ! 
 How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants, 
 This night englutted ! Who is not Timon's] 
 What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord 
 
 Timon's] 
 Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon 1 
 Ah ! when the means are gone, that buy this praise, 
 The breath is gone whereof this praise is made : 
 Feast-won, fast-lost; one cloud of winter showers, 
 These flies are couch'd. 
 
 Tim. Come, sermon me no farther: 
 
 No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart : 
 Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 
 Why dost thou weep] Canst thou the conscience 
 
 lack. 
 To think I shall lack friends] Secure thy heart ; 
 If I would broach the vessels of my love, 
 And try the argument of hearts by borrowing, 
 Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use, 
 As I can bid thee speak. 
 
 Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts ! 
 
 Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine 
 are crown'd,' 
 That I account them blessings ; for by these 
 Shall I try friends: You shall perceive how you 
 Mistake my fortunes ; I am wealthy in my friends. 
 Within there, ho! — Flaminius, Servilius! 
 
 Enter Flaminius, Seiivilius, and other Servants. 
 Serv. My lord, my lord, — 
 
 ' A certain sum. 
 
 » The apartments allotted to culinary offices, Ac. 
 
 » MgniSed, made respectable. 
 
 Tim. I will despatch you severally. — You, to 
 
 lord Lucius. — 
 To lord Lucullus you ; I hunted with his 
 Honor to-day; — You to Sempronius; 
 Commend me to their loves; and, I am proud 
 
 say, 
 That my occasions have found time to u»e them 
 Toward a supply of money : let the request 
 Be fifty talents. 
 
 Flam. As you have said, my lord. 
 
 Flav. Lord Lucius, and lord Lucullus] humph! 
 
 [Aside. 
 Tim. Go you, sir, [To another Serv.] to the 
 
 senators, 
 (Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have 
 Deserv'd this hearing,) bid 'em send o'the instant 
 A thousand talents to me. 
 
 Flav. I have been bold, 
 
 (For that I knew it the most general way,) 
 To them to use your signet, and your name; 
 But they do shake their heads, and I am here 
 No richer in return. 
 
 Tim. Is 't true ] can it be ] 
 
 Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice 
 That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 
 Do what they would; are sorry — you are honor- 
 able, — 
 But yet they could have wish'd — they know not- 
 
 but 
 Something hath been amiss — a noble nature 
 May catch a wrench — would all were well — 'tig 
 
 pity— 
 And so, intending' other serious matters, 
 After distasteful looks and these hard fractions, 
 With certain half-caps, 3 and cold-moving nods. 
 They froze me into silence. 
 
 Tim. You gods, reward them ! — 
 
 I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly ; These old fellows 
 Have their ingratitude in them hereditary : 
 Their blood is caked, 'tis cold, it seldom flows; 
 'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind ; 
 And nature, as it grows again toward earth, 
 Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy. — 
 Go to Ventidius,— [ To a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee, — [To 
 
 Flavius.] be not sad, 
 Thou art true, and honest; ingeniously 3 I speak, 
 No blame belongs to thee: [To Serv.] Ventidius 
 
 lately 
 Buried his father ; by whose death, he's stepp'd 
 Into a great estate : when he was poor, 
 Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends, 
 I clear'd him with five talents; Greet him from me; 
 Bid him suppose, some good necessity 
 Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd 
 With those five talents: that had, — [To Flav.] 
 
 give it these fellows 
 To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think, 
 That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink. 
 Flav. I would, I could not think it; that thought 
 
 is bounty's foe ; 
 Being free 4 itself, it thinks all others so. [Exeunt, 
 
 1 Intending had anciently the same meaning as atteml 
 ing. 
 
 * A half-cap is a cap slightly moved, not put of 
 
 * For ingenuously. * Liberal, not parslmonlroa 
 
 2R 
 
634 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. -A Room in Lucullus's House. 
 
 Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him. 
 
 Serv. I have told my lord of you ; he is coming 
 Jown to you. 
 
 Flam. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Enter Lucullus. 
 
 Serv. Here's my lord. 
 
 Lucul. [Aside.] One of lord Timon's men 1 ? a 
 gift, I warrant. Why this hits right; I dreamt of 
 a silver basin and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest 
 Flaminius; you are very respectively* welcome, 
 sir. — Fill me some wine. — [Exit Servant] And 
 how does that honorable, complete, free-hearted 
 gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord 
 and master ? 
 
 Flam. His health is well, sir. 
 Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, sir. 
 And what hast thou there, under thy cloak, pretty 
 Flaminius? 
 
 Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir; 
 which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your 
 honor to supply: who, having great and instant 
 occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lord- 
 ship to furnish him ; nothing doubting your present 
 assistance therein. 
 
 Lucul. La, la, la, la, — nothing doubting, says 
 he? alas, good lord! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he 
 would not keep so good a house. Many a time and 
 often I have dined with him, and told him on't ; and 
 come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him 
 spend less ; and yet he would embrace no counsel, 
 take no warning by my coming. Every man has 
 nis fault, and honesty 6 is his ; I have told him on't, 
 but I could never get him from 'it. 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with Wine. 
 Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine. 
 Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. 
 Here's to thee. 
 
 Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 
 Lucul. I have observed thee always for a towardly 
 prompt spirit, — give thee thy due, — and one that 
 knows what belongs to reason ; and canst use the 
 time well, if the time use thee well: good parts in 
 thee. — Get you gone, sirrah. — [To the Servant, 
 who goes out.] — Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. 
 Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman: but thou art 
 wise; and thou knowest well enough, although 
 thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend 
 money; especially upon bare friendship, without 
 security. Here's three solidares for thee ; good boy, 
 wink at me, and say, thou sawest me not. Fare 
 •„hee well. 
 
 Flam. Is't possible, the world should so much 
 differ; 
 And we alive, that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness, 
 To him that worships thee. 
 
 [Throwing the Money away. 
 Lucul. Ha ! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit 
 tor thy master. [Exit Lucullus. 
 
 Flam. May these add to the number that may 
 scald thee ! 
 Let molten coin be thy damnation, 
 Thou disease of a friend, and not himself! 
 Has friendship such a faint and milky heart, 
 (t tarns in lesf; than two nights] O, you gods, 
 ■ For respectfully. • Honesty here means liberality. 
 
 I feel my master's passion ! ' This slave 
 
 Unto his honor, has my lord's meat in him : 
 
 Why should it thrive, and turn fc nutriment, 
 
 When he is turn'd to poison? 
 
 0, may diseases only work upon't! 
 
 And when he is sick to death, let not that part o4 
 
 nature 
 Which my lord paid for, be of any power 
 To expel sickness, but prolong his hour! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE 11.-^4 public Place. 
 Enter Lucius, with three Strangers. 
 Luc. Who, the lord Timon ? he is my very good 
 friend, and an honorable gentleman. 
 
 1 Stran. We know him for no less, though we 
 are but strangers to him. But I can tell you one 
 thing, my lord, and which I hear from common 
 rumors; now lord Timon's happy hours are done 
 and past, and his estate shrinks from him. 
 
 Luc. Fye, no, do not believe it : he cannot want 
 for money. 
 
 2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that not 
 long ago, one of his men was with the lord Lucullus, 
 to borrow so many talents ; nay, urged extremely 
 for't, and show'd what necessity belong'd to' t, and 
 yet was denied. 
 
 Luc. How? 
 
 2 Stfan. I tell you, denied, my lord. 
 
 Luc. What a strange case was that ? now, before 
 the gods, I'm ashamed on't. Denied that honor- 
 able man? there was very little honor show'd in't. 
 For my own part, I must needs confess, I have re- 
 ceived some small kindnesses from him, as money, 
 plate, jewels, and such like trifles, nothing compar- 
 ing to his ; yet, had he mistook him, and sent to 
 me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so 
 many talents. 
 
 Enter Servilius. 
 
 Ser. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord ; I have 
 sweat to see his honor. — My honored lord, — 
 
 [7b Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Servilius! you are kindly met, sir. Fare 
 thee well : — Commend me to thy honorable-virtu 
 ous lord, my very exquisite friend. 
 
 Ser. May it please your honor, my lord hath 
 sent 
 
 Luc. Ha! what has he sent? I am so much 
 endeared to that lord; he's ever sending: How 
 shall I thank him, thinkest thou ? And what has 
 he sent now ? 
 
 Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now, 
 my lord; requesting your lordship to supply hie 
 instant use with so many talents. 
 
 Luc. I know, his lordship is but merry with mc; 
 He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents. 
 
 Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord 
 If his occasion were not virtuous, 
 I should not urge it half so faithfully. 
 
 Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Serviliue? 
 
 Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis, true, sir. 
 
 Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfumish 
 myself against such a good time, when I might have 
 shown myself honorable! how unluckily it hap- 
 pened, that I should purchase the day before for 
 a little part, and undo a great deal of honor! — 
 Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to 
 1 Suffering. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 035 
 
 do't; the more beast, I say: — I was sending to use 
 lord Tim on myself, these gentlemen can witness; 
 But I would not for the wealth of Athens, I had 
 done it now. Commend me bountifully to his 
 good lordship; and I hope, his honor will conceive 
 the fairest of me, because I have no power to be 
 kind: And tell him this from me, I count it one of 
 my greatest afflictions, say, that I cannot pleasure 
 such an honorable gentleman. Good Servilius, 
 will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own 
 w ords to him ? 
 
 Ser. Yes, sir, I shall. 
 
 Luc. I will lx>k you out a good turn, Servilius. — 
 [Exit Servilius. 
 True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed; 
 And he, that's once denied, will hardly speed. 
 
 [Exit Lucius. 
 
 1 Strati. Do you observe this, Hostilius? 
 
 2 Stran. Ay, too well. 
 1 Stran. Why this 
 
 Is the world's soul; and just of the same piece 
 Is every flatterer's spirit. Who can call him 
 His friend, that dips in the same dish 1 for, in 
 My knowing, Timon hath been this lord's father, 
 And kept his credit with his purse ; 
 Supported his estate; nay, Timon's money 
 Has paid his men their wages; He ne'er drinks, 
 But Timon's silver treads upon his lip; 
 And yet, (0, see the monstrousness of man 
 When he looks out in an ungrateful shape !) 
 He does deny him, in respect of his, 
 What charitable men afford to beggars. 
 
 3 Stran. Religion groans at it. 
 
 1 Stran. For mine own part, 
 
 I never tasted Timon in my life, 
 Nor came any of his bounties over me, 
 To mark me for his friend; yet, I protest, 
 For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue, 
 \nd honorable carriage, 
 Had his necessity made use of me, 
 I would have put my wealth into donation, 
 And the best half should have return'd to him, 
 So much I love his heart: But, I perceive, 
 Men must learn now with pity to dispense: 
 For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in Sempronius's House. 
 
 Enter Sempronius, and a Servant of Timon's. 
 
 Sem. Must he needs trouble me in't? Humph! 
 'Bove all others? 
 He might have tried lord Lucius, or Lucullus ; 
 And now Ventidins is wealthy too, 
 Whom he redeem'd from prison : All these three 
 Owe their estates unto him. 
 
 Serv. O my lord, 
 
 They have all been touch'd, and found base metal; 
 
 for 
 They have all denied him ! 
 
 Sem. How ! have they denied him ? 
 
 Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him ? 
 And does he send to me! Three] humph! — 
 It shows but little love or judgment in him. 
 Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like phy- 
 sicians, 
 Thrive, give him over ; Must I take the cure upon 
 
 me ? 
 Hi has much disgraced mein't; I am angry at him, 
 That might have known my piace. I see no sense for't, 
 But his occasions might hbre -.voo'd me first; 
 For, in my conscience, I was the first man 
 That e'er receiv'd gift from him : 
 And does he think ro backwardly of me now, 
 
 That I'll requite it last! No: So it may prove 
 An argument of laughter to the rest, 
 And I amongst the lords be thought a fool. 
 I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum, 
 He had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake, 
 I had such a courage to do him good. But now return, 
 And with their faint reply this answer join ; 
 Who bates mine honor shall not know my coin. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Serv. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. 
 The devil knew not what he did, when he made 
 man politic; he cross'd himself by't: and I cannot 
 think, but in the end, the villanies of man will set 
 him clear. How faiviy this lord strives to appear 
 foul ! takes virtuous copies to be wicked ; like those 
 that, under hot ardent zeal, would set whole realms 
 on fire. 
 
 Of such a nature is his politic love. 
 This was my lord's best hope ; now all are fled, 
 Save the gods only : Now his friends are dead, 
 Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
 Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd 
 Now to guard sure their master. 
 And this is all a liberal course allows ; 
 Who cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Hall in Timon's House. 
 
 Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant of 
 Lucius, meeting Titus, Hortensius, and 
 other Servants to Timon's Creditors, waiting 
 his coming out. 
 
 Var. Serv. Well met; good morrow, Titus and 
 Hortensius. 
 
 Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 
 
 Hor. Lucius ? 
 
 What, do we meet together? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, and, I think. 
 
 One business does command us all; for mine 
 Is money. 
 
 Tit. So is theirs and ours. 
 
 Enter Phi lotus. 
 
 And sir 
 
 Luc. Serv. 
 Philotus too ! 
 
 Phi. Good day at once. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Welcome, good brother 
 
 What do you think the hour? 
 
 P'hi. Laboring for nine. 
 
 Luc. Serv. So much ? 
 
 Phi. Is not my lord seen yet ? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Not yet. 
 
 Phi. I wonder on't : he was wont to shine at seven 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter 
 with him : 
 You must consider, that a prodigal course 
 Is like the sun's ; but not, like his, recoverable. 
 I fear, 
 
 'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse; 
 That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet 
 Find little. 
 
 Phi. I am of your fear for that. 
 
 Tit. I'll show you how to observe a strange event 
 Your lord sends now for money. 
 
 Hor. Most true, he does. 
 
 Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift, 
 For which I wait for money. 
 
 Hor. It is against my heart. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows 
 
 Timon in this should pay more than he owes; 
 And e'en as if your lord should we»r rich j?wela 
 And send for money for 'em. 
 
636 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 act II] 
 
 Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods can 
 witness : 
 I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, 
 \nd now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 
 1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousand crowns : 
 
 What's yours? 
 Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine. 
 1 Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it should seem 
 by the sum, 
 Your master's confidence was above mine ; 
 Else, surely his had equall'd. 
 
 Enter Flaminius. 
 
 Tit. One of lord Timon's men. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Flaminius ! sir, a word : 'Pray, is my 
 lord ready to come forth ? 
 
 Flam. No, indeed, he is not. 
 
 Tit. We attend his lordship; 'pray signify so much. 
 
 Flam. I need not tell him that : he knows, you 
 are too diligent. [Exit Flaminius. 
 
 Enter Flatius, in a cloak, muffled. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ha! is not that his steward muffled so? 
 He goes away in a cloud: call him, call him. 
 
 Tit. Do you hear, sir ? 
 
 1 Var. Serv. By your leave, sir, 
 
 Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend ? 
 
 Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 
 
 Flav. Ay, 
 
 If money were as certain as your waiting, 
 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not 
 Your sums and bills, when your false masters eat 
 Of my lord's meat? Then they could smile, and fawn 
 Upon his debts, and take down th' interest 
 Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves 
 
 but wrong, 
 To stir me up ; let me pass quietly : 
 Believe't, my lord and I have made an end : 
 I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. 
 
 Flav. If 'twill not, 
 
 'Tis not so base as you ; for you serve knaves. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 1 Var. Serv. How ! what does his cashier'3 wor- 
 
 ship mutter? 
 
 2 Var. Sen\ No matter what; he's poor, and 
 that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader 
 than he that has no house to put his head in ? Such 
 may rail against great buildings. 
 
 Enter Servilius. 
 
 Tit. O, here's Servilius ; now we shall know 
 Some answer. 
 
 Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen, 
 
 To repair some other hour, I should much 
 Derive from it : for, take it on my soul, 
 My lord leans wond'rously to discontent. 
 His comfortable temper has forsook him ; 
 He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, are 
 not sick : 
 And, if it be so far beyond his health, 
 Methinks, he should the sooner pay his debts, 
 And make a clear way to the gods. 
 
 Ser. Good gods! 
 
 Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir. 
 
 Flam. [Within. - ] Servilius, help ! — my lord! my 
 lord 
 
 Enter Timon, in a rage,- Flaminius following. 
 Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my 
 passage? 
 Have I been ever free, and must my house 
 Be my retentive enemy, my gaol 1 
 
 The place which I have feasted, loes it now, 
 Like all mankind, show me anirm heait? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus. 
 
 Tit. My lord, here is my bill. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Here's mine. 
 
 Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord, 
 
 Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lard. 
 
 Phi. All our bills. 
 
 Tim. Knock me down with 'em f cleave me \* 
 the girdle. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Alas! my lord, 
 
 Tim. Cut my heart in sums. 
 
 Tit. Mine, fifty talents. 
 
 Tim. Tell out my blood. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. — 
 What yours ? — and yours ? 
 
 1 Var. Serv. My lord, 
 
 2 Var. Serv. My lord, 
 
 Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upoi 
 you ! [Exit. 
 
 Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw 
 their caps at their money ; these debts may well be 
 called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Re-enter Timon and Flavius. 
 
 Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, 
 the slaves; 
 Creditors ! — devils. 
 
 Flav. My dear lord, 
 
 Tim. What if it should be so? 
 
 Flav. My lord, 
 
 Tim. I'll have it so : — My steward ! 
 
 Flav. Here, my lord. 
 
 Tim. So fitly ? Go, bid all my friends again 
 Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius; all: 
 I'll once more feast the rascals. 
 
 Flav. my lord, 
 
 You only speak from your distracted soul ; 
 There is not so much left to furnish out 
 A moderate table. 
 
 Tim. Be't not in thy ca^e; go, 
 
 I charge thee ; invite them all : let in the tide • 
 Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE V.— The Senate-House. 
 The Senate silting. Enter Alcibiades, attended 
 
 1 Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it ; the fault's 
 Bloody ; 'tis necessary he should die : 
 
 Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 
 
 2 Se?i. Most true ; the law shall bruise him. 
 Alcib. Honor, health, and compassion to the 
 
 senate ! 
 
 1 Sen. Now, captain ? 
 
 Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues; 
 For pity is the virtue of the law, 
 And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
 It pleases time, and fortune, to lie heavy 
 Upon a friend of mine, who, in hot blood. 
 Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth 
 To those that, without heed, do plunge into it 
 He is a man, setting his fate aside, 
 Of comely virtues : 
 
 Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice; 
 (An honor in him which buys out his faul' ;) 
 But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit, 
 Seeing his reputation touch'd to death, 
 He did oppose his foe: 
 And with such sober and unnrted passion 
 
 • Timon quibbles. They present their written bills ; h« 
 catches at the word, and alludes to bills or battle-axe*. 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 637 
 
 ile did behave 9 his anger, ere 'twas spent, 
 As if he had but prov'd an argument. 
 
 1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, 
 striving to make an ugly deed look fair; 
 Your words have took such pains, as if they labor'd 
 To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling 
 Upon the head of valor; which, indeed, 
 Is valor misbegot, and came into the world 
 When sects and factions were newly born : 
 He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer 
 The worst that man can breathe; and make his 
 
 wrongs 
 His outsides ; wear them like his raiment, carelessly; 
 And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
 To bring it into danger. 
 If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, 
 What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill ] 
 
 Alcib. My lord, 
 
 1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear; 
 To revenge is no valor, but to bear. 
 
 Alcib. My lords, then, under favor, pardon me, 
 
 If I speak like a captain. 
 
 Why do fond men expose themselves to battle, 
 
 And not endure all threatenings ] sleep upon it, 
 
 And let the foes quietly cut their throats, 
 
 Without repugnancy] but if there be 
 
 Such valor in the bearing, what make we 
 
 Abroad! why then, women are more valiant, 
 
 That stay at home, if bearing carry it ; 
 
 And th' ass, more captain than the lion; the felon, 
 
 Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge, 
 
 If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords, 
 
 As you are great, be pitifully «ood : 
 
 Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood] 
 
 To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust;' 
 
 But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. 
 
 To be in anger, is impiety ; 
 
 But who is man, that is not angry] 
 
 Weigh but the crime with this. 
 
 2 Sen. You breathe in vain. 
 
 Alcib. In vain ] his service done 
 
 At I.acedamion, and Byzantium, 
 Were a sufficient briber for his life. 
 
 1 Sen. What's that ] 
 
 Alcib. Why, I say, my lords, h'as done fair 
 service, 
 And slain in fight many of your enemies: 
 How full of valor did he bear himself 
 In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds ] 
 
 2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em, he 
 Is a sworn rioter ; h'as a sin that often 
 
 Drowns him, and takes his valor prisoner: 
 If there were no foes, that were enough alone 
 To overcome him : in that beastly fury 
 He has been known to commit outrages, 
 And cherish factions : 'Tis inferr'd to us, 
 His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 
 
 1 Sen. He dies. 
 
 Alcib. Hard fate ! he might have died in war. 
 My lords, if not for any parts in him, 
 (Though his right arm might purchase his own time, 
 And be in debt to none,) yet more to move you, 
 Take my deserts to his, and join them both : 
 And, for I know, your reverend ages love 
 Security, I'll pawn my victories, all 
 My honor to you, upon his good returns. 
 If by this crime he owes the law his life, 
 Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore; 
 For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 
 
 1 Sen. We are for law, he dies ; urge it no more, 
 On height of our displeasure: Friend, or brother, 
 He forfeits his own blood, that spills another. 
 • Manage, govern, • For aggravation. 
 
 Alcib. Must it be so] it must not be. My lord* 
 I do beseech you, know me. 
 
 2 Sen. How ] 
 
 Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 
 
 3 Sen. What] 
 Alcib. I cannot think, but your age has forgot me; 
 
 It could not else be, I should prove so base," 
 To sue, and be denied such common grace : 
 My wounds ache at you. 
 
 1 Sen. Do you dare our anger 
 
 'Tis in few words, but spacious in eflect, 
 We banish thee for ever. 
 
 Alcib. Banish me ] 
 
 Banish your dotage; banish usury, 
 That makes the senate ugly. 
 
 1 Sen. If, after two days' shine, Athens contain thee, 
 Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell 
 
 our spirit, 
 He shall be executed presently. [Exeunt Senators. 
 
 Alcib. I\ow the gods keep you old enough: tha* 
 you may live 
 Only in bone, that none may look on you ! 
 I am worse than mad : I have kept back their foes, 
 While they have told their money, and let out 
 Their coin upon large interest ; I myself, 
 Rich only in large hurts ; — All those, for this ] 
 Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate 
 Pours into captains' wounds] ha! banishment] 
 It comes not ill ; I hate not to be banish'd ; 
 It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, 
 That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up 
 My discontented troops, and lay for hearts, 3 
 'Tis honor, with most lands to be at odds; 
 Soldiers should brook as little wrongs, as gods. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI. — A magnificent Room in Timon's 
 House. 
 
 Music. Tables set out: Servants attending. Enter 
 divers Lords, at several Doors. 
 
 1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 
 
 2 Lord. I also wish it to you. I think, this 
 honorable lord did but try us this other day. 
 
 1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring,' 
 when we encountered : I hope it is not so low with 
 him, as he made it seem in the trial of his several 
 friends. 
 
 2 Lord. It should not be by the persuasion of 
 his new feasting. 
 
 1 Lord. I should think so : He hath sent me an 
 earnest inviting, which many my near occasions die 
 urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond 
 them, and I must needs appear. 
 
 2 Lord. In like, manner was I in debt to my 
 importunate business, but he would not hear my 
 excuse. 1 am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, 
 that my provision was out. 
 
 1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I under- 
 stand how all things go. 
 
 2 Lord. Every man here's so. What would h» 
 have borrowed of you] 
 
 1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 
 
 2 Lord. A thousand pieces ! 
 1 Lord. What of you] 
 
 3 Lord. He sent to me, sir — Here he comes. 
 
 Enter Timon, and Attendants. 
 Tim, With all my heart, gentlemen both: — And 
 Iujw fare you ? 
 
 » For dishonored 
 
 * We should now say — lay cut for hearts, I. e. the &«♦• 
 tions of the people. 
 « To tire on a thing, meant to be idly employed o» H 
 
638 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your 
 lordship. 
 
 2 Lord. The swallow follows not summer more 
 willing, than we your lordship. 
 
 Tim, [Aside.'] Nor more willingly leaves winter; 
 such summer-birds are men. — Gentlemen, our 
 dinner will not recompense this long stay : feast 
 your ears with the music awhile ; if they will fare 
 so harshlj on the trumpet's sound : we shall to't 
 presently. 
 
 1 Lord. I hope it remains not unkindly with your 
 lordship, that I returned you an empty messenger. 
 
 Tim. O, sir, let it not trouble you. 
 
 2 Lord. My noble lord, 
 
 Tim. Ah, my good friend, what cheer? 
 
 [The Banquet brought in. 
 
 2 Lord. My most honorable lord, I am e'en sick 
 of shame, that, when your lordship this other day 
 sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar. 
 
 Tim. Think not on't, sir. 
 
 2 Lord, If you had sent but two hours before, — 
 
 Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. 
 — Come, bring in all together. 
 
 2 Lord. All covered dishes ! 
 
 1 Lord, Royal cheer, I warrant you. 
 
 3 Lord, Doubt not that, if money and the season 
 ^an yield it. 
 
 1 Lord. How do you ? what's the news ? 
 3 Lord. Alcibiadesis banish'd: Hear you of it] 
 1 4-2 Lord. Alcibiades banished ! 
 3 Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it. 
 
 1 Lord, How ? how ? 
 
 2 Lord, I pray you, upon what? 
 
 Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 
 3. Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble 
 feast toward. 
 
 2 Lord. This is the old man still. 
 
 3 Lord. Will't hold? will't hold? 
 
 2 Lord. It does: but time will — and so 
 
 3 Lord. I do conceive. 
 
 Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he 
 would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall be 
 in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let 
 the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place : 
 Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. 
 
 You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with 
 thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves 
 praised: but reseme still to give, lest your deities be 
 despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need 
 not lend to another.- for, were your godheads to 
 borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make 
 the meat be beloved, more than the man that gives it. 
 Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of vil- 
 
 lains: If there sit. twelve women at the table, let a 
 dozen of them be — as they are. — The rest of your 
 fees, gods, — the senators of Athens, togethtr with 
 the common lag s of people, — what is amiss in them, 
 you gods, make suitable fn destruction. For these 
 my present friends, — as thet, are to me nothing, su 
 in nothing bless them, and to .willing they are wel- 
 come. 
 
 Uncover, dogs, and lap. 
 
 [The Dishes uncovered are full of warm water. 
 
 Some speak. What does his lordship mean ? 
 
 Some other. I know not. 
 
 Tim. May you a better feast never behold, 
 You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke, and luke-warm 
 
 water, 
 Is your perfection. This is Timon's last ; 
 Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries, 
 Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces 
 
 [Throwing water in their faces. 
 Your reeking villany. Live loath'd and long, 
 Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, 
 Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, 
 You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies 
 Cap and knee slaves, vapors, and minute-jacks '." 
 Of man and beast, the infinite malady 
 Crust you quite o'er! — What, dost thou go? 
 Soft, take thy physic first — thou too, — and thou , — 
 
 [Throws the Dishes at them, and drives them out 
 Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. — 
 What, all in motion? Henceforth be no feast, 
 Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. 
 Burn, house ! sink, Athens ! henceforth hated be 
 Of Timon, man, and all humanity! [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords and Senators. 
 
 1 Lord, How now, my lords? 
 
 2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Timon's 
 
 fury? 
 
 3 Lord. Pish ! did you see my cap ? 
 
 4 Lord. I have lost my gown. 
 
 3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but 
 humor sways him. He gave me a jewel the other 
 day, and now he has beat it out of my hat: — Did 
 you see my jewel? 
 
 4 Lord. Did you see my cap! 
 2 Lord, Here 'tis. 
 
 4 Lord. Here lies my gown. 
 
 1 Lord. Let's make no stay. 
 
 2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad. 
 
 3 Lord. I feel't upon my bones. 
 
 4 Lord, One day he gives us diamonds, next 
 
 day stones. ■ [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— Without the Walls of Athens. 
 
 Enter Timon. 
 
 Vim. Let me look back upon thee, thou wall, 
 That girdlest in those wolves ! Dive in the earth, 
 And fence not Athens! Matrons, turn incontinent! 
 Obedience fail in children ! slaves and fools, 
 Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, 
 And minister in their steads! to general filths 5 
 Convert o' the instant, green virginity ! 
 Do 't in your parents' eyes ! bankrupts, hold tast ; 
 Rather than render back, out with your knives, 
 And cut your trusters' throats! bound servants,steal! 
 Large-handed robbers your grave masters are; 
 • Comniix sewer* 
 
 And pill by law ! maid, to thy master's bed ; 
 Thy mistress is o' the brothel! son of sixteen, 
 Pluck the lin'd crutch from the old limping sire 
 With it beat out his brains! piety, and fear, 
 Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth, 
 Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighborhood, 
 Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades, 
 Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, 
 Decline to your confounding contraries, 
 And yet confusion live ! — Plagues, incident to met 
 Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
 On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica. 
 
 « The lowest. 
 
 ' Jacks of the clo* ; like those of St. DuDstan'g church- 
 in Fleet-street. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 639 
 
 Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
 As lamely as their manners! lust. and liberty 8 
 Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth ; 
 That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, 
 And drown themselves in riot! itches, blains, 
 Sow all tne Athenian bosoms; and their crop 
 Be general leprosy! breath infect breath; 
 That their society, as their friendship, may 
 Be merely poison! Nothing I'll hear from thee, 
 But nakedness, thou detestable town! 
 Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! 3 
 Timon will to the woods; where he shall find 
 The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
 The gods confound (hear me, ye good gods all) 
 The Athenians both within and out that wall! 
 And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
 To the whole race of mankind, high and low ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— Athens. A Room in Timon's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Flavics, with two or three Servants. 
 
 I Serv. Hear you, master steward, where's our 
 master] 
 Are we undone? cast off? nothing remaining? 
 
 Flav. Alack, my fellows,what should I say to you? 
 Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 
 I am as poor as you. 
 
 1 Serv. Such a house broke ! 
 So noble a master fallen ! All gone ! and not 
 One friend, to take his fortune by the arm, 
 And go along with him ! 
 
 2 Serv. As we do turn our backs 
 From our companion, thrown into his grave; 
 
 So his familiars to his buried fortunes 
 
 Slink all away ; leave their false vows with him, 
 
 Like empty purses pick'd : and his poor self, 
 
 A dedicated beggar to the air, 
 
 With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, 
 
 Walks, like contempt, alone. — More of our fellows. 
 
 Enter other Servants. 
 Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 
 
 3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery, 
 That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still, 
 Serving alike in sorrow: Leak'd is our bark; 
 And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck, 
 Hearing the surges threat: we must all part 
 Into this sea of air. 
 
 Flav. Good fellows all, 
 
 The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you. 
 Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake. 
 Let's yet be fellows ; let's shake our heads, and say, 
 As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 
 We have seen better days. Let each take some ; 
 
 [Giving them Money. 
 Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more : 
 Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. 
 
 [Exeunt Servants. 
 O, the fierce ' wretchedness that glory brings us ! 
 Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, 
 Since riches point to misery and contempt? 
 Who'd be so mock'd with glory? or to live 
 But in a dream of friendship ? 
 To have his pomp and all what state compounds, 
 But only painted like his varnish'd friends ? 
 Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart , 
 Undone by goodness ! Strange, unusual blood,' 
 vVhen man's worst sin is, he does too much good! 
 Who then dares to be half so kind again ? 
 For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. 
 
 • For libertinism. 
 Ilastv precipitate 
 
 ' Accumulated curses. 
 1 Propensity, disposition. 
 
 My dearest lord, — bless'd to be most accars'd, 
 
 Rich, only to be wretched ; — thy great fortunes 
 
 Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord ! 
 
 He's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat 
 
 Of monstrous friends: nor has he with him to 
 
 Supply his life, or that which can command it. 
 
 I'll follow, and inquire him out ; 
 
 I'll serve his mind with my best will ; 
 
 Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Woods. 
 Enter Timon. 
 Tim. blessed breeding sun, draw from theearfrj 
 Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
 Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb, 
 Whose procreation, residence, and birth, 
 Scarce is dividant, — touch them with several for- 
 tunes ; 
 The greater scorns the lesser: Not nature, 
 To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune, 
 But by * contempt of nature. 
 Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord; 
 The senator shall bear contempt hereditary, 
 The beggar native honor. 
 It is the pasture lards the brother's sides, 
 The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who 
 
 dares, 
 In purity of manhood stand upright, 
 And say, This man's a flatterer? If one be, 
 So are they all ; for every grise of fortune 
 Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate 
 Ducks to the golden fool : All is oblique ; 
 There's nothing level in our cursed natures, 
 But direct villany. Therefore be abhorr'd 
 All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! 
 His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains: 
 Destruction fang 1 mankind ! — Earth, yield me 
 
 roots ! [Digging. 
 
 Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate 
 With thy most operant poison ! What is here! 
 Gold ? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods, 
 I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens! 
 Thus much of this, will make black, white; foul, 
 
 fair; 
 Wrong, right j base, noble; old, young; coward, 
 
 valiant. 
 Ha, you gods ! why this ? What this, you gods? 
 
 W T hy this 
 Will lug your priests and servants from your sides ; 
 Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads: 
 This yellow slave 
 
 Will knit and break religions ; bless the accurs'd ; 
 Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves, 
 And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
 With senators on the bench : this is -it, 
 That makes the wappen'd s widow wed again , 
 She, whom the spital house, and ulcerous sores 
 Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices 
 To the April day again. 6 Come, damned earth, 
 Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds 
 Among the rout of nations, I will make thee 
 Do thy right nature. — [March afar off.] — Ha? a 
 
 drum ? — Thou'rt quick, 
 But yet I'll bury thee : Thou'lt go, strong thief, 
 When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand : — 
 Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some Gold. 
 Enter Aixi biadks, with Drum aiid Fife, in war- 
 like mariner,- Phrynia and Timasiiiia. 
 Alcib. What art thou there « 
 
 Speak. 
 
 * But by is here used for without. * Bcaze, gripe 
 
 » Sorrowful. • i. e. GcJd restores her to all the awt-t- 
 ness and freshness of youth 
 
640 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw 
 thy heart, 
 for showing me again the eyes of man ! 
 Alcib. W/at is thy name ? Is man so hateful to 
 thee, 
 That art thyself a man? 
 
 Tim. I am mhnnthropos, and hate mankind. 
 For thy part, I do w*«h thou wert a dog, 
 ITiat I might love thee something. 
 
 j lab, I know thee well: 
 
 But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 
 Tim. I know thee too ; and more than that I 
 know thee, 
 I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; 
 With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules : 
 tteligious canons, civil laws are cruel ; 
 Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine 
 Hath in her more destruction than thy sword, 
 For all her cherubin look 
 
 ph r . Thy lips rot off! 
 
 Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot returns 
 To thine own lips again. 
 
 Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change? 
 Tim. As the moon docs, by wanting light to give : 
 But then renew I could not, like the moon ; 
 There were no suns to borrow of. 
 
 Akib. Noble Timon, 
 
 What friendship may I do thee ? 
 
 Tim. None, but to 
 
 Maintain my opinion. 
 
 Alcib What is it, Timon? 
 
 Tim. Promise me friendship.but perform none: If 
 Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for 
 Thou art a man! If thou dost perform.confound thee, 
 For thou'rt a man ! 
 
 Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. 
 Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. 
 Alcib. I see them now : then was a blessed time. 
 Tim. As thine is now, held with a brace of harlots. 
 Timan. Is this the Athenian minion, whom the 
 world 
 Voiced so regardfully ? 
 
 Tim. Art thou Timandra? 
 
 Timan. Yes. 
 
 Tim. Be a whore still ! they love thee not, that 
 use thee ; 
 Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
 Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves 
 For tubs, and baths ; bring down rose-cheeked youth 
 To the tub-fast, and the diet. 1 
 
 Timan. Hang thee, monster! 
 
 Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra ; for his wits 
 Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. — 
 I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 
 The want whereof doth daily make revolt 
 In my penurious band : I have heard, and griev'd, 
 How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, 
 Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbor states, 
 But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, — 
 Tim. I pr'y thee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone. 
 Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon. 
 Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost 
 trouble ? 
 I had rather be alone. 
 
 Alcib. Why, fare thee well : 
 
 Here's some gold for thee. 
 
 Tim. Keep't, I cannot eat it. 
 
 Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a 
 
 heap, 
 
 ' Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens? 
 
 Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 
 
 Alluding to the cure of the lues venerea, then in prac- 
 Km 
 
 Tim. The gods confound them all i' thy conquest, 
 and 
 Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd ! 
 
 Alcib. Why me, Timon 
 
 Tim. That 
 By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer 
 My country. 
 
 Put up thy gold : Go on, — here's gold, — go on , 
 Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
 Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison 
 In the sick air: Let not thy sword skip one: 
 Pity not honor'd age for his white beard, 
 He's an usurer: Strike me the counterfeit matron: 
 It is her habit only that is honest, 
 Herself's a bawd : Let not the virgin';; cheek 
 Make soft thy trenchant 8 sword; for those milk- 
 paps, 
 That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, 
 Are not within the leaf of pity writ, 
 Set them down horrible traitors : Spare not the babe, 
 Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their 
 
 mercy ; 
 Think it a bastard, 9 whom the oracle 
 Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, 
 And mince it sans remorse : ' swear against objects:* 
 Put armor on thine ears, and on thine eyes, 
 Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, 
 Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, 
 Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers. 
 Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, 
 Confounded be thyself! speak not, be gone. 
 
 Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold 
 thou giv'st me ! 
 Not all thy counsel. 
 
 Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse 
 
 upon thee! 
 Phr. <$r Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon : 
 
 Hast thou more ? 
 Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her 
 trade, 
 And to make whores, a bawd. Hold up, you sluts, 
 Your aprons mountant: You are not oathable, — 
 Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear, 
 Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues, 
 The immortal gods that hear you, — spare youi 
 
 oaths, 
 I'll trust to your conditions; 3 Be whores still; 
 And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you, 
 Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up; 
 Let your close fire predominate his smoke, 
 And be no turn-coats: Yet may your pains, six 
 
 months, 
 Be quite contrary: And thatch your poor thin roofs 
 With burdens of the dead ; — some that were hang'd. 
 No matter : — wear them, betray with them : whore 
 
 still ; 
 Paint till a horse may mire upon your face: 
 A pox of wrinkles ! 
 
 Thr. $ Timan. Well, more gold; — What then 7 — 
 Beiieve't, that we'll do any thing for gold. 
 
 Tim. Consumptions sow 
 In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins, 
 And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voic« 
 That he may never more false title plead, 
 Nor sound his quillets 4 shrilly: hoar the flamen, 
 That scolds against the quality of flesh, 
 And not believes himself: down with the nose, 
 Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away 
 Of him, that his particular to foresee, 
 
 • Cutting. » An allusion to the tale of QFMipus 
 
 1 Without pity. 
 
 3 i. e. Against objects of charity and compassion. 
 » Vocations. * Suhtilties 
 
Scene 111 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 G41 
 
 Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate 
 
 ruffians bald; 
 And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
 Derive some pain from you: Plague all; 
 That your activity may defeat and quell 
 The source of all erection. — There's more gold: — 
 Do you damn others, and let this damn you, 
 And ditches grave you all ! 
 
 Phr. Sf Timan. More counsel with more money, 
 bounteous Timon. 
 
 Tim. More whore, more mischief first; I have 
 given you earnest. 
 
 Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. 
 Farewell Timon! 
 If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. 
 
 Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. 
 
 Alcib. I never did thee harm. 
 
 Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. 
 
 Alcib. Call'st thou that harm ? 
 
 Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away, 
 And take thy beagle with thee. 
 
 Alcib. We but offend him. — 
 
 Strike. 
 
 [Drum beats. Exit Alcibiades, PmirNiA, 
 and Timandha. 
 
 Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkind- 
 ness, 
 Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou 
 
 [Digging. 
 Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast, 
 Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle, 
 Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff 'd, 
 Engenders the black toad, and adder blue, 
 The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm,' 
 With all the abhorred births below crisp 6 heaven 
 Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine ; 
 Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate, 
 From forth thy plenteous bosom one poor root ! 
 Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, 
 Let it no more bring out ungrateful man ! 
 Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ; 
 Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
 Hath to the marbled mansion all above 
 Never presented ! — 0, a root, — Dear thanks ! 
 Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas : 
 Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, 
 And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind, 
 That from it all consideration slips ! 
 
 Enter Apemanttjs. 
 More man ? Plague ! plague ! 
 
 Apem. I was directed hither: Men report 
 Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use them. 
 
 Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog 
 Whom I would imitate: consumption catch thee! 
 
 Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected ; 
 A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
 From change of fortune. Why this spade] this 
 
 place ? 
 This slave-like habit, and these looks of care ? 
 Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft, 
 Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot 
 That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods, 
 8y putting on the cunning of a carper. 
 Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
 By that which has undone thee: hinge thy knee, 
 Vnd let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe, 
 Blow off thy cap; praise his most vicious strain, 
 And call it excellent; thou wast told thus; 
 Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid wel- 
 come, 
 To knaves, and all approacl^ers; 'Tis most just, 
 
 » The *erpent called the blind worm. « Currei. 
 
 That thou turn rascal ; hadst thou wealth again, 
 Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness. 
 
 Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself 
 
 Apem. Thou hast cast away thyself, bein? like 
 thyself; 
 A madman so long, now a fool : What, think' s? 
 That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, 
 Will put thy shirt on warm? Will these moss'd trees, 
 That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels, 
 And skip when thou point'st outl Will the cold 
 
 brook, 
 Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste, 
 To cure thy o'er night surfeit? call the creatures,— 
 Whose naked natures live in all the spite. 
 Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks, 
 To the conflicting elements expos'd, 
 Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee \ 
 ! thou shalt find 
 
 Tim. A fool of thee: Depart. 
 
 Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 
 
 Tim. I hate thee worse. 
 
 Apem. Why ? 
 
 Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 
 
 Apem. I flatter not ; but say thou art a caitiff. 
 
 Tim. Why dost thou seek me out? 
 
 Apem. To vex thee. 
 
 Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's. 
 Dost please thyself in't? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. What ! a knave too "> 
 
 Apem. If thou didst put this sour cold habit on 
 To castigate thy pride, 'twere well : but thou 
 Dost it enforcedly ; thou'dst courtier be again, 
 Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
 Outlives uncertain pomp, is crown'd before; 1 
 The one is filling still, never complete ; 
 The other at high wish : Best state, contentless, 
 Hath a distracted and most wretched being, 
 Worse than the worst, content. 
 Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable. 
 
 Tim. Not by his breath 8 that is more miserable. 
 Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm 
 With favor never clasp'd ; but bred a dog. 
 Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath 9 pro- 
 ceeded, 
 The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
 To such as may the passive drugs of it 
 Freely command, thou wouldst have plunged thyself 
 In gen'ral riot; and have never learn 'd 
 The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
 The sugar'd game before thee. But myself 
 Who had the world as my confectionary ; 
 The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men 
 At duty, more than I could frame employment; 
 That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
 Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
 Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare 
 For every storm that blows ; — I to bear this, 
 That never knew but better, is some burden : 
 Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time 
 Hath made thee hard in't. Why shouldst thou hatt 
 
 men? 
 They never flatter'd thee. What hast thou given ' 
 If thou wilt curse; — thy father, that poor rag, 
 Must be thy subject; who, in spite, put stuff 
 To some she-beggar, and compounded thee 
 Poor rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone ! — • 
 If thou hadst not been born the worst of men. 
 Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. 
 
 Apem. Art thou proud vei I 
 
 Tim. Ay, that I am not thee. 
 
 ' t. t. Arrives sooner at the con pletion of its wieho* 
 • By his v">ce, sentence. from iufaocr 
 
S4i 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS 
 
 Aci I\ 
 
 I, that I was 
 
 Apem. 
 No prodigal. 
 
 Tim. I, that I am one now ; 
 
 Were all the wealth I have shut up in thee, 
 I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. — 
 That the whole life of Athens were in this ! 
 Thus would I eat it. [Eating a Root. 
 
 Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast. 
 
 [Offering him something. 
 Tim. First mend my company, take away thy- 
 self. 
 Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack 
 
 of thine. 
 Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; 
 If not, I would it were. 
 
 Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens? 
 Tirn. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou 
 wilt, 
 Tell them there, I have gold ; look, so I have. 
 Apem. Here is no use for gold. 
 Tim. The best and truest; 
 
 For here it sleeps and does no hired harm. 
 Apem. Where ly'st o'nights, Timon ? 
 Tim. Under that's above me. 
 
 Where feed'st thou o'days, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, 
 where I eat it. 
 
 Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew 
 my mind ! 
 
 Apem. Where wouldst thou send it ? 
 Tim. To sauce thy dishes. 
 Apem. The middle of humanity thou never 
 knewest, but the extremity of both ends ; When 
 thou wast in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mock- 
 ed thee for too much curiosity ; * in thy rags thou 
 knowest none, but art despised for the contrary. 
 There's a medlar for thee, eat it. 
 Tim. On what I hate, I feed not. 
 Apem. Dost hate a medlar ? 
 Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 
 Apem. An thou hadst hated meddlers sooner, 
 thoushouldst have loved thyself better now. What 
 man didst thou ever know unthrift, that was be- 
 loved after his means? 
 
 Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of, 
 didst thou ever know beloved ? 
 Apem. Myself. 
 
 Tim. I understand thee ; thou hadst some means 
 to keep a dog. 
 
 Apem. What things in the world canst thou 
 nearest compare to thy flatterers ? 
 
 Tim. Women nearest : but men, men are the 
 things themselves. What wouldst thou d.i with the 
 .vorld, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power ? 
 
 Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. 
 Tim. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the con- 
 fusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts? 
 Apem. Ay, Timon. 
 
 Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant 
 thee to attain to ! If thou wert the lion, the fox 
 would beguile thee: if thou wert the lamb, the fox 
 would eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the lion would 
 suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused 
 by the ass : if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would 
 torment thee; and still thou livedst but as a break- 
 fast to the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greedi- 
 dess would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard 
 thy life for thy dinner: wert thou the unicorn, pride 
 and wrath would confound thee, and make thine 
 .wn self the conquest of thy fury : wert thou a bear, 
 thou wouldst be killed by the horse: wert thou a 
 horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard : wert 
 • For too much finical delicacy. 
 
 thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and 
 the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life : al' 
 thy safety were remotion ; 3 and thy defence, absence 
 What beast couldst thou be, that wert not subject to 
 a beast? and what a beast art thou already, tha; 
 seest not thy loss in transformation ? 
 
 Apem. If thou couldst please me with speaking 
 to me, thou mightsthave hit upon it here : The com- 
 monwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts 
 Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou 
 art out of the city? 
 
 Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter : The 
 plague of company light upon thee ! I will fear tc 
 catch it, and give way: When I know not what else 
 to do, I'll see thee again. 
 
 Tirn. When there is nothing living but thee, thou 
 shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog, 
 than Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou art the cap 3 of all the fools alive. 
 Tim. 'Would thou wert clean enough to sp 
 
 upon. 
 Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to 
 
 curse. 
 Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. 
 Apem. There is no leprosy but what thou speak'st 
 Tim. If I name thee. — 
 I'll beat thee, — but I should infect my hands. 
 Apem. I would, my tongue could rot them off! 
 Tim. Away, thou issue of a mangy dog ! 
 Choler does kill me, that thou art alive; 
 I swoon to see thee. 
 
 Apem. 'Would thou would'st burst! 
 
 Tim. Away, 
 
 Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose 
 A stone by thee. [Throws a Stone at him. 
 
 Apem. Beast ! 
 Tim. Slave ! 
 
 Apem. Toad ! 
 
 Tim, Rogue, rogue, rogue ! 
 
 [Apemantus retreats backicard, as going. 
 I am sick of this false world ; and will love nought 
 But even the mere necessities upon it. 
 Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave; 
 Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
 Thy grave-stone daily; make thine epitaph, 
 That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
 thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 
 
 [Looking on the Gold. 
 'Twixt natural son and sire ! thou bright defiler 
 Of Hymen's purest bed ! thou valiant Mars! 
 Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer, 
 Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
 That lies on Dian's lap; thou visible god, 
 That solder'st close impossibilities, 
 And mak'st them kiss ! that speak'st with every 
 
 tongue, 
 To every purpose ! O thou touch* of hearts ! 
 Think, thy slave man rebels ; and by thy virtue 
 Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
 May have the world in empire ! 
 
 Apem. 'Would 'twere so; — 
 
 But not till I am dead ! — I'll say, thou hast gold, 
 Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. 
 
 Tim. Throng'd to? 
 
 Apem. Ay 
 
 Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee. 
 Apem, Live, and love thy misery . 
 
 Tim. Long live so, and so die! — I am quit. — 
 [Exit Apemantus* 
 More things like men * - Eat, Timon, and abhor 
 them. 
 
 5 Remoteness ; the being placed at a distance from th« 
 lien. * The top, the principal. * Touchstone 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 643 
 
 Enter Thieves. 
 
 1 Tktef. Where should he have this gold ? It is 
 some poor fragment, some slender ort of his re- 
 mainder : The mere want of gold, and the falling- 
 Irom of his friends, drove him into this melancholy. 
 
 2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure. 
 
 3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him : if he 
 care not fbr't, he will supply us easily ; if he covet- 
 ously reserve it, how shall's get it] 
 
 2 Thief. True; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid. 
 
 1 Thief. Is not this he? 
 'Thieves. Where? 
 
 2 Thief. 'Tis his description. 
 
 3 Thief He ; I know him. 
 Thieves. Save thee, Timon. 
 Tim. Now, thieves? 
 Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves. 
 Tim. Both too : and women's sons. 
 Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that much 
 
 do want. 
 Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of 
 
 meat. 
 Why should you want? Behold the earth hath roots; 
 Within this mile break forth a hundred springs: 
 The oaks bear masts, the briars scarlet hips ; 
 The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush 
 Lays her full mess before you. Want? why want? 
 1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, 
 As beasts, and birds, and fishes. 
 
 Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds 
 
 and fishes ; 
 You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con, 
 That you are thieves profess'd ; that you work not 
 In holier shapes: for there is boundless theft 
 In limited 6 professions. Rascal thieves, 
 Here's gold : Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape, 
 Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth, 
 And so 'scape hanging : trust not the physician ; 
 His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
 More than you rob : take wealth and lives together; 
 Do villany, do, since you profess to do't, 
 Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery : 
 The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
 Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, 
 And her pale fire she snatches from the sun : 
 The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
 The moon into salt tears : the earth's a thief, 
 That feeds and breeds by a composture 6 stolen 
 From general excrement: each thing's a thief; 
 The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power 
 Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves: away, 
 Rob one another. There's more gold : Cutthroats ; 
 All that you meet are thieves : To Athens, go, 
 Break open shops; nothing can you steal, 
 But thieves do lose it; Steal not less, for this 
 I give you; and gold confound you howsoever! 
 
 [Timox retires to his Cave. 
 3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my 
 profession, by persuading me to it. 
 
 1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he 
 thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 
 
 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give 
 over my trade. 
 
 I Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens : There 
 in no time so miserable, but a man may be true. 
 [Exeunt Thieves. 
 
 Enter Flavius. 
 
 Flav. O you gods! 
 fs yon despis'd and ruinous man my lord ? 
 Full of decay and failing? monument 
 And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd ! 
 » Legal. • Compost, manure. 
 
 What an alteration of honor has 
 
 Desperate want made! 
 
 What viler thing upon the earth, than friends 
 
 Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends' 
 
 How rarely 1 does it meet with this time's guise, 
 
 When man was wish'd to love .his enemies: 
 
 Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo 
 
 Those that would mischief me, than those that do ? 
 
 He has caught me in his eye : I will present 
 
 My honest grief unto him; and, as my lord, 
 
 Still serve him with my life. — My dearest master . 
 
 TiMorr comes forward from his Cave. 
 
 Tim. Away ! what art thou ? 
 
 Flav. Have you forgot me, sir'' 
 
 Tim. Why dost ask that ? I have forgot all men , 
 Then if thou grant'st thou'rt man, I have forgot thee. 
 
 Flav. An honest poor servant of yours. 
 
 Tim. Then 
 
 I know thee not : I ne'er had honest man 
 About me, I ; all that I kept were knaves, • 
 To serve in meat to villains. 
 
 Flav. The gods are witness, 
 
 Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
 For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. 
 
 Tim. What.dost thou weep? — Come nearer; — 
 then I love thee, 
 Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st 
 Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give, 
 But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping: 
 Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with 
 weeping ! 
 
 Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord, 
 To accept my grief, and whilst this poor wealth lasts, 
 To entertain me as your steward still. 
 
 Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now 
 So comfortable? It almost turns 
 My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold 
 Thy face. — Surely, this man was born of woman. 
 Forgive my general and exceptless rashness, 
 Perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim 
 One honest man, — mistake me not, — but one; 
 No more, I pray, — and he is a steward. — 
 How fain would I have hated all mankind, 
 And thou redeem'st thyself: But all, save thee, 
 I fell with curses. 
 
 Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise ; 
 For, by oppressing and betraying me, 
 Thou mightst have sooner got another service : 
 For many so arrive at second masters, 
 Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, 
 (For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,) 
 Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous, 
 If not a usuring kindness : and as rich men deal gifts, 
 Expecting in return twenty for one? 
 
 Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast 
 Doubt and suspect, alas, are placed too late : 
 You should have fear'd false times, when you did 
 
 feast : 
 Suspect still comes where an estate is least. 
 That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love, 
 Duty, and zeal to your unmatched mind, 
 Care of your food and living : and, believe it, 
 My most honor'd lord, 
 For any benefit that points to me, 
 Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange 
 For this one wish, That you had power and wealth 
 To requite me, by making rich yourself. 
 
 Tim. Look thee, 'tis so! — Thou singly honesi man, 
 Here take: — the gods out of my misery- 
 Have sent me treasure. Go, live rich, and happy: 
 But thus condition'd ; Thou shalt build from mer 
 1 How happily. » Away from human habitation 
 
644 
 
 T1M0N OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Hate all, curse all ; show charity to none ; 
 But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, 
 Ere thou relieve tne beggar: give to dogs 
 What thou deny'st to men; let prisons swallow them, 
 Debts wither them: Be men like blasted woods, 
 »nd may diseases lick up their false bloods ! 
 And so farewell, and thrive. 
 
 Flav. 0, let me stay, 
 
 And comfort you, my master. 
 
 Tim. If thou hat'st 
 
 Curses, stay not; fly, whilst thou artbless'd and free 
 Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee. 
 
 [Exeunt severalty. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Be/b>fiTimon's Cave. 
 
 Enter Poet and Painter; Timon behind, unseen. 
 
 Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be 
 far where he abides. 
 
 Poet. What's to be thought of him ? Does the 
 rumor hold for true, that he is so full of gold 1 
 
 Pain. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia 
 and Timandra had gold of him : he likewise en- 
 riched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity: 
 'Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty sum. 
 Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a 
 try for his friends. 
 
 Pain. Nothing else: you shall see him a palm 
 in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. 
 Therefore, 'tis not amiss we tender our loves to 
 him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show 
 honestly in us ; and is very likely to load our pur- 
 poses with what they travel for, if it be a just and 
 true report that goes of his having. 
 
 Poet. What have you now to present unto him ? 
 Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation : 
 only I will promise him an excellent piece. 
 
 Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an 
 intent that's coming toward him. 
 
 Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very 
 air o'the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: 
 performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but 
 in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed 
 of saying* is quite out of use. To promise is most 
 courtly and fashionable : performance is a kind of 
 will or testament, which argues a great sickness in 
 his judgment that makes it. 
 
 Tim. Excellent workman ! Thou canst not 
 paint a man so bad as is thyself. 
 
 Poet. I am thinking what I shall say I have pro- 
 vided for him : It must be a personating of him- 
 self; a satire against the softness of prosperity : with 
 a discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow 
 youth and opulency. 
 
 Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine 
 :wn work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in 
 .ther men? Do so, I have gold for thee. 
 
 Poet. Nay, let's seek him : 
 Then do we sin against our own estate, 
 When we may profit meet, and come too late. 
 
 Pain. True; 
 When the day serves, before black-corner'd night, 
 Find what thou want'st, by free and offered light. 
 Gome. 
 
 Tim I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, 
 That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple, 
 Than where swine feed! 
 'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the 
 
 foam; 
 Pettiest admired reverence in a slave 
 To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye 
 Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey ! 
 Fit I do meet them. [Advancing. 
 
 Poet. Hail, wo. -thy Timon ! 
 
 • The doing of what we said we would do. 
 
 Pain. Our late noble master. 
 
 Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men 1 
 
 Poet. Sir, 
 Having often of your open bounty tasted, 
 Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off, 
 Whose thankless natures — abhorred spirits ! 
 Not all the whips of heaven are large enough — 
 What ! to you ! 
 
 Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence 
 To their whole being ! I'm rapt, and cannot cover 
 The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
 With any size of words. 
 
 Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the bettei • 
 You, that are honest by being what you are, 
 Make them best seen and known. 
 
 Pain. He, and myselt. 
 
 Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts, 
 And sweetly felt it. 
 
 Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 
 
 Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service. 
 
 Tim. Most honest men ! Why, how shall I re- 
 quite you ! 
 Can you eat roots, and drink cold water? no. 
 
 Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service. 
 
 Tim. You are honest men : you have heard that 
 I have geld : 
 I am sure you have: speak truth: you are honest 
 men. 
 
 Pain. So it is said, my noble lord : but therefore 
 Came not my friend, nor I. 
 
 Tim. Good honest men : — Thou draw'st a coun- 
 terfeit 1 
 Best in all Athens ; thou art, indeed, the best; 
 Thou counterfeit'st most lively. 
 
 Pain. So, so, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Even so, sir, as I say: — And for thy fic- 
 tion, [To the Poet 
 Why thy verse swells with stuff so fine and smooth, 
 That thou art even natural in thine art. — 
 But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, 
 I must needs say, you have a little fault : 
 Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you ; neither wish I, 
 You take much pains to mend. 
 
 Both. Beseech your honoi 
 
 To make it known to us. 
 
 Tim. You'll take it ill. 
 
 Both. Most thankfully, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Will you, indeed I 
 
 Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 
 
 Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave, 
 That mightily deceives you. 
 
 Both. Do we, my lord 1 
 
 Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him cKb 
 semble, 
 Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him. 
 Keep in your bosom : yet remain assur'd, 
 That he's a made-up villain. 5 
 
 Pain. I know none such, my lord. 
 
 Poet. Nor L 
 
 • A portrait was so called. 
 
 » A complete, a finished yVllaiu. 
 
Scene k. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 645 
 
 Tim. Look you, I love you well; I'll give you 
 gold, 
 Rid me these villains from your companies : 
 Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught, 
 Confound them by some course, and come to me, 
 I'll give you gold enough. 
 
 Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them. 
 Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in 
 company: — 
 Each man apart, all single and alone, 
 5fet an arch-villain keeps him company. 
 If, where thou art, two villains shall not be, 
 
 [To the Painter. 
 Come not near him. — If thou wouldst not reside 
 
 [To the Poet. 
 Bu f . where one villain is, then him abandon. — 
 Hence ! pack ! there's gold, ye came for gold, ye 
 
 slaves : 
 You have done work for me, there's payment: 
 
 Hence ! 
 You are an alchemist, make gold of that: 
 Out, rascal dogs ! 
 
 [Exit, beating and driving them out. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter Flavius, and two Senators. 
 Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with 
 Timon ; 
 For he is set so only to himself, 
 That nothing but himself, which looks like man, 
 Is friendly with him. 
 
 1 Sen. Bring us to his cave : 
 
 It is our part, and promise to the Athenians, 
 To speak with Timon. 
 
 2 Sen. At all times alike 
 Men are not still the. same: 'Twas time, and griefs 
 That framed him thus : time, with his fairer hand, 
 Offering the fortunes of his former days, 
 
 The former man may make him : Bring us to him, 
 And chance it as it may. 
 
 Flav. Here is his cave. — 
 
 Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! Timon ! 
 Look out, and speak to friends : The Athenians, 
 By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee: 
 Speak to them, noble Timon. 
 
 Enter Timon. 
 
 Tim. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn! — Speak, 
 and be hang'd : 
 For each true word, a blister ! and each false 
 Be as a caut'rizing to the root o' the tongue, 
 Consuming it with speaking ! 
 
 1 Sen. Worthy Timon — 
 Tim. Ofnonebutsuchasyou,and you of Timon. 
 
 2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. 
 Tim. I thank them ; and would send them back 
 
 the plague, 
 Could I but catch it for them. 
 
 1 Sen. O, forget 
 What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
 The senators, with one consent of love, 
 Entreat thee back to Athens; who have thought 
 On special dignities, which vacant lie 
 
 For thy best use and wearing. 
 
 2 Sen. They confess, 
 Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross: 
 Which now the public body, — which doth seldom 
 Play the recanter, — feeling in itself 
 
 A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal 
 Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon : 
 And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render,' 
 Together with a recompense more fruitful 
 ' Confession. 
 
 Than their offence can weigh down by the dram 
 Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth, 
 As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were their*, 
 And write in thee the figures of their love, 
 Ever to read them thine. 
 
 Tim. You witch me in it; 
 
 Surprise me to the very brink of tears: 
 Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes, 
 And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 
 
 1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with us, 
 And of our Athens, (thine, and ours,) to take 
 The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks, 
 Allow'd' with absolute power, and thy good name 
 Live with authority : — so soon we shall drive back 
 Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ; 
 
 Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up 
 His country's peace. 
 
 2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword 
 Against the walls of Athens. 
 
 1 Sen. Therefore, Timon, — 
 
 Tim. Well, sir, I will; therefore, I will, sir; 
 Thus,— 
 If Alcibiades kill my countrymen, 
 Let Alcibiades know this of Timon, 
 That — Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens, 
 And take our goodly aged men by the beards, 
 Giving our holy virgins to the stain 
 Of contumelious, beastly, mad-brain'd war; 
 Then, let him know, — and tell him, Timon speaks it, 
 In pity of our aged, and our youth, 
 I cannot choose but tell him, that — I care not, 
 And let him take't at worst; fojr their knives care 
 
 not 
 While you have throats to answer: for myself, 
 There's not a whittle 5 in the unruly camp, 
 But I do prize it at my love, before 
 The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave yoa 
 To the protection of the prosperous 6 gods, 
 As thieves to keepers. 
 
 Flav. Stay not, all's in vain. 
 
 Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph, 
 It will be seen to-morrow; my long sickness 
 Of health, and living, now begins to mend, 
 And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still; 
 Be Alcibiades your plague, you his, 
 And last so long enough! 
 
 1 Sen. We speak in vain. 
 
 Tim. But yet I love my country; and am not 
 One that rejoices in the common wreck, 
 As common bruit 1 doth put it. 
 
 1 Sen. That's well spoke. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen, — 
 
 1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass 
 
 through them. 
 
 2 Sen. And enter in our ears like great triumphers 
 In their applauding gates. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to them , 
 
 And tell them, that to ease them of their griefs, 
 Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, 
 Their pangs of love, with other incident throes 
 That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain 
 In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do 
 
 them : 
 I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 
 
 2 Sen. I like tliis well, he will return again. 
 
 Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close. 
 That mine own use invites me to cut down, 
 And shortly must I fell it: Tell my friends, 
 Tell Athens in the sequence of degree, 
 From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
 To stop affliction, let him take his haste, 
 
 * Licensed, uncontrolled. 
 
 • Propitious 
 
 » A clasp knife. 
 1 Report, rumor 
 
(t4f> 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, 
 And hang himself: — I pray you, do my greeting. 
 
 Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall 
 find him. 
 
 Tim. Come not to me again : but say to Athens, 
 Tiinon hath made his everlasting mansion 
 Upon the beacned verge of the salt flood; 
 Which once a day with his embossed froth 
 The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come, 
 And let my grave-stone be your oracle. — 
 Lips, let sour words go by, and language end: 
 What is amiss, plague and infection mend ! 
 Graves only be men's works; and death, their gain! 
 Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign. 
 
 [Exit Timon. 
 
 1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveably 
 Coupled to nature. 
 
 2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead : let us return, 
 And strain what other means is left unto us 
 
 In our dear 8 peril. 
 
 1 Sen. It requires swift foot. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Walls of Athens. 
 Enter two Senators, and a Messenger. 
 
 1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discovered; are his files 
 As full as thy report ? 
 
 Mess. I have spoke the least : 
 
 Besides, his expedition promises 
 Present approach. 
 
 2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not 
 
 Tiinon. 
 Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; — 
 Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd, 
 Yet our old love made a particular force, 
 And made us speak like friends : — this man was 
 
 riding 
 From Alcibiades to Timon's cave, 
 With letters of entreaty, which imported 
 His fellowship i' the cause against your city, 
 In part for his sake mov'd. 
 
 Enter Senators from Timon. 
 
 1 Sen. Here come our brothers. 
 
 H Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him ex- 
 pect. — 
 The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
 Doth choke the air with dust : in and prepare ; 
 Ours is the fall, I fear ; our foes, the snare. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Woods. Timon's Cave, and a 
 Tomb-stone seen. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, seeking Timon. 
 Sol. By all description this should be the place. 
 Who's here] speak, ho! — No answer? — What is 
 
 thisl 
 Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span : 
 Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a man. 
 Dead, sure ; and this his grave. — 
 What's on this tomb I cannot read ; the character 
 I'll take with wax. 
 
 Our captain hath in every figure skill ; 
 An aged interpreter, though young in days: 
 Before proud Athens he's set down by this, 
 Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V.— Before the Walls of Athens. 
 
 rrumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades, and Forces. 
 
 Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town 
 Oar terrible approach. [A Parley sounded. 
 
 • Dreadful. 
 
 Enter Senators on the Walls. 
 Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time 
 With all licentious measure, making your wills 
 The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such 
 As slept wilhin the shadow of your power, 
 Have wandered with our traversal arms,' and 
 
 breath'd 
 Our sufferance vainly; Now the time is flush, 1 
 When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, 
 Cries, of itself, No more: now breathless wrong, 
 Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease; 
 And pursy insolence shall break his wind, 
 With fear and horrid flight. 
 
 1 Sen. Noble and young, 
 When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit, 
 Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear, 
 We sent to thee ; to give thy rages balm, 
 
 To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
 Above their quantity. 
 
 2 Sen. So did we woo 
 Transformed Timon to our city's love, 
 
 By humble message, and by promis'd means ; 
 We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
 The common stroke of war. 
 
 1 Sen-. These walls of ours 
 Were not erected by their hands, from whom 
 You have receiv'd your griefs : nor are they such, 
 That these great towers, trophies, and schools should 
 
 fall 
 For private faults in them. 
 
 2 Sen. Nor are they living 
 Who were the motives that you first went out; 
 Shame, that they wanted cunning, in excess 
 Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, 
 Into our city with thy banners spread: 
 
 By decimation, and a tithed death, 
 
 (If thy revenges hunger for that food, 
 
 Which nature loathes,) take thou the destin'd tenth 
 
 And by the hazard of the spotted die, 
 
 Let die the spotted. 
 
 1 Sen. All have not offended ; 
 For those that were, it is not square* to take, 
 On those that are, revenges : crimes, like lands, 
 Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman, 
 Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage: 
 Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin, 
 Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall 
 With those that have offended : like a shepherd, 
 Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth, 
 But kill not all together. 
 
 2 Se7i. What thou wilt, 
 Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile, 
 Than hew to't with thy sword. 
 
 1 Sen. Set but thy foot 
 Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope; 
 So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, 
 
 To say, thou'lt enter friendly. 
 
 2 Sen. Throw thy glove ' 
 Or any token of thine honor else, 
 
 That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress, 
 And not as our confusion, all thy powers 
 Shall make their harbor in our town, till we 
 Have seal'd thy full desire. 
 
 Alcib. Then there's my glove 
 
 Descend, and open your uncharged ports ;' 
 Those enemies of Timon's. and mine own, 
 Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, 
 Fall, and no more: and, — to atone 1 your fears 
 With my more noble meaning, — not a man 
 Shall pass his quarter, cr offend the stream 
 Of regular justice in your city's bounds, 
 
 • Arms across. « Mature. a Not regular, not equit&bta 
 
 » Unattacked gates. * Baconcile. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 tM< N OF ATHENS. 
 
 647 
 
 But shall be remedied, to your pablic laws 
 At heaviest answer. 
 
 Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. 
 
 Alcib. Descend, and keep ycur words. 
 The Senators descend, and open the Gates. 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead; 
 Entomb'd upon the very hem o'the sea ; 
 And on his gravestone, this insculpture ; which 
 With wax I brought away, whose soft impression 
 Interprets for my poor ignorance. 
 
 Alcib. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of 
 wretched soul bereft: 
 Seek not my name: A plague consume you wicked 
 
 caitiffs left.' 
 Here He I, Timon; tvho, alive, all living men did 
 hatti 
 
 Pctss by, and curst thy fill; but pass, and <tay not 
 here thy gait. 
 
 These well express in thee thy latter spirits: 
 Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, 
 Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our dropleU 
 
 which 
 From niggard nature Call, yet rich conceit 
 Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
 On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
 Is noble Timon; ofwho&e memory 
 Hereafter more. — Bring me into your city, 
 And I will use the olive with my sword : 
 Make war breed peace, make peace stint 5 war. 
 
 make each 
 Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. 6 
 Let our drums strike. [Exeunt 
 
 •Mop «Phj»kiu» 
 
 : ~^-~ — 
 
CORIOLANUS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 ,'aius Marcius Coriolanus, a noble Roman. 
 
 Titus Lartixjs, ) Generals against the Vol- 
 
 Cominius, ) scians. 
 
 Menenius Agrippa, Friend to Coriolanus. 
 
 Biciitius Velutus, 
 
 Junius Brutus, 
 
 Young Marcius, Son to Coriolanus. 
 
 A Roman Herald. 
 
 Pui.lus Aunnius, General of the Volscians. 
 
 Lieutenant to Aufidius. 
 
 Conspirators with Aufidius. 
 
 Tribunes of the People. 
 
 A Citizen of Antium. 
 Two Volscian Guards. 
 
 Volumnia, Mother to Coriolanus. 
 Virgilia, Wife to Coriolanus. 
 Valeria, Friend to Virgilia. 
 Gentlewjman attending Virgilia. 
 
 Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, JEa\ 
 les, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Ser 
 vants to Aufidius, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, partly in Rome, and partly in the Territories of the Volscians and Antiates 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
 
 Enter a Company of mutinous Citizens, with 
 Staves, Clubs, and other Weapons. 
 
 1 Cit. Before we proceed any further, hear me 
 speak. 
 
 Cit. Speak, speak. [Several speaking at once. 
 
 1 Cit. You are resolved rather to die, than to 
 iamish ? 
 
 Cit. Resolved, resolved. 
 
 1 Cit. First, you know, Caius Marcius is chief 
 memy to the people. 
 
 Cit. We know't, we know't. 
 
 1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at 
 jur own price. Is't a verdict] 
 
 Cit. No more talking on't ; let it be done: away, 
 away. 
 
 2 Cit One word, good citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens; the pa- 
 tricians, good: 1 What authority surfeits on, would 
 relieve us: If they would yield us but the super- 
 fluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess, 
 they relieved us humanely ! but they think, we are 
 too dear: the leanness that afHicts us, the object of 
 our misery, is an inventory to particularize their 
 abundance; our sufferance is a gain to them. — 
 Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become 
 rakes 1 : 2 for the gods know, I speak this in hunger 
 for bread, not in thirst for revenge. 
 
 2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against 
 Oaius Marcius? 
 
 Cit. Against him first ; he's a very dog to the 
 commonalty. 
 
 2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done 
 r or his country 1 ? 
 
 1 Cit. Very well; and could be content to give 
 • Rich. * Thin as rakes. 
 
 T6481 
 
 him good report fbr't, but that he pays himself with 
 being proud. 
 
 2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 
 
 1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done famously 
 he did it to that end: though soft conscienced men 
 can be content to say it was for his country, he did 
 it to please his mother, and to be partly proud ; 
 which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. 
 
 2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you 
 account a vice in him : You must in no way say, 
 he is covetous. 
 
 1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of 
 accusations ; he hath faults with surplus, to tire in 
 repetition. \_Shouts within.'] What shouts are these- 
 The other side o' the city is risen : Why stay we 
 prating here ? To the Capitol. 
 
 Cit. Come, come. 
 
 1 Cit. Soft; who comes here? 
 
 Enter Menenius Agiuppa. 
 
 2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa : one that hath 
 always loved the people. 
 
 1 Cit. He's one honest enough; 'Would, all the 
 rest were so ! 
 
 Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand ? 
 Where go you 
 With bats and clubs ! The matter speak, I pray you 
 
 1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate 
 they have had inkling, this fortnight, what we in 
 tend to do, which now we'll show 'em in deeds 
 They say, poor suitors have strong breaths ; they 
 shall know, we have strong arms too. 
 
 Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine he 
 nest neighbors, 
 Will you undo yourselves? 
 
 1 Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already 
 
 Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable car* 
 
Si:ENF, 1. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 64W 
 
 Have the patricians of you. For your wants, 
 Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well, 
 Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them 
 Against the Roman state; whose course will on 
 The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
 Of more strong link asunder, than can ever 
 Appear in your impediment: For the dearth, 
 The gods, not the patricians, make it; and 
 Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, 
 You are transported by calamity 
 Thither where more attends you : and you slander 
 The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers, 
 When you curse them as enemies. 
 
 1 Cit. Care for us ! — True, indeed ! — They ne'er 
 cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and their 
 storehouses crammed with grain ; make edicts for 
 asury to support usurers: repeal daily any whole- 
 some act established against the rich ; and provide 
 more piercing statutes daily, to chain up and re- 
 strain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they 
 will ; and there's all the love they bear us. 
 
 Men. Either you must 
 Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
 Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you 
 A pretty tale ; it may be you have heard it ; 
 But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture 
 To scaleY a little more. 
 
 1 Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not 
 think 1o fob off our disgrace with a tale: but, an't 
 please you, deliver. 
 
 Men. There was a time when all the body's 
 members 
 Rebell'd against the belly; thus accus'd it: — 
 That only like a gulf it did remain 
 I' the midst o' the body, idle and inactive, 
 Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing 
 Like labor with the rest; where 4 the other instruments 
 Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
 And, mutually participate, did minister 
 Unto the appetite and affection common 
 Of the whole body. The belly answered, — 
 
 1 Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly ? 
 
 Men. Sir, I shall tell you. — With a kind of smile, 
 Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus, 
 (For, look you, I may make the belly smile, 
 As well as speak.) it tauntingly replied 
 To the discontented members, the mutinous parts 
 That envied his receipt; even so most fitly 5 
 As you malign our senators, for that 
 They are not such as you. 
 
 1 Cit. Your belly's answer: What! 
 The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye, 
 The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, 
 Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter, 
 With other muniments and petty helps 
 In this our fabric, if that they 
 
 Men. What then? — 
 
 'Fore me, this fellow speaks ! — What then? — what 
 then? 
 
 1 Cit. Should by the cormorant body be re- 
 strain'd, 
 Who is the sink o'the body, 
 
 Men. Well, what then ? 
 
 1 Cit. The former agents, if they did complain. 
 What could the belly answer? 
 
 Men. I will tell you ; 
 
 If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little) 
 Patience, a while, you'll hear the belly's answer. 
 
 1 Cit. You are long about it. 
 
 Men. Note me this, good friend ; 
 Your most grave belly was deliberate, 
 Not rash like his accusers, and thus answered : 
 • Spread it. * Whereas. » Exactly 
 
 True is it, my incorporate friends, quoth he, 
 rhat I receive the general food at first, 
 Wliich you do live upon: and Jit it is; 
 Because I am the storehouse, and the shop 
 Of the whole body: But if you do remember, 
 I send it through the rivers of your blood, 
 Even to the court, the heart, — to the seat o' the bratn 
 And, through the cranks 6 and offices of man, 
 The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, 
 From me receive that natural competency 
 Whereby they live: and though that all at once, 
 You, my good friends, (this says the belly,) mark 
 me, — 
 
 1 Cit. Ay, sir, well, well. 
 
 Men. Though all at once cannot 
 
 See what I do deliver out to each; 
 Yet I can make my audit up, that all 
 From me do back receive the flour of all, 
 And leave me but the bran. What say you to't *■ 
 
 1 Cit. It was an answer. How r.pply you this ' 
 
 Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly, 
 And you the mutinous members : For examine 
 Their counsels, and their cares; digest things rightly 
 Touching the weal o' the common ; you shall find 
 No public benefit which you receive, 
 But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, 
 And no way from yourselves. — What do you think? 
 You, the great toe of this assembly ? — 
 
 1 Cit. I the great toe ! Why the great toe ? 
 
 Men. For that being one o' the lowest, basest 
 poorest, 
 Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: 
 Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, 
 Lead'st first to win some vantage. — 
 But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs; 
 Rome and her rats are at the point of battle, 
 The one side must have bale. 1 Hail, noble Marcius . 
 
 Enter Caius Marcius. 
 
 Mar. Thanks. — What's the matter, you dissen- 
 tious rogues, 
 That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, 
 Make yourselves scabs ? 
 
 1 Cit. We have ever your good word. 
 
 Mar. He that will give good words to thee, will 
 flatter 
 Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs, 
 That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you, 
 The other makes you proud. He that trusts you, 
 Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ; 
 Where foxes, geese : You are no surer, no, 
 Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, 
 Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is, 
 To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him. 
 And curse that justice did it. Who deserves great- 
 ness, 
 Deserves your hate: and your affections are 
 A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
 Which would increase his evil. He that depends 
 Upon your favors, swims with fins of lead, 
 And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye 
 
 Trust ye? 
 With every minute you do change a mind ; 
 And call him noble, that was now your hate, 
 Him vile, that was your garland. What's themattcr. 
 That in these several places of the city 
 You cry against the noble senate, who, 
 Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else 
 Would feed on one another? — What's their seeking! 
 
 Men. For corn at their own rates; whereof thej 
 say, 
 The city is well stor'd. 
 
 • Windingi. " Ban*. 
 
 2 S 
 
050 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act L 
 
 Mar. Hang 'em! They say 1 
 
 They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know 
 What's done i'thc Capitol: who's like to rise, 
 Who thrives, and who declines : side factions, and 
 
 give out 
 Conjectural marriages; making parties strong, 
 And ferbling such as stand not in their liking, 
 Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain 
 
 enough] 
 Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, 8 
 And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry 9 
 With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
 As I could pick 1 my lance. 
 
 Men. Nay, these are almost thoroughly per- 
 suaded ; 
 For though abundantly they lack discretion, 
 Yet are they passing cowardly. But I beseech you, 
 What says the other troop 1 
 
 Mar. They are dissolved: Hang 'em! 
 
 They said they were an hungry ; sigh'd forth pro- 
 verbs ; — 
 That, hunger broke stone walls ; that, dogs m ust eat ; 
 That, meat was made for mouths; that, the gods 
 
 sent not 
 Corn for the rich men only : — With these shreds 
 They vented their complainings; which being an- 
 
 swer'd, 
 And a petition granted them, a strange one, 
 (To break the heart of generosity, 
 And make bold power look pale,) they threw their 
 
 caps 
 As they would hang them on the horns o'the moon, 
 Shouting their emulation. 2 
 
 Men. What is granted them ? 
 
 Mai: Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wis- 
 doms, 
 Of their own choice : One's Junius Brutus, 
 Sicinius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath! 
 The rabble should have first unroof'd the city, 
 Ere so prevail'd with me : it will in time 
 Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes 
 For insurrection's arguing. 
 
 Men. This is strange. 
 
 Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments ! 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Where's Caius Marcius'? 
 
 Mar. Here, what's the matter? 
 
 Mess. The news is, sir, the Voices are in arms. 
 
 Mar. I am glad on't, then we shall have means 
 to vent 
 Our musty superfluity: — See, our best elders. 
 .Ent. Cominius, Titus Lahtitts, and other Sena- 
 tors; Junius Brutus, cmo'Sicinius Velutus. 
 
 1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately 
 told us; 
 The Voices are in arms. 
 
 Mar. They have a leader, 
 
 Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't 
 I sin in envying his nobility : 
 And were I any thing but what I am, 
 I would wish me onlv he. 
 
 Com. You have fought together. 
 
 Mar. Were half to half the world by the ears, 
 and he 
 Upon my party, I'd revolt to make 
 Only my wars with him : he is a lion 
 That I am proud to hunt. 
 
 1 Sen. Then, worthy Marcius, 
 
 Uf.end upo.i Cominius to these wars. 
 
 Com. It is vour former promise. 
 
 • Pity, sompassion. 
 '. PitcJ 
 
 9 Heap of dead 
 a Faction- 
 
 Mar. Sir, it is , 
 
 And I am constant. — Titus Lartius, thou 
 Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face • 
 What, art thou stiff! stand'st out ? 
 
 Tit. No, Caius Marcius, 
 
 I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other, 
 Ere stay behind this business! 
 
 Men. O, true bred ! 
 
 1 Sen. Your company to the Capitol ■• where I 
 know, 
 Our greatest friends attend us. 
 
 Tit. Lead you on : 
 
 Follow, Cominius ; we must follow you ; 
 Right worthy your priority. 
 
 Com. Noble Lartius ! 
 
 1 Sen. Hence ! to your homes, be gone. 
 
 [To the Citizens. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let them follow . 
 
 The Voices have much corn ; take these rats thither, 
 To gnaw their garners:' — Worshipful mutineers, 
 Your valor puts well forth : pray, follow. 
 
 [Exeunt Senators, Com., Mar., Tit., and 
 Menen. Citizens steal away. 
 
 Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? 
 
 Bra. He has no equal. 
 
 Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the 
 people, 
 
 Bra. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes? 
 
 Sic. Nay, but his taunts. 
 
 Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird 4 the 
 gods. 
 
 Sic. Bemock the modest moon. 
 
 Bru. The present wars devour him : he is growrs 
 Too proud to be so valiant. 
 
 Sic. Such a nature, 
 
 Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
 W 7 hich he treads on at noon: But I do wonder, 
 His insolence can brook to be commanded 
 Under Cominius. 
 
 Bru. Fame, at the which he aims, — 
 
 In whom already he is well graced, — cannot 
 Better be held, nor more attain'd than by 
 A place below the first : for what miscarries 
 Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 
 To the utmost of a man; and giddy censure 
 Will then cry out of Marcius, 0, if he 
 Had borne the business ! 
 
 Sic. Besides, if things go well, 
 
 Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall 
 Of his demerits 5 rob Cominius. 
 
 Bru. Come : 
 
 Half all Cominius' honors are to Marcius, 
 Though Marcius earn'd them not: and all hw 
 
 faults 
 To Marcius sba.l be honors, though, indeed, 
 In aught he meiit not. 
 
 Sic. Let's hence, and hear 
 
 How the despatch is made ; and in what fashion, 
 More than in singularity, he goes 
 Upon his present action. 
 
 Bru. Let's along. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Corioli. The Senate-Hcuse. 
 Enter Tullus Aufidius, and certain Senators. 
 
 1 Se?i. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
 That they of Rome are enter'd in our councils. 
 And know how we proceed. 
 
 Auf. Is it not yours ? 
 
 What ever hath been thought on in this state, 
 That could be brought to bodily act, ere Rome 
 Had circumvention! 'Tis not four days gone, 
 
 s Granaries. * Snee' \ 
 
 Demerits and merits had anciently the sums raeanltatt. 
 
SCLNE III. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 161 
 
 Since 1 heard thence ; these are the words : I think 
 I have the letter here ; yes, here it is : [Reads. 
 
 They have press 'd a power, but it is not known 
 Whether for east, or west: The dearth is great; 
 The people mutinous: and it is rumor'd, 
 Cominius, Marcius, your old enemy, 
 ( Who is of Home worse hated than of you,") 
 And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, 
 Those three lead on this preparation 
 Whither 'tis bent,- most likely, 'tis for you; 
 Consider of it. 
 
 1 Sen. Our army's in the field: 
 
 We never yet made doubt that Rome was ready 
 To answer us. 
 
 Auf Nor did you think it folly, 
 
 To keep your great pretences veil'd, till when 
 They needs must show themselves; which in the 
 
 hatching. 
 It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery, 
 We shall be shorten'd in our aim ; which was, 
 To take in 6 many towns, ere, almost, Rome 
 Should know we were afoot. 
 
 2 Sen. Noble Aufidius, 
 Take your commission; hie you to your bands: 
 Let us alone to guard Corioli : 
 
 If they set down before us, for the remove 
 Bring up your army; but, I think, you'll find 
 They have not prepar'd for us. 
 
 Auf. O, doubt not that ; 
 
 I speak from certainties. Nay, more. 
 Some parcels of their powers are forth already, 
 And only hitherward. I leave your honors. 
 Tf we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 
 'Tig sworn between us we shall never strike 
 Till one can do no more. 
 
 All. The gods assist you ! 
 
 Auf. And keep your honors safe ! 
 
 1 Sen. Farewell. 
 
 2 Sen. Farewell. 
 All. Farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Rome. An Apartment in Mar- 
 cius' House. 
 
 Enter Volumnia and Vhirilia : They sit down 
 on two low stools, and sew. 
 
 Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing ; or express your- 
 self in a more comfortable sort. If my son were 
 my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence 
 wherein he won honor, than in the embracements 
 of his bed, where he would show most love. — 
 When yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only 
 eon of ray womb; when youth with comeliness 
 plucked all gaze his way ; when for a day of kings' 
 entreaties, a mother should not sell him an hour 
 from her beholding; I, — considering how honor 
 would become such a person ; that it was no better 
 than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown 
 made it not stir, — was pleased to let him seek dan- 
 ger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war 
 I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows 
 bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, — I sprang 
 not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child, 
 than now, in first seeing he had proved himself a 
 man. 
 
 Vir. But had he died in the business, madam, 
 how then ? 
 
 Vol. Then his good report should have been my 
 *on ; I therein would have found issue. Hear me 
 profess sincerely : Had I a dozen sons, — each in 
 my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my 
 (lood Man ius, — I had rather had eleven die nobly 
 
 for their country, than one voluptuously «urleit out 
 of action. 
 
 Enter a Gentlewoman. 
 
 Gent. Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit 
 you. 
 
 Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. 
 
 Vol. Indeed you shall not. 
 Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum ; 
 See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair ; 
 As children from a bear, the Voices shunning him' 
 Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus, — 
 Come on, you cowards, you were got in fear, 
 Though you were born in Rome.- His bloody brow 
 With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes 
 Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow 
 Or all, or lose his hire. 
 
 Vir. His bloody brow ! O, Jupiter, no blood ! 
 
 Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man, 
 Than gilt 1 his trophy: The breasty of Hecuba, 
 When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
 Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood 
 At Grecian swords' contending. — Tell Valeria, 
 We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent 
 
 Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius 
 
 Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee 
 And tread upon his neck. 
 
 Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valeria and he" 
 Usher. 
 
 Val. My ladies both, good day to you. 
 
 Vol. Sweet madam, 
 
 Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 
 
 Val, How do you both ? you are manifest h >use- 
 keepers. What, are you sewing here 1 A fine spot, 
 in good faith. — How does your little son 1 
 
 Vir. I thank your ladyship : well, good madam. 
 
 Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a 
 drum, than look upon his school-master. 
 
 Val. O'my word, the father's son : I'll swear, 'tis 
 a very pretty boy. O'my trotk, I looked upon him 
 o'Wednesday half an hour together : he has such 
 a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a 
 gilded butterfly ; and when he caught it, he let it go 
 again ; and after it again ; and over and over he 
 comes, and up again ; catched it again : or whether 
 his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his 
 teeth, and tear it; O, I warrant, how he mammock- 
 ed 8 it ! 
 
 Vol. One of his father's moods. 
 
 Val, Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. 
 
 Vir. A crack, 9 madam. 
 
 Val, Come, lay aside your stitchery ; I must have 
 you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. 
 
 Vir. No, good madam : I will not out of doors. 
 
 Val. Not out of doors ! 
 
 Vol. She shall, she shall. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience : I will not 
 over the threshold, till my lord return from the wars. 
 
 Val. Fye,you confine yourself most unreasonably; 
 Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. • 
 
 Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit 
 her with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither. 
 
 Vol. Why, I pray youl 
 
 Vir. 'Tis not to save labor, nor that I want love. 
 
 Val, You would be another Penelope: yet, they 
 say, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did 
 but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would, your 
 cambric were sensible as your fimrer, that you 
 might leave pricking it for pi.ty. Come, you shall 
 go with us. 
 
 Vir. No, good madam, pardon me; indted, I 
 will not forth. 
 
 < Gilding. 
 
 »Bcr 
 
Q52 
 
 COR10LANUS. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Val. In truth, la, go with me ; and I'll tell you I 
 excellent news of your husband. 
 
 Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet 
 
 Val. Verily, I do not jest with you ; there came | 
 news from him last night. 
 
 Vir Indeed, madam ? 
 
 Val. In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak 
 it- Thus it is: — The Voices have an army forth; 
 against whom Cominius the general is gone, with 
 one part of our Roman power : your lord, and Titus 
 Lartius, are set down before their city, Corioli ; they 
 nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. 
 This is true, on mine honor: and so, I pray, go 
 with Ua. 
 
 Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will obey 
 you in every thing hereafter. 
 
 Vol. Let her alone, lady ; as she is now, she will 
 but disease our better mirth. 
 
 Val. In troth, I think, she would : — Fare you 
 well, then. — Come, good sweet lady. — Pr'ythee, 
 Virgilia, turn tby solemness out o'door, and go along 
 with us. 
 
 Vir. No ; at a word, madam ; indeed, I must 
 not. I wish you much mirth. 
 
 Val. Well, then, farewell. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Before Corioli. 
 Enier, with Drum and Colors, Mahcius, Titus 
 Lartius, Officers, and Soldiers. To them a 
 Messenger. 
 Mar. Yonder comes news : — A wager, they have 
 
 met. 
 hart. My horse to yours, no. 
 Mar. 'Tis done. 
 
 Lart. Agreed. 
 
 Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy ? 
 Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke as 
 
 yet. 
 Lart. So the good horse is mine. 
 Mar. m I'll buy him of you. 
 
 Lart. No, I'll nor sell, nor give him : lend you 
 him, I will, 
 For half a hundred years. — Summon the town. 
 Mar. How far off lie these armies? 
 Mess. Within this mile and half. 
 
 Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they 
 ours. 
 Now, Mars, I pr'ythee make us quick in work ; 
 That we with smoking swords may march from 
 
 hence, 
 To help our fielded friends ! — Come, blow thy blast. 
 They sound a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, some 
 
 Senators, and others. 
 Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? 
 
 1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, 
 That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums 
 
 [A/arums afar off. 
 Are bringing forth our youth : We'll break our 
 
 walls, 
 Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates, 
 Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with 
 
 rushes ; 
 They'll open of themselves. Hark, you, far off; 
 
 [Other Alarums. 
 There is Aufidius ; list what work he makes 
 Amongst your cloven army. 
 
 Mar. O, they are at it ! 
 
 Lart- Their noise be our instruction. — Ladders, 
 ho! 
 
 The Voices enter, and pass over the Stage. 
 Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. 
 Now nut your skidds before your hearts, and fight 
 
 With hearts more proof than shields. — Advance, 
 
 brave Titus: 
 They do disdain us much beyond our thougnts, 
 Which makes me sweat with wrath. — Come on 
 
 my fellows ; 
 He that retires, I'll take him for a Voice, 
 And he shall feel mine edge. 
 
 Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Voices, fighting. 
 
 The Romans are beaten back to their Trenches. 
 
 Re-enter Marcius. 
 
 Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, 
 You shames of Rome ! you herd of — Boils and 
 
 plagues 
 Plaster you o'er; that you may be abhorr'd 
 Further than seen, and one infect another 
 Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese, 
 That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
 From slaves that apes would beat? Pluto and hell 
 All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale 
 With flight and agu'd fear ! Mend, and charge home 
 Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave, the foe, 
 And make my wars on you : look to't : Come on, 
 If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, 
 As they us to our trenches followed. 
 
 Another Alarum. The Voices and 1 Romans re-enter 
 
 and the Fight is renewed. The Voices retire into 
 
 Corioli. and Marcius follows them to the Gates. 
 
 So, now the gates are ope: — Now prove gooc 
 
 seconds : 
 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, 
 Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like. 
 
 [He enters the Gates, and is shut in. 
 
 1 Sol. Fool-hardiness ; not I. 
 
 2 Sol. Nor I. 
 
 3 Sol. See, they 
 Have shut him in. [Alarum continues 
 
 All. To the pot, I warrant him. 
 
 Enter Titus Lartius. 
 
 Lart. What is become of Marcius ? 
 
 All. Slain, sir, doubtless 
 
 1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, 
 With them he enters : who, upon the sudden, 
 Clapp'd-to their gates ; he is himself alone, 
 To answer all the city. 
 
 Lart. noble fellow ! 
 
 Who, sensibly, 1 outdares his senseless sword. 
 And, when it bows, stands up ! Thou art left, 
 
 Marcius : 
 A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, 
 Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
 Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
 Only in strokes ; but, with thy grim looka, and 
 The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, 
 Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world 
 Were feverous and did tremble. 
 
 Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the 
 Enemy. 
 1 Sol. Look, sir. 
 
 Lart. 'Tis Marciui , 
 
 Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 
 
 [ They fight, and all enter the City 
 
 SCENE V.— Within the Town. A Street. 
 Enter certain Romans, with Spoils. 
 
 1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome. 
 
 2 Rom. And I this. 
 
 3 Rom. A murrain on't! I took this for silver. 
 
 [Alarum continues sti/J afar off 
 
 1 Having sensation, feelinor 
 
SoENE VL 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 (5f>8 
 
 tinier Marcius, and Titus Lartius, with a 
 Trumpet. 
 
 Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their 
 hours 
 At a crack'd drachm !° Cushions, leaden spoons, 
 Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
 Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, 
 Ere yet the fight be done, pack up : — Down with 
 
 them. — 
 And hark, what noise the genera) makes! — To 
 
 him : — 
 There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
 Piercing our Romans: Then, valiant Titus, take 
 Convenient numbers to make good the city ; 
 Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste 
 To help Cominius. 
 
 hart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st ; 
 
 Thy exercise hath been too violent for 
 A second course of fight. 
 
 Mar. Sir, praise me not; 
 
 My work hath yet not warm'd me : Fare you well. 
 The blood I drop is rather physical 
 Than dangerous to me: To Aufidius thus 
 I will appear, and fight. 
 
 hart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, 
 
 Fall deep in love with thee ; and her great charms 
 Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman, 
 Prosperity be thy page ! 
 
 Mar Thy friend no less 
 
 Than those she placeth highest ! So farewell. 
 
 hart. Thou worthiest Marcius! — 
 
 [Exit Marcius. 
 Go, sound thy trumpet in the market place ; 
 Call thither all the officers of the town, 
 Where they shall know our mind : Away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Near the Camp of Cominius. 
 
 Enter Cominius and Forces retreating. 
 Com. Breathe you, my friends; well fought, we 
 are come off 
 Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, 
 Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs, 
 We shall be charged again. Whiles we have struck, 
 By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard 
 The charges of our friends : — The Roman gods, 
 Lead their successes as we wish our own; 
 That both our powers, with smiling fronts encoun- 
 tering, 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 May give you thankful sacrifice! — Thy news! 
 
 Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 
 And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle : 
 I saw our party to their trenches driven, 
 And then I came away. 
 
 Com. Though thou speak'st truth, 
 
 Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't 
 since ? 
 Mess. Above an hour, my lord. 
 Com. 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their 
 drums ; 
 How couldst thou in a mile confound* an hour, 
 \nd nring thy news so late? 
 
 Mess. Spies of the Voices 
 
 Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel 
 Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, 
 Half an hour since brought my report. 
 Enter Marcius. 
 Com- Who's yonder, 
 
 That does appear as he were flay'd ? gods ! 
 He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have 
 Be^>re-time seen him thus. 
 
 * A Roman coin * Expend 
 
 Mar. Come I too late ? 
 
 Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a 
 tabor, 
 More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue 
 From every meaner man's. 
 
 Mat Come I too late? 
 
 Corn. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, 
 But mantled in your own. 
 
 Mar. ! let me clip you 
 
 In arms as sound, as when I woo'd ; in heart 
 As merry, as when our nuptial day was done, 
 And tapers burn'd to bedward. 
 
 Com. Flower of warriors, 
 
 How is't with Titus Lartius ? 
 
 Mar. As with a man busied about decrees: 
 Condemning some to death, and some to exile ; 
 Ransoming him, or pitying, threat'ning the other'. 
 Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, 
 Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, 
 To let him slip at will. 
 
 Com. Where is that slave, 
 
 Which told me they had beat you to your trenches! 
 Where is he? Call him hither. 
 
 Mar. Let him alone, 
 
 He did inform the truth : But for our gentlemen, 
 The common file, (A plague! — Tribunes for them!) 
 The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge 
 From rascals worse than they. 
 
 Com. But how prevail'd you! 
 
 Mar. Will the time serve to tell? T do not think — 
 Where is the enemy? Are you lords o'the field? 
 If not, why cease you till you are so ? 
 
 Com. Marcius, 
 
 We have at disadvantage fought, and did 
 Retire to win our purpose. 
 
 Mar. How lies their battle! Know you on which 
 side 
 They have placed their men of trust ? 
 
 Com. As I guess, Marcius, 
 
 Their bands in the vaward 1 are the Antiates,* 
 Of their best trust: o'er them Aufidius, 
 Their very heart of hope. 
 
 Mar. I do beseech you, 
 
 By all the battles wherein we have fought, 
 By the blood we have shed together, by the vows 
 We have made to endure friends, that you directly 
 Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates: 
 And that you not delay the present; 6 but, 
 Filling the air with swords advanced, and darts, 
 We prove this very hour. 
 
 Com. Though I could wish 
 
 You were conducted to a gentle bath, 
 And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
 Deny your asking; take your choice of those 
 The best can aid your action. 
 
 Mar. Those are they 
 
 That most are willing: — If any such be here, 
 (As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting 
 Wherein you see me smear'd : if any fear 
 Lesser his person than an ill report ; 
 If any think, brave death outweighs bad life, 
 And that his country's dearer than himself; 
 Let him, alone, or so many, so minded, 
 Wave thus, [Waving his hand.] to express hi» 
 
 disposition, 
 And follow Marcius. 
 
 [They all shout, and wave their Swords,- taht 
 him up in their Arms, and cast up their Cap*. 
 O me, alone! Make you a sword of me? 
 If these shows be not outward, which of you 
 But is four Voices? None of you but is 
 Able to bear against the great Aufidius 
 * Front. » Soldiers of Antium « p rtwent Urn*. 
 
954 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act II 
 
 A shield as hard as his. A certain number, 
 Though thanks to all, must I select : the rest, 
 Shall bear the business in some other fight, 
 As cause will be ohey'd. Please you to march ; — 
 And four shall quickly draw out my command, 
 Which men are best inclin'd. 
 
 Com. March on, my fellows: 
 
 Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
 Divide in all with us. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. The Gates of Corioli. 
 Titus Lartius, having set a Guard upon Corioli, 
 going with a Drum and Trumpet towards Co- 
 Mijfics and Caius Marcius, enters with a 
 Lieutenant, a party of Soldiers, and a Scout. 
 hart. So, let the ports ' be guarded ; keep your 
 duties, , 
 
 As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch 
 Those centuries 8 to our aid; the rest will serve 
 For a short holding: if we lose the field, 
 We cannot keep the town. 
 
 Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 
 
 Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. — 
 Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— A Field of Battle between the 
 Roman and the Volscian Camps. 
 Alarum. Enter Marcius and Aufidius. 
 Mar. I'll fight with none but thee ; for I do hate 
 thee 
 Worse than a promise-breaker. 
 
 Auf. We hate alike ; 
 
 Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor 
 More than thy fame and envy : Fix thy foot. 
 
 Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave, 
 And the gods doom him after! 
 
 Auf. If I fly, Marcius, 
 
 Halloo me like a hare. 
 
 Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, 
 
 Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, 
 And made what work I pleas'd ; 'Tis not my blood 
 Wherein thou seest me mask'd : for thy revenge, 
 Wrench up thy power to the highest. 
 
 Auf. Wert thou the Hector, 
 
 That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, 
 Thou shouldst not scape me here. — 
 
 [They fight, and certain Voices come to the 
 aid of Aufidius. 
 Officious and not valiant, — you have sham'd me 
 In your condemned seconds. 9 
 
 [Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius. 
 
 SCENE IX.— The Roman Camp. 
 Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, 
 at one side, Cominius and Romans; at the 
 other side, Marcius, with his Arm in a Scarf, 
 and other Roman?. 
 
 Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, 
 Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it, 
 Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; 
 Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, 
 I' the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted, 
 And, gladly quak'd,' hear more; where the dull 
 
 tribunes, 
 That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honors, 
 Shall say against their hearts — We thank the gods, 
 uur Rome hath such a soldier.' — 
 Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast, 
 Having fully dined before. 
 
 1 Gates. s Companies of a hundred men. 
 
 • In affording such ill-timed help. 
 
 • Thrown into grateful trepidation. 
 
 Enter Titus Lartius, ivith his Power, from (he 
 Pursuit. 
 Lart. O general, 
 
 Here is the steed, we the caparison : 
 
 Hadst thou beheld 
 
 Mar. Pray now, no more: my mother 
 
 Who has a charter to extol her blood, 
 When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done 
 As you have done ; that's what I can; induced 
 As you have been; that's for my country: 
 He that has but effected his good will, 
 Hath overta'en mine act. 
 
 Com. You shall not be 
 
 The grave of your deserving; Rome must know 
 The value of her own : 'twere a concealment 
 Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, 
 To hide your doings; and to silence that, 
 Which to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, 
 Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you 
 (In sign of what you are, not to reward 
 What you have done,) before our army hear me. 
 Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they 
 smart 
 To hear themselves remember'd. 
 
 Com. Should they not 
 
 Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, 
 And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses 
 (Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,) of all 
 The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city, 
 We render you the tenth ; to be ta'en forth, 
 Before the common distribution, at 
 Your only choice. 
 
 Mar. I thank you, general ; 
 
 But cannot make my heart consent to take 
 A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it; 
 And stand upon my common part with those 
 That have beheld the doing. 
 
 [A long Flourish. They all cry, Marcius ! Mar- 
 cius! cast up their Caps and Lances: Comi- 
 nius and Lartius stand bare. 
 Mar. May these same instruments, which you 
 profane, 
 Never sound more! When drums and trumpet shall 
 I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be 
 Made all of false-faced soothing : When steel grows 
 Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made 
 An overture for the wars! No more, I say; 
 For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled, 
 Or foil'd some debile 2 wretch, — which, without note, 
 Here's many else have done, — you shout me forth 
 In acclamations hyperbolical ; 
 As if I loved my little should be dieted 
 In praises sauced with lies. 
 
 Com. Too modest are you ; 
 
 More cruel to your good report than grateful 
 To us that give you truly : by your patience", 
 If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you 
 (Like one that means his proper 3 harm) in manaclss, 
 Then reason safely with you. — Therefore, be it 
 
 known, 
 As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius 
 Wears this war's garland : in token of the which 
 My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, 
 With all his trim belonging ; and, from this time. 
 For what he did before Corioli, call him, 
 With all the applause and clamor of the host, 
 Caius Marcius Coriolanus. — 
 Bear the addition nobly ever ! 
 
 [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums 
 All. Caius Marcius (Joriolanus ! 
 Cor. I will go wash ; 
 And when my face ; s fair, you shall percer.w 
 a Weak, feeble. » Own 
 
Act II. Scene I. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 f>55 
 
 Whether I blush, or no: Howbeit, I thank you: — 
 I mean to stride youi steed ; and, at all times, 
 To undercrest' your good addition, 
 To the fairness of my power. 
 
 Cow. So to our tent: 
 
 Where, ere we do repose us, we will write 
 To Rome of our success. — 'You, Titus Lartius, 
 Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome 
 The best,' with whom we may articulate, 6 
 For their own good, and ours. 
 
 Lart. I shall, my lord. 
 
 Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now 
 Rcfus'd more princely gifts, am bound to beg 
 Of my lord general. 
 
 Com. Take it: 'tis yours. — Whatis't? 
 
 Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, 
 At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: 
 He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner; 
 But then Aufidius was within my view, 
 And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request you 
 To give my poor host freedom. 
 
 Corn. O, well begg'd ! 
 
 Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
 Be free, as the wind. Deliver him, Titus. 
 
 Lart. Marcius, his name"! 
 
 Cor. By Jupiter, forgot : — 
 
 I am weary ; yea, my memory is tir'd. — 
 Have we no wine here ? 
 
 Com. Go we to our tent: 
 
 The blood upon your visage dries : 'tis time 
 It shauld be look'd to: come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.—The Camp of the Voices. 
 A Flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, 
 bloody, with two or three Soldiers. 
 Auf. The town is ta'en ! , 
 1 Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good con- 
 dition. 
 
 Auf. Condition ! 
 I would I were a Roman ; for I cannot, 
 Being a Voice, be that I am. — Condition ! 
 What good condition can a treaty find 
 I' the part, that is at mercy ? Five times, Marcius, 
 I have fought with thee ; so often hast thou beat me. 
 And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter 
 As often as we eat. — By the elements, 
 If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, 
 He is mine, or I am his: Mine emulation 
 Hath not that honor in't, it had ; for where ' 
 I thought to crush him in an equal force, 
 (True sword to sword,) I'll potch 6 at him some way; 
 Or wrath, or craft, may get him. 
 
 1 Sol. He's the devil. 
 
 Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle : My valor's 
 poison'd, 
 With only suffering stain by him ; for him 
 Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep, nor sanctuary, 
 Being naked, sick : nor fane, nor Capitol, 
 The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice, 
 Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
 Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
 My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it 
 At home upon my brother's guard, even there 
 Against the hospitable canon, woul-d I 
 Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the 
 
 city; 
 Learn, how 'tis held; and what they are, that must 
 Be hostages for Rome. 
 
 1 Sol. Will not you go ] 
 
 Auf. lam attended 9 at the cypress grove: 
 I pray you, 
 
 ('Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither 
 How the world goes; that to the pace of it 
 I may spur on my journey. 
 
 1 Sol. I shall, sir. f Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A public Place. 
 Enter Mejjexius, Sicinius, and Brutus. 
 
 Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news 
 to-night. 
 
 Bru. Good or bad 1 
 
 Men. Not according to the prayer of the peo- 
 ple, for they love not Marcius. 
 
 Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. 
 
 Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love ? 
 
 Sic. The lamb. 
 
 Men. Ay, to devour him; as the hungry ple- 
 beians would the noble Marcius. 
 
 Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. 
 
 Men. He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. 
 You two are old men ; tell me one thing that I 
 shall ask you. 
 
 Both Trih. Well, sir. 
 
 Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that 
 you two have not in abundance] 
 
 Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with 
 .ill. 
 
 Sic. Especially in pride. 
 
 Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 
 
 Men. This is strange now; Do you two know 
 how you are censured here in the city, I mean of 
 ua o' the right hand file ? Do you 1 
 
 Both Trib. Why, how are we censured ? 
 
 Add more by doing hii beet 
 Enter into article* 
 
 « Chief men. 
 
 Men. Because you talk of pride now, — Will you 
 not be angry ? 
 
 Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well. 
 
 Men. Why 'tis no great matter; for a very little 
 thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of 
 patience : give your disposition the reins, and be 
 angry at your pleasures ; at the least, if you take 
 it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame 
 Marcius for being proud 1 
 
 Bru. We do it not alone, sir. 
 
 Men. I know, you can do very little alone ; for 
 your helps are many ; or else your actions would 
 grow wondrous single: your abilities are too in- 
 fant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride : 
 0, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes 
 of your necks, and make but an interior survey 
 of your good selves ! O, that you could ! 
 
 Bru. What then, sir ? 
 
 Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of 
 unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias 
 fools,) as any in Rome. 
 
 Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too. 
 
 Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, 
 and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a 
 drop of allaying Tyber in't; said to be something 
 imperfect, in favoring the first complaint: hasty 
 and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion: one tha 
 converses more with the buttock of the night, thai 
 with the forehead of the morning. What I think 
 
 1 Whereas. » Poke, pi *h. » Waited fb» 
 
656 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 I utter; and spend my malice in my breaths Meet- 
 ing two such weals-men 1 as you an*, (I cannot call 
 you Lycurguses,) if the drink you gave me, touch 
 my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. 
 I cannot say, your worships have delivered the 
 L?atter well, when I find the ass in compound with 
 the major part of your syllables: and though I 
 must be content to boar with those that say you 
 are reverend grave m*n ; yet they lie deadly, that 
 tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the 
 map of my microcosm, follows it, that I arn known 
 well enough too? What harm can your bisson* 
 conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be 
 known well enough too? 
 
 Bru. Come, sir, come; we know you well enough. 
 
 Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any 
 thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps 
 and legs; you wear out a good wholesome fore- 
 noon, in hearing a cause between an orange wife 
 and a fosset-seller ; and then rejourn the contro- 
 versy of three-pence to a second day of audience. 
 — When you are hearing a matter between party 
 and party, if you chance to be pinched with the 
 colic, you make faces like mummers; set up the 
 bloody flag against all patience ; and, in roaring for 
 a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, 
 the more entangled by your hearing : all the peace 
 you make in their cause, is, calling both the parties 
 knaves: You are a pair of strange ones. 
 
 Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to 
 be a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary 
 bencher in the Capitol. 
 
 Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if 
 they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you 
 ace. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is 
 not worth the wagging of your beards ; and your 
 beards deserve not so honorable a grave, as to stuff 
 a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's 
 pack-saddle. Yet you must be sayingj Marcius is 
 proud ; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all 
 your predecessors, since Deucalion ; though, per- 
 adventure, some of the best of them were hereditary 
 hangmen. Good e'en to your worships: more of 
 your conversation would infect my brain, being the 
 herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold 
 to take my leave of you. 
 
 [Bru. and Sic. retire to the back of the Scene. 
 
 Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria, $c. 
 
 How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon, 
 were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you fol- 
 low your eyes so fast ? 
 
 Vol. Honorable Menenius; my boy Marcius ap- 
 proaches: for the love of Juno, let's go. 
 
 Men. Ha! Marcius coming home? 
 
 Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius ; and with most pros- 
 perous approbation. 
 
 Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee : — 
 Hoo! Marcius coming home? 
 
 Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true. 
 
 Vol. Look, here's a letter from him : the state 
 hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's 
 sne at home r oryou. 
 
 Men. I will make my very house reel to-night: 
 — A letter for me? 
 
 Vir. ¥"es, certain, there's a letter for you; I 
 saw it. 
 
 Men. A letter for me ? It gives me an estate of 
 seven years' health ; in which time I will make a 
 v.p at the physician : the most sovereign prescrip- 
 tion in Gaien is but empiricutic, and to this pre- 
 servative, of no bet er report than a horse-drench. 
 ' Statosmen. * Rlind. 
 
 Is he not wounded ? ho wis wont to com* horn 
 wounded. 
 
 Vir. O, no. no, no. 
 
 Vol. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. 
 
 Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : — Brings 
 'a victory in his pocket? — The wounds become 
 him. 
 
 Val. On's brows, Menenius : he comes the third 
 time home with the oaken garland. 
 
 Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? 
 
 Vol. Titus Lartius writes, — They fought to- 
 gether, but Aufidius got off. 
 
 Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant 
 him that: an he had staid by him, I would not have 
 been so (idiused for all the chests in Corioli, and 
 the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed 
 of this? 
 
 Vol. Good ladies, let's go: — Yes, yus, yes: the 
 senate has letters from the general, wherein he 
 gives my son the whole name of the war : he hath 
 in this action outdone his former deeds doubly. 
 
 Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of 
 him. 
 
 Men. Wondrous? Ay, I warrant you, and not 
 without his true purchasing. 
 
 Vir. The gods grant them true ! 
 
 Vol. True ? pow, wow. 
 
 Men. True? I'll be sworn they are true: — 
 Where is he wounded? — God save your good 
 worships! [To the Tribunes, who come forivard.] 
 Marcius is coming home : he hae more cause to be 
 proud. — Where is he wounded? 
 
 Vol. V the shoulder, and i' the left arm : There 
 will be large cicatrices to show the people, when 
 he ahall stand for his place. He received in the 
 repulse of Tarquip, seven hurts i' the body. 
 
 Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh, — 
 there's nine that I know. 
 
 Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty- 
 five wounds upon him. 
 
 Men. Now it's twenty-seven : every gash was an 
 enemy's grave : [.4 Shout, and Flourish.] Hark ! 
 the trumpets. 
 
 Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius: before him 
 He carries noise, and behind him he leave* tears ; 
 Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie ; 
 Which being advanced, declines ; and then men die. 
 
 A Sennet. 3 Trumpets sound. Enter Cojiinius 
 and Titus Lartius; between them, Coriola- 
 nus, crowned with an oaken Garland^ with 
 Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald. 
 
 Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did 
 fight 
 Within Corioli' gates: where he hath won, 
 With fame a name, to Caius Marcius ; these 
 In honor follows, Coriolanus: 
 Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! 
 
 [Flourish. 
 
 All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus ! 
 
 Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart ; 
 Pray now, no more. 
 
 Com. Look, sir, your mother 
 
 Cor. O! 
 
 You have, I know, petition'd all the gods 
 For my prosperity. [Kneel* 
 
 Vol- Nay, my good soldier, up 
 My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and 
 By deed -achieving honor newly nam'd, 
 What is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee 1 
 But 0, thy wife 
 
 Cor. My gracious' silence, hail! 
 
 • Flourish on cornets. 4 Gracefik. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 657 ! 
 
 Wouldst thou hate laugh'd, had I come coffin'd 
 
 home, 
 That weep'st to see me triumph 1 Ah, my dear, 
 Such eves the widows in Oorioli wear, 
 And motheis that lack sons. 
 
 Men. Now the gods crown thee! 
 
 Cor. And live you yet? — O my sweet lady, 
 pardon. [To Valeria. 
 
 Vol. I know not where to turn: — welcome 
 home; 
 And welcome, general ; — And you are welcome all. 
 
 Men. A hundred thousand welcomes: I could 
 weep, 
 And I could laugh; I am light, and heavy : Wel- 
 come : 
 A curse begin at every root of his heart, 
 That is not glad to see thee ! — You are three, 
 That Rome should dote on : yet, by the faith of 
 
 men, 
 We have some old crab-trees here at home, that 
 
 will not 
 Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors : 
 We call a nettle, but a nettle; and 
 The faults of fools, but folly. 
 
 Com. Ever right. 
 
 Cor. Menenius, ever, ever. 
 
 Her. Give way there, and go on. 
 
 Cor. Your hand, and yours. 
 
 [To his Wife and Mother. 
 Ere in our own house I do shade my head, 
 The good patricians must be visited ; 
 From whom I have received not only greetings, 
 But with them change of honors. 
 
 Vol. I have lived 
 
 To see inherited my very wishes, 
 And the buildings of my fancy : only there 
 Is one thing wanting, which I doubt not, but 
 Our Rome will cast upon thee. 
 
 Cor. Know, good mother, 
 
 I had rather be their servant in my way, 
 Than sway with them in theirs. 
 
 Com. On to the Capitol. 
 
 [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. 
 The Tribunes remain. 
 
 Bru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared 
 sights 
 Are spectacled to see him : Your prattling nurse 
 Into a rapture lets her baby cry, 
 While she chats him: the kitchen malkin 6 pins 
 Her richest lockram 6 'bout her reeehy 1 neck, 
 Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, 
 
 windows, 
 Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges hors'd 
 With variable complexions: all agreeing 
 In earnestness to see him ; seld 3 -shown flamens 9 
 Do- press among the popular throngs, and puff 
 To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames 
 Commit the war of white and damask, in 
 Their nicely-gawded' cheeks, to the wanton spoil 
 Of Phoebus' burning kisses : such a pother, 
 As if that whatsoever god, who leads him, 
 Were slily crept into his human powers, 
 And gave him graceful posture. 
 
 Sic. On the sudden, 
 
 I warrant him consul. 
 
 Bru. Then our office may, 
 
 During his power, go sleep. 
 
 Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honors 
 From where he should begin and end ; but will 
 Lose those 'hat he hath won. 
 
 Bru. In that there's comfort. 
 
 Sic. 
 
 ' Moid. * Best linen 
 
 1 Soiled with sueat and smoke. 
 ' Adorned 
 
 Doubt not, the commoners, for whom w« 
 stand, 
 But they, upon their ancient malice, will 
 Forget, with the least cause, these his new honors ; 
 Which that he'll give them, make as little question 
 As he is proud to do't. 
 
 Bru. I heard him swear, 
 
 Were he to stand for consul, never would he 
 Appear i' the market-place, nor on him put 
 The napless vesture of humility ; 
 Nor, showing {as the manner is) his wounds 
 To the people, beg their stinking breaths. 
 
 Sic. 'Tis right 
 
 Bru. It was his word: O, he would miss it, 
 rather 
 Than carry it, but by the suit o' the gentry to him, 
 And the desires of the nobles. 
 
 Sic. I wish no better, 
 
 Than have him hold that purpose, and put it 
 In execution. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis most like, he will. 
 
 Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills ; 
 A sure destruction. 
 
 Bru. So it. must fall out 
 
 To him, or our authorities. For an end, 
 We must suggest 2 the people in what hatred 
 He still hath held them; that to hi* power he 
 
 would 
 Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders r and 
 Dispropertied their freedoms: holding them, 
 In human action and capacity, 
 Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world, 
 Than camels in their war; who have their provand' 
 Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows 
 For sinking under them. 
 
 Sic This, as you say, suggested 
 
 At some time when his soaring insolence 
 Shall teach the people, (which time shall not want. 
 If he be put upon't; and that's as easy, 
 As to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire 
 To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze 
 Shall darken him for ever. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Bru. What's the matter T 
 
 Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis 
 thought 
 That Marcius should be consul : I have seen 
 The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind 
 To hear him speak: The matrons flung their gloves, 
 Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs, 
 Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended, 
 As to Jove's statue ; and the commons made 
 -A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts: 
 I never saw the like. 
 
 Bru. Let's to the Capitol; 
 
 And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, 
 But hearts for the event. 
 
 Sic. Have with you. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— The Capitol, 
 Enter two Officers, to lay Cushions. 
 
 1 Off". Come, come, they are almost here : How 
 many stand for consulships ! 
 
 2 Off. Three, they say : but 'tis thought of every 
 one, Coriolanus will carry it. 
 
 1 Off. That's a brave fellow ; but he's vengeanco 
 proud, and loves not Hie common people. 
 
 2 Off. 'Faith, there have been many great mon 
 that have flatter'd the people, who ne'er loved them ■ 
 and there be many that they have loved, they know 
 not wherefore ; so that, if they love they know no 
 
 » Inform. * Provender. 
 
f>5» 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act H 
 
 why, they hate upon no better a gTound : There- 
 fore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they 
 love or hate him. manifests the true knowledge he 
 has in their disposition ; ana out of his noble care- 
 lessness, lets them plainly see't. 
 
 1 Off. If he did not care whether he had their 
 love, or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing 
 them neither good nor harm ; but he seeks their 
 hate with greater devotion than they can render it 
 him: and leaves nothing undone, that may fully 
 discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to 
 affect the malice and displeasure of the people, is 
 as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for 
 their love. 
 
 2 Off. He hath deserved worthily of his country: 
 And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as 
 those, who, having been supple, and courteous to 
 the people, bonneted ' without any further deed to 
 heave them at all into their estimation and report: 
 but he hath so planted his honors in their eyes, 
 and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues 
 to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind 
 of ingrateful injury : to report otherwise were a 
 malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck re- 
 proof and rebuke from every ear that heard it. 
 
 1 Off. No more of him ; he is a worthy man : 
 Make way, they are coming. 
 
 A Sennet. Enter, with Lictors before them, Comi- 
 nius, the Consul, Menenius, Coriolanus, 
 many other Senators, Sicinius, and Brutus. 
 The Senators take their places,- the Tribunes 
 lake theirs also by themselves. 
 
 Men. Having determin'd of the Voices, and 
 To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, 
 As the main point of this our after-meeting, 
 To gratify his noble service, that 
 Hath thus stood for his country : Therefore please 
 
 you, 
 Most reverend and grave elders, to desire 
 The present consul, and last general 
 In our well-found successes, to report 
 A little of that worthy work perform'd 
 By Caius Marcius Coriolanus: whom 
 We meet here, both to thank and to remember 
 With honors like himself. 
 
 1 Sen. Speak, good Cominius: 
 
 Leave nothing out for length, and make us think, 
 Rather our state's defective for requital, 
 Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' the peo- 
 ple, 
 We do request your kindest ears: and, after, 
 Your loving motion toward the common body, 
 To yield what passes here. 
 
 Sic. We are convented 
 
 Upon a pleasing treaty ; and have hearts 
 Inclinable to honor and advance 
 The theme of our assembly. 
 
 Bru. Which the rather 
 
 We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember 
 A kinder value of the people, than 
 He hath hereto prized them at. 
 
 Men. That's off, that's off; s 
 
 I would you rather had been silent: Please you 
 To hear Cominius speak 1 
 
 Bru. Most willingly : 
 
 But yet my caution was more pertinent, 
 Than the rebuke you gave it. 
 
 Men. He loves your people ; 
 
 But tie him not to be their bedfellow. — 
 Worthy Cominius, speak. — Nay, keep your place. 
 [Coriolanus rises, and offers to go away. 
 * Took off caps. » Nothing to the purpose. 
 
 1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus : never shame, to hear 
 What you have nobly dote. 
 
 Cor. Yorrr Conors' pardot 
 
 I had rather have my wouncto u> teal again, 
 Than hear say how I got thi.'.\. 
 
 Bru. Sir, I hope. 
 
 My words disbench'd you ti&i. 
 
 Cor. No, sir ; yet "ft 
 
 When blows have made me stay, I f ,?cl from words 
 You sooth'd not, therefore hurt not: But you- 
 
 people, 
 I love them as they weigh. 
 
 Men. Pray now, sit down. 
 
 Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head 
 i' the sun, 
 When the alarum were struck, than idly si' 
 To hear my nothings monster'd. 
 
 [Exit CoRIOLANUS. 
 
 Men. Masters o' the people. 
 
 Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter, 
 (That's thousand to one good one,) when you how 
 
 see, 
 He had rather venture all his limbs for honor, 
 Than one of his ears to hear it? — Proceed, Co- 
 minius. 
 
 Com. I shall lack voice : the deeds of Coriolanus 
 Should not be utter'd feebly. — It is held, 
 That valor is the chiefest virtue, and 
 Most dignifies the haver : if it be, 
 The man I speak of cannot in the world 
 Be singly counterpois'd. At sixteen years, 
 When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fough 
 Beyond the mark of others: our then dictator, 
 Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, 
 When with his Amazonian 6 chin he drove 
 The bristJed lips before him : he bestrid 
 An o'er-press'd Roman, and i' the consul's view 
 Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met, 
 And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats, 
 When he might act the woman in the scene, 
 He prov'd best man o'the field, and for his meed 1 
 Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
 Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea; 
 And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since, 
 He lurch'd 8 all swords o' the garland For this last, 
 Before and in Cprioli, let me say, 
 I cannot speak him home. He stopp'o the fliers ; 
 And, by his rare example, made the coward 
 Turn terror into sport: as waves before 
 A vessel under sail, so men obey'd, 
 And fell below his stem : his sword (death's stamp) 
 Where it did mark it took; from face to foot 
 He was a thing of blood, whose every motion 
 Was timed with dying cries ; alone he enter'd 
 The mortal gate o' the city, which he painted 
 With shunless destiny, aidless came off, 
 And with a sudden reinforcement struck 
 Corioli, like a planet : now all's his : 
 When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce 
 His ready sense : then straight his doubled spirit 
 Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, 3 
 And to the battle came he ; where he did 
 Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
 'Twere a perpetual spoil ; and, till we call'd 
 Both field and city ours, he never stood 
 To ease his breast with panting. 
 
 Men. Worthy man ! 
 
 1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honors 
 Which we devise him. 
 
 Com. Our spoils he kick'd at ; 
 
 And look'd upon things precious, an they wer< 
 
 « Without a heard. 
 • Disappointed. 
 
 ' Eeward. 
 • Wearied. 
 
icENE II 1 
 
 COnlOLANUS. 
 
 659 
 
 The common mucK o' the world ; he covets less 
 Than misery ' itself would give; rewards 
 His deeds with doing them and is content 
 To spend the time to end it. 
 
 Men. He's right m Me; 
 
 Let him be call'd for. 
 
 1 Sen. Call for Coriolanus. 
 
 Off". He doth appear. 
 
 Re-enter Cohiolanub. 
 
 Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd 
 To make thee consul. 
 
 Cor. I do owe them still 
 
 My life, and services. 
 
 Men, It then remains, 
 
 Thai you do speak to the people. 
 
 Cor. I do beseech you, 
 
 Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot 
 Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, 
 For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage : please 
 
 you, 
 That I may pass this doing. 
 
 Sic. Sir, the people 
 
 Must have their voices ; neither will they bate 
 One jat of ceremony. 
 
 Men. Put them not to't: — 
 
 Pray you, go fit you to the custom ; and 
 Take to you, as your predecessors have, 
 Your honor with your form. 
 
 Cor. It is a part 
 
 That I shall blush in acting, and might wdl 
 Be taken from the people. 
 
 Bru. Mark you that ? 
 
 Cor. To brag unto them — thus I did, and 
 thus ; — 
 Show them the unaching scars which I should hide, 
 As if I had receiv'd them for the hire 
 Of their breath only : — 
 
 Men. Do not stand upon't. — 
 
 We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, 
 Our purpose to them ; — and to our noble consul 
 Wish we all joy and honoi. 
 
 Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honor! 
 
 [Flourish. Then exeunt Senators. 
 
 Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. 
 
 Sic. May they perceive his intent! He that will 
 require them, 
 As if he did contemn what he requested 
 Should be in them to give. 
 
 Bru. Come, we'll inform them 
 
 Of our proceedings here: on the market-place, 
 I know they do attend us. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE OL— The. Forum. 
 Enter several Citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought 
 not to deny him. 
 
 2 Cit. We may, sir, if we will. 
 
 3 Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, but 
 it is a power that we have no power to do : for if 
 he show us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we 
 ?re to put our tongues into those wounds, and speak 
 for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must 
 also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingra- 
 titude is monstrous: and for the multitude to be 
 ingrateful, \i *re to make a monster of the multi- 
 tude; of the which, we being members, should 
 bring ourselves to be monstrous members. 
 
 1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a 
 little help will serve : for once, when we stood up 
 about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the 
 oiany-headed multitude. 
 
 « A varies. 
 
 3 Cit. We have been called so of many ; rot 
 that our heads are some brown, some black, some 
 auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so diverse- 
 ly colored : and truly I think, if all our wits were 
 to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, 
 north, south : and their consent of one direct way 
 should be at once to all the points o' the compass. 
 
 2 Cit. Think you so? Which way, do you judge, 
 my wit would fly? 
 
 3 Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as anoth- 
 er man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in a blockhead: 
 but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward. 
 
 2 Cit. Why that way ? 
 
 3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog ; where being three 
 parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth 
 would return for conscience sake to help to get thee 
 a wife. 
 
 2 Cit. You are never without your tricks : — You 
 may, you may. 
 
 3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices ? 
 But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I 
 say, if he would incline to the people, there was 
 never a worthier man. 
 
 Enter Cohiolatjus and Menenivs. 
 Here he comes, and in the gowr. of humility : mark 
 his behavior. We are not to say altogether, but 
 to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, 
 and by threes. He's to make his requests by parti- 
 culars : wherein every one of us has a single honor, 
 in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: 
 therefore, follow me, and I'll direct you how you 
 shall go by him. 
 
 All. Content, content. [Exeunt. 
 
 Men. O sir, you are not right; have you not 
 known 
 The worthiest men have done it? 
 
 Cor. What must I say ? — 
 
 I pray, sir, — Plague upon't ! I cannot bring 
 
 My tongue to such a pace : look, sir ; m? 
 
 wounds ; 
 I got them in my country's service, when 
 Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran 
 From the noise of our own drums. 
 
 Men. O me, the gods ! 
 
 You must not speak of that : you must desire them 
 To think upon you. 
 
 Cor. Think upon me ? Hang 'em . 
 
 I would they would forget me, like the virtues 
 Which our divines lose by them. 
 
 Men. You'll mar all ; 
 
 I'll leave you : pray you, speak to them, I pray you, 
 In wholesome manner. [Exit. 
 
 Enter two Citizens. 
 Cor. Bid them wash their faces, 
 
 And keep their teeth clean. — So here comes a 
 
 brace. — 
 You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 
 
 1 Cit. We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you 
 
 to't. 
 Cor. Mine own desert. 
 
 2 Cit. Your own desert ? 
 Cor. Ay, not 
 
 Mine own desire. 
 
 1 Cit. How ! not your own desire ? 
 
 Cor. No, sir: 
 'Twas never my desire yet, 
 To trouble the poor with begging. 
 
 1 Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing 
 We hope to gain by you. 
 
 Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o the consu' 
 ship? 
 
 1 Cit. The price is, sir, to ask it kindly 
 
660 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Cor, Kindly ? 
 
 Sir, I pray let me ha't: I have wounds to show you, 
 Which shall be yours in private. — Your good voice, 
 
 sir; 
 What say you ? 
 
 2 Cit. You shall have it, worthy sir. 
 
 Cor. A match, sir: — 
 There is in all two worthy voices begg'd: — 
 I have your alms ; adieu. 
 
 1 Cit. But this is something odd. 
 
 2 Cit. An' twere to give again, — But 'tis no 
 
 matter. [Exeunt two Citizens. 
 
 Enter two other Citizens. 
 
 Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune 
 of your voices, that I may be consul, I have here 
 the customary gown. 
 
 3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your country, 
 and you have not deserved nobly. 
 
 Cor. Your enigma? 
 
 3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies, 
 you have been a rod to her friends ; you have not, 
 indeed, loved the common people. 
 
 Cor. You should account me the rsore virtuous, 
 that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir, 
 flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a dearer 
 estimation of them; 'tis a condition they account 
 gentle : and since the wisdom of their choice is ra- 
 ther to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the 
 insinuating nod, and be off to them most counterfeit- 
 ly ; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment 
 of some popular man, and give it bountifully to the 
 desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul. 
 
 4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend ; and there- 
 fore give you our voices heartily. 
 
 3 Cit. You have received many wounds for your 
 country. 
 
 Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with showing 
 them. I will make much of your voices, and so 
 trouble you no further. 
 
 Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Cor. Most sweet voices! — 
 Better it is to die, better to starve, 
 Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. 
 Why in this wolvish gown should I stand here, 
 To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear, 
 Their needless vouches ? Custom calls me to't : — 
 What custom wills, in all things should we do't, 
 The dust on antique time would lie. unswept, 
 And mountainous error be too highly heap'd 
 For truth to over-peer. — Rather than fool it so, 
 Let the high office and the honor go 
 To one that would do thus. — I am half through ; 
 The one part suffer'd, the other will I do. 
 
 Enter three other Citizens. 
 
 Here come more voices, — 
 Your voices: for your voices I have fought; 
 Watch'd for your voices ; for your voices, bear 
 Of wounds two dozen odd ; battles thrice six 
 I have seen and heard of; for your voices have 
 Done many things, some less, some more : your 
 
 voices : 
 Indeed, I would be consul. 
 
 5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go without 
 any honest man's voice. 
 
 6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul: The gods 
 give him joy, and make him good friend to the 
 leoplc' 
 
 All. Amen, Amen. 
 
 <Jod save thee, noble consul. [Exeunt Citizens. 
 ftw. Worthy voices! 
 
 Re-enter Menenitjs with Bnu-rus and Sicixius. 
 
 Men. You have stood your limitation , and the 
 tribunes 
 Endue you with the people's voice : Remains. 
 That, in the official marks invested, you 
 Anon do meet the senate. 
 
 Cor. Is this done • 
 
 Sic. The custom of request you have discharged 
 The people do admit you ; and are summon'd 
 To meet anon, upon your approbation. 
 
 Cor. Where? at the senate-house? 
 
 Sic. There, Coriolanus. 
 
 Cor. May I then change these garments? 
 
 Sic. You may, sir. 
 
 Cor. That I'll straight do; and, knowing myself 
 again, 
 Repair to the senate-house. 
 
 Men. I'll keepyou company. — Will you along? 
 
 Bru. We stay here for the people. 
 
 Sic. Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Coriol. and Meneit. 
 He has it now ; and by his looks, methinks, 
 'Tis warm at his heart. 
 
 Bru. With a proud heart he wore 
 
 His humble weeds: Will you dismiss the people? 
 
 Re-enter Citizens. 
 Sic. How now, my masters? have you chose this 
 man? 
 
 1 Cit, He has our voices, sir. 
 
 Bru. We pray the gods, he may deserve youi 
 loves. 
 
 2 Cit. Amen, sir: To my poor unworthy notice, 
 He mock'd us, when he begg'd our voices. 
 
 3 Cit. Certainly. 
 He flouted us down-right. 
 
 1 Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech, he did not 
 
 mock us. 
 
 2 Cit. Not one amongst us save yourself, but say*, 
 He used us scornfully : he should have show'd us 
 His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for his country. 
 
 Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure. 
 Cit. No; no man saw 'em 
 
 [Several speak. 
 
 3 Cit. He said, he had wounds, which he could 
 
 show in private; 
 And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, 
 I would be consul, says he : aged custom, 
 But by your voices, will not so permit me,- 
 Your voices therefore: When we granted that, 
 Here was, — I thank you for your voices, — thank 
 
 you, — 
 Your most sweet voices: — now you have left your 
 
 voices, 
 I have no further with you: Was not this 
 
 mockery ? 
 Sic. Why, either, were you ignorant to see't? 
 Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness 
 To yield your voices? 
 
 Bru. Could you not have told him, 
 
 As you were lesson'd, — When he had no power, 
 But was a petty servant to the state, 
 He was your enemy; ever spake against 
 Your liberties, and the charters that you bear 
 I' the body of the weal ; and now arriving 
 A place of potency, and sway o' the state, 
 If he should still malignantly remain 
 Fast foe to the plebeii, 2 your voices might 
 Be curses to yourselves? You should have •aid- 
 That as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
 Than what he stood for ; so his gracious nature 
 Would think upon you for your voice?, and 
 > Plebeians, oommoa ceo*lo. 
 
Act III. Scene I 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 661 
 
 Translate his malice towards you into love, 
 Standing your friendly lord. 
 
 Sic Thus to have said 
 
 As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit, 
 And try'd his inclination : from him pluck'd 
 Either his gracious promise, which you might, 
 As cause had call'd you up, have held him to ; 
 Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, 
 Which easily endures not article 
 Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, 
 You should have ta'en the advantage ofhischoler, 
 And pass'd him unelected. 
 
 Brxi. Did you perceive, 
 
 He did solicit you in free contempt, 
 When he did need your loves ; and do you think, 
 That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, 
 When he hath power to crush? Why, had your 
 
 bodies 
 No heart among you ? Or had you tongues, to cry 
 Against the rectorship of judgment] 
 
 Sic. Have you, 
 
 Ere now, deny'd the asker? and, now again, 
 On him, that did not ask, but mock, bestow 
 Your sued-for tongues'? 
 
 3 Cit. He's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet. 
 
 2 Cit. And will deny him : 
 I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 
 
 1 Cit. I twice five hundred, and their friends to 
 piece 'em. 
 
 Bru. Get you hence instantly : and tell those 
 friends, — 
 They have chose a consul, that will from them take 
 Their liberties; make them of no more voice 
 Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking, 
 As therefore kept to do so. 
 
 Sic. Let them assemble ; 
 
 And, on a safer judgment, all revoke 
 Your ignorant election : Enforce his pride, 
 And his old hate unto you : besides, forget not 
 With what contempt he wore the humble weed; 
 How in his suit he scorn'd you : but your loves, 
 Thinking upon his services, took from you 
 The apprehensior of his present portance, 3 
 Which gibingly ungravely he did fashion 
 After the inveterate hate he bears you. 
 
 Bru. Lay 
 
 A fault on us, your tribunes; that we labor'd 
 (No impediment between) but that you must 
 Cast your election on him. 
 
 Sic. Say, you chose him 
 
 More after our commandment, than as guided 
 By your own true affections : and that, your minda 
 Pre-occupied with what you rather must do 
 Than what you should, made you against the grain 
 To voice him consul : Lay the fault on us. 
 
 Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say, we read lectures to 
 you, 
 How youngly he began to serve his country, 
 How long continued: and what stock he springs o£ 
 The noble house o'the Marcians; from whence came 
 That Ancus Marcius, Nuraa's daughter's son. 
 Who, after great Hostilius, here was king: 
 Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, 
 That our best water brought by conduits hither ; 
 And Censorinus, darling of the people, 
 And nobly nam'd so, being censor twice, 
 Was his great ancestor. 
 
 Sic. One thus descended, 
 
 That hath beside well in his person wrought 
 To be set high in place, we did commend 
 To your remembrances : but you have found, 
 Scaling' his present bearing with his past, 
 That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke 
 Your sudden approbation. 
 
 Bru. Say, you nfl'er had don<?'t, 
 
 (Harp on that still,) but by our putting on: 
 And presently, when you have drawn your number. 
 Repair to the Capitol. 
 
 Cit. We will so : almost all [Several speaJt 
 Repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizens 
 
 Bru. Let them go on ; 
 
 This mutiny were better put in hazard, 
 Than stay, past doubt, for greater: 
 If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
 With their refusal, both observe and answer 
 The vantage of his anger. 
 
 S>'c. To the Capitol : 
 
 Come; we'll be there before the stream o' the prople; 
 And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own. 
 Which we have goaded onward. [Excwtf. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street. 
 
 Cornets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Comi- 
 btius, Titus Lartius, Senators, and Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? 
 
 Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was, which 
 caused 
 Our swifter, composition. 
 
 Cor. So then the Voices stand but as at first; 
 Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road 
 Upon us again. 
 
 Com. They are worn, lord consul, so, 
 
 That we shall hardly in our ages see 
 Their banners. wave again. 
 
 Cor. Saw you Aufidius? 
 
 Lart. On safe-guard he came to me ; and did curse 
 Against the Voices, for they had so vilely 
 Fielded the town : he is retir'd to Antium. 
 
 Cor. Spoke he of me ? 
 
 Lart. He did, my lord. 
 
 Cor. How? what? 
 
 Lart. Hew often he had met you sword to sword : 
 • Carriage. 
 
 That, of all things upon the earth, he hated 
 Your person most : that he would pawn his fortune* 
 To hopeless restitution, so he might 
 Be call'd your vanquisher. 
 
 Cor. At Antium lives he ? 
 
 Lart. At Antium. 
 
 Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there. 
 To oppose his hatred fully. — Welcome home. 
 
 [To Lartios 
 
 Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 
 
 Behold ! these are the tribunes of the people, 
 The tongues o' the common mouth. I do despise 
 
 them : 
 For they do prank them in authority, 
 Against all noble sufferance. 
 
 Sic. Pass no further. 
 
 Cor. Ha ! what is that ? 
 
 Bru. It ^vill be dangerous to 
 
 Go on: no further. 
 
 Cor, What makes this change ? 
 
 Men. The matter 1 
 
 « Weighing. 
 
rm 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and the 
 commons] 
 
 Bru. Cominius, no. 
 
 Cor. Have I had children's voices? 
 
 1 Sen. Tribunes, give way : he shall to the mar- 
 ket place. 
 
 Bru. The people are incens'il against him. 
 
 Sic. Stop, 
 
 Or all will fall in broil. 
 
 Cor. Are these your herd ? — 
 
 Must these have voices, that can yield them now, 
 And straight disclaim their tongues? — What are 
 
 your offices? 
 You being their mouths, why rule you not their 
 
 teeth? 
 Have you not set them on? 
 
 Men. Be calm, be calm. 
 
 Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, anil grows by plot, 
 To curb the will of the nobility : — 
 Suffer it, and live with such as cannot rule, 
 Nor ever will be rul'd. 
 
 Bru. Call't not a plot : 
 
 The people cry, you mock'd them ; and, of late, 
 When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd ; 
 Soandal'd the suppliants for the people; call'd them 
 rime-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 
 
 Cor. Why, this was known before. 
 
 Bru. Not to them all. 
 
 Cor. Have you inform'd them since ? 
 
 Bru. How ! I inform them ? 
 
 Cor. You are like to do such business. 
 
 Bru. Not unlike, 
 
 Each way to better yours. 
 
 Cor. Why then should I be consul? By yon clouds, 
 Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
 Your fellow-tribune. 
 
 Sic. You show too muck of that, 
 
 For which the people stir : If you will pass 
 To where you are bound, you must inquire your way, 
 Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit; 
 Or never be so noble as a consul, 
 Nor yoke with him for tribune. 
 
 Men. Let's be calm. 
 
 Com. The people are abus'd: — Set on. — This 
 palt'ring 4 
 Becomes not Rome; nor has Coriolanus 
 Deserv'd this so dishonor'd rub, laid falsely 
 l' the plain way of his merit. 
 
 Cor. Tell me of corn ! 
 
 This was my speech, and I will speak't again ; — 
 
 Men. Not now, not now. 
 
 1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 
 
 Cor. Now, as I live, I will. — My nobler friends, 
 I crave their pardons: — 
 
 For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
 Regard me as I do not flatter, and 
 Therein behold themselves : I say again, 
 In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate 
 The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, 
 Which we ourselves have plough' d for, sow'd, and 
 
 scatter'd, 
 By mingling them with us, the honor'd number; 
 Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, b't that 
 Which they have given to beggars. 
 
 Men. Well, no more. 
 
 1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 
 
 Cor. How ! no more ? 
 
 As for my country I have shed my blood, 
 Xvjt fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
 i Join words till their decay, against those meazels 6 
 Which wo disdain should tetter'' us, yet sought 
 "he very way to catch them. 
 
 « Shuffling. « Lenprg. » Scab. 
 
 Bru. You speak o' ihe people 
 
 As if you were a god to punish, not 
 A man of their infirmity. 
 
 Sic. 'Twere well, 
 
 We let the people know't. 
 
 Men. What, what? his choler? 
 
 Cor. Choler! 
 Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, 
 By Jove, 'twould be my mind. 
 
 Sic. It is a mind, 
 
 That shall remain a poison where it is, 
 Not poison any further. 
 
 Cor. Shall remain! — 
 
 Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark yc.j 
 His absolute shall? 
 
 Com. 'Twas from the canon. 8 
 
 Cor. Shall/ 
 
 good, but most unwise patricians, why, 
 
 You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus 
 
 Given Hydra here to choose an officer, 
 
 That with his peremptory shall, being but 
 
 The horn and noise o' the monsters, wants not spirit 
 
 To say, he'll turn your current in a ditch, 
 
 And make your channel his? If he have power, 
 
 Then vail your ignorance: if none, awake 
 
 Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned, 
 
 Be not as common fools; if you are not, 
 
 Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, 
 
 If they be senators : and they are no less, 
 
 W T hen both your voices blended, the greatest taste 
 
 Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate ; 
 
 And such a one as he, who puts his shall, 
 
 His popular shall, against a graver bench 
 
 Than ever frown'd in Greece ! By Jove himself, 
 
 It makes the consuls base : and my soul aches, 
 
 To know, when two authorities are up, 
 
 Neither supreme, how soon confusion 
 
 May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take 
 
 The one by the other. 
 
 Com. Well — on to the market-place. 
 
 Cor. Whoever gave th.^t counsel, to give forth 
 The corn o' the store-house gratis, as 'twas used 
 Sometime in Greece, 
 
 Men. Well, well, no more of that. 
 
 Cor. (Though there the people had more absolute 
 power,) 
 
 1 say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed 
 The ruin of the state. 
 
 Bru. Why, shall the people give 
 
 One, that speaks thus, their voice ? 
 
 Cor. I'll give my reasons, 
 
 More worthier than their voices. They know, the 
 
 corn 
 Was not our recompense : resting well assured 
 They ne'er did service for't : Being press'd to the war, 
 Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, 
 They would not thread the gates ; this kind of 
 
 service 
 Did not deserve corn gratis: being i' the war, 
 Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd 
 Most valor, spoke not for them : The accusation 
 Which they have often made against the senate, 
 All cause unborn, could never be the native'' 
 Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? 
 How shall this bosom multiplied digest 
 The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express 
 What's like to be their words : — We did request it, 
 We are the greater poll, 1 and in true fear 
 They gave us our demands: — Thus we debase 
 The nature of our seats, and make the rabble 
 Call our cares, fears: which will in time break ope 
 
 8 Accordi ig to law. 
 
 • Motive, uo doubt, was Shakspcare'a word. » > T 'imber. 
 
r~ 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 663 
 
 The locks o' the senate, and bring in the crows 
 To peck the eagles. — 
 
 Men. Come, enough. 
 
 Bru. Enough, with over-measure. 
 Cor. No, take more : 
 
 What may be sworn by, both divine and human, 
 Seal wha' I end withal ! — This double worship, — 
 Where one part does disdain with cause, the other 
 Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom 
 Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no 
 Of general ignorance, — it must omit 
 Real necessities, and give way the while 
 To unstable slightness : purpose so barr'd, it follows, 
 Nothing is done to purpose: Therefore, beseech 
 
 you, — 
 Sou that will be less fearful than discreet ; 
 That love the fundamental part of state, 
 More than you doubt 5 the change oft ; that prefer 
 A noble life before a long, and wish 
 To jump 3 a body with a dangerous physic 
 That's sure of death without it, — at once pluck out 
 The multitudinous tongue, let them not lick 
 The sweet which is their poison : your dishonor 
 Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state 
 Of that integrity which should become it; 
 Not having the power to do the good it would 
 For the ill which doth control it. 
 
 Bru. He has said enough. 
 
 Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 
 As traitors do. 
 
 Cor. Thou wretch ! despite o'erwhelu" thee ! — 
 What should the people do with these \dd tri- 
 bunes? 
 On whom depending, their obedience fails 
 To the greater bench: In a rebellion, 
 When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, 
 Then were they chosen ; in a better hour, 
 Let what is meet, be said it must be meet, 
 And throw their power i' the dust. 
 
 Bru. Manifest treason. 
 
 Sic. This a consul ? no. 
 
 Bru. The sediles, ho ! — Let him be apprehended. 
 
 Sic. Go, call the people; [Exit BiiuTtTS.] in 
 whose name, myself 
 Attach thee, as a traitorous innovator, 
 A foe to the public weal: Obey, I charge thee, 
 And follow to thine answer. 
 
 Coy. Hence, old goat! 
 
 Sett. 4" Pat. We'll surety him. 
 
 Com. Aged sir, hands off. 
 
 Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones 
 Out of thy garments. 
 
 Sic. Help, ye citizens. 
 
 Re-enter Brutus, with the ^Ediles, and a Rabble 
 of Citizens. 
 
 Men. On both sides more respect. 
 
 Sic. Here's he, that would 
 
 'J ake from you all your power. 
 
 Bru. Seize him, sediles. 
 
 Cit. Down with him, down with him ! 
 
 [Several speak. 
 
 2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons ! 
 
 [They all bustle about Coriolanus. 
 Tribunes, patricians, citizens ! — what ho ! — 
 Sicinius, Brutus, C^nolanus, citizens! 
 
 Cit. Peace, peace, peace ; stay, hold, peace ! 
 
 Men. What is about to be ? — I am out of breath ; 
 Confusion's near: I cannot speak: — You, tribunes 
 To the people, — Coriolanus, patience: — 
 bpo&&, good Sicinius. 
 
 Sic. Hear me, people; — Peace. 
 
 1 Io*z » Kiek. 
 
 Cit. Let's hear our tribune ; — Peace, speak, speak, 
 speak. 
 
 Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties: 
 Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius 
 Whom late you have named for consul. 
 
 Men. Fye, fye, fye ' 
 
 This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 
 
 1 Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. 
 
 Sic. What is the city, but the people? 
 
 Cit. True, 
 
 The people are the city. 
 
 Bru. By the consent of all we were established 
 The people's magistrates. 
 
 Cit. You so remain. 
 
 Men. And so are like to do. 
 
 Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat; 
 To bring the roof to the foundation ; 
 And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, 
 In heaps and piles of ruin. 
 
 Sic. This deserves death. 
 
 Bru. Or let us stand to our authority, 
 Or let us lose it: — We do here pronounce, 
 Upon the part o' the people, in whose power 
 We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy 
 Of present death. 
 
 Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him : 
 
 Bear him te the rock Tarpeian,* ajid from thence 
 Into destruction cast him. 
 
 Bru. JEdiles, seize him. 
 
 Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. 
 
 Men. Hear me one word 
 
 Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 
 
 Mdi. Peace, peace. 
 
 Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's 
 friend, 
 And temperately proceed to v?hat you would 
 Thus violently redress. 
 
 Bru. Sir, those cold ways, 
 
 That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
 Where the disease is violent: — Lay hands upon him, 
 And bear him to the rock. 
 
 Cor. No; I'll die here. 
 
 [Drawing his Sword. 
 There's some among you have beheld me fighting ; 
 Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. 
 
 Men. Down with that sword; — Tribunes, with- 
 draw a while. 
 
 Bru. Lay hands upon him. 
 
 Men. Help Marcius! help, 
 
 You that be noble; help him, young and old! 
 
 Cit. Down with him, down with him ! 
 
 [7/2 this Mutiny, the Tribunes, the iEdiles, 
 and the People, are all beat in. 
 
 Men. Go, get you to your house ; begone, away. 
 All will be naught else. 
 
 2 Sen. Get you gone. 
 
 Cor. Stand fast; 
 
 We have as many friends as enemies. 
 
 Men. Shall it be put to that? 
 
 1 Sen. The gods forbid ! 
 
 I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house; 
 Leave us to cure this cause. 
 
 Men. For 'tis a sore upon us, 
 
 You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech you. 
 
 Com. Come, sir, along with us. 
 
 Cor. I would they were barbarians, fas they are, 
 Though in Rome litter'd,) not Romans, (as thev 
 
 are not, 
 Though calv'd i' the porcn o the Capitol,) — 
 
 Men. Bcgon«; 
 
 Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
 One time will owe another. 
 * Whenco criminals wer<! thrown, and dashed to ;4*ee»* 
 
($64 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Cor. On fair ground, 
 
 [ could beat forty of them. 
 
 Men. I could myself 
 
 Take up a brace of the best of them; yea, the two 
 tribunes. 
 
 Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic: 
 And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands 
 Against a falling fabric. — Will you hence, 
 Before the tag s return ? whose rage doth rend 
 Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear 
 What they are used to bear. 
 
 Men. Pray you, begone : 
 
 I'll try whether my old wit be in request 
 With those that have but little ; this must be patch'd 
 With cloth of any color. 
 
 Corn. Nay, come away. 
 
 [Exeunt Cob., Com., and others. 
 
 1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune. 
 Men. His nature is too noble for the world: 
 
 He would not natter Neptune for his trident, 
 
 Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his 
 
 mouth : 
 What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent ; 
 And, being angry, does forget that ever 
 He heard the name of death. [«A Noise within. 
 Here's goodly work! 
 
 2 Pat. . I would they were a-bed ! 
 Men. I would they were in Tyber! — What, the 
 
 vengeance, 
 Could he not speak them fair] 
 
 Re-enter Brutus and Sicimus, with the Rabble. 
 
 Sic. Where is this viper, 
 
 That would depopulate the city, and 
 Be every man himself? 
 
 Men. You worthy tribunes, 
 
 Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock 
 With rigorous hands; he hath resisted law, 
 And therefore law shall scorn him further trial 
 Than the severity of the public power, 
 Which he so sets at nought. 
 
 1 Cit. He shall well know, 
 The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, 
 And we their hands. 
 
 Cit. He shall, sure on't. 
 
 [Several speak together. 
 
 Men. Sir, — 
 
 Sic. Peace. 
 
 Men. Do not cry, havoc, where you should but 
 hunt 
 With modest warrant. 
 
 Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you 
 
 Have holp to make this rescue? 
 
 Men. Hear- me speak: — 
 
 As I do know the consul's worthiness, 
 So can I name his faults; ■ 
 
 Sic. Consul? — What consul? 
 
 Men. The consul Coriolanus. 
 
 Brxi. He a consul? 
 
 Cit. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good 
 people, 
 [ may be heard, I'd crave a word or two ; 
 Phe which shall turn you to no further harm, 
 Than so much loss of time. 
 
 Sic. Speak briefly then; 
 
 For w e are peremptory, to despatch 
 This viperous traitor: to eject him hence, 
 Were but one danger; and, to keep him here, 
 Jur certain death; therefore it is decreed, 
 He dies to-night. 
 
 Men. Now the good gods forbid, 
 
 * The lowest of the populace, tag, rag, and bobtail. 
 
 That our renowned Rome, whose gratitud«- 
 Towards her deserved 6 chiidicn is enroll'd 
 In Jove's own book, like an UKnatural dam 
 Should now eat up her own ! 
 
 Sic. He's a disease, that must be cut away. 
 
 Men. O, he's a limb, that has but a disease, 
 Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. 
 What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death 1 
 Killing our enemies? The blood he hath lost, 
 (Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, 
 By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country 
 And, what is left, to lose it by his country, 
 Were to us all, that dc't, and suffer it, 
 A brand to the end o' the world. 
 
 Sic. This is clean kam.' 
 
 Bru. Merely 8 awry when he did love his country, 
 It honor'd him. 
 
 Men. The service of the foot 
 
 Being once gangren'd, is it not then respected 
 For what before it was? 
 
 Bru. We'll hear no more: — 
 
 Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence; 
 Lest his infection, being of catching nature, 
 Spread further. 
 
 Men. One word more, one word 
 
 This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
 The harm of unscann'd swiftness, 9 will, too late, 
 Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by pro- 
 cess; 
 Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out, 
 And sack great Rome with Romans. 
 
 Bru. If ifwere to,— 
 
 Sic. What do you talk? 
 Have we not had a taste of his obedience? 
 Our »diles smote? ourselves resisted? Come: — 
 
 Men. Consider this ; — He has been bred i'the wars 
 Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 
 In boulted ' language ; meal and bran together 
 He throws without distinction. Give me leave, 
 I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him 
 W r here he shall answer by a lawful form, 
 (In peace,) to his utmost peril. 
 
 1 Sen. Noble tribunes, 
 
 It is the humane way : the other course 
 Will prove too bloody ; and the end of it 
 Unknown to the beginning. 
 
 Sic. Noble Menenius, 
 
 Be you then as the people's officer : 
 Masters, lay down your weapons. 
 
 Bru. Go not home. 
 
 Sic. Meet on the market-place : — We'll attend 
 you there : 
 Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed 
 In our first way. 
 
 Men. I'll bring him to you : — 
 
 Let me desire your company. [To the Senators. 
 
 He must come, 
 Or what is worst will follow. 
 
 I Sen. Pray you, let's to him. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Coriolanus' House. 
 Enter Coriolanus, and Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears ; present ma 
 Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels; 
 Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, 
 That the precipitation might down stretch 
 Below the beam of sight, yet will I still 
 Be thus to them. 
 
 Enter Volumnia. 
 
 1 Pat. You do the nobler. 
 
 • Absolutely 
 1 finely sifted 
 
 • Deserving. ' Quite awry. 
 
 9 Inconsiderate haste. 
 
^CIJNE II. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 665 
 
 Cor. I muse,' my mother 
 Does not approve me further, who was wont 
 To call them woollen vassals, things created 
 To buy and sell with groats; lu show bare heads 
 In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder, 
 When one but of my ordinance 3 stood up 
 Ti speak of peace, or war. I talk of you; 
 
 [To Volumnia. 
 Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me 
 False to my nature] Rather say, I play 
 The man I am. 
 
 Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 
 
 I would have had you put your power well on, 
 Before you had worn it out. 
 
 Cor. Le* go. 
 
 Vol. You might have been enough the man you 
 are, 
 With striving less to be so: Lesser had been 
 The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
 You had not show'd them how you were dispos'd, 
 Ere they lack'd power to cross you. 
 
 Cor. Let them hang. 
 
 Vol. Ay, and burn too. 
 
 Enter Menejuus, and Senators. 
 
 Men. Come, come, you have been too rough, 
 something too rough; 
 You must return, and mend it. 
 
 1 Sen. There's no remedy ; 
 
 Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
 Cleave in the midst, and perish. 
 
 Vol. Pray, be counsell'd : 
 
 I have a heart as little apt as yours, 
 But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger, 
 To better vantage. 
 
 Men. Well said, noble woman : 
 
 Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that 
 The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic 
 For the whole state, I would put mine armor on, 
 Which I can scarcely bear. 
 
 Cor. What must I do] 
 
 Men. Return to the tribunes. 
 
 Cor. Well, 
 
 What then] what then] 
 
 Men. Repent what you have spoke. 
 
 Cor. For them ] — I cannot do it to the gods ; 
 Must I then do't to them ] 
 
 Vol. You are too absolute ; 
 
 Though therein you can never be too noble, 
 But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, 
 Honor and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
 I'the war do grow together: Grant that, and tell me, 
 In peace, what each of them by th' other lose, 
 That they combine not there. 
 
 Cor. Tush, tush! 
 
 Men. A good demand. 
 
 Vol. If it be honor in your wars, to seem 
 The same you are not, (which, for your best ends, 
 You adopt your policy,) how is it less or worse, 
 That it shall hold companionship in peace 
 With honor as in war; since that to both 
 It stands in like request ] 
 
 Cor. Why force you this ] 
 
 Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
 To Ihe people; not by your own instruction, 
 Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you to, 
 But with such words that are but roted in 
 Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables 
 Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth. 
 Now, this no more dishonors you at all, 
 Than to take in' a town with gentle words, 
 Which else would put ycu to your fortune, and 
 
 • Wonder. • Rank. « Subdue. 
 
 The hazard of much blood. — 
 
 I would dissemble with my nature, where 
 
 My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requir'd 
 
 I should do so in honor : I am in this, 
 
 Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles ; 
 
 And you will rather show our general lowts " 
 
 How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon them, 
 
 For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard 
 
 Of what that want might ruin. 
 
 Men. Noble lady !— 
 
 Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so, 
 Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
 Of what is past. 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee, now, my son, 
 
 Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
 And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them,) 
 Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business 
 Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
 More learned than the ears,) waving thy head, 
 Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, 
 That humble, as the ripest mulberry, 
 Now will not hold the handling : Or, say to them, 
 Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils, 
 Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess, 
 Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, 
 In asking their good loves ; but thou wilt frame 
 Thyself forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
 As thou hast power, and person. 
 
 Men. This but done, 
 
 Even as she speaks, why, all their hearts were yours* 
 For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
 As words to little purpose. 
 
 Vol. Pr'ythee now, 
 
 Go, and be ruled: although, I know, thou hadst 
 
 rather 
 Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf, 
 Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. 
 
 Enter Cominius. 
 
 Com. I have been i' the market place : and, sir, 
 'tis fit 
 You make strong party, or defend yourself 
 By calmness, or by absence, all's in anger. 
 
 Men. Only fair speech. 
 
 Com. I think, 'twill serve, if he 
 
 Can thereto frame his spirit. 
 
 Vol. He must, and will ; — 
 
 Pr'ythee now, say, you will, and go about it. 
 
 Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce]* 
 Must I, 
 With my base tongue, give to my noble heart 
 A lie, that it must bear] Well, I will do't: 
 Yet were there but this single plot to lose, 
 This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, 
 And throw it against the wind. — To the market- 
 place : 
 You have put me now to such a part, which never 
 I shall discharge to the life. 
 
 Com. Come, come, we'll prompt you. 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son ; as thou hast 
 said 
 My praises made thee first a soldier, so, 
 To have my praise i"or this, perform a part 
 Thou hast not done before. 
 
 Cor. Well, I must dot 
 
 Away, my disposition, and possess me 
 Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war be turn'^ 
 Which quired with my drum, into a pipe 
 Small as an eunuch, or the vhgin voice 
 That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of kna7es 
 Tent * in my cheeks ; and school-boys' tecrs take uj' 
 The glasses of my sight! A beggar's tongue 
 » Common clowns. « Unshaven head. ' Dwell 
 2 T 
 
5f56 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act fll. 
 
 Wake motion through my lips; and my arm'd 
 
 knees, 
 Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his 
 That hath receiv'd an alms! — I will not do't: 
 Lest I surcease to honor mine own truth, 
 And by my body's action, teach my mind 
 A most inherent baseness. 
 
 Vol. At thy choice then : 
 
 To heg of thee, it is my more dishonor, 
 Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let 
 Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear 
 Thy dangerous stoutness; for I mock at death 
 With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
 Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me; 
 But owe 8 thy pride thyself. 
 
 Cor. Pray, be content; 
 
 Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
 Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, 
 Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd 
 Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going : 
 Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul ; 
 Or never trust to what my tongue can do 
 I' the way of flattery, further. 
 
 Vol. Do your will. [Exit. 
 
 Com. Away, the tribunes do attend you : arm 
 yourself 
 To answer mildly ; for they are prepar'd 
 With accusations, as I hear, more strong 
 Than are upon you yet. 
 
 Cor. The word is, mildly: — Pray you, let us go; 
 Let them accuse me by invention, I 
 Will answer in mine honor. 
 
 Men. Ay, but mildly. 
 
 Cor. Well, mildly be 'Uhen ; mildly. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. -The Forum. 
 Enter Sicini ts and Brutus. 
 
 Bi v. In this point cha <?e him home, that he affects 
 Tyrannical power: If he evade us there, 
 Enforce him with his e ivy to the people ; 
 And that the spoil, got on the Antiates, 
 Was ne'tf distributed.- - 
 
 Entei an iEdile. 
 What, win he come ? 
 
 JEd. rle's coming. 
 
 Bru How accompanied? 
 
 JEd. W-ih old Mr enius, and those senators 
 That alwayj favorV nn. 
 
 Sic. Have you a catalogue 
 
 Of all the vorces v. we have procur'd, 
 Set down by Ire s ll 1 
 
 JEd. I have ; 'tis ready, here. 
 
 Sic. Have you cot'ected them by tribes ? 
 
 JEd. I have. 
 
 Sic. Assemble presently the people hither: 
 And when they he?j me say, It shall be so 
 Tthe right and strength of the commons, be it either 
 For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them, 
 If I say, fine, cry fihe; if death, cry death; 
 Insisting on the old prerogative 
 And power i' the truth o' the cause. 
 
 JEd. I shall inform them. 
 
 Bru. And wnen tuch time they have begun to cry, 
 Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd 
 Enforce the present execution 
 Of what we chance to sentence. 
 
 JEd. Very well. 
 
 Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint, 
 When we shall hap to give't them. 
 
 ttru Go about it. — 
 
 \Ejtit ^Edile. 
 • Own. 
 
 Put him to choler straight: He hath been used 
 Ever to conquer, and to have his worth 
 Of contradiction : Being once chafed, he cannot 
 Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks 
 What's in his heart; and that is there, which looks 
 With us to break his neck. 
 
 Enter Coriolanus, Menkxius, Cominius, Sena- 
 tors, and Patricians. 
 
 Sic. Well, here he comes. 
 
 Men. Calmly, I do beseech you 
 
 Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piect- 
 Will bear the knave * by the volume. — The honor'J 
 
 gods 
 Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice 
 Supplied with worthy men ! plant love among us ! 
 Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, 
 And not our streets with war ! 
 
 1 Sen. Amen, amen ! 
 
 Men. A noble wish. 
 
 Re-enter ^Edile, with Citizens. 
 
 Sic. Draw near, ye people. 
 
 JEd. List to your tribunes ; audience : Peace, I 
 say. 
 
 Cor. First, hear me speak. 
 
 Both Tri. Well, say. — Peace, ho. 
 
 Cor.Shall I be charged no further than this present? 
 Must all determine here ? 
 
 Six. I do demand, 
 
 If you submit you to the people's voices, 
 Allow their officers, and are content 
 To suffer lawful censure for such faults 
 As shall be prov'd upon you ? 
 
 Cor. I am content. 
 
 Men. Lo, citizens, he says, he is content: 
 The warlike service he has done, consider ; 
 Think on the wounds his body bears, which show 
 Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 
 
 Cor. Scratches with briars, 
 
 Scars to move laughter only. 
 
 Men. Consider further, 
 
 That when he speaks not like a citizen, 
 You find him like a soldier: Do not take 
 His rougher accents for malicious sounds, 
 But, as I say, such as become a soldier, 
 Rather than envy ' you. 
 
 Com. Well, well, no more. 
 
 Cor. What is the matter, 
 That being pass'd for consul with full voice, 
 I am so dishonor'd, that the very hour 
 You take it off again ? 
 
 Sic. Answer to us. 
 
 Cor. Say then : 'tis true, I ought so. 
 
 SicJWe charge you, that you have contrived to tak* 
 From Rome all season'd 3 office, and to wind 
 Yourself into a power tyrannical; 
 For which, you are a traitor to the people. 
 Cor. How! Traitor? 
 
 Men. Nay ; temperately : Your promise. 
 
 Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the people I 
 Call me their traitor? — Thou injurious tribune! 
 Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, 
 In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in 
 Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say, 
 Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free 
 As I do pray the gods. 
 
 Sic. Mark you this, people ': 
 
 Cit. To the rock with him ; to the rock with him '. 
 Sic. Peaca 
 
 We need not put new matter to his charge : 
 What you have seen him do, and heard him speak, 
 
 9 Will bear being called a knave. 
 
 « Malice » Of long standing. 
 
Act IV. Scene I. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 667 
 
 Heating your officers, cursing yourselves, 
 Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying 
 Those whose great power must try him ; even this, 
 80 criminal, and in such capital kind, 
 Deserves the extremest death. 
 
 Bru. But since he hath 
 
 Serv'd well for Rome, 
 
 Cor. What do you prate of service 1 
 
 Bru. I talk of that, that know it. 
 
 Cor. You? 
 
 Men. Is this 
 
 The promise that you made your mother 1 
 
 Com. Know, 
 
 I pray you, 
 
 Cor. I'll know no further: 
 
 Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, 
 Vagabond exile, flaying; pent to linger 
 But with a grain a day, I would not buy 
 Their mercy at the price of one fair word; 
 Nor check my courage for what they can give, 
 To have't with saying, Good morrow. 
 
 Sic. For that he has 
 
 (As much as in him lies) from time to time 
 Envied 3 against the people, seeking means 
 To pluck away their power ; as now at last 
 Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence 
 Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 
 That do distribute it; In the name o' the people, 
 And in the power of us the tribunes, we, 
 Even from this instant, banish him our city; 
 In peril of precipitation 
 From off the rock Tarpeian, never more 
 To enter our Rome gates; I' the people's name, 
 I say, it shall be so. 
 
 Cit. It shall be so, 
 
 It shall be so ; let him away : he's banished, 
 And so it shall be. 
 
 Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
 friends ; 
 
 Sic. He's sentenced : no more hearing. 
 
 Com. Let me speak : 
 
 I have been consul, and can show from 5 Rome, 
 
 Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
 My country's good, with a respect more tender^ 
 More holy, and profound, than mine own life, 
 My dear wife's estimate; 6 her womb's increase, 
 And treasure of my loins; then if I would 
 Speak that 
 
 Sic. We know your drift : Speak what ! 
 
 Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd, 
 As enemy to the people, and his country : 
 It shall be so. 
 
 Cit. It shall be so, it shall be so. 
 
 Cor. You common cry 1 of curs ! whose breath I 
 hate 
 As reek 9 o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
 As the dead carcasses of unburied men 
 That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
 And here remain with your uncertainty ! 
 Let every feeble rumor shake your hearts ! 
 Your enemies with nodding of their plumes, 
 Fan you into despair ! have the power still 
 To banish your defenders; till, at length, 
 Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels,) 
 Making not reservation of yourselves, 
 (Still your own foes,) deliver you, as most 
 Abated 9 captives, to some nation 
 That won you without blows ! despising, 
 For you, the city, thus I turn my back : 
 There is a world elsewhere. 
 
 [Exeunt. Coriolaxus, Cominius, Menenics, 
 Senators, and Patricians. 
 
 JEdi. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 
 
 Cit. Our enemy's banish'd! he is gone ! Hoo! 
 hoo! 
 [The People shout, and throw up their Caps. 
 
 Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him, 
 As he hath follow'd you, with all despite ; 
 Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 
 Attend us through the city. 
 
 Cit. Come, come, let us see him out at gates ; 
 come: — 
 The gods preserve our noble tribunes! — Come. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before a Gate of the City. 
 
 Ett/erComoLAnus, Volumnia,Viiigilia,Mene- 
 nius, Cominius, and several young Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Come, leave your tears; a brief farewell : — 
 the beast 
 With many heads butts me away. — Nay, mother, 
 Where is your ancient courage 1 you were used 
 To say, extremity was the trier of spirits ; 
 That common chances common men could bear; 
 That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike 
 Show'd mastership in floating: fortune's blows, 
 When most struck home, being gentle wounded, 
 
 craves 
 A noble cunning : you were used to load me 
 With precepts, that would make invincible 
 The heart that conn'd them. 
 
 Vir. O heavens ! heavens ! 
 
 Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman, — 
 
 Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in 
 Rome, 
 And occupations perish! 
 
 Cor. What, what, what ! 
 
 [ shall be lov'd when I am lack'd ! Nay, mother, 
 Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, 
 
 » aiirwed hatred 4 Not only. » For. 
 
 If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
 Six of his labors you'd have done, and sav'd 
 Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, 
 Droop not; adieu: — Farewell, my wife! my mo 
 
 ther! 
 I'll do well yet. — Thou old and true Menenius, 
 Thy tears are Salter than a younger man's, 
 And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime gen- 
 eral 
 I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
 Heart-hard'ning spectacles; tell these sad women, 
 'Tis fond' to wail inevitable strokes, 
 As 'tis to laugh at them. — My mother, you wot well 
 My hazards still have been your solace: and 
 Believe't not lightly, (though I go alone 
 Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 
 Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen,) your sop 
 Will, or exceed the common, or be caught 
 With cautelous 5 baits and practice. 
 
 Vol. My first 3 son, 
 
 Whither wilt thou go 1 Take good Cominius 
 With thee a while: Determine on some course, 
 More than a wild exposture* to each chance 
 That starts i' the way before thee. 
 
 * Value. 
 1 Foolish. 
 
 ' Pack. ■ Vapor. 
 
 5 Insidious. * Noblest. 
 
 1 Subdaed 
 1 Exposure 
 
H68 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 1 
 
 Cor. O the gods! 
 
 Corn. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee 
 Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us, 
 And we of thee : so if the time thrust forth 
 A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
 O'er the vast world, to seek a single man ; 
 And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
 P the absence of the needer. 
 
 Cor. Fare ye well : 
 
 Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full 
 Of the war's surfeits, to go rove with one 
 That's yet unbruis'd: bring me but out at gate. — 
 Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
 My friends of noble touch, 5 when I am forth, 
 Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. 
 While I remain above the ground, you shall 
 Hear from me still ; and never of me aught 
 But what is like me formerly. 
 
 Men. That's worthily 
 
 As any ear can hear. — Come, let's not weep. — 
 If I could shake off but one seven years 
 From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, 
 I'd with thee every foot. 
 
 Cor. Give me thy hand; — 
 
 Come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — ^1 Street near the Gate. 
 Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an ^Edile. 
 Sic. Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no 
 further. — 
 The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided 
 In his behalf. 
 
 Bru. Now we have shown our power, 
 
 Let us seem humbler after it is done, 
 Than when it was a doing. 
 
 Sic. Bid them home : 
 
 Say, their great enemy is gone, and they 
 Stand in their ancient strength. 
 
 Bru. Dismiss them home. 
 
 [Exit iEdile. 
 Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius. 
 Here comes his mother. 
 
 Sic. Let's not meet her. 
 
 Bru. Why? 
 
 Sic. They say, she's mad. 
 
 Bru. They have ta'en note of us : 
 
 Keep on your way. 
 
 Vol. 0, you're well met : The hoarded plague 
 o' the gods 
 Requite your love ! 
 
 Men. Peace, peace ; be not so loud. 
 
 Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should 
 hear, — 
 Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be gone? 
 
 [To Biiutus. 
 Vir. You shall stay too: [To Sici>*.] I would, 
 I had the power 
 To say so to my husband. 
 
 Sic. Are you mankind ? 
 
 Vol. Ay, fool ; is that a shame? — Note but this 
 fool.- 
 Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship 
 To banish him that struck more blows for Rome, 
 Than thou hast spoken words ? 
 
 Sic. blessed heavens ! 
 
 Vol. More noble blows than ever thou wise words ; 
 
 And for Rome's good. — I'll tell thee what; — 
 
 Yet go : 
 Nay but thou shalt stay too : — I would my son 
 Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, 
 His good sword in his hand. 
 
 • True metal. 
 
 Sic. What then ? 
 
 Vir. What then ! 
 
 He'd make an end of thy posterhy. 
 
 Vol. Bastards, and all. — 
 Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome , 
 
 Men. Come, come, peace. 
 
 Sic. I would he had continued to his co ttntry, 
 As he began ; and not unknit himself 
 The noble knot he made. 
 
 Bru. I would he had 
 
 Vol. I would he had? 'Twas you incens'd the 
 rabble : 
 Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth 
 As I can of those mysteries which heaven 
 Will not have earth to know. 
 
 Bru. Fray, let us go. 
 
 Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone : 
 You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this : 
 As far as doth the Capitol exceed 
 The meanest house in Rome: so far, my son, 
 (This lady's husband here, this, do you see,) 
 Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. 
 
 Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you. 
 
 Sic. Why stay we to be baited? 
 
 With one that wants her wits ? 
 
 Vol. Take my prayers with you. — 
 
 I would the gods had nothing else to do, 
 
 [Exeunt Tribunes. 
 But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet them 
 But once a day, it would unclog my heart 
 Of what lies heavy to't. 
 
 Men. You have told them home, 
 
 And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with 
 me? 
 
 Vol. Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, 
 And so shall starve with feeding. — Come, let's go: 
 Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, 
 In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. 
 
 Men. Fye, fye, fye ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Highway between Rome and 
 
 Antium. 
 
 Enter a Roman and a Voice, meeting. 
 
 Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me : 
 your name, I think, is Adrian. 
 
 Vol. It is so, sir ; truly, I have forgot you. 
 
 Rom. I am a Roman; and my services are, as 
 you are, against them : Know you me yet ? 
 
 Vol. Nicanor? No. 
 
 Rom. The same, sir. 
 
 Vol. You had more beard, when I last saw you ; 
 but your favor 6 is well appeared by your tongue. 
 What's the news in Rome ? I have a note from the 
 Volscian state, to find you out there : You have well 
 saved me a day's journey. 
 
 Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insur- 
 rection : the people against the senators, patricians, 
 and nobles. 
 
 Vol. Hath been ! Is it ended then ? Our state 
 thinks not so ; they are in a most warlike prepar- 
 ation, and hope to come upon them in the heat of 
 their division. 
 
 Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small 
 thing would make it flame again. For the nobles 
 receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy 
 Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness, to take 
 all power from the people, and to pluck from them 
 their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can 
 tell you, and is almost mature for the violet 
 breaking out. 
 
 Vol. Coriolanus banished ? 
 
 Rom. Banished, sir. 
 
 • Countenance. 
 
ScENZ V 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 669 
 
 Vol. You will oe welcome with this intelligence, 
 Nicanor. 
 
 Rom. The day serves well for them now. I have 
 heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man's wife, 
 is when she's fallen out with her husband. Your 
 noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these 
 wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in 
 no request of his country. 
 
 Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, 
 thus accidentally to encounter you : You have ended 
 my business, and I will merrily accompany you 
 home. 
 
 Bom. I shall, between this and supper, tell you 
 most strange things from Rome ; all tending to the 
 good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, 
 say you? 
 
 Vol. A most royal one : the centurions, and their 
 charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertain- 
 ment, 1 and to be on foot at an hour's warning. 
 
 Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and 
 am the man, I think, that shall set them in present 
 action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad 
 of your company. 
 
 Vol. You take my part from me, sir ; I have the 
 most cause to be glad of yours. 
 
 Rom. Well, let us go together. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Antium. Before Aufidius's House. 
 
 Enter Coriolanus, in mean Apparel, disguised 
 and muffled. 
 
 Cor. A goodly city is this Antium : City, 
 'Tis I that made thy widows; roany an heir 
 3f these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
 iave I heard groan, and drop : then know me not ; 
 Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones, 
 
 Enter a Citizen, 
 .n puny battle slay me. — Save you, sir. 
 
 Cit. And you. 
 
 Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, 
 
 Where great Aufidius lies: Is he in Antium] 
 
 Cit. He is, and feasts (he nobles of the state, 
 •Vt his house this night. 
 
 Cor. Which is his house, 'beseech you t 
 
 Cit. This, here, before you. 
 
 Cor. Thank you, sir; farewell. 
 
 [Exit Citizen. 
 
 world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, 
 Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
 Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, 
 Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love 
 [Inseparable, shall within this hour, 
 
 On a dissension of a doit,* break out 
 To bitterest enmity: So fellest foes, 
 Whose passions and whose plots have broke their 
 
 sleep 
 To take the one the other, by some chance, 
 Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends, 
 And interjoin their issues. So with me: — 
 My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon 
 This enemy town. — I'll enter: if he slay me, 
 He does fair justice: if he give me way, 
 I'll do his country service. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Hall in Aufidius's House.- 
 Music within. Enter a Servant. 
 
 1 Serv. Wine, wine, wine ! What service is here ! 
 
 1 think our fellows are asleep. [Exit. 
 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. Where's Cotus? my master calls for him. 
 Cotus ! [Exit. 
 
 ' In pa' • A imall coin. 
 
 Enter Coriolanus. 
 Cor. A goodly house: The feast smells well 
 but I 
 Appear not like a guest. 
 
 Re-enter the first Servant. 
 
 1 Serv. What would you have, friend] Whence 
 are you] Here's no place for you: Pray, go to the 
 door. 
 
 Cor. I have deserved no better entertainment, 
 In being Coriolanus. 
 
 Re-enter second Servant. 
 
 2 Serv. Whence are you, sir] Has the porter 
 his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such 
 companions ] Pray, get you out. 
 
 Cor. Away ! 
 
 2 Se7-v. Away ] Get you away. 
 Cor. Now thou art troublesome. 
 
 1 Serv. Are you so brave ] I'll have you talked 
 with anon. 
 Enter a third Servant. The first meets him. 
 
 3 Serv. What fellow's this] 
 
 1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on: 1 
 cannot get him out o'the house ; Pr'ythee, call my 
 master to him. 
 
 3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow] Pray 
 you, avoid the house. 
 
 Cor. Let me but stand; I will not hurt your 
 hearth. 
 
 3 Serv. What are you ] 
 
 Cor. A gentleman. 
 
 3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. 
 
 Cor. True, so I am. 
 
 3 Serv Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some 
 other station; here's no place for you; pray you, 
 avoid: come. 
 
 Cor. Follow your function, go ! 
 And batten 9 on cold bits. [Pushes him away. 
 
 3 Serv. What, will you not] Pr'ythee, tell my 
 master what a strange guest he has here. 
 
 2 Serv. And I shall. [Exit. 
 
 3 Serv. Were dwellest thou] 
 Cor. Under the canopy. 
 
 3 Serv. Under the canopy] 
 
 Cor. Ay. 
 
 3 Serv. Where's that] 
 
 Cor. I' the city of kites and crows. 
 
 3 Serv. V the city of kites and crows] — What 
 an ass it is! — Then thou dwellest with daws too] 
 
 Cor. No, I serve not thy master. 
 
 3 Serv. How, sir! Do you meddle with my 
 master ] 
 
 Cor. Ay ; 'tis an honester service than to med- 
 dle with thy mistress; 
 
 Thou prat'st, and prat'st; serve with thy trencher, 
 hence ! [Beats him away. 
 
 Enter Aufidius, and the second Servant. 
 
 Auf. Where is this fellow ? 
 
 2 Serv. Here, sir; I'd have beaten him like a 
 dog, but for disturbing the lords within. 
 
 Auf. Whence comest thou] what wouldest thou] 
 Thy name] 
 Why speak'stnot! Speak, man: What's thy name] 
 
 Cor. If, Tullus, [Unmuffling. 
 
 Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not 
 Think me for the man I am, necessity 
 Commands me name myself. 
 
 Auf. What is thy name 1 
 
 [Servants retire 
 
 Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' earn 
 And harsh in sound to thine. 
 »Fe«d. 
 
(570 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Auf. Say, what's thy name? 
 
 Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
 Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn, 
 Thou show'st a noble vessel: What's thy name? 
 
 Cor. Prepare thv brow to frown : Know'st thou 
 me yet? 
 
 Auf. I know thee not: — Thy name? 
 
 Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done 
 To thee particularly, and to all the Voices, 
 Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may 
 My surname, Coriolanus: The painful service, 
 The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood 
 Shed for my thankless country, are requited 
 But with that surname; a good memory,' 
 And witness of the malice and displeasure 
 Which thou shouldst bear me : only that name re- 
 mains ; 
 The cruelty and envy of the people, 
 Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
 Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; 
 And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be 
 Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity 
 Hath brought me. to thy hearth ; Not out of hope, 
 Mistake me not, to save my life ; for if 
 I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
 I would have 'voided thee: but in mere spite, 
 To be full quit of those my banishers, 
 Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 
 A heart of wreak 5 in thee, that will revenge 
 Thine own particular wrongs, and slop those maims 
 Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee 
 
 straight, 
 And make my misery serve thy turn; so use it, 
 That my revengeful services may prove 
 As benefits to thee ; for I will fight 
 Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
 Of all the under 3 fiends. But if so be 
 Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes 
 Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, I also am 
 Longer to live most weary, and present 
 My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice: 
 Which not to cut, would show thee but a fool; 
 Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, 
 Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, 
 And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
 It be to do thee service. 
 
 Auf. O Marcius, Marcius, 
 
 Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my 
 
 heart 
 A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
 Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say, 
 "'TIS true,- I'd not believe thesu more than thee, 
 All noble Marcius. — O let me twine 
 Mine arms about that body, where against 
 My grained ash an hundred times hath broke, 
 And scared the moon with splinters! Here I clip 4 
 The anvil of my sword ; and do contest 
 As hotly and as nobly with thy love, 
 As ever in ambitious strength I did 
 Contend against thy valor. Know thou first, 
 I love the maid I married ; never man 
 Sigh'd truer breath ; but that I see thee here, 
 Thou noble thing ! more dances my rapt heart, 
 Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
 Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee, 
 We have a power on foot ; and I had purpose 
 Onte more to hew thy target from thy brawn,' 
 Or lose mine arm for't: Thou hast beat me out* 
 Twelve several times, and I have nightly since 
 Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me; 
 We have been down together in niy sleep, 
 
 Memorial. 
 • Embrace 
 
 * Kesentment. 
 « Arm. 
 
 ' Infernal. 
 • Full. 
 
 Unbuckling helms, fisting eacn other's throat, 
 And wak'd halfdead with nothing. Worthy Marcius 
 Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that 
 Thou art hence banish'd, we, would muster all 
 From twelve to seventy; and, pouring war 
 Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, 
 Like a bold flood o'er-beat. O, come, go in, 
 And take our friendly senators by the hands ; 
 'Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, 
 Who am prepar'd against your territories, 
 Though not for Rome itself. 
 
 Cor. You bless me, gods ! 
 
 Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt ha\e 
 The leading of thine own revenges, take 
 The one half of my commission ; and set down, — 
 As best thou art experienced, since thou know'st 
 Thy country's strength and weakness, — thine own 
 
 ways : 
 Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, 
 Or rudely visit, them in parts remote, 
 To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: 
 Let me commend thee first to those, that shall 
 Say, yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes ! 
 And more a friend than e'er an enemy: 
 Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand ! Most 
 
 welcome ! 
 
 [Exeunt Coiuolanus and Atjfidivs 
 
 1 Serv. [Advancing.'] Here's a strange alteration ! 
 
 2 Serv. By my hand, I nad thought to have 
 strucken him with a cudgel ; and yet my mind gave 
 me, his clothes made a false report of him. 
 
 1 Serv. What an arm he has ! He turned mc 
 about with his finger and his thumb, as one would 
 set up a top. 
 
 2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was 
 something in him : He had, sir, a kind of face, me- 
 thought, — I cannot tell how to term it. 
 
 1 Serv. He had so: looking, as it were, — 'Woulc 
 I were hanged, but I thought there was more in 
 him than I could think. 
 
 2 Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn : He is simply 
 the rarest man i' the world. 
 
 1 Serv. I think he is : but a greater soldier than 
 he, you wot' one. 
 
 2 Serv. Who? my master? 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that. 
 
 2 Serv. Worth six of him. 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, not so neither; but I take him to 
 be the greater soldier. 
 
 2 Serv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to 
 say that: for the defence of a town, our general is 
 excellent. 
 
 1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 
 
 Re-enter third Servant 
 
 3 Serv. 0, slaves, I can tell you news; news, 
 you rascals. 
 
 1, 2 Serv. What, what, what? let's partake. 
 
 3 Serv. I would not be a Roman, of all nations 
 I had as lieve be a condemned man. 
 
 1,2 Serv. Wherefore? wherefore? 
 
 3 Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack 
 our general, — Caius Marcius. 
 
 1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general ? 
 3 Serv. I do not say, thwack our general ; but he 
 
 was always good enough /or him. 
 
 2 Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends : he 
 was ever too hard for him ; I have heard him say 
 so himself. 
 
 1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to say 
 the truth on't: before Corioli, he scotched him and 
 notched him like a carbonado. 8 
 
 1 Know. • Men t cut across to be broiled 
 
Scene "VJ 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 67) 
 
 2 Serv. An he had been cannibally given, he 
 nisht have broiled and eaten him too. 
 
 . Serv. But, more of thy news 1 
 
 3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as 
 t" he were son and heir to Mars: set at upper end 
 zi 1 the table : no question asked him by any of the 
 .senators, but they stand bald before him : Our 
 general himself makes a mistress of him ; sanctifies 
 himself with's hand, and turns up the white o' the 
 eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news 
 : s, our general is cut i' the middle, and but one half 
 of what he was yesterday ; for the other has half, by 
 the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll 
 go, he says, and sowle 9 the porter of Rome gates by 
 the ears: He will mow down all before him, and 
 leave his passage polled.' 
 
 2 Serv. And he's as like to do't, as any man I can 
 imagine. 
 
 3 Serv. Do't 1 he will do't : For, look you, sir, 
 he has as many friends as enemies: which friends, 
 sir, (as it were,) durst not (look you, sir) show them- 
 selves (as we term it) his friends, whilst he's in 
 directitude. 
 
 1 Serv. Directitude ! what's that 1 
 
 3 Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up 
 again, and the man in blood, they will out of their 
 burrows, like coneys after rain, and revel all with him. 
 
 1 Serv. But when goes this forward 1 
 
 3 Serv. To-morrow; to-day; presently. You shall 
 have the drum struck up this afternoon : 'tis, as it 
 were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere 
 they wipe their lips. 
 
 2 Serv. Why then we shall have a stirring world 
 again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, in- 
 crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 
 
 1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds peace, 
 as far as-day does night; it's sprightly, waking, audi- 
 ble, and full of vent. 2 Peace is a very apoplexy, 
 lethargy; mulled, 3 deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter 
 of more bastard children, than war's a destroyer of 
 men. 
 
 2 Serv. 'Tis so : and as war, in some sort, may 
 be said to be a ravisher; so it cannot be denied, but 
 peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 
 
 1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 
 
 3 Serv. Reason ; because they then less need one 
 another. The wars, for my money. I hope to see 
 Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, 
 they are rising. 
 
 All. In, in, in, in. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Rome. A public Place. 
 Enter Siciuius and Brutus. 
 Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him: 
 His remedies are tame i' the present peace 
 And quietness o' the people, which before 
 Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends 
 Blush, that the world goes well; who rather had, 
 Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold 
 Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see 
 Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going 
 About their functions friendly. 
 
 Enter Menexius. 
 
 Bra. We stood to't in good time. Is this Me- 
 
 neniusl 
 Sic. 'Tis he, 'tis he : O, he is grown most kind 
 Of late.— Hail, sir! 
 
 Men. Hail to you both ! 
 
 Sic. Your Coriolanus, sir, is not much miss'd, 
 But with his friends: the commonwealth dflth stand, 
 And so would do, were he more angry at it. 
 • Pull. » Cut p\qv. a Rumor. » Softened. 
 
 Men. All's well ; and might have been much 
 better, if 
 He could have temporiz'd. 
 
 Sic. Where is he, hear you " 
 
 Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife 
 Hear nothing from him. 
 
 Enter three or four Citizens. 
 
 Cit. The gods preserve you both ! 
 
 Sic. Good e'en, our neighbors. 
 
 Bru. Good e'en to you all, good e'en to you all. 
 
 1 Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on out 
 knees, 
 Are bound to pray for you both. 
 
 Sic. Live and thrive ! 
 
 Bru. Farewell, kind neighbors : we wish'd Co- 
 riolanus 
 Had lov'd you as we did. 
 
 Cit. Now the gods keep you. 
 
 Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 Sic. This is a happier and more comely time, 
 Than when these fellows ran about the streets, 
 .Crying, confusion. 
 
 Bru. Caius Marcius was 
 
 A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent, 
 O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, 
 Self-loving, 
 
 Sic. And affecting one sole throne^ 
 
 Without assistance. 4 
 
 Men. I think not so. 
 
 Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation, 
 If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 
 
 Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rom<. 
 Sits safe and still without him. 
 Enter JEdile. 
 
 Md. Worthy tribunes, 
 
 There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, 
 Reports, — the Voices with two several powers 
 Are enter'd in the Roman territories; 
 And with the deepest malice of the war 
 Destroy what lies before them. 
 
 Men. 'Tis Aufidius, 
 
 Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, 
 Thrusts forth his horns again into the world 
 Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stood for Rome. 
 And durst not once peep out. 
 
 Sic. Come, what talk you 
 
 Of Marcius? 
 
 Bru. Go see this rumorer whipp'd. — It cannot 
 be, 
 The Voices dare break with us. 
 
 Men. Cannot be ! 
 
 We have record, that very well it can ; 
 And three examples of the like have been 
 Within my age. But reason with the fellow, 
 Before you punish him, where he heard this: 
 Lest you should chance to whip your information, 
 And beat the messenger who bids beware 
 Of what is to be dreaded. 
 
 Sic. Tell not me : 
 
 I know this cannot be. 
 
 Bru. Not possible. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going 
 All to the senate house : some news is come, 
 That turns their countenances. 
 
 Sic. 'Tis this slave,-- 
 
 Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes : — his raising ! 
 Nothing but his report! 
 
 Mess. Yes, worthy sir, 
 
 The slave's report is seconded ; and more. 
 More fearful is delivered. 
 
 4 Suffrage. 
 
672 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act TV 
 
 Sic. What more fearful ? 
 
 Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths, 
 (How probable, I do not know.) that Marcius, 
 foin'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome ; 
 And vows revenge as spacious, as between 
 The young'st and oldest thing. 
 
 Sic. This is most likely! 
 
 Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish 
 Good Marcius home again. 
 
 Sic. The very trick on't. 
 
 Men. This is unlikely: 
 He and Aufidius can no more atone, 6 
 Than violentest contrariety. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Mess. You are sent for to the senate: 
 A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius, 
 Associated with Aufidius, rages 
 Upon our territories; and have already 
 O'erbwne their way, consum'd with fire, and took 
 What lay before them. 
 
 Enter Cominius. 
 
 Com. O, you haie made good work! 
 
 Men. What news'? what news? 
 
 Conn. You have holp to ravish your own daugh- 
 ters, and 
 To melt the city leads upon your pates; 
 To see your wives dishonor'd to your noses; 
 
 Men- What's the news? what's the news? 
 
 Com. Your temples burn'd in their cement; and 
 Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd 
 Into an augre's bore. 
 
 Men. Pray now, your news? — 
 
 You have made fair work, I fear me : — Pray, your 
 
 news? 
 If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians, 
 
 Com. If! 
 
 He is their god ; he leads them like a thing 
 Made by some other deity than nature, 
 That shapes man better: and they follow him, 
 Against us brats, with no less confidence, 
 Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, 
 Or butchers killing flies. 
 
 Men. You have made good work, 
 
 You, and your apron men ; you that stood so much 
 Upon the voice of occupation, 6 and 
 The breath of garlic-eaters ! 
 
 Com. He will shake 
 
 Your Rome about your ears. 
 
 Men. As Hercules 
 
 Did shakedown mellow fruit: You have made fair 
 work! 
 
 Bru. But is this true, sir? 
 
 Com. Ay ; and you'll look pale 
 
 Before you find it other. All the regions 
 Do smilingly revolt ; and, who resist, 
 Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance, 
 And perish constant fools. Whois'tcan blame him ? 
 Your enemies, and his, find something in him. 
 
 Men. We are all undone, unless 
 The noble man have mercy. 
 
 Com. W T ho shall ask it? 
 
 The tribunes cannot do't for shame : the people 
 Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf 
 Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they 
 Should say, Be good to Rome, they charged him even 
 As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, 
 And therein show'd like enemies. 
 
 Men. 'Tis true: 
 
 if he were putting to my house the brand 
 That should consume it, ' have not the face 
 • Unit* • Mechanics. 
 
 To say, 'Beseech you cease. — You haye made fait 
 
 hands, 
 You and your crafts ! you have crafted fair ! 
 
 Com. You have brought 
 
 A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
 So incapable of help. 
 
 Tri. Say not, we brought it. 
 
 Men. How ! Was it we ? We lov'd him ; bu*. 
 like beasts, 
 And cowardly nobles, gave way to your cluster* 
 Who did hoot him out o' the city. 
 
 Com. But, I fear, 
 
 They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius 
 The second name of men, obeys his points 
 As if he were his officer : — Desperation 
 Is all the policy, strength, and defence, 
 That Rome can make against them. 
 Enter a Troop of Citizens. 
 
 Men. Here come the cluster.— 
 
 And is Aufidius with him ? — You are they 
 That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
 Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at 
 Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming ; 
 And not a hair upon a soldier's head, 
 Which will not prove a whip; as many coxcomus, 
 As you threw caps up, will he tumble down, 
 And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter ; 
 If he could burn us all into one coal, 
 We have deserv'd it. 
 
 Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news. 
 
 1 Cit. For mine own part. 
 When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 
 
 2 Cit. And so did I. 
 
 3 Cit. And so did I; and, to say the truth, so 
 did very many of us : That we did, we did for the 
 best: and though we willingly consented to his 
 banishment, yet it was against our will. 
 
 Com. You are goodly things, you voices ! 
 
 Men. You have made 
 
 Good work, you and your cry !' — Shall us to the 
 Capitol ? 
 
 Com. 0, ay ; what else ? [Exeunt Com. and Men. 
 
 Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'd; 
 These are a side, that would be glad to have 
 This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home, 
 And show no sign of fear. 
 
 1 Cit. The gods be good to us ! Come masters, 
 let's home. I ever said, we were i' the wrong, 
 when we banished him. 
 
 2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens 
 Bru. I do not like this news. 
 Sic. Nor I. 
 
 Bru. Let's to the Cupitol : — 'Would half my 
 wealth 
 Would buy this for a lie. 
 
 Sic. Pray, let us go. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. — A Camp,- at a small distanct 
 from Rome. 
 
 Enter Aufidics, and his Lieutenant. 
 Auf. Do they still fly to the Roman ? 
 Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him ; 
 but 
 Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, 
 Their talk at table, and their thanks at end ; 
 And you are darken'd in this action, sir, 
 Even by your own. 
 
 Auf. I cannot help it now ; 
 
 Unless, ny using means, I lamp the foot 
 Of our design. He bears himself more proudliei 
 1 Tack ; alluding to a pack of hounds. 
 
Act V. Scene I. 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 673 
 
 Even io my person than I thought he would, 
 When first I did embrace him : Yet his nature 
 In that's no changeling ; and I must excuse 
 What cannot be amended. 
 
 Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, 
 
 (I mean for your particular,) you had not 
 Join'd in commission with him; but either 
 Had borne the action of yourself, or else 
 To him had left it solely. 
 
 Auf. I understand thee well; and be thou sure, 
 When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
 What I can urge against him. Although it seems, 
 And so he thinks, and is no less apparent 
 To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly, 
 And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state ; 
 Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon 
 As draw his sword: yet ha hath left undone 
 That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine, 
 Whene'er we come to our account. 
 
 Lieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry 
 Rome? 
 
 Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down; 
 And the nobility of Rome are his: 
 The senators, and patricians, love him too. 
 The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people 
 Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
 To expel him thence. I think, he'll be to Rome, 
 
 As is the osprey' to the fish, who takes it 
 By sovereignty of nature. First he was 
 A noble servant to them ; but he could not 
 Carry his honors even: whether 'twas pride, 
 Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
 The happy man ; whether defect of judgment, 
 To fail in the disposing of those chances 
 Which he was lord of; or whether nature, 
 Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
 From the casque 5 to the cushion, 3 but commanding! 
 
 peace 
 Even with the same austerity and garb 
 As he controll'd the war; but, one of these, 
 (As he hath spices of them all, not all,' 
 For I dare so far free him,) made him fear'd, 
 So hated, and so banish'd : But he has a merit. 
 To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
 Lie in the interpretation of the time; 
 And power, unto itself most commendable, 
 Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
 To extol what it hath done. 
 One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ; 
 Rights by rights fouler, strengths by strengths do 
 
 fail. 
 Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, 
 Thou art poor'st of all ; then shortly art thou mine. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A public Place. 
 
 Enter Menenius, Comixius, Sicinius, Brutus, 
 and others. 
 
 Men. No, I'll not go: you hear, what he hath 
 said, 
 Which was sometime his general ; who lov'd him 
 In a most dear particular. He call'd me, father: 
 But what of that] Go, you that banish'd him, 
 A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel 
 The way unto his mercy: Nay, if he coy'd' 
 To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. 
 
 Com. He would not seem to know me. 
 
 Men, Do you hear ? 
 
 Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name : 
 f urged our old acquaintance, and the drops 
 That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
 He would not answer to: forbade all names; 
 He was a kind of nothing, titleless, 
 Till he had forged himself a name i' the fire 
 Of burning Rome. 
 
 Men. Why, so : you have made good work : 
 A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
 To make coals cheap : 9 A noble memory ! 
 
 Com. I minded him, how royal 'twas to pardon 
 When it was less expected: He replied, 
 It was a bare petition of a state 
 To one whom they had punish'd. 
 
 Men. Very well : 
 
 Could he say less ? 
 
 Com. I ofter'd to awaken his regard 
 For his private friends: His answer to me was, 
 He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
 Of noisome, musty chaff: He said, 'twas folly. 
 For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, 
 And still to nose the offence. 
 
 Men. For one poor grain 
 
 Or two ? I am one of these ; his mother, wife, 
 
 » Condescended unwillingly. 
 * i. t. Have managed so well for Rome as to get the town 
 burnt to save tt»' expense o' emils. 
 
 His child, and this brave fellow too, we are tho 
 
 grains : 
 You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt 
 Above the moon : We must be burnt for you. 
 
 Sic. Nay, pray, be patient: If you refuse youraid 
 In this so never-needed help, yet do not 
 Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you 
 Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue 
 More than the instant army we can make, 
 Might stop our countryman. 
 
 Men. No: I'll not meddle. 
 
 Sic. I pray you, go to him. 
 
 Men. What should I do ? 
 
 Bru. Only make trial what your love can do 
 For Rome towards Marcius. 
 
 Men. Well, and say that Marcius 
 
 Return me, as Cominius is returned, 
 Unheard; what then? 
 But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
 With his unkindness? Say't be so? 
 
 Sic. Yet your good will 
 
 Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure 
 As you intended well. 
 
 Men. I'll undertake it: 
 
 I think, he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip, 
 And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
 He was not taken well ; he had not dined : 
 The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then 
 We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
 To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd 
 These pipes and these conveyances of our blood 
 With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
 Than in our priest-like fasts; therefore I'll watch him 
 Till he be dieted to my request, 
 And then I'll set upon him. 
 
 Bru. You know the very road into nis kindnasn 
 And cannot lose your way. 
 
 Men. Good faitb, I'll prove him 
 
 1 An eagle that preys on fish. 
 
 * The chair of civil authority. 
 
 * Not all ic their full extent. 
 
 i He', met. 
 
674 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Speed how it will. I shall erte long have knowledge 
 Of my success. [Exit. 
 
 Com. He'll never hear him. 
 
 Sic. Not 1 ? 
 
 Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
 Rer 1 as 'twould burn Rome: and his injury 
 The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 
 'Twas very faintly he said, Rise,- dismiss'd me 
 Thus, with his speechless hand: What he would do, 
 He sent in writing after me ; what he would not, 
 Bound with an oath, to yield to his conditions: 
 So, that all hope is vain, 
 Unless his noble mother, and his wife ; 
 Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
 Tor mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence, 
 And with our fair entreaties haste them on. [Ex. 
 
 SCENE II. — An advanced Post of the Volscian 
 Camp before Rome. The Guard at their Stations. 
 
 Enter to them Menenius. 
 
 1 G. Stay : Whence are you 1 
 
 2 G. Stand, and go back. 
 Men. You guard like men ; 'tis well : But, by 
 
 your leave, 
 I am an officer of state, and come 
 To speak with Coriolanus. 
 
 I G. From whence? 
 
 Men. From Rome. 
 
 1 G. You may not pass, you must return : our 
 
 general 
 Will no more hear from thence. 
 
 2 G. You'll see your Rome embraced with fire, 
 
 before 
 You'll speak with Coriolanus. 
 
 Men. Good my friends, 
 
 If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
 And of his friends there, it is lots 5 to blanks, 
 My name hath touch'd your ears : It is Menenius. 
 
 1 G. Be it so ; go back : the virtue of your name 
 Is not here passable. 
 
 Men. I tell thee, fellow, 
 
 Thy general is my lover : c I have been 
 The book of his good acts, whence men have read 
 His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified ; 
 For I have ever verified my friends, 
 (Of whom he's chief,) with all the size that verity 
 Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes, 
 Like to a bowl upon a subtle 1 ground, 
 I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise 
 Have almost stamp'd the leasing. 8 Therefore, 
 
 fellow, 
 I must have leave to pass. 
 
 1 G. 'Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in 
 his behalf, as you have uttered' words in your own, 
 you should not pass here: no, though it were as 
 virtuous to lie, as to live chastely. Therefore, go 
 back. 
 
 Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is 
 Menenius, always factionary on the party of your 
 general. 
 
 2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar, (as you 
 fay you have,) I am one that, telling true under 
 him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go 
 oack. 
 
 Men. Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would 
 not speak with him till after dinner. 
 
 1 G. You are a Roman, are you ? 
 
 Men. I am as thy general is. 
 
 1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. 
 Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the 
 very defender of them, and, in a violent popular 
 •gnoiance, given your enemy your shield, think to 
 
 * Prizes. « Friend ' Deceitful. • Lie. 
 
 front his revenges with the easy groiins ot old 
 women, the virginal palms of your daughters, at 
 with the palsied intercession of such a decaypci 
 dotant 9 as you seem to be ? Can you think to blow 
 out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in. 
 with such weak breath as this ? No, you are de- 
 ceived; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare foT 
 your execution ; you are condemned, our general 
 has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. 
 
 Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, 
 he would use me with estimation. 
 
 2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. 
 
 Men. I mean thy general. 
 
 1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say; 
 go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood : — 
 back, — that's the utmost of your having : — back. 
 
 Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow, 
 
 Enter Coiiiolanus and Aufidips. 
 
 Cor. What's the matter ? 
 
 Men. Now, you companion, 1 I'll say an errana 
 for you ; you shall know now that I am in esti- 
 mation ; you shall perceive that a Jack 2 guardant 
 cannot office me from my son Coriolanus ; guess, 
 but by my entertainment with him, if thou stand'st 
 not i' the state of hanging, or of some death more 
 long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering, 
 behold now presently, and swoon for what's to 
 come upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly 
 synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee 
 no worse than thy old father Menenius does ! O, 
 my son ! my sort ! thou art preparing fire foi as ; 
 look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly 
 moved to come to thee; but being assured, none 
 but myself could move thee, I have been blown 
 out of your gates with sighs; and conjure thee tc 
 pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. 
 The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the 
 dregs of it upon the varlet here ; this, who, like a 
 block, hath denied my access to thee. 
 
 Cor. Away ! 
 
 Men. How ! away ? 
 
 Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs 
 Are servanted to others: Though I owe 
 My revenge properly, my remission lies 
 In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar 
 Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
 Than pity note how much. — Therefore, begone. 
 Mine ears against your suits are stronger, than 
 Your gates against my force. Yet, for 3 I lov'd thee, 
 Take this along ; I writ it for thy sake, 
 
 [Gives a Letter. 
 And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, 
 I will not hear thee speak. — This man, Aufidius, 
 Was my beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st 
 
 Auf. You keep a constant temper. 
 
 [Exeunt Coriol. and Aufid. 
 
 1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius? 
 
 2 G. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power : You 
 know the way home again. 
 
 1 G. Do you hear how we are shent 4 for keeping 
 your greatness back? 
 
 2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon • 
 Men. I neither care for the world, nor your 
 
 general : for such things as you, I can scarce think 
 there is any, you are so slight. He that hath a will 
 to die by himself, fears it not from another. Let 
 your general do his worst. For you, be that you 
 are, long ; and your misery increase with your age- ! 
 I say to you, as I was said to, Away ! [Exit. 
 
 1G. A noble fellow, I warrant him. 
 
 » Dotard. 
 8 BecauBO. 
 
 » Fellow. 
 
 > Jack in office. 
 4 Reprimanded. 
 
Scene HI 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 676 
 
 2 G. The worthy fellow is oar general : He is the 
 ruck, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Tent of Coriolanus. 
 
 Enter Coriolaxcs, Aufidius, and others. 
 
 Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow 
 Set down our host. — My partner in this action, 
 You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly 5 
 I have borne in this business. 
 
 Auf. Only their ends 
 
 You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against 
 The general suit of Rome ; never admitted 
 A private whisper, no, not with «uch friends 
 That thought them sure of you. 
 
 Cor. This last old man, 
 
 Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, 
 Loved me above the measure of a father ; 
 Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
 Was to send him : for whose old love, I have 
 (Though I show'd sourly to him) once more 
 
 offered 
 The first conditions, which they did refuse, 
 And cannot now accept, to grace him only, 
 That thought he could do more; a very little 
 I have yielded too: Fresh embassies, and suits, 
 Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter 
 Will I lend ear to. — Ha ! what shout is this ? 
 
 [Shout within. 
 Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow 
 In the same time 'tis made ? I will not. — 
 Enter in mourning Habits, Vihgilia, Volumnia, 
 
 leading young Marcitjs, Valeria, and At- 
 tendants. 
 My wife comes foremost ; then the honor'd mould 
 Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand 
 The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection! 
 All bond and privilege of nature, break! 
 Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — 
 What is that curt'sy worth ? or those doves' eyes, 
 Which can make gods forsworn ? — I melt, and am 
 
 not 
 Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows ; 
 As if Olympus to a molehill should 
 In supplication nod : and my young boy 
 Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
 Great nature cries, Deny not. — Let the Voices 
 Plough Rome, and harrow Italy ; I'll never 
 Be such a gosling to obey instinct; but stand, 
 As if a man were author of himself, 
 And knew no other kin. 
 
 Yir. My lord and husband ! 
 
 Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in 
 Rome. 
 
 Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus changed, 
 Makes you think so. 
 
 Cor. Like a dull actor now, 
 
 I have forgot my part, and I am out, 
 Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, 
 Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say, .. 
 For that, Forgive our Romans. — O, a kiss 
 Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ! 
 Now by the jealous queen 6 of heaven, that kiss 
 I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip 
 Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! I prate 
 And the most noble mother of the world 
 Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knee i' the earth; 
 
 [Kneels. 
 Of thy deep duty more impression show 
 Than that of common sons. 
 
 Vol. O, stand up bless 'd! 
 
 Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint, 
 • QmnlT * Juno. 
 
 I kneel before thee ; and unproperly 
 
 Show duty, as mistaken all the while 
 
 Between the child and parent. [Kntelt 
 
 Cpr. What is this? 
 
 Your knees to me ? to your corrected son ? 
 Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
 Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds 
 Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun ; 
 Murd'ring impossibility, to make 
 What cannot be, slight work. 
 
 Vol. Thou art my warrior 
 
 I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? 
 
 Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, 
 The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle, 
 That's curded by the frost from purest snow, \ 
 And hangs on Dian's temple : Dear Valeria ! 
 
 Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours, 
 Which by the interpretation of full time 
 May show like all yourself. 
 
 Cor. The god of soldiers, 
 
 With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
 Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou may'st prove 
 To shame invulnerable, and stick i' the wars 
 Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 1 
 And saving those that eye thee ! 
 
 Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 
 
 Cor. That's my brave boy. 
 
 Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, 
 Are suitors to you. 
 
 Cor. I beseech you, peace: 
 
 Or, if you'd ask, remember this before ; 
 The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never 
 Be held by you denials. Do not bid me 
 Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
 Again with Rome's mechanics: — Tell me not 
 Wherein I seem unnatural : Desire not 
 To allay my rages and revenges, with 
 Your colder reasons. 
 
 Vol. O, no more, no more ! 
 
 You have said, you will not grant us any thing ; 
 For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
 Which you deny already: Yet we will ask ; 
 That, if you fail in our request, the blame 
 May hang upon your hardness : therefore hear us. 
 
 Cor. Aufidius, and you Voices, mark ; for we'll 
 Hear nought from Rome in private. — Your request? 
 
 Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our 
 raiment, 
 And state of bodies would bewray 8 what life 
 We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself, 
 How more unfortunate than all living women 
 Are we come hither : since that thy sight, which 
 
 should 
 Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with 
 
 comforts, 
 Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and 
 
 sorrow ; 
 Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
 The son, the husband, and the father, tearing 
 His country's bowels out. And to poor we, 
 Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us 
 Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
 That all but we enjoy : For how can we, 
 Alas ! how can we for our country pray, 
 Whereto we are bound ; together with thy victory, 
 Whereto we are bound ? Alack ! or we must lose 
 The country, our dear nurse: or else thy person. 
 Our comfort in the country. We must find 
 An evident calamity, though we had 
 Our wish, which side should win: for either thou 
 Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
 With manacles thorough our streets, or else 
 « Gust, storm. • BetraT 
 
B76 
 
 OORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Triumphantly tread upon thy country's ruin; 
 Anci bear the palm, for having bravely shed 
 Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
 I purpose not to wait on fortune, till 
 These <vars determine : if I cannot persuade thee 
 Rather to show a noble grace to both parts, 
 Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner 
 March to assault thy country, than to tread 
 (Trust to't thou shalt not) on thy mother's womb, 
 That brought thee to this world. 
 
 Vir. Ay, and on mine, 
 
 Thatbroughtyou forth this boy, to keep your name 
 Living to time. 
 
 Boy. He shall not tread on me; 
 
 I'll run away, till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. 
 
 Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be, 
 Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
 I have sat too long. [Rising. 
 
 Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 
 
 If it were so, that our request did tend 
 To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
 The Voices whom you serve, you might condemn us, 
 As poisonous of your honor: No; our suit 
 Is, that you reconcile them : while the Voices, 
 May say, This mercy we have show'd; the Romans, 
 This we received; and each in either side 
 jive the all-hail to thee, and cry, Be bless'd 
 For making up this peace! Thou kno w'st, great son, 
 The end of war's uncertain ; but this certain, 
 That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
 Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name, 
 Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ; 
 Whose chronicle thus writ, — The man ivas noble, 
 But with his last attempt, he wiped it out,- 
 Destroy 'd his country,- and his name remains 
 To the ensuing age, abhorr'd. Speak to me, son : 
 Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor, 
 To imitate the graces of the goda ; 
 To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, 
 And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
 That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak ? 
 Think'st thou it honorable for a noble man 
 Still to remember wrongs'! — Daughter, speak you : 
 He cares not for your weeping. — Speak thou, boy: 
 Perhaps thy childishness will move him more 
 Than can our reasons. — There is no man in the 
 
 world 
 More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate 
 Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 
 Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy; 
 When she, (poor hen !) fond of no second brood, 
 Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, 
 Loaden with honor. Say, my request's unjust, 
 And spurn me back But, if it be not so, 
 Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee, 
 That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which 
 To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away: 
 Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. 
 To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride, 
 Than pity to our prayers. Down ; an end : 
 This is the last ; — So we will home to Rome 
 And die among our neighbors. — Nay, behold us : 
 This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, 
 But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship, 
 Does reason our petition with more strength 
 Than thou hast to deny't. — Come, let us go: 
 This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; 
 His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
 lake him by chance : — Yet give us our despatch : 
 T am hush'd until our city be afire, 
 \uA tb-n I'll speak a little. 
 
 f.'or O mother, mother ! 
 
 [Holding Voltj3ijtia by the hands, silent. 
 
 What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope, 
 The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
 They laugh at. my mother, mother ! O ! 
 You have won a happy victory to Rome: 
 But, for your son, — Believe it, O, believe it, 
 Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, 
 If not most mortal to him. But, let it come* 
 Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
 I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, 
 Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard 
 A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? 
 
 Auf. I was mov'd withal. 
 
 Cor. I dare be sworn, you were ; 
 
 And, sir, it is no little thing, to make 
 Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, 
 What peace you'll make, advise me - For my part, 
 I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you ; and pray you, 
 Stand to me in this cause. — O mother ! wire ! 
 
 Auf. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy 
 honor 
 At difference in thee : out of that I'll work 
 Myself a former fortune. [Aside. 
 
 [The Ladies make sig?is to Couiolands. 
 
 Cor. Ay, by and by ; 
 
 [To VoLUMNIA, VinGILIA, <SfC 
 
 But we will drink together; and you shall bear 
 A better witness back than words, which we, 
 On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 
 Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
 To have a temple built you ; all the swords 
 In Italy, and her confederate arms, 
 Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rome. A public Place. 
 Enter Meuenius and Sicinius. 
 
 Men. See you yond' coign 9 o' the Capitol : yond' 
 corner stone ? 
 
 Sic, Why, what of that? 
 
 Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with 
 your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of 
 Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. 
 But I say, there is no hope in't ; our throats are sen- 
 tenced, and stay upon execution. 
 
 Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter 
 the condition of a man ? 
 
 Men. There is differency between a grub, and a 
 butterfly ; yet your butterfly was a grub. This 
 Marcius is grown from man to dragon : he has 
 wings ; he's more than a creeping thing. 
 
 Sic. He loved his mother dearly. 
 
 Men. So did he me: and he no more remembers 
 his mother now, than an eight year old horse. The 
 tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he 
 walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground 
 shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a 
 corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum 
 is a battery. He sits in his state, 1 as a thing made 
 for 3 Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished 
 with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but 
 eternity, and a heaven to throne in. 
 
 Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. 
 
 Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what 
 mercy his mother shall bring from him : There is no 
 more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male 
 tiger; that shall our poor city find : and all this is 
 'long of you. 
 
 Sic. The gods be good unto us ! 
 
 Men. No, in such a case the gods will not oe 
 good unto us. When we banished him, we re« 
 spected not them : and, he returning to break our 
 necks, they respect not us. 
 
 » Angle. 
 
 » Ch^ix' of state. 
 
 > To resemble. 
 
Scene V 
 
 C0R10LANUS. 
 
 677 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house; 
 The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune, 
 And hale him up and down ; all swearing, if 
 The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, 
 They'll give him death by inches. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Sic. What's the news? 
 
 Mess. Good news, good news ; — The ladies have 
 prevail'd, 
 The Voices are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone: 
 A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
 No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. 
 
 Sic. Friend, 
 
 Art thou certain this is true ? is it most certain ? 
 
 Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire : 
 Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? 
 Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, 
 As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark 
 you; 
 [Trumpets and Hautboys sounded, and Drums 
 beaten, all together. Shouting also within. 
 The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, 
 Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, 
 Make the sun dance. Hark you ! [Shouting again. 
 
 Men. This is good news : 
 
 I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia 
 Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, 
 A citv full ; of tribunes, such as you, 
 A sea and land full : You have prayed well to-day; 
 This morning, for ten thousand of your throats 
 I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy ! 
 [Shouting and Music. 
 
 Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings; 
 next, 
 Accept my thankfulness. 
 
 Mess. Sir, we have all 
 
 Great cause to give great thanks. 
 
 Sic. They are near the city ? 
 
 Mess. Almost at point to enter. 
 
 Sic. We will meet them, 
 
 And help the joy. [Going. 
 
 Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patri- 
 cians, and People. They pass over the Stage. 
 
 1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome: 
 Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, 
 And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before 
 
 them : 
 Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, 
 Repeal 3 him with the welcome of his mother; 
 Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! — 
 
 All. Welcome, ladies! 
 
 Welcome! [A Flourishwith Drumsand Trumpets. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Antium. A public Place. 
 Enter Tullus Acfiditjs, with Attendants. 
 Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here : 
 Deliver them this paper; having read it, 
 Bid them repair to the market-place ; where I, 
 Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, 
 Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse, 
 The city ports 4 by this hath enter'd, and 
 Interns to appear before the people, hoping 
 To purge him»elf with words : Despatch. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 Enter three or four Conspirators o/Aufidius' 
 Faction. 
 
 Most welcome ! 
 
 1 Con. How is it with our general ? 
 » Recall « Gates. 
 
 ■Auf. Even st> 
 
 As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, 
 And with his charity slain. 
 
 2 Con. Most noble sir, 
 If you do hold the same intent wherein 
 You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you 
 
 Of your great danger. 
 
 Auf. Sir, I cannot tell ; 
 
 We must proceed, as we do find the people. 
 
 3 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 
 'Twixt you there's difference : but the fall of eithe 
 Makes the survivor heir of all. 
 
 Auf. I know it; 
 
 And my pretext to strike at him admits 
 A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd 
 Mine honor for his truth : Who being so heighten'J, 
 He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery. 
 Seducing so my friends : and, to this end, 
 He bow'd his nature, never known before, 
 But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 
 
 3 Con. Sir, his stoutness, 
 When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
 By lack of stooping, 
 
 Auf That I would have spoke of: 
 Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; 
 Presented to my knife his throat : I took him ; 
 Made him joint servant with me; gave him way 
 In all his own desires ; nay, let him choose 
 Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, 
 My best and freshest men,; serv'd his designmenta 
 In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame, 
 Which he did end all his ; and took some pride 
 To do myself this wrong : till, at the last, 
 I seem'd his follower, not partner; and 
 He waged me with his countenance, 5 as if 
 I had been mercenary. 
 
 1 Con. So he did, my lord : 
 The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last, 
 When he had carried Rome ; and that we look'd 
 For no less spoil than glory, 
 
 Auf. There was it; — 
 
 For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 
 At a few drops of women's rheum 6 which are 
 As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labor 
 Of our great action ; Therefore shall he die, 
 And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark ! 
 
 [Drums and Trumpets sound, with great 
 Shouts of the People. 
 
 1 Con. Your native town you enter'd like a posi, 
 And had no welcomes home; but he returns. 
 Splitting the air with noise. 
 
 2 Con. And patient fools, 
 Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tcai, 
 With giving him glory. 
 
 3 Con. Therefore, at your 'vantage, 
 Ere he express himself, or move the people 
 With what he would say, let him feel your sword, 
 Which we will second. When he lies along, 
 After your way his tale pronounced shall bury 
 His reasons with his body. 
 
 Auf. Say no more , 
 
 Here come the lords. 
 
 Enter the Lords of the City 
 
 Lords. You are most welcome home. 
 
 Auf. I have not deserv'd it 
 
 But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd 
 What I have written to you ? 
 
 Lords. We have. 
 
 1 Lord. And grieve to hear it 
 
 What faults he made before the last, I think, 
 Might have found easy fines : but there to end, 
 
 » Thought me rewarded with good looks. « Tears 
 
678 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Where he was to begin : and give away 
 The benefit of our levies, answering us 
 With our own charge; 1 making a treaty, where 
 There was a yielding ; This admits no excuse. 
 Auf He approaches, you shall hear him. 
 
 Enter Cokiolanus, with Drums and Colors,- a 
 Crowd of Citizens with him. 
 
 Cor. Hail, lords ! I am return'd your soldier ; 
 No more infected with my country's love,. 
 Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting 
 Under your great command. You are to know, 
 That prosperously I have attempted, and 
 With bloody passage, led your wars, even to 
 The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought 
 
 home, 
 Do more than counterpoise, a full third part, 
 The charges of the action. We have made peace, 
 With no less honor to the Antiates, 
 Than shame to the Romans: And we here de- 
 liver, 
 Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, 
 Together with the seal o' the senate, what 
 We have compounded on. 
 
 Auf. Read it not, noble lords ; 
 
 But tell the traitor, in the highest degree 
 He hath abus'd your powers. 
 
 Cor. Traitor ! — How now 1 
 
 Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 
 
 Cor. Marcius 1 
 
 Auf.' Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; Dost thou 
 think 
 I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name 
 Coriolanus in Corioli ? — 
 You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously 
 He has betray'd your business, and given up, 
 For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, 
 (I say, your city,) to his wife and mother: 
 Breaking his oath and resolution, like 
 A twist of rotten silk; never admitting 
 Counsel o' the war; but at his nurse's tears 
 He whin'd and roar'd away your victory ; 
 That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart 
 Look'd wondering each at other. 
 
 Cor. Hear'st thou, Mars 1 
 
 Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears," — 
 
 Cor. Ha ! 
 
 Auf. No more. 
 
 Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
 Too great for what contains it. Boy ! O slave ! — 
 Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever 
 I was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave 
 
 lords, 
 Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion 
 (Who wears my stripes impress'd on him ; that must 
 
 bear 
 My beating to his grave) shall join to thrust 
 The lie unto him. 
 
 1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak. 
 
 Cor. Cut me to pieces, Voices ; men am' ids, 
 ' Rewarding us with our own expenses. 
 
 Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! False hound 
 If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, 
 That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
 Flutter'd your Voices in Corioli: 
 Alone I did it. — Boy ! 
 
 Auf. Why, noble lords, 
 
 W T ill you be put in mind of his blind fortune, 
 Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart 
 'Fore your own eyes and ears ? 
 
 Con. Let him die for't. [Several speak at once 
 
 Cit. [Speaking promiscuously.'] Tear him tf. 
 pieces, 3o it presently. He killed my son ;— my 
 daughter ; — He killed my cousin Marcus ; — H« 
 killed my father. 
 
 2 Lord. Peace, ho; — no outrage: — peace. 
 The man is noble, and his fame folds in 
 This orb o' the earth. His last offence to us 
 Shall have judicious 8 hearing. — Stand, Aufidius, 
 And trouble not the peace. 
 
 Cor. 0, that I had him, 
 
 With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, 
 To use my lawful sword! 
 
 Auf. Insolent villain ! 
 
 Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. 
 
 [Aufidius and the Conspirators draw, and kill 
 Coriolanus, who falls, and Aufidius stands 
 on him. 
 
 Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold. 
 
 Auf. My noble masters, hear me speaK. 
 
 1 Lord. O Tullus,-- 
 
 2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valor will 
 
 weep. 
 
 3 Lord. Tread not upon him. — Masters all, be 
 
 quiet; 
 Put up your swords. 
 
 Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this 
 
 rage, 
 Provoked by him, you cannot) the great danger 
 Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice 
 That he is thus cut off. Please it your honors 
 To call me to your senate, I'll deliver 
 Myself your royal servant, or endure 
 Your heaviest censure. 
 
 1 Lord. Bear from hence his bod>, 
 And mourn you for him : let him be regarded 
 
 As the most noble corse that ever herald 
 Did follow to his urn. 
 
 2 Lord. His own impatience 
 Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. 
 Let's make the best of it. 
 
 Auf. My rage is gone, 
 
 And I am struck with sorrow. — Take him up. 
 Help, three o'the chiefest soldiers: I'll be one. — 
 Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: 
 Trail your steel pikes. — Though in this city he 
 Halh widow'd and unchilded many a one, 
 Which to this hour bewail the injury, 
 Yet he shall have a noble memory. — 
 Assist. [Exeunt, bearing the body of Coiuolahcu 
 A dead March sounded. 
 • Judicial. 
 
JULIUS C^ESAK. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED 
 
 /rues Cssar, 
 
 Optavius Cjesar, ) n . ■ *. .. n ., 
 
 ., A ' f lnumvirs after the Death 
 
 Marcus Antonius, > /. T ,- J ^ 
 
 XT x, T 'i of Julius Osesar. 
 
 M. Amii. Lkpidus, ) J 
 
 Ciceiio, Publius, Popilius Lena; Senators. 
 
 Marcus Brutus, 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 Casca, 
 
 Trebojtius, 
 
 LlGARIUS, 
 
 Decius Brutus, 
 Metellus Cimber 
 
 ClNNA, 
 
 Flavius and Marullus, Tribunes 
 
 Conspirators against 
 Julius Cssar. 
 
 Artemidorus, a Sophist of Cnidos. 
 
 A Soothsayer. 
 
 Cinna, a Poet. 
 
 Another Poet. 
 
 Lucilius, Titinius, Messala, young Cato, and 
 
 Volumnius ; Friends to Brutus and Cassius. 
 Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, 
 
 Dardanius; Servants to Brutus. 
 Pindarus, Servant to Cassius. 
 
 Calphuhnia, Wife to Caesar. 
 Portia, Wife to Brutus. 
 
 Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, 4x. 
 SCENE, during a great Part of the Play, at Rome : afterwards at Sardis ; and near Philippi. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
 
 Enter Flavius, Mi.nvi.ivs, and a Rabble of Citi- 
 zens. 
 
 Flav. Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you 
 home ; 
 Is this a holiday ? What ! know you not, 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk, 
 Upon a laboring day, without the sign 
 Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou ? 
 
 1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. 
 
 Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule ? 
 What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? — 
 You, sir ; what trade are you ? 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, 
 I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 
 
 Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me di- 
 rectly. 
 
 2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with 
 a safe conscience ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender 
 of bad soles. 
 
 Mar. What trade, thou knave 1 ? thou naughty 
 knave, what trade ? 
 
 2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with 
 jne : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 
 
 Mar. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, 
 thou saucy fellow ? 
 
 2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. 
 
 Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl: 
 
 I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's 
 
 matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon 
 
 to old shoes; wh-'n they are in great danger, I re- 
 
 [679] 
 
 cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon 
 neat's leather, have gone upon my handy-work. 
 
 Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? 
 Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get 
 myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make 
 holiday, to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his triumph. 
 
 Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings 
 he home ? 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? 
 You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless 
 
 things ! 
 0, you hard hearts, you ciuel men of Rome, 
 Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft, 
 Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
 Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
 The live-long day, with patient expectation, 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
 And when you saw his chariot but appear 
 Have you not made an universal shout, 
 That Tyber trembled underneath her banks 
 To hear the replication of your sounds. 
 Made in her concave shores? 
 And do you now put on your best attire ? 
 And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way. 
 That comes in triumph over Pcmpey's blood' 
 Begone ; 
 
 Run to your houses, fall upon y our knees, 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 That needs must light on this ingralituie 
 
680 
 
 JULIUS CvESAR 
 
 Act i 
 
 Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault, 
 Assemble all the poor men of your sort; 1 
 Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears 
 Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
 Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens. 
 !See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ; 
 They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
 Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
 This way will I: Disrobe the images, 
 If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. 
 
 Mar. May we do so] 
 t r ou know, it is the feast of Lupercal. 
 
 Flav. It is no matter; let no images 
 Be hung with Csesar's trophies. I'll about, 
 And drive away the vulgar from the streets: 
 So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
 These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing, 
 Will make him fly an ordinary pitch; 
 Who else would soar above the view of men, 
 And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A public Place. 
 
 Enter, in Procession, with Music,C msah; Anton t, 
 
 for the Course,- Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, 
 
 Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca ; a great 
 
 Crowd following, among them a Soothsayer. 
 
 Cses. Calphurnia, — 
 
 Casca. Peace, ho ! Caesar speaks. 
 
 [Music ceases. 
 
 Cses. Calphurnia, — 
 
 Cal. Here, my lord. 
 
 Cass. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
 When he doth run his course. 5 — Antonius, — 
 
 Ant. Caesar, my lord. 
 
 Cass. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
 To touch Calphurnia: for our elders say, 
 The barren, touched in this holy chase, 
 Shake off their sterile curse. 
 
 Ant. I shall remember: 
 
 When Cassar says, Do this, it is perform'd. 
 
 Cses. Set on ; and leave no ceremony out. [Music. 
 
 Sooth. Caesar. 
 
 Cms. Ha ! who calls ? 
 
 Casca. Bid every noise be still : — Peace yet again. 
 [Music ceases. 
 
 Cses. Who is it in the press,' that calls on me? 
 I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 
 Cry, Caesar: Speak; Cassar is turn'd to hear. 
 
 Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 
 
 Cses. What man is that? 
 
 Bru. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of 
 March. 
 
 Cses. Set him before me, let me see his face. 
 
 Cos. Fellow, come from the throng : Look upon 
 Caesar. 
 
 Cses. What say'st thou to me now? Speak 
 once again. 
 
 Sooth. Beware the ides of Ma.ui. 
 
 Cses. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him ; — pass. 
 [Sennet* Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas. 
 
 Cas. Will you go see the order of the course? 
 
 Bru. Not I." 
 
 Cas. I pray you, do. 
 
 Bru. I am not gamesome: I do lack some part 
 Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
 Let me not hinder, Cassius your desires: 
 I'll leave you. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: 
 I have not from your eyes that gentleness, 
 And show of love, as I was wont to have: 
 
 • Rank. » A ceremony observed at the feast of Lupercalia. 
 « Crowd. * Flourish of instruments. 
 
 You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
 Over your friend that loves you. 
 
 Bru. Cassius, 
 
 Be not deceiv'd : if I have veil'd my look, 
 I turn the trouble of my countenance 
 Merely upon myself. Vexed I am, 
 Of late, with passions of some difference, 
 Conceptions only proper to myself, 
 Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviors : 
 But let not therefore my good friends be grieved; 
 (Among which number, Cassius, be you one;) 
 Nor construe any further my neglect, 
 Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
 Forgets the shows of love to other men. 
 
 Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your 
 passion,' 
 By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 
 Thoughts, of great value, worthy cogitations. 
 Tell me, good Brutus, can- you see your face? 
 
 Bru. No, Cassius : for the eye sees not itself, 
 But by reflection, by some other things. 
 
 Cas. 'Tisjust: 
 And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
 That you have no such mirrors, as will turn 
 Your hidden worthiness into your eye, 
 That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
 Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
 (Except immortal Caesar,) speaking of Brutus, 
 And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
 Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 
 
 Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, 
 Cassius, 
 That you would have me seek into myself 
 For that which is not in me ? 
 
 Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear • 
 And since you know you cannot see yourself 
 So well as by reflection, I, your glass, 
 Will modestly discover to yourself 
 That of yourself which you yet know not of. 
 And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus: 
 Were I a common laugher, or did use 
 To stale 6 with ordinary oaths my love 
 To every new protester; if you know 
 That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard, 
 And after scandal them; or if you know 
 That I profess myself in banqueting 
 To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 
 
 [Flourish and Shout. 
 
 Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, tho 
 people 
 Choose Caesar for their king. 
 
 Cas. Ay, do you fear it? 
 
 Then must I think you would not have it so. 
 
 Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him we/1 s— 
 But wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
 What is it that you would impart to me ? 
 If it be aught toward the general good, 
 Set honor in one eye, and death i' the other, 
 And I will look on both indifferently: 
 For, let the gods so speed me, as I love 
 The name of honor more than I fear death. 
 
 Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
 As well as I do know your outward favor. 
 Well, honor is the subject of my story. — 
 I cannot tell, what you and other men 
 Think of this life; but, for my single self, 
 I had as lief not be, as live to be 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 I was born free as Caesar; so were you: 
 We both have fed as well : and we can both 
 Endure the winter's cold, as well as he. 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
 
 » The nature of your feelings. « Make common. 
 
Scene II 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 68? 
 
 The troubled Tyber chafinjr with her shores, 
 
 Cassi said to me, Dar'st thai, Cassius, now, 
 
 Leap in witn me into this angry flood, 
 
 And swim to yondc. point? Upon the word, 
 
 Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
 
 And bade him follow: s.., indeed, he did. 
 
 The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it 
 
 With lusty sinews; throwing it aside 
 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
 
 But ere wc could arrive the point propos'd, 
 
 Caesar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink. 
 
 I, as ^Encas, our great ancestor, 
 
 Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 
 The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber 
 
 Did I the tired Caesar: And this man 
 
 Is now become a god; and Cassius is 
 
 A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
 
 If Cassar carelessly but nod on him. 
 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 
 And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
 
 How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake : 
 
 His coward lips did from their color fly; 
 
 And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
 
 Did lose his lustre: I did hear him groan: 
 
 Ay, and 'that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
 
 Alas ! it cried, Give mc some drink, Titinius, 
 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
 
 A man of such a feeble temper 1 should 
 
 So get the start of the majestic world, 
 
 And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish. 
 
 Bru. Another general shout! 
 I do believe, that these applauses are 
 For some new honors that are hcap'd on Casaar. 
 
 Cos. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, 
 Like a Colossus; and we petty men 
 Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates; 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus and Caesar: What should be in that Caesar] 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours] 
 Write them together, yours is as fair a name; 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, 
 Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cassar. [Shout. 
 Now in the names of all the gods at once, 
 Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
 That he is grown so great] Age, thou art shamed: 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
 But it was famed with more than with one man] 
 When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
 That her wide walks encompass'd but one man] 
 Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
 When there is in it but one only man. 
 O ! you and I have heard our fathers say, 
 There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd 
 The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, 
 As easily as a king. 
 
 Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
 What you would work rne to, I have some aim; 8 
 How I have thought of this, and of these times, 
 I shall recount hereafter; for this present, 
 I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
 Bo any further mov'd. What you havi said, 
 I will consider; what you have to say, 
 I will with patience hear: and find a time 
 Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things. 
 Till then, my noble friend, chew" upon this; 
 Brutus had rather be a villager, 
 ' Temperament, constitution. » Guess. • Ruminate. 
 
 Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
 Under these hard conditions as this time 
 Is like to lay upon us. 
 
 Cos. I am glad that my weak words 
 Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus 
 
 Re-enter Cjesar, and his Train. 
 
 Bru. The games are done, and Caesar is returning. 
 
 Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve; 
 And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
 What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day. 
 
 Bru. I will do so: — But look you, Cassius, 
 The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, 
 And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
 Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero 
 Looks with such ferret 1 and such fiery eyes, 
 As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
 Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 
 
 Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 
 
 Cses. Antonius, — 
 
 Ant. Caesar. 
 
 Cses. Let me have men about me that are fat; 
 Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights: 
 Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 
 
 Ant. Fear him not, Caesar, he's not dangerous 
 He is a noble Roman, and well given. 
 
 Cses. 'Would he were fatter : — But I fear him not : 
 Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
 I do not know the man I should avoid 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much; 
 He is a great observer, and he looks 
 Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no plays 
 As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music: 
 Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort, 
 As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease, 
 Whiles they behold a greater than themselves; 
 And therefore are they very dangerous. 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd, 
 Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. 
 Come on my right hand, for this car is deaf, 
 And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
 
 [Exeunt C.tssar and his Train. Casca 
 stays behind. 
 
 Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak ; would you 
 speak with me ] 
 
 Bru. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanced to-day, 
 That Caesar looks so sad. 
 
 Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not] 
 
 Bru. I should not then ask Casca what hath 
 chanced. 
 
 Casca. Why, there was a crown offer'd him : and 
 being ofler'd him, he put it by with the back of his 
 hand, thus ; and then the people fell a shouting. 
 
 Bru. What was the second noise for] 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Cas. They shouted thrice ; What was the las* 
 cry for ] 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Bru. Was the crown offered him thrice] 
 
 Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, 
 every time gentler than other; and at every putting 
 by, mine honest neighbors shouted. 
 
 Cas. Who offered him the crown] 
 
 Casca. Why, Antony. 
 
 Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 
 
 Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the man- 
 ner of it: it was mere foolery. I did not maik if. 
 I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown ; — yet 'iwas 
 not a crown neither, 'twas one of these c>ron.et» 
 » A ferret has red eyes. 
 
 81! 
 
CS2 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 — and, as I told you, he put it by once; but, for all 
 that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. 
 Then he offered it to him again ; then he put it by 
 again; but, to my thinking, he was very loath to 
 lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the 
 third time ; he put it the third time by : and still as 
 he refused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped 
 their chopped hands, and threw up their sweaty 
 night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking 
 breath because Caesar refused the crown, that it 
 had almost choked Caesar ; for he swooned, and fell 
 down at it: And for mine own part, I durst not 
 laugh, for fear of opening my lips, and receiving 
 the bad air. 
 
 Cas. But soft, I pray you : What ! did Csesar 
 
 swoon ? 
 Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
 foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis very like : he hath the falling-sickness. 
 Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you, and I, 
 And honest Casca, we have the falling- sickness. 
 
 Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but, 
 I am sure Csesar fell down. If the tag-rag people 
 did not clap him. and hiss him, according as he 
 pleased, and displeased them, as they used to do the 
 players in the theatre, I am no true man. 
 
 Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself! 
 Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he per- 
 ceived the common herd was glad he refused the 
 crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered 
 them his throat to cut. — An I had been a man of 
 any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a 
 word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues : 
 — and so he fell. When he came to himself again, 
 he said, If he had done, or said anything amiss, he 
 desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. 
 Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, 
 good soul! — and forgave him with all their hearts : 
 But there's no heed to be taken of them; if Caesar 
 had stabbed their mothers, they would have done 
 no less. 
 
 Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away ? 
 Casca. Ay. 
 
 Cas. Did Cicero say any thing? 
 Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 
 Cas. To what effect? 
 
 Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you 
 i' the face again: But those that understood him, 
 smiled at one another, and shook their heads ; but, 
 for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell 
 you more news too ; Marullus and Flavius, ibr 
 pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, are put to silence. 
 Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I 
 could remember it. 
 
 Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca ? 
 Casca. No, I am promised forth. 
 Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow? 
 Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and 
 your dinner worth the eating. 
 Cas. Good : I will expect you. 
 Casca. Do so: Farewell both. [Exit Casca. 
 Bru. What a blunt fellow this is grown to be ; 
 He was quick mettle, when he went to school. 
 
 Cas. So is he now, in execution 
 Of any bold or noble enterprize, 
 However he puts on this tardy form. 
 This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
 Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
 With better appetite 
 
 Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you : 
 1'o-raorrow, if you please to speak with me, 
 { will come home to you; or, if you will, 
 Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 
 
 Cas. I will do so: — till then, think of the world. 
 [Exit Brutus. 
 Well Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I set, 
 Thy honorable metal may be wrought 
 From that it is dispos'd: 2 Therefore, 'tis miM-t 
 That noble minds keep ever with their likes : 
 For who so firm, that cannot be seduced? 
 Caesar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus: 
 It I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
 He should not humor 3 me. I will this night, 
 In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
 As if they came from several citizens, 
 Writings all tending to the great opinion 
 That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely 
 Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at: 
 And, after this, let Caesar seat him sure; 
 For we will shake him, or worse days endure. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Street. 
 
 Thunder and Lightning. Enter, from opposite 
 sides, Casc a, with his Sword drawn, and Cickho. 
 Cic. Good even, Casca: Broughtyou Caesar home? 
 Why are you breathless? and why stare you so? 
 Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway 
 of earth 
 Shakes, like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero, 
 I have seen tempests when the scolding winds 
 Have rived the knotty oaks; and I have seen 
 The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
 To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds: 
 But never till to-night, never till now, 
 Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 
 Either there is a civil strife in heaven ; 
 Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
 Incenses them to send destruction. 
 
 Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful? 
 
 Casca. A common slave (you know him well by 
 sight) 
 Held up his left hand, which did flame, and burn 
 Like twenty torches join'd: and yet his hand, 
 Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
 Besides, (I have not since put up my sword,) 
 Against the Capitol I met a lion, 
 Who glared upon me, and went surly by, 
 Without annoying me; and there were drawn 
 Upon a heap, a hundred ghastly women, 
 Transformed with their fear; who swore, they saw 
 Men, all on fire, walk up and down the streets. 
 And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit, 
 Even at noon-day, upon the market-place, 
 Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies 
 Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, 
 These are their reasons, — They are natural; 
 For, I believe they are portentous things 
 Unto the climate that they point upon. 
 
 Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
 But men may construe things after their fashion, 
 Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
 Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow ? 
 
 Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
 Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow. 
 
 Cic. Good night then, Casca : this disturbed sky 
 Is not to walk in. 
 
 Casca. Farewell, Cicero. 
 
 Enter Cassius. 
 Cas. Who's there ? 
 Casca. A Roman. 
 
 Cas. Casca, by your voice. 
 
 Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night i* 
 this? 
 * Disposed to. » Cajole 
 
SfRNE III. 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 688 
 
 Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. 
 
 Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so ? 
 
 Cas. Those, that have known the earth so full 
 of faults. 
 Foi my part, I have walk'd about the streets, 
 Submitting me unto the perilous night ; 
 And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, 
 Have bared my bosom to the thunder-storm ; 
 And, when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open 
 The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
 Even in the aim and very flash of it. 
 
 Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt 
 the heavens? 
 It is the part of men to fear and tremble, 
 When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send 
 Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 
 
 Cas. You are dull, Casca; and those sparks of 
 life 
 That should be in a Roman, you do want, 
 Or else you use not: You look pale and gaze, 
 And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder, 
 To see the strange impatience of the heavens: 
 But if you would consider the true cause, 
 Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
 Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind: 4 
 Why old men, fools, and children calculate ; 
 Why all these things change from their ordinance, 
 Their natures and pre-formed faculties, 
 To monstrous quality; why, you shall find, 
 That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits, 
 To make them instruments of fear, and warning, 
 Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, 
 Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night ; 
 That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
 As doth the lion in the Capitol : 
 A man no mightier than thyself, or me, 
 In personal action; yet prodigious grown, 
 And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 
 
 Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean ; Is it not, 
 Cassius ? 
 
 Cas. Let it be who it is: for Romans now 
 Have thews 5 and limbs like to their ancestors; 
 But woe the while! our fathers' minds are dead, 
 And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ; 
 Our yoke and sufferings show us womanish. 
 
 Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morrow 
 Mean to establish Caesar as a king: 
 And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, 
 In every place, save here in Italy. 
 
 Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then : 
 Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: 
 Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; 
 Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 
 Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, 
 Noi airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
 Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; 
 But life, being weary of these worldly bars, 
 Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
 If I know this, know all the world besides, 
 That part of tyranny that I do bear, 
 I can shake off at pleasure. 
 
 Casca. So can I: 
 So every bondman in his own hand bears 
 The power to cancel his captivity. 
 
 Cas. And why should Coasar be a tyrant then : 
 Poor man ! I know, he would not be a wolf, 
 But that he sees the Romans are but sheep: 
 « Why they deviate from quality and nature. » MusoIpi 
 
 He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 6 
 Those that with haste will make a mighty fire. 
 Begin it with weak straws: What tra*h is Rome 
 What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves 
 For the base matter to illuminate 
 So vile a thing as Caesar? But, grief: 
 Where hast thou led me ? I, perhaps, speak this 
 Before a willing bondman : then I know 
 My answer must be made : But I am arm'd, 
 And dangers are to me indifferent. 
 
 Casca. You speak to Casca; and to such a man, 
 That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand : 
 Be factious for redress of all these griefs; 
 And I will set this foot of mine as far, 
 As who goes farthest. 
 
 Cas. There's a bargain made. 
 
 Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
 Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans, 
 To undergo, with me, an enterprize 
 Of honorable-dangerous consequence; 
 And I do know, by this, they stay for me 
 In Pompey's porch : for now, this fearful night, 
 There is no stir, or walking in the streets ; 
 And the complexion of the element 
 Is favor'd, 1 like the work we have in hand, 
 Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 
 
 Enter Cinna. 
 
 Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one 
 in haste. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait ; 
 He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so? 
 
 Cin. To find out you : Who's that ? Metellm 
 Cimber ? 
 
 Cas. No, it is Casca; one incorporate 
 To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna? 
 
 Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this? 
 There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 
 
 Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna? tell me. 
 
 Cin. Yes, 
 
 You are. 0, Cassius, if you could but win 
 The noble Brutus to our party 
 
 Cas. Be you content: good Cinna, take this paper, 
 And look you lay it in the praetor's chair, 
 Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this 
 In at his window : set this up with wax 
 Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done, 
 Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
 Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius, there? 
 
 Cin. All but Metcllus Cimber; and he's gone 
 To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, 
 And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 
 
 Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 
 [Exit Cixka 
 Come Casca, you and I will yet, ere day, 
 See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
 Is ours already ; and the man entire, 
 Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. 
 
 Casca. O. he sits high, in all the people's hearts: 
 And that, which would appear offence in us, 
 His countenance, like richest alchymy, 
 Will change to virtue, and to worthiness. 
 
 Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need of 
 him, 
 You have right well conceited. Let us go, 
 For it is after midnight ; ana ere day. 
 We will awake him, and be sure of him. ~ Exeunt 
 * Deer ' Appear* 
 
684 
 
 JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 Act 11. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Brutus's Orchard. 
 Enter Brutus 
 Bru. What, Lucius ! ho ! — 
 I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
 Give guess how near to-day. — Lucius, I say ! 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
 When, Lucius, when! Awake, I say: What, Lucius! 
 
 Enter Lucius. 
 Luc. Call'd you, my lord 1 
 Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
 When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
 
 Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part, 
 T know no personal cause to spurn at him, 
 But for the general. He would be crown'd : — 
 How that might change his nature, there's the 
 
 question. 
 It is the bright day that brings forth the adder ; 
 And that craves wary walking. Crown him? — 
 
 That;— 
 And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
 That at his will he may do danger with. 
 The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
 Remorse 8 from power: And, to speak truth of 
 
 Cffisar, 
 I have not known when his affections sway'd 
 More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof 9 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
 Whereto the climber upward turns his face : 
 But when he once attains the upmost round, 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back. 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 1 
 By which he did ascend : So Cffisar may ; 
 Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
 Will bear no color for the thing he is, 
 Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, 
 Would run to these, and these extremities : 
 And therefore think him as a serpent's egg, 
 Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mis- 
 chievous ; 
 And kill him in the shell. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 Luc. The taper burnetii in your closet, sir. 
 Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 This paper, thus seal'd up; and, I am sure, 
 It did not lie there when I went to bed. 
 
 Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day. 
 Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March 1 
 Luc. I know not, sir. 
 
 Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 
 Luc. I will, sir. 
 
 Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air, 
 Give so much light, that I may read by them. 
 
 [Opens the Letter, and reads. 
 Unit us, thou sleep's! ; awake, and see thyself. 
 Shall Rome, $-c. Speak, strike, redress.' 
 
 Brutus, thou sleep'st; awake 
 
 Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
 Where I have took them up. 
 Shall Home, <SfC Thus, must I piece it out; 
 Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What ! 
 
 Rome] 
 My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
 The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
 Speak, strike, redress! — Am I entreated then 
 • Pity, tenderness e Experience. ' Low steps. 
 
 To speak, and strike? O Rome! I make the* 
 
 promise, 
 If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
 Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Sir, March has wasted fourteen days. 
 
 [Knock within 
 
 Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate ; somebody 
 knocks. [Exit Lucius 
 
 Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 Like a phantasma, 2 or a hideous dream : 
 The genius, and the mortal instruments, 
 Are then in council ; and the state of man, 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 The nature of an insurrection. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door 
 Who doth desire to see you. 
 
 Bru. Is he alone"? 
 
 Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 
 
 Bru. Do you know them ! 
 
 Luc. No, sir; their hats are pluck'd about theii 
 ears, 
 And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
 That by no means I may discover them 
 By any mark of favor.' 
 
 Bru. Let them enter. 
 
 [Exit Lucius 
 They are the faction. conspiracy ! 
 Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night 
 When evils are most free ? O, then, by day, 
 Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
 To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none, con 
 
 spiracy ; 
 Hide it in smiles, and affability : 
 For if thou path, thy native semblance on, 4 
 Not Erebus' itself were dim enough 
 To hide thee from prevention. 
 
 Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinxa, Metel 
 lus Cimber, and Treboxius. 
 
 Cos. I think we are too bold upon your rest: 
 Good morrow, Brutus; Do we trouble you ? 
 
 Bru. I have been up this hour ; awake all night. 
 Know I these men, that come along with you? 
 
 Cos. Yes, every man of them ; and no man he™ 1 , 
 But honors you : and every one doth wish, 
 You had but that opinion of yourself, 
 Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
 This is Trebonius. 
 
 Bru. He is welcome hither- 
 
 Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 
 
 Bru. He is welcome too 
 
 Cas. This, Casca; this, Cinna; 
 And this Metellus Cimber. 
 
 Bru. They are all welcome. 
 
 What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
 Betwixt your eyes and night? 
 
 Cas. Shall I entreat a word? [They ichisper. 
 
 Dec. Here lies the east : Doth not the day break 
 here? 
 
 Casca. No. 
 
 a Vision. 
 
 * Walk in thy true form. 
 
 ' Countenance 
 s Hell 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 685 
 
 Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth ; and yon grey lines, 
 That fret the clouds, are messengers of day. 
 
 Cueca. You shall confess, that you are both de- 
 ceiv'd. 
 Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises; 
 Which is a great way growing on the south, 
 Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
 Some two months hence, up higher toward the north 
 He first presents his fire ; and the high east 
 Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. 
 
 Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 
 
 Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 
 
 Bru. No, not an oath : If not the face" of men, 
 The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
 If these be motives weak, break off betimes, 
 And every man hence to his idle bed; 
 So let high-sighted tyranny range on, 
 Till each man drop by lottery. But if these, 
 As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 
 To kindle cowards, and to steel with valor 
 The melting spirits of women; then, countrymen, 
 What need we any spur, but our own cause, 
 To prick us to redress ? what other bond, 
 Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, 
 And will not palter? 1 and what other oath, 
 Than honesty to honesty engaged, 
 That this shall be, or we will fall for it 1 ? 
 Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous, 8 
 Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls 
 That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear 
 Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain 
 The even virtue of our enterprize, 
 Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits, 
 To think, that, or our cause, or our performance, 
 Did need an oath; when every drop of blood, 
 That every Roman bears, and'nobly bears, 
 Is guilty of a several bastardy, 
 If he do break the smallest particle 
 Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 
 
 Cas. But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him? 
 I think, he will stand very strong with us. 
 
 Casca. Let us not leave him out. 
 
 Cin. No, by no means. 
 
 Met. 0, let us have him ; for his silver hairs 
 Will purchase us a good opinion, 
 And buy men's voices to commend our deeds; 
 It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands: 
 Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear, 
 But all be buried in his gravity. 
 
 Bru. 0, name him not; let us not break with 
 him; 9 
 For he will never follow any thing 
 That other men begin. 
 
 Cas. Then leave him out. 
 
 Casca. Indeed, he is not fit. 
 
 Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only 
 Caesar? 
 
 Cas. Decius, well urged : — I think it is not meet, 
 Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar, 
 Should outlive Caesar. We shall find of him 
 A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his means, 
 If he improves them, may well stretch so far, 
 As to annoy us all : which to prevent, 
 Let Antony, and Caesar, fall together. 
 
 Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius 
 Cassius, 
 To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs ; 
 Like wrath in death, and envy' afterwards: 
 For Antony is but a limb of Caesar. 
 Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Cam." 
 
 • Perhaps Shakspeare wrote faith 
 
 11 Prevaricate. • Cautious. 
 
 • Lst us nc t break the matter to him. » Malice. 
 
 We all stand up against the spirit of Cassai , 
 And in the spirit of men there is no blood: 
 O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit. 
 And not dismember Caesar! But, alas, 
 Caesar must bleed for it! And, gentle friends, 
 Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathful'y ; 
 Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, 
 Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds : 
 And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
 Stir up their servants to an act of rage, 
 And after seem to chide them. This shall mako 
 Our purpose necessary, and not envious : 
 Which so appearing to the common eyes, 
 We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 
 And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
 For he can do no more than Caesar's arm, 
 When Caesar's head is off. 
 
 Cas. Yet I do fear him : 
 For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar : 
 
 Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him: 
 If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
 Is to himself; take thought, and die for Caesar: 
 And that were much he should ; for he is given 
 To sports, to wildness, and much company. 
 
 Treb. There is no fear in him, let him not die ; 
 For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 
 
 [Clock striken 
 
 Bru. Peace, count the clock. 
 
 Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 
 
 Treb. 'Tis time to part. 
 
 Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 
 
 Whe'r Caesar will come forth to day, or no; 
 For he is superstitious grown of late; 
 Quite from the main opinion he held once 
 Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies ; 
 It may be, these apparent prodigies, 
 The unaccustom'd terror at* this night, 
 And the persuasion of his augurers, 
 May hold him from the Capitol to-day 
 
 Dec. Never fear that : If he be so resolv'd, 
 I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear, 
 That unicorns may be betray 'd with trees, 
 And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, 
 Lions with toils, and men with flatterers. 
 But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers, 
 He says, he does; being then most flattered. 
 Let me work: 
 
 For I can give his humor the true bent; 
 And I will bring him to the Capitol. 
 
 Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him 
 
 Bru. By the eighth hour : Is that the uttermost 1 
 
 Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 
 
 Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 
 Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey; 
 I wonder, none of you have thought of him. 
 
 Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him :' 
 He loves me well, and I have given him reasons; 
 Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. 
 
 Cas. The morning comes upon us: We'll lea7e 
 you, Brutus: — 
 And, friends, disperse yourselves: but all remember 
 What you have said, and show yo irselves true 
 Romans. 
 
 Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh ana merrily : 
 Let not our looks put on our purposes; 
 But bear it as our Roman actors do, 
 With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy: 
 And so, good morrow to you every one. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Brtjtcs 
 Boy! Lucius! — Fast asleep? It is no matter; 
 Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 
 Thou hast no figures, 3 nor no fantasies, 
 * By his house. > Shapes created by imaginatioa 
 
686 
 
 JULIUS CESAR. 
 
 Act 1J 
 
 Which busy care draws in the brains of men; 
 Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 
 
 Enter Portia. 
 
 Por. Brutus, my lord ! 
 
 Brit. Portia, what mean you ? Wherefore rise 
 you now] 
 It is not for your health thus to commit 
 Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning. 
 
 Por. Nor for yours neither. You have ungently, 
 Brutus, 
 Stole from my bed: And yesternight, at supper, 
 You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, 
 Musing, and sighing, with your arms across: 
 And when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
 You stared upon me with ungentle looks: 
 I urged you further; then youscratch'd your head, 
 And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot: 
 Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not ; 
 But with an angry wafture of your hand, 
 Gave sign for me to leave you: So I did; 
 Fearing to strengthen that impatience, 
 Which seem'd too much enkindled; and, withal, 
 Hoping it was but an effect of humor, 
 Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
 It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep; 
 And, could it work soAiuch upon your shape 
 As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 4 
 I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord, 
 Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 
 
 Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 
 
 Por. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health, 
 He would embrace the means to come by it. 
 
 Bru. Why, so I do: — good Portia, go to bed. 
 
 Por. Is Brutus sick; and is it physical 
 To walk unbraced, and suck up the humors 
 Of the dank 5 morning?. What, is Brutus sick; 
 And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, 
 To dare the vile contagion of the night; 
 And tempt the rheumy 6 and unpurged air 
 To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus; 
 You have some sick offence within your mind, 
 Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
 I ought to know of: And, upon my knees, 
 I charm you, by my once commended beauty, 
 By all your vows of love, and that great vow 
 Which did incorporate and make us one, 
 That you unfold to me, yourself, your half, 
 Why you are heavy ; and what men to-night 
 Have had resort to you : for here have been 
 Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
 Even from darkness. 
 
 Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 
 
 Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
 Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
 Is it excepted, I should know no secrets 
 That appertain to you? Am I yourself, 
 But, as it were, in sort, or limitation ; 
 To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 
 And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the 
 
 suburbs 
 Of your good pleasure? If it be no more, 
 Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 
 
 Bru. You are my true and honorable wife; 
 As dear to me, as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart. 
 
 Por. If this were true, then should I know this 
 secret. 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
 A woman that lord Brutus took to wife: 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, 
 A woman well reputed : Cato's daughter. 
 * Tcmp< r. » Damp. • Moist. 
 
 Think you, I am no stronger than my sex. 
 
 Being so father'd, and so husbanded ? 
 
 Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them 
 
 I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
 
 Giving myself a voluntary wound 
 
 Here, in the thigh : Can I bear that with patience 
 
 And not my husband's secrets? 
 
 Bru. ye gods, 
 
 Render me worthy of this noble wife ! 
 
 [Knocking ivitkin. 
 Hark, hark! one knocks: Portia, go in a while; 
 And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
 The secrets of my heart. 
 All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
 All the charactery of my sad brows : — 
 Leave me with haste. [Exit Portia 
 
 Enter Lucics and Ligarius. 
 Lucius, who is that knocks? 
 
 Luc. Here is a sick man,that would speaK with yon. 
 
 Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of.- 
 Boy, stand aside. — Caius Ligarius! how? 
 
 L/g.Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. 
 
 Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave 
 Caius, 
 To wear a kerchief? 'Would you were not sick! 
 
 Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
 Any exploit worthy the name of honor. 
 
 Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 
 Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 
 
 Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before, 
 I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome ! 
 Brave son, deriv'd from honorable loins ! 
 Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 
 My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, 
 And I will strive with things impossible ; 
 Yea, get the better of them. What's to do? 
 
 Bru. A piece of work, that will make sick men 
 whole. 
 
 Lig. But are not some whole, that we must 
 make sick? 
 
 Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caiut, 
 I shall unfold to thee, as we are going; 
 To whom it must be done. 
 
 Lig. Set on your foot; 
 
 And with a heart new fired, I follow you, 
 To do I know not what: but it sufficeth, 
 That Brutus leads me on. 
 
 Bru. Follow me then. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in Cajsar's Pa/ace. 
 
 Thunder and Lightning. Enter Cesar, in his 
 Night-goivn. 
 
 Cses. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace 
 to-night : 
 Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, 
 Help, ho! they murder Caesar! Who's within ? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. My lord ? 
 
 Cses. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice, 
 And bring me their opinions of success. 
 
 &?t. I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Calphurnia. 
 Col. What mean you, Caesar 1 Think you to 
 walk forth? 
 You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 
 
 Cses. Cffisar shall forth : The things that threat- 
 en'd me, 
 Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they 3hall ste 
 The face of Caesar, they are vanished. 
 
Sci-.ne 111. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 687 
 
 Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies,* 
 Yot now they fright me. There is one within, 
 Besides the things that we have heard and seen, 
 Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
 \ lioness bath whelped in the streets; 
 A.nd graves ha v e yawn'd, and yielded up their dead : 
 Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds, 
 In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war, 
 Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol : 
 The noise of battle hurtled 8 in the air, 
 Horses did neigh, and dying m?n did groan; 
 And ghosts did shriek, and squea ibout the streets. 
 
 Cassar! these things are beyond all use, 
 And I do fear them. 
 
 Caes. What can be avoided, 
 
 Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods? 
 Yet Cassar shall go forth: for these predictions 
 Are to the world in general, as to Caesar. 
 
 Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets seen ; 
 The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of 
 princes. 
 
 Cass. Cowards die many times before their deaths; 
 The valiant never taste of death but once. 
 Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
 It seems to me most strange that men should fear; 
 Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
 Will come, when it will come. 
 
 Re-enter a Servant. 
 
 What say the augurers? 
 
 Serv. They would not have you to stir forth to-day. 
 Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, 
 The> could not find a heart within the beast. 
 
 Caes. The gods do this in shame of cowardice : 
 Gaesar should be a beast without a heart, 
 If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
 No, Caesar shall not: Danger knows full well, 
 That Caesar is more dangerous than he. 
 We were two lions litter'd in one day, 
 And I the elder and more terrible ; 
 And Caesar shall go forth. 
 
 Cal. Alas, my lord, 
 
 Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
 Do not go forth to-day : Call it my fear, 
 That keeps you in the house, and not your own. 
 We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house; 
 And he shall say, you are not well to-day : 
 Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. 
 
 Cass. Mark Antony shall say, I am not well; 
 And, for thy humor, I will stay at home. 
 
 Enter Decius. 
 Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 
 
 Dec. Caesar, all hail ! Good morrow, worthy Caesar: 
 
 1 come to fetch you to the senate-house. 
 
 Caes. And you are come in very happy time, 
 To bear my greeting to the senators, 
 And tell them, that I will not come to-day: 
 Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser; 
 I will not come to-day : Tell them so, Decius. 
 
 Cal. Say, he is sick. 
 
 Caes. Shall Caesar send a lie? 
 
 Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, 
 To be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth? 
 Decius, go tell them, Caesar will not come. 
 
 Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause, 
 Lest I be laugh'd at, when I tell them so. 
 
 Caes. The cause is in my will, I will not come ; 
 That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
 But, for your private satisfaction, 
 Because I love you, I will let you know. 
 Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home : 
 She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, 
 ' Nnver paid regard to prodig' 1 " or omens • Encountered. 
 
 Which like a fountain with a hundred spouts, 
 Did run pure blood ; and many lusty Romans 
 Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it. 
 And these does she apply for warnings, portents, 
 And evils imminent; and on her knee 
 Hath begg'd, that I will stay at home to-day. 
 
 Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted; 
 It was a vision, fair and fortunate : 
 Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
 In which so many smiling Romans bath'd, 
 Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
 Reviving blood ; and that great men shall press 
 For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance. 
 This by Calphurnia's dream is signified. 
 
 Cass. And this way have you well expounded it. 
 
 Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say 
 And know it now ; The senate have concluded 
 To give, this day, a crown to mighty Caesar. 
 If you shall send them word, you wdl not come, 
 Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock 
 Apt to be rendered, for some one to say, 
 Break up the senate till another time, 
 When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams 
 If Cassar hide himself, shall they not whisper, 
 Lo, Cassar is afraid? 
 Pardon me, Caesar; for my dear, dear love 
 To your proceeding bids me tell you this; 
 And reason to my love is liable. 9 
 
 Cses. How foolish do your fears seem now, Cal- 
 phurnia ? 
 I am ashamed I did yield to them. — • 
 Give me my robe, for I will go: — 
 Enter Publius, Brutus, Ligahius, Metellus, 
 
 Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna. 
 And look where Publius is come to fetch me 
 
 Pub. Good-morrow, Caesar. 
 
 Caes. • Welcome, Publius. — 
 
 What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? — 
 Good-morrow, Casca. — Caius Ligarius, 
 Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy, 
 As that same ague which hath made you lean. — 
 What is't o'clock? 
 
 Bru. Cassar, 'tis strucken eight. 
 
 Cass. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 
 Enter Antony. 
 See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 
 Is notwithstanding up : — 
 Good-morrow, Antony. 
 
 Ant. So to most noble Caesar. 
 
 Caes. Bid them prepare within: — 
 I am to blame to be thus waited for. — 
 Now, Cinna: — Now, Metellus: — What, Trebo- 
 
 nius ! 
 I have an hour's talk in store for you; 
 Remember that you call on me to-day : 
 Be near me, that I may remember you. 
 
 Treb. Caesar, I will: — and so near will I be, 
 
 [Aside. 
 That your best friend shall wish I had been further. 
 
 Cass. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine 
 with me; 
 And we, like friends, will straightway go together. 
 
 Bru. That every like is not the same. O Cassar 
 The heart of Brutus yearns 1 to think upon ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— 4 Street near the Capitol. 
 
 Enter Artemidorus, raiding a Paper. 
 
 Art. Caesar, beware of Brutus; 'ake heed of Cas- 
 
 sius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna; 
 
 trust not Trebonius; nark well Metellus Cimbei 
 
 • Subordinate Grieve*. 
 
69S 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act III 
 
 Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wronged 
 ^aius Liganas. There is but one mind in all these 
 men, and it is bent against Caesar. If thou be'st 
 not immortal, look about you.- Security gives way 
 to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! 
 Thy lover. 
 
 Artemidorus. 
 Here will I stand, till Caesar pass along 
 And as a suitor will I give him this. 
 My heart laments, that virtue cannot live 
 Out of the teeth of emulation.' 
 [f thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live ; 
 If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the same Street, 
 
 before the House of Brutus. 
 
 Enter Portia, and Lucius. 
 
 Por. I pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house : 
 
 Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone : 
 
 Why dost thou stay? 
 
 Luc. To know my errand, madam. 
 
 Por. I would have had thee, there, and here again, 
 
 Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. — 
 
 Constancy, be strong upon my side ! 
 
 Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue ! 
 
 1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
 How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! 
 Art thou here yet ? 
 
 Luc. Madam, what should I do? 
 
 Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ? 
 And so returli to you, and nothing else ? 
 
 Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look 
 well, 
 For he went sickly forth : And take good note, 
 What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 
 Hark, boy, what noise is that? 
 
 Luc. I hear none, madam. 
 
 Por. Pr'ythee, listen well 
 
 I heard a bustling rumor like a fray, 
 And the wind brings it from the CapitoL 
 
 Luc. Sooth, 3 madam, I hear nothing 
 
 Enter Soothsay ei. 
 
 Por. Come hither, fellovs 
 
 Which way hast thou been ? 
 
 Sooth. At mine own house, good lady 
 
 Por. What is't o'clock? 
 
 Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady 
 
 Por. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol ? 
 
 Sooth. Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand 
 To see hiin pass on to the Capitol. 
 
 Por. Thou hast some suit to Cssar, hast thou not 
 
 Sooth. That I have, lady: if it will please Ccesa 
 To be so good to Caesar, as to hear me, 
 I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 
 
 Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended 
 towards him? 
 
 Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I 
 fear may chance. 
 Good-morrow to you. Here the street is narrow: 
 The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, 
 Of senators, of praetors, common suitors, 
 Will crowd a feeble man almost to death : 
 I'll get me to a place more void, and there 
 Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. [Exit. 
 
 Por. I must go in. — Ah me ! how weak a thing 
 The heart of woman is ! O Brutus ! 
 The heaven speed thee in thy enterprize ! 
 Sure the boy heard me: — Brutus hath a suit, 
 That Caesar will not grant. — 0, 1 grow faint : — 
 Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; 
 Say, I am merry : come to me again, 
 And bring me word what he doth say to thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Capitol; the Senate sitting. 
 A Crowd of People in the Street leading to the 
 
 Capitol: among them Artemidorus and the 
 
 Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter Caesar, Brutus, 
 
 Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebo- 
 
 nius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Pontius, 
 
 Publics, and others. 
 
 Cxs. The Ides of March are come. 
 
 Sooth. Ay, Cffisar; but not gone. 
 
 Art. Haii, Caesar! Read this schedule. 
 
 Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read, 
 \t your best leisure, this his humble suit. 
 
 Art Caesar, read mine first; for mine's a suit 
 That touches Caesar nearer : Read it, great Caesar. 
 
 Csls. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd. 
 irt. Delay not, Caesar; read it instantly. 
 
 Cxs. What, is the fellow mad ? 
 
 "ub. Sirrah, give place. 
 
 Cos. What, urge you your petitions in the street ? 
 Tome to the Capitol. 
 
 Cjesar enters the Capitol, the red following. 
 All the Senators rise. 
 
 Pop. I wish your enterprize to-day may thrive. 
 
 Cos. What enterprize, Popilius ? 
 
 Pop. Fare you well. 
 
 [Advances to Cjesar. 
 
 Hru. What said Popilius Lena? 
 
 Cus. He wish'd to-day our enterprize might thrive. 
 c ear, ova purpose is discovered. 
 • Envy. 
 
 Bru. Look, how he makes to Caesar: Mark him. 
 
 Cos. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. 
 Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known, 
 Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back. 
 For I will slay myself. 
 
 Bru. Cassius, be constant 
 
 Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
 For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 
 
 Cas. Trebonius knows his time; for look you, 
 Brutus, 
 He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. Cjesah 
 and the Senators take their Seats. 
 
 Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go, 
 And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. 
 
 Bru. He is address'd: 4 press near, and second him. 
 
 Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. 
 
 Cass. Are we all ready ? what is now amiss, 
 That Caesar and his senate must redress? 
 
 Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puis* 
 sant Caesar, 
 Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
 An humble heart: — [Kneeling 
 
 Cses. I must prevent thee, Cirubet 
 
 These couchings, and these lowly courtesies, 
 Might fire the blood of ordinary men, 
 And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree, 
 Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
 To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood, 
 That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
 » In truth. « Ready 
 
SoKNE T. 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 689 
 
 With that which melteth fools; I mean, sweet words, 
 
 Low-crooked courtesies, and base spaniel fawning'. 
 
 Thy brother by decree is banished ; 
 
 If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for him, 
 
 I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
 
 Know, Caesar doth not wrong; nor without cause 
 
 Will he be satisfied. 
 
 Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, 
 To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear, 
 For the repealing of my banish'd brother! 
 
 Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar ; 
 Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may 
 Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 
 
 Caps. What, Brutus 1 
 
 Cas. Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon: 
 
 As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, 
 To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 
 
 Cass. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you; 
 If I could pray to move, prayers would move me : 
 But I am constant as the northern star, 
 Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality, 
 There is no fellow in the firmament. 
 The skies are painted with unnurnber'd sparks, 
 They are all fire, and every one doth shine ; 
 But there's but one in all doth hold his place: 
 So, in the world; 'tis furnish'd well with men, 
 And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ; s 
 Y~et, in the number, I do know but one 
 That unassailable holds on his rank, 
 Unshaked of motion : 6 and, that I am he, 
 Let me a little show it, even in this; 
 That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd, 
 And constant do remain to keep him so. 
 
 Cin. Caesar, 
 
 Cass. Hence ! Wilt thou lift up Olympus ] 
 
 Dec. Great Caesar, 
 
 Cass. Doth not Brutus bootless 1 kneel] 
 
 Casca. Speak, hands, for me! 
 
 [Casca stabs CiESAn in the neck. Cesar 
 catches hold of his arm. He is then 
 stabbed by several other Conspirators, 
 and at last by Marcus Brutus. 
 
 Caes. Et tu, Brute?"— Then, fall, Caesar. 
 
 [Dies. The Senators and People retire in 
 confusion. 
 
 Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! — 
 Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 
 
 Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out, 
 Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement.' 
 
 Bru. People, and senators ! be not affrighted ; 
 Fly not ; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid. 
 
 Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 
 
 Dec. And Cassius too. 
 
 Bru. Where's Publius ] 
 
 Cin. Here, quite confounded w'*h this mutiny. 
 
 Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of 
 Caesar's 
 Should chance 
 
 Bru. Talk not of standing; — Publius, good cheer; 
 There is no harm intended to your person, 
 Nor to no Roman else ; so tell them, Publius. 
 
 Cas. And leave us, Publius, lest that the people, 
 Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. 
 
 Bru. Do so; — and let no man abide this deed, 
 But we the doers. 
 
 Re-enter Trehonius. 
 
 Cas. Where's Antony ] 
 
 Tre. Fled to his house amaz'd : 
 
 Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run, 
 As it were doomsday. 
 
 » Intelligent. 
 1 tJnsiiw«>ss'ully. 
 
 • Solicitation. 
 
 • And thou, Brutus f 
 
 Bru. Fates ! we will know your pleasures : — 
 That we shall die, we know; 'tis but the time. 
 And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 
 
 Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life, 
 Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 
 
 Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit: 
 So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridg'd 
 Plis time of fearing death. — Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
 And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
 Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords: 
 Then walk we forth, even to the market-place : 
 And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
 Let's all cry, Peace ! Freedom ! and Liberty ! 
 
 Cas. Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages 
 hence, 
 Shall this our lofty scene be acted over, 
 In states unborn, and accents yet unknown ! 
 
 Bru. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport. 
 That now on Pompey's basis lies along, 
 No worthier than the dust! 
 
 Cas. So oft as that shall he,, 
 
 So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
 The men that gave our country liberty. 
 
 Dec. What, shall we forth ! 
 
 Cas. Ay, every man away . 
 
 Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels 
 With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Bru. Soft, who comes here 1 A friend of An- 
 tony's. 
 
 Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel; 
 Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down: 
 And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say, 
 Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; 
 Cfflsaj 1 was mighty, bold, royal, and loving: 
 Say, I love Brutus, and I honor him ; 
 Say, I fear'd Caesar, honor'd him, and jov'd him, 
 If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony 
 May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
 How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
 Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
 So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 
 The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus 
 Thorough the hazards of this untrod state, 
 With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 
 
 Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman: 
 I never thought him worse. 
 Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 
 He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honor, 
 Depart untouch'd. 
 
 Serv. I'll fetch him presently. 
 
 [Ej. d 
 
 Bru. I know that we shall have him well to friend 
 
 Cas. I wish we may; but yet have I a mind, 
 That fears him much; and my misgiving still 
 Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 
 
 Re-enter Antony. 
 
 Bru. But here comes Antony- — Welcome, Mark 
 Antony. 
 
 Ant. O mighty Caesar ! Dost thou lie so low ! 
 Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
 Shrunk to this little measure] — Fare thee well.— 
 I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
 Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:' 
 If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
 As Caesar's death's hour ; nor no instrument 
 Of half that worth, as those your swords, made riv h 
 With the most noble blood o*" ill this world. 
 I do beseech ye, if you bear lie hard, 
 Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, 
 Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand year*. 
 » Grown toohijrh for the publis uuctv 
 
690 
 
 JULIUS CiESAU 
 
 Aui 111 
 
 I shall not find myself so apt to die ; 
 
 No place will please me so, no mean of death, 
 
 As here by Caesar, an J by you cutoff, 
 
 The choice and master spirits of this age. 
 
 Bru. Antony ! beg not your death of us. 
 Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, 
 As, by our hands, and this our present act, 
 You see we do ; yet see you but our hands, 
 And this the bleeding business they have done : 
 Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful; 
 And pity to the general wrong of Rome 
 (x\s fire drives out fire, so pity, pity) 
 Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, 
 To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony: 
 Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts, 
 Of brother's temper, do receive you in 
 With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 
 
 Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's, 
 [n the disposing of new dignities. 
 
 Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd 
 The multitude, beside themselves with fear, 
 And then we will deliver you the cause, 
 Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, 
 Have thus proceeded. 
 
 Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 
 
 Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
 First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you : — 
 Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
 Now, Decius Brutus, yours; — now yours, Me- 
 
 tellus ; 
 Yours, Cinna; — and, my valiant Casca, yours; — 
 Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebo- 
 
 nius. 
 Gentlemen all, — alas ! what shall I say ? 
 My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
 That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, 
 Either a coward, or a flatterer. — 
 That I did love thee, Caesar, 0, 'tis true : 
 If then thy spirit look upon us now, 
 Shall it not grieve thee, dearer than thy death, 
 To see thy Antony making his peace, 
 Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes, 
 Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? 
 Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 
 Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 
 It would become me better, than to close 
 In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
 Pardon me, Julius ! — Here wast thou bay'd, brave 
 
 hart; 
 Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, 
 Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. 
 O world ! thou wast the forest to this hart ; 
 And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. — 
 How like a deer, stricken by many princes, 
 Dost thou here lie ! 
 
 Cas. Mark Antony, 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius: 
 
 The enemies of Caesar shall say this; 
 Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 
 
 Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so ; 
 But what compact mean you to have with us? 
 Will you be prick'd in number of our friends; 
 Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? 
 
 Ant. Therefore I took your hands; but was, indeed, 
 Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Csesar. 
 Friends am I with you all, and love you all ; 
 Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons, 
 Why, and wherein, Caesar was dangerous. 
 
 Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
 Our reasons are so full of good regard, 
 That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
 You should be satisfied. 
 
 Ant. That's all I seek: 
 
 And am moreover suitor, that I mav 
 Produce his body to the market-place , 
 And in the pulpit, as becomes a frienu, 
 Speak in the order of his funeral. 
 
 Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, a word with you.- 
 
 You know not what you do; Do not consent, 
 
 [Astdt 
 That Antony speak in his funeral : 
 Know you how much the people may be mov'd 
 By that which he will utter] 
 
 Bru. By your pardon ; 
 
 I will myself into the pulpit first, 
 And show the reason of our Caesar's death : 
 What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
 He speaks by leave and by permission ; 
 And that we are contented, Csesar shall 
 Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies. 
 It shall advantage more, than do us wrong. 
 
 Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it not. 
 
 Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. 
 You shall not in your funeral speech blame ns, 
 But speak all good you can devise of Caesar ; 
 And say, you do't by our permission ; 
 Else shall you not have any hand at all 
 About his funeral : And you shall speak 
 In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 
 After my speech is ended. 
 
 Ant. Be it so : 
 
 I do desire no more. 
 
 Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Antony. 
 
 Ant. 0, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, 
 That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man, 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
 Over thy wounds now do I prophesy — 
 Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lipj.. 
 To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ; — 
 A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; 
 Domestic fury, and fierce civil strife, 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ; 
 Blood and destruction shall be so in use, 
 And dreadful objects so familiar, 
 That mothers shall but smile, when they behold 
 Their infants quarler'd with the hands of war; 
 All pity choked with custom of fell deeds : 
 And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 
 With Ate by his side, come hot from hell, 
 Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, 
 Cry, Havoc.' 1 and let slip the dogs of war ; 
 That this foul deed shall smell above the earth, 
 With carrion men groaning for burial. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 You serve Octavius Caesar, do you notl 
 
 Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 
 
 Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. 
 
 Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming 
 And bid me say to you by word of mouth, — 
 O Caesar ! [Seeing the Body. 
 
 Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
 Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes 
 Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, 
 Began to water. Is thy master coming? 
 
 Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of 
 Rome. 
 
 Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath 
 chanced : 
 Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
 No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 
 
 • The signtl for giving no quarter 
 
Scene II 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 691 
 
 Hie hence, i nd tell him so. Yet, ^>ay a while ; 
 Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this corse 
 Into the market-place : there shall I try, 
 Jn my oration, how the people take 
 The cruel issue of these bloody men; 
 According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
 To young Octavius of the state of things. 
 Lend me your hand. [Exeunt, with Ces ar's Body. 
 
 SCENE II.— The Forum. 
 
 Enter Brutus and Oassius, and a Throng of 
 Citizens. 
 Cit. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 
 Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, 
 friends. — 
 Cassius, go you into the other street, 
 And part the numbers. — 
 
 Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here; 
 Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
 And public reasons shall be rendered 
 Of Caesar's death. 
 
 1 Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 
 
 2 Cit. I will hear Cassius, and compare their 
 
 reasons, 
 When severally we hear them rendered. 
 
 [Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. 
 Brutus goes into the Rostrum. 
 
 3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence ! 
 Bru. Be patient till the last. 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! 2 hear me for my 
 cause ; and be silent that ye may hear ; believe me 
 for mine honor ; and have respect to mine honor, 
 that you may believe : censure me in your wisdom ; 
 and awake your senses that you may the better 
 judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear 
 friend of Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love 
 to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend 
 demand, why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my 
 answer, — Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I 
 loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were 
 living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were 
 dead to live all free men ? As Caesar loved me, I 
 weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; 
 as he was valiant, I honor him: but, as he was 
 ambitious, I slew him : There is tears, for his love ; 
 joy, for his fortune; honor, for his valor; and 
 death, for his ambition. Who is here so base, that 
 would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him 
 have I offended. Who is here so rude that would 
 not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I 
 offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his 
 country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. 
 I pause for a reply. 
 
 Cit. None, Brutus, none. 
 
 [Several speaking at once. 
 
 Bru. Then none have I offended, I have done no 
 more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The 
 question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol : his 
 glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor 
 his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 
 Enter Antosy and others, with Cesar's Body. 
 Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : 
 Who, though he had no hand in his death, shall 
 receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the 
 commonwealth: As which of you shall not? With 
 this I depart ; That as I slew my best lover for the 
 good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, 
 when it shall please my country to need my death. 
 
 Cit. Live, Brutus, live! live! 
 
 i Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his 
 house. 
 
 » Friends 
 
 2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 3 Cit. Let him be Caesar. 
 
 4 Cit. Caesar's better parts 
 Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. 
 
 1 Cit. We'll bring him to his house with shoufci 
 
 and clamors. 
 Bru. My countrymen, — 
 
 2 Cit. Peace; silence! Brutus speak* 
 1 Cit. Peace, ho! 
 
 Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
 And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 
 Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
 Tending to Caesar's glories : which Mark Antony, 
 By our permission, is allowed to make. 
 I do entreat you not a man depart, 
 Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 
 
 Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 
 
 3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair ; 
 We'll hear him: — Noble Antony, go up. 
 
 Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 
 
 4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 
 
 3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake, 
 He finds himself beholden to us all. 
 
 4 Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus 
 
 here. 
 
 1 Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 
 3 Cit. Nay, that's certain: 
 
 We are bless'd that Rome is rid of him. 
 
 2 Cit. Peace; let us hear what Antony can say. 
 Ant. You gentle Romans, 
 
 Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 
 
 Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me 
 your ears; 
 I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
 The evil, that men do, lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
 Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious ; 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
 And grievously hath Ccesar answer'd it. 
 Here, under leave cf Brutus, and the rest, 
 (For Brutus is an honorable man ; 
 So are they all, all honorable men ;) 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
 But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honorable man. 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
 Did this in Csssar seem ambitious ? 
 When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept. 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honorable man. 
 You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition 1 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And, sure, he is an honorable man. 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 You all did love him once, not without cause; 
 What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? 
 
 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
 And men have lost their reason! — bear with me; 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Cassar, 
 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 1 Cit. Methinks there is much reason in hit 
 
 sayings. 
 
 2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter. 
 Caesar has had great wrongs. 
 
 3 Cit. Has he. masters* 
 
 1 fear, there will a worse come in his ptace. 
 
692 
 
 JULIUS CiESAK. 
 
 Act III 
 
 4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words 1 He would not take 
 the crown ; 
 Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 
 
 1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 
 2 Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with 
 
 weeping. 
 
 3 Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than 
 
 Antony. 
 
 4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
 Ant. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might 
 
 Have stood against the world: now lies he there, 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 
 masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 
 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
 Who, you all know, are honorable men : 
 
 I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 
 
 To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 
 
 Than I will wrong such honorable men. 
 
 But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, 
 
 I found it in his closet, 'tis his will: 
 
 Let but the commons hear this testament, 
 
 (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 
 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 
 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills 
 
 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 4 Cit. We'll hear the will ; Read it, Mark Antony. 
 
 Cit. The will, the will; we will hear Caesar's will. 
 
 Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not 
 read it; 
 It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you. 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; 
 And being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
 For if you should, O, what would come of it! 
 
 4 Cit. Read the will; we will hear it, Antony, 
 You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will. 
 
 Ant. Will you be patient] Will you stay awhile] 
 I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
 I fear, I wrong the honorable men, 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd Ca-sar: I do fear it. 
 
 4 Cit. They were traitors : Honorable men ! 
 
 Cit. The will ! the testament ! 
 
 2 Cit. They were villains, murderers: The will! 
 read the will ! 
 
 Ant. You will compel me then to read the will] 
 Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
 And let me show you him that made the will. 
 Shall I descend] And will you give me leave] 
 
 Cit. Come down. 
 
 2 Cit. Descend. [.He co »ies down from the Pulpit. 
 
 3 Cit. You shall have leave. 
 
 4 Cit. A ring ; stand round. 
 
 I Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 
 
 1 Cit. Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony. 
 
 Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
 
 Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 
 
 A.nt. If you have tears, prepare to shed them 
 now. 
 V ou all do know this mantle : I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 Twas on a summer's evening in his tent; 
 That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
 Look! in this place, ttai Cassius' dagger through: 
 See, what a renl the envious Casca made: 
 Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd: 
 Vnd, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ; 
 *. p 'ushing out of doors, to be reso'v'd 
 
 If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
 Judge, you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him ! 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
 For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, 
 Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart; 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statua, 3 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
 O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
 0, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
 The dint' of pity : these are gracious drops. 
 Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded] Look you here, 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 1 Cit. O piteous spectacle ! 
 
 2 Cit. noble Caesar ! 
 
 3 Cit. O woful day ! 
 
 4 Cit. traitors, villains ! 
 
 1 Cit. O most bloody sight ! 
 
 2 Cit. We will be revenged : revenge ; about, 
 — seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay! — let not a 
 traitor live. 
 
 Ant. Stay, countrymen. 
 
 1 Cit. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony. 
 
 2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll 
 die with him. 
 
 Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir 
 you up 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
 They, that, have done this deed, are honorable ; 
 What private griefs 6 they have, alas, I know not, 
 That made them do it; they are wise and honorable. 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is : 
 But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 
 That love my friend : and that they know full well 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
 To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
 I tell you that, which you yourselves do know : 
 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb 
 
 mouths, 
 And bid them speak for me: But were I Brutus, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny 
 Cit. We'll mutiny. 
 
 1 Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
 
 2 Cit. Away then, come, seek the conspirators. 
 Ant. Yethear me, countrymen, yet hear me speak. 
 Cit. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony. 
 Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not 
 
 what: 
 Wherein hath Caesar thus deserv'd your loves ] 
 Alas, you know not : — I must tell you then : — 
 You have forgot the will I told you of. 
 
 Cit. Most true ; — the will ; — let's stay, and heav 
 
 the will. 
 Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal. 
 To every Roman citizen he gives, 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.' 
 
 2 Cit. Most noble Caesar! — we'll revenge hi» 
 
 death. 
 
 3 Cit. O royal Caesar ! 
 
 » Statua for statue, is common among the old writers. 
 * Impression. » Grievances. • Near tifty slrllinga. 
 
Act IV. Scene 1 
 
 JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 (593 
 
 Ant. Hear me with patience. 
 
 Cit. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
 His private arbors, and new-planted orchards, 
 On this side Tybcr : he hath left them you, 
 And ti- your heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
 To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a Casar : When comes such another ? 
 
 lCit. Never, never; — Come, away, away: 
 We'll burn his body in the holy place, 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 Take up the body. 
 
 2 Cit. Go, fetch fire. 
 
 3 Cit. Pluck down benches. 
 
 4 Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing. 
 
 [Exeunt Citizens with the Body. 
 Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, 
 Take thou what course thou wilt! — How now, 
 fellow ? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 
 Ant. Where is he ? 
 
 Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house. 
 Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him : 
 He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, 
 And in this mood will give us any thing. 
 
 Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 
 Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. 
 Ant. Belike, they had some notice of the people 
 How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE III.— A Street 
 Enter Cinna, the Poet. 
 Cin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast wifti Caesar, 
 And things unluckily charge my fantasy : 
 I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
 Yet something leads me forth. 
 
 Enter Citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. What is your name ? 
 
 2 Cit. Whither are you going? 
 
 3 Cit. Where do you dwell? 
 
 4 Cit. Are you a married man, or a bachelor? 
 
 2 Cit. Answer every man directly. 
 
 1 Cit. Ay, and briefly. 
 4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 
 
 3 Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 
 
 Cin. What is my name? Whither am I going? 
 Where do I dwell ? Am I a married man, or a 
 bachelor ? Then to answer every man directly and 
 briefly, wisely, and truly. Wisely I say, I am a 
 bachelor. 
 
 2 Cit. That's as much as to say they are fools 
 that marry. — You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. 
 Proceed; directly. 
 
 Cin. Directly, I am going to Cresar's funeral. 
 
 1 Cit. As a friend, or an enemy ? 
 Cin. As a friend. 
 
 2 Cit. That matter is answered directly. 
 
 4 Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly. 
 Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 
 4 Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 
 
 Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna. 
 
 1 Cit. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. 
 Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. 
 4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for 
 
 his bad verses. 
 
 Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 
 
 2 Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna; plucl 
 but his name out of his heart, and turn him 
 going. 
 
 3 Cit. Tear him, tear him. Come, brands, ho ! 
 firebrands. To Brutus', to Cassius'; burn all. 
 Some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's: some 
 to Ligarius': away ; go. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Antony's House. 
 
 Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus, seated at a 
 Table. 
 
 Ant. These many then shall die; their names 
 are prick'd. 
 
 Oct. Your brother too must die; consent you, 
 Lepidus? 
 
 hep. I do consent. 
 
 Oct. Prick 1 him down, Antony. 
 
 hep. Upon condition Publius shall not live, 
 Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 
 
 Ant. He shall not live ; look, with a spot I damn 8 
 him. 
 But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house ; 
 Fetch the will hither, and we will determine 
 How to cut off some charge in legacies. 
 
 Lep. What, shall I find you here ? 
 
 Oct. Or here, or at 
 
 Tlie Capitol. [Exit Lepidus. 
 
 Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man, 
 Meet to be sent on errands: Is it lit, 
 The three-fold world divided, he should stand 
 One of the three to share it ? 
 
 Oct. So you thought him ; 
 
 And took his voice who should be prick'd to die, 
 In our black sentence and proscription. 
 
 Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you ; 
 And though we lay these honors on this man, 
 Set, maik. * Condemn. 
 
 1 o ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, 
 He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
 To groan and sweat under the business, 
 Either led or driven, as we point the way ; 
 And having brought our treasure where we will, 
 Then take we down this load, and turn him off, 
 Like the empty ass, to shake his ears, 
 And graze in commons. 
 
 Oct. You may do your will ; 
 
 But he's a tried and valiant soldier. 
 
 Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and, for that, 
 I do appoint him store of provender. 
 It is a creature that I teach to fight, 
 To wind, to stop, to run directly on ; 
 His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
 And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so ; 
 He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth 
 A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds 
 On objects, arts, and imitations; 
 Which, out of use, and stal'd by other men. 
 Begin his fashion : Do not talk of him, 
 But as a property. And now, Octavius, 
 Listen great things. — Brutus and Cassius. 
 Are levying powers : we must straight make Head. 
 Therefore, let our alliance be combin'd. 
 Our best friends made, and our best means stretch ! 
 
 out; 
 And let us presently go sit in council. 
 How covert matters may be best disclos & 
 And open perils surest answered. 
 
694 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 Act 
 
 Oct. Let us do so ; for we are at the stake, 
 And bay'd 9 about with many enemies ; 
 And some, that smile, have in their hearts, I fear, 
 Millions of mischief. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IL— Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp 
 near Sardis. 
 
 Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and 
 Soldiers: Titinius and Pindarus meeting them. 
 
 Bru. Stand here. 
 
 Luc. Give the word, ho! and stand. 
 
 Bru. What now, Lucilius? is Cassius near? 
 
 Luc. He is at hand; and Pindarus is come 
 T« do you salutation from his master. 
 
 [Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus. 
 
 B*-u. He greets me well. — Your master, Pin- 
 darus, 
 In his own charge, or by ill offices, 
 Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
 Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand, 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 
 Pin. I do not doubt 
 
 But that my noble master will appear 
 Such as he is, full of regard and honor. 
 
 Bru. He is not doubted. — A word, Lucilius : 
 How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd. 
 
 Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough; 
 But not with such familiar instances, 
 Nor with such free and friendly conference, 
 As he hath used of old. 
 
 Bru. Thou hast describ'd 
 
 A hot friend cooling : Ever note, Lucilius, 
 When love begins to sicken and decay, 
 It useth an enforced ceremony. 
 There are no tricks in plain and simple faith: 
 But hollow men, like horses hot. at hand, 
 Make gallant show and promise of their mettle: 
 But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
 They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, 
 Sink in the trial. Comes his army on ? 
 
 Luc. They mean this night in Sardis to be quar- 
 ter'd ; 
 The greater part, the horse in general, 
 Are come with Cassius. [March within. 
 
 Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd : — 
 
 March gently on to meet him. 
 
 Enter Cassius and Soldiers. 
 Cos. Stand, ho ! 
 
 Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 
 [Within.] Stand. 
 [Within.] Stand. 
 [ Within!] Stand. 
 Cos. Most noble brother, you have done me 
 
 wrong. 
 Bru. Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine ene- 
 mies? 
 And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother ? 
 Co*. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides 
 wrongs ; 
 
 lnd when you do them 
 
 Bru. Cassius, be content, 
 
 Speak your grief softly, — I do know you well: — 
 Before the eyes of both our armies here, 
 Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 
 Let us not wrangle: Bid them move away : 
 Then, in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs 
 \ml I will give you audience. 
 
 Cas. Pindarus, 
 
 Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
 \. little from this ground. 
 Bru. Lucilius, do the like; and let no man 
 » Surrounded, baited. 
 
 Come to our tent, till we have done our conference. 
 Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Within the Tent of Brutus. 
 
 Lucius, and Titinius, at some distance from it. 
 
 Enter BnuTus and Cassius. 
 
 Cos. That you have wrong'd me, doth appeal 
 in this: 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pclla, 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 
 Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 
 
 Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a 
 case. 
 
 Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
 That every nice 1 offence should bear his comment 
 
 Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 
 To sell and mart your offices for gold, 
 To undeservers. 
 
 Cas. I an itching palm ? 
 
 You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else you last 
 
 Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption. 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 
 
 Cas. Chastisement ! 
 
 Bru. Remember March, the ides of March re- 
 member! 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 
 And not for justice? What, shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
 But for supporting robbers; shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes? 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honors, 
 For so much trash, as may be grasped thus? — 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, bay not me ; 
 
 I'll not endure it; you forget yourself 
 To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 Bru. Go to ; you're not, Cassius. 
 
 Cas. I am. 
 
 Bru. I say, you are not. 
 
 Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself , 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further 
 
 Bru. Away, slight man ! 
 
 Cas. Is't possible? 
 
 Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
 Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares ? 
 
 Cas. ye gods ! ye gods ! Must I endure all this' 
 
 Bru. All this? ay, more : Fret, till your proud 
 heart break ; 
 Go show your slaves how choleric you are, 
 And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ' 
 Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
 Under your testy humor ? By the gods, 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
 Though it do split you : for, from this day forth, 
 I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
 When you are waspish. 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this ? 
 
 Bru. You say, you are a better soldier: 
 Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, 
 And it shall please me well : For mine own part 
 I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me 
 Brutus: 
 
 « Trifling. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 0»R 
 
 [ said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
 Did I SAj , better ? 
 
 Bru. If you did, I care no* 
 
 Cas. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have 
 iiiov'd me. 
 
 Bru. Peace, peace , you durst not so have tempted 
 him. 
 
 Cat. I durst not? 
 
 Bru. No. 
 
 Cat What? durst not tempt him? 
 
 Bt u. For your life you durst not. 
 
 Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love, 
 I may do that I shall be sorry for. 
 
 Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats: 
 For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, 
 That they pass by me, as the idle wind 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; — 
 For I can raise no money by vile means: 
 By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
 By any indirection. I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions, 
 Which you denied me : Was that done like Cassius ? 
 Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so? 
 When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
 Dash him to pieces! 
 
 Cas. I denied you not. 
 
 Bru. You did. 
 
 Cas. I did not: — he was but a fool, 
 
 That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath rived 3 
 
 my heart: 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 
 
 Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 
 
 Cas. You love me not. 
 
 Bru. I do not like your faults. 
 
 Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 
 
 Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do 
 appear 
 As huge as high Olympus. 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
 Hated by one he loves; brav'd by his brother; 
 Check'd like a bondman; all his faults observ'd, 
 Set in a note-book, learn'd and conn'd by rote, 
 To cast into my teeth. 0, I could weep 
 My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, 
 And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
 [f that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 T, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: 
 Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know, 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him 
 
 better 
 Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 
 
 Bru. Sheathe your dagger: 
 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; 
 Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
 Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
 That carries anger, as the flint bears fire; 
 Who much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 
 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him ? 
 Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. 
 » Split 
 
 Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me yom 
 
 hand. 
 Bru. And my heart too. 
 Cas Brutus !- 
 
 Bru What's the matter • 
 
 Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, 
 When that rash humor, which my mother gave me. 
 ?»lakes me forgetful? 
 
 Bru. Yes, Cassius; and henceforth, 
 
 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
 He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
 [Noise within. 
 Poet. [ Within.] Let me go in to see the generals : 
 There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet 
 They be alone. 
 
 Luc. [ Within."] You shall not come to them. 
 Poet. [ Within?] Nothing but death shall stay mo. 
 
 Enter Poet. 
 Cas. How now? What's the matter? 
 Poet. For shame, you generals: What do you 
 mean ? 
 Love, and be friends, as two such men should be ; 
 For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye. 
 Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! 
 Bru. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence. 
 Cas. Bear with him, Brutus ; 'tis his fashion. 
 Bru. I'll know his humor, when he knows his 
 time: 
 What should the wars do with these jigging fools' 1 
 Companion, 3 hence. 
 
 Cas. Away, away, begone. 
 
 [Exit Poet 
 Enter Lucilius and Titinius. 
 Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 
 Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 
 
 Cos. And come yourselves, and bring Messala 
 with you, 
 Immediately to us. [Ex. Lucilius and Titiniu* 
 Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 
 
 Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry. 
 Bru. Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
 Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 Bru. No man bears sorrow better: — Portia is 
 
 dead. 
 Cas. Ha! Portia? 
 Bru. She is dead. 
 
 Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you 
 so? — 
 
 insupportable and touching loss ! — 
 Upon what sickness? 
 
 Bru. Impatient of my absence; 
 
 And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
 Have made themselves so strong; — for with hei 
 
 death 
 That tidings came; — With this she fell distract, 
 And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 
 
 Cas. And died so ? 
 
 Bru. Even so. 
 
 Cas. O ye immortal gods! 
 Enter Lucius, with Wine and Tapers. 
 
 Bru. Speak no more of her. — Give me a bowl 
 of wine : — 
 In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks. 
 
 Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge : — 
 Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup; 
 
 1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. [Brinks 
 
 Re-enter Titinius, with Messala. 
 Bru. Come in, Titinius : — Welcome, good Mcs 
 sala. — 
 
 • Fellow 
 
f$9G 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Now sit we close about this taper here, 
 And call in question our necessities. 
 
 Cas. Portia, art thou gone! 
 
 Bru. No more, I pray you. — 
 
 Messala, I have here received letters, 
 That young Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
 Come down upon us with a mighty power, 
 Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 
 
 Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenor. 
 
 Bru . With what addition ? 
 
 Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, 
 Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
 Have put to death a hundred senators. 
 
 Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree: 
 Mine speak of seventy senators, that died 
 By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 
 
 Cas. Cicero one? 
 
 Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead, 
 
 And by that order of proscription. — 
 Had you your letters from your wife, my lord? 
 
 Bru. No, Messala. 
 
 Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ? 
 
 Bru. Nothing, Messala. 
 
 Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 
 
 Bru. Why ask you ? Hear you aught of her in 
 yours? 
 
 Mes. No, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Now, as you arc a Roman, tell me true 
 
 Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell : 
 F#r certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 
 
 Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. — We must die, 
 Messala : 
 With meditating that she must die once, 
 have the patience to endure it now. 
 
 Mes. Even so great men great losses should en- 
 dure. 
 
 Cas. I have as much of this in art 4 as you; 
 But yet my nature could not bear it so. 
 
 Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think, 
 Of marching to Philippi presently ? 
 
 Cas. I do not think it good. 
 
 Bru. Your reason ? 
 
 Cas. This it is : 
 
 'Tis better, that the enemy seek us : 
 So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
 Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still, 
 Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 
 
 Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to 
 better. 
 The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground, 
 Do stand but in a forced affection ; 
 For they have grudg'd us contribution : 
 The enemy, marching along by them, 
 By them shall make a fuller number up, 
 Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encouraged ; 
 From which advantage shall we cut him off, 
 , r f at Philippi we do face him there, 
 These people at our back. 
 
 Cas. Hear me, good brother. 
 
 Bru. Under your pardon. — You must note be- 
 side, 
 That we have tried the utmost of our friends, 
 Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
 The enemy increaseth every day, 
 We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 [s bound in shallows, and in miseries. 
 3n such a full sea are we now afloat ; 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 * Theory. 
 
 Cas. Then, with your will, go on 
 
 We'll on ourselves, and meet him at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk. 
 And nature must obey necessity; 
 Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
 There is no niore to say ? 
 
 Cas. No more. Good nicrht 
 
 Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 
 
 Bru. Lucius, my gown. [Exit Lucius.] Fart* 
 well, good Messala: — 
 Good night, Titinius : — Noble, noble Cassius, 
 Good night, and good repose. 
 
 Cas. O my dear brother' 
 
 This was an ill beginning of the night: 
 Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
 Let it not, Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Every thing is well. 
 
 Cas.. Good night, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Good night, good brother. 
 
 Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Farewell, every one. 
 
 [Exeunt Cas., Tit., and Mes. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius, with the Gown. 
 Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? 
 
 Luc. Here in the tent. 
 
 Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? 
 
 Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'er-watch'd, 
 Call Claudius, and some other of my men ; 
 I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 
 
 Luc. Varro, and Claudius ! 
 
 Enter Vaiiiio and Claudius 
 Var. Calls my lord? 
 
 Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent,, and sleep; 
 It may be, I shall raise you by and by 
 On business to my brother Cassius. 
 
 Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch 
 
 your pleasure. 
 Bru. I will not have it so: lie down, good sirs; 
 It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. 
 Look, Lucius, here's the b^ok I sought for so; 
 I put it in the pocket of my gown. 
 
 [Servants lie down. 
 Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give it me. 
 Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much for- 
 getful. 
 Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
 And touch thy instrument a strain or two. 
 Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you. 
 Bru. It doPi, my boy : 
 
 I trouble thee too much, but thou ar* willing. 
 Luc. It is my duty, sir. 
 
 Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy -.night; 
 I know, young bloods look for a time of rest. 
 Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
 Bru. It is well done ; and thou shalt sleep again ; 
 I will not hold thee long: if I do live, 
 I will be good to thee. [Music and a Song. 
 
 This is a sleepy tune: — murd'rous slumber! 
 Lay'st thou thy leaden mace 5 upon my boy, 
 That plays thee music? — Gentle knave, good 
 
 night; 
 I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
 If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument ; 
 I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. 
 Let me see, let me see; — Ts not the leaf turn'd 
 
 down, 
 Where I left reading? Here it is, I think. 
 
 [He sits dow?i. 
 Enter the Ghost of Cesar. 
 How ill this taper burns! — Ha! who comes hero? 
 « Sceptre 
 
A.ct V. Scene I. 
 
 JULIUS CAESAR. 
 
 697 
 
 I thir.K it is the weakness of mine eyes, 
 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 
 It comes upon me — art thou any thing? 
 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
 
 That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair t" stare? 
 
 Speak to me, what thou art. 
 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Why com'st thou ? 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. Well; 
 Then I shall see thee again? 
 
 Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 
 
 [Ghost vanishes. 
 
 Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. — 
 Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest: 
 111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. — 
 Boy! Lucius! — Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! — 
 Claudius ! 
 
 Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 
 
 Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instrument. — 
 Lucius, awake. 
 
 Luc. My lord ! 
 
 Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou sc 
 cry'dst out? 
 
 Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 
 
 Bru. Yes, that thou didst : Didst thou see any 
 thing ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. — Sirrah, Claudius 
 Fellow thou ! awake. 
 
 Var. My lord! 
 
 Clau. My lord ! 
 
 Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep' 
 
 Var. Clau. Did we, my lord ? 
 
 Bru. Ay ; Saw you any thing 1 
 
 Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 
 
 Clau. Nor I, my lord 
 
 Bru. Go, and com mend me to my brother Cassius 1 
 Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
 And we will follow. 
 
 Var Clau. It shall be done, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACTY. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Plains of Philippi. 
 Enter Octavius, Antont, and their Army. 
 
 Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered : 
 You said the enemy would not come down, 
 But keep the hills and upper regions; 
 It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
 They mean to warn 6 us at Philippi here, 
 Answering before we do demand of them. 
 
 Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know, 
 Wherefore they do it: they could be content 
 To visit other places ; and come down 
 With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face, 
 To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage ; 
 But 'tis not so. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Prepare you, generals : 
 
 The enemy comes on in gallant show; 
 Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, 
 And something's to be done immediately. 
 
 Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, 
 Upon the left hand of the even field. 
 
 Oct Upon the right hand I, keep thou the left. 
 
 Ant Why do you cross me in this exigent? 
 
 Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. 
 
 [March. 
 Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army,- 
 
 Luc ilius, Titinius, Messala, and others. 
 
 Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 
 
 Cos. Stand fast, Titinius: We must out and 
 talk. 
 
 Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle? 
 
 Ant No, Caesar, we will answer on the charge. 
 Make lorth, the generals would have some words. 
 
 Oct. Stir not until the signal. 
 
 Bru. Words before blows: Is it so, country- 
 men? 
 
 Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 
 
 Bru Good words are better than bad strokes, 
 Octavius. 
 
 Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
 words : 
 Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart, 
 drying, Long live ' hail Caesar/ 
 
 Cos. Antony, 
 
 • Summon. 
 
 The posture of your blows are yet unknown, 
 But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, 
 And leave them honeyless. 
 
 Ant. Not stingless too. 
 
 Bru. O, yes, and soundless too ; 
 For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
 And, very wisely, threat before you sting. 
 
 Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vile 
 daggers 
 Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar: 
 You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like 
 
 hounds, 
 And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet, 
 Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind, 
 Struck Caesar on the neck. O flatterers ! 
 
 Cos. Flatterers ! — Now, Brutus, thank yourself: 
 This tongue had not offended so to-day, 
 If Cassius might have ruled. 
 
 Oct, Come, come, the cause : If arguing make us 
 sweat, 
 The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
 Look ; 
 
 I draw a sword against conspirators ; 
 When think you that the sword goes up again? ■ 
 Never till Caesar's three and twenty wounds 
 Be well avenged ; or till another Caesar 
 Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 
 
 Bru. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, 
 Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 
 
 Oct. So I hope, 
 
 I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 
 
 Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, 
 Young man, thou couldst not die more honorable 
 
 Cos. A peevish school-boy, worthless of such 
 honor, 
 Join'd with a masker and a reveller. 
 
 Ant. Old Cassius still ! 
 
 Oct. Come, Antony ; away.- 
 
 Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth : 
 If you dare fight to day, come to the field ; 
 If not, when you have stomachs. 
 
 [Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their An *y 
 
 Cos. Why now, blow wind ; swell, billow • am' 
 swim, bark ! 
 The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 
 
 Bru. Ho! 
 L icilius ; hark, a word with you. 
 2 W 
 
69S 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act \ 
 
 Luc. My lord. 
 
 [Bhtjtus and Lucilius converse apart. 
 
 Cos. Messala* — 
 
 Mes. What says my general 1 
 
 Cos. Messala, 
 
 This is my birth-day ; as this very day 
 Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala : 
 Be thou my witness, that, against my will, 
 As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
 Upon one battle all our liberties. 
 You know, that I held Epicurus strong, 
 And his opinion: now I change my mind, 
 And partly credit things that do presage. 
 Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 
 Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd, 
 Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands; 
 Who to Philippi here consorted 8 us; 
 This morning are they fled away, and gone ; 
 And in their steads, do ravens, crows, and kites, 
 Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us, 
 As we were sickly prey; their shadows seem 
 A canopy most fatal, under which 
 Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 
 
 Mess. Believe not so. 
 
 Cos. I but believe it partly; 
 
 For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd 
 To meet all perils very constantly. 
 
 Bru. Even so, Lucilius. 
 
 Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 
 
 The gods to day stand friendly; that we may, 
 Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age ! 
 But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain, 
 Let's reason with the worst that may befall. 
 If we do lose this battle, then is this 
 The very last time we shall speak together: 
 What are you then determined to do? 
 
 Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy, 
 By which I did blame Cato for the death 
 Which he did give himself: — I know not how, 
 But I do find it cowardly and vile, 
 For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
 The time of life: arming myself with patience, 
 To stay the Providence of some high powers 
 That govern us below. 
 
 Cas. Then, if we lose this battle, 
 
 You are contented to be led in triumph 
 Thorough the streets of Rome 1 
 
 Bru. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble 
 Roman, 
 That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
 He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
 Must end that work the ides of March begun; 
 And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
 Therefore our everlasting farewell take: — 
 For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius! 
 If we do meet again, why we shall smile ; 
 If not, why then this parting was well made. 
 
 Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 
 If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed : 
 If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made. 
 
 Bru. Why then, lead on. — O, that a man might 
 know 
 The end of this day's business, ere it come ! 
 Bu; it sufficeth, that the day will end, 
 And then the end is known. — Come, ho! away! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE I], -The Field of Battle. 
 Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. 
 Rru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these 
 bills 9 
 
 1 Foremost 
 
 • Directions for th« officers. 
 
 • Accompanied. 
 
 Unto the legions on the other side : [Loud Alarum. 
 Let them «et on at once; for I perceive 
 But cold demeanor in Octavius' wing, 
 And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
 Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 
 
 Cas. 0, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly; 
 Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy : 
 This ensign here of mine was turning back; 
 I slew the coward and did take it from him. 
 
 Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too t«trly 
 Who, having some advantage on Octavius, 
 Took it too eagerly : his soldiers fell to spoil, 
 Whilst we by Antony were all enclos'd. 
 
 Enter Pindahus. 
 
 Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; 
 Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord! 
 Fly therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off 
 
 Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius; 
 Are those my tents, where I perceive the fire 1 
 
 Tit. They are, my lord. 
 
 Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me. 
 
 Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him. 
 Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops, 
 And here again; that I may rest assur'd, 
 Whether yond' troops are friend or enemy. 
 
 Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill; 
 My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius, 
 And tell me what thou not'st about the field — 
 
 [Exit Pindarus. 
 This day I breathed first: time is come round, 
 And where I did begin, there I shall end ; 
 My life is run his compass. — Sirrah, what news ! 
 
 Pin. [Above.] my lord ! 
 
 Cas. What news] 
 
 Pin. Titinius is 
 Enclosed round about with horsemen, that 
 Make to him on the spur: — yet he spurs on. — 
 Now they are almost on him ; now, Titinius ! — 
 Now some 'light; — 0, he 'lights too — he's ta'en 
 — and, hark ! [Shout. 
 
 They shout for joy. 
 
 Cas. Come down, behold no more. — 
 
 0, coward that I am, to live so long, 
 To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 
 
 Enter Pindahus. 
 Come hither, sirrah: 
 In Parthia did I take thee prisoner ; 
 And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, 
 That whatsoever I did bid thee do, 
 Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine 
 
 oath! 
 Now be a freeman ; and with this good sword, 
 That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. 
 Stand not to answer : Here, take thou the hilts ; 
 And, when my face is cover'd as 'tis now, 
 Guide thou the sword, — Caesar, thou art reveng'd, 
 Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 
 
 Pin. So I am free, yet would not so have been, 
 Durst I have done my will. Cassius ! 
 Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 
 Where never Roman shall take note of him. 
 
 [Extl 
 
 Re-enter Titinius with Messala. 
 Mes. It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius 
 
SCENTE V 
 
 JULIUS CvESAR. 
 
 «9li 
 
 Ts overthrown by noble Brutus' power, 
 As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 
 
 Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 
 Mes. Where did you leave him ? 
 Tit. All disconsolate, 
 
 With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 
 
 Mes. Is not that he, that lies upon the ground? 
 Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart ! 
 Mes. Is not that he ? 
 
 Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 
 
 Hut Cassius is no more. — setting sun ! 
 As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night, 
 So in his red blood Cassius' day is set; 
 The sun of Rome is set! Our day is gone; ■ 
 Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our. deeds are 
 
 done; 
 Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 
 
 Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. 
 hateful error, melancholy's child ! 
 Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
 The things that are not ? O error, soon conceiv'd, 
 Thou never com'st unto a happy birth, 
 But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee. 
 
 Tit. What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pin- 
 darus! 
 Mes. Seek him, Titinius : whilst I go to meet 
 The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
 Into his ears: I may say thrusting it; 
 For piercing steel, and darts envenomed, 
 Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus, 
 As tidings of this sight. 
 
 Tit. Hie you, Messala, 
 
 And I will seek for Pindarus the while. 
 
 [Exit Messala. 
 Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius ? 
 Did I not meet thy friends, and did not they 
 Put on my brows this wreath of victory, 
 And bid me giv't thee"! Didst thou not hear their 
 
 shouts ? 
 Alas ! thou hast misconstrued every thing. 
 But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow ; 
 7'hy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I 
 Will do his bidding. — Brtitus, come apace, 
 And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. — 
 By your leave, gods. — This is a Roman's part : 
 Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Alarwn. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young 
 Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius. 
 
 Bru. Where, where Messala, doth his body lie? 
 
 Mes. Lo, yonder ; and Titinius mourning it. 
 
 Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 
 
 Cato. He is slain. 
 
 Bru. Julius Csesar, thou art mighty yet ! 
 Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
 In our own proper entrails. [Low Alarums. 
 
 Cato. Brave. Titinius ! 
 
 Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius ! 
 
 Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these? — 
 The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
 It is impossible that ever Rome 
 Should breed thy fellow. — Friends, I owe more 
 
 tears 
 To this dead man, than you shall see me pay. — 
 I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. — 
 Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body ; 
 His funeral shall not be in our camp, 
 Lest it discomfort us. — Lucilius, come ; 
 And come, young Cato, let us to the field. — 
 Labeo, and Flavius, set our battles on : — 
 'Tis three o'clock; and, Romans, yet ere night 
 We shall trv fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Alarum. Enter, fighting, Soldiers of both Armies,- 
 then Brutus, Cato, Lucilius, and others. 
 Bru. Yet, countrymen, 0, yet hold up your heads! 
 Cato. What bastard doth not? Who will go with 
 me? 
 I will proclaim my name about the fitld : 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ; 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 
 [Charges the Enemy. 
 Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; 
 Brutus, my country's friend ; know me for Brutus. 
 [Exit, charging the Enemy. Cato is over- 
 powered, and falls. 
 Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down'' 
 Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 
 And mayst be honor'd, being Cato's son. 
 1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 
 Luc. Only I yield to die 
 
 There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight; 
 [Offering Money. 
 Kill Brutus, and be honor'd in his death. 
 
 1 Sold. We must not. — A noble prisoner! 
 
 2 Sold. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 
 1 Sold. I'll tell the news. — Here comes the ge- 
 neral : 
 
 Enter Antony. 
 Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Where is he ? 
 
 Luc. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough 
 I dare assure thee, that no enemy 
 Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus: 
 The gods defend him from so great a shame! 
 When you do find him, or alive, or dead, 
 He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 
 
 Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assuieyou, 
 A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe, 
 Give him all kindness : I had rather have 
 Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, 
 And see whe'r Brutus be alive, or dead: 
 And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent, 
 How every thing is chanced. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, 
 
 and Volumnius. 
 
 Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this 
 rock. 
 
 Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light ; but, my lord, 
 He came not back ; he is or ta'en, or slain. 
 
 Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus, slaying is the word ; 
 It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. — 
 
 [ Whispering 
 
 Cli. What, I, my lord ? No, not for all the worla. 
 
 Bru. Peace, then, no words. 
 
 Cli. I'll rather kill myself. 
 
 Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius ! [ Whispers hin , 
 
 Dar. I do such a deed * 
 
 Cli. 0, Dardanius' 
 
 Dar. O, Clitus! 
 
 Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee? 
 
 Dar. To kill him, Clitus: Look, he meditates- 
 
 Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
 That it runs over even at his eye9. 
 
 Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word. 
 
 Vol. What says my lord ? 
 
 Bru. Why this, Volumnius 
 
 The ghost of Cffisar hath appear'd to me 
 Two several times by night: at Sardis, once; 
 And, this last night, here in Philippi' fields. 
 I know my hour is come. 
 
700 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Vol. Not so, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
 Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; 
 Our enemies have"*beat us to the pit: 
 It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, 
 Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
 Thou know'st.that we two went to school together ; 
 Even for that our love of old I pray thee, 
 Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 
 
 Vol. That's not an office for a friend, my lord. 
 
 Alarum still. 
 
 Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying here. 
 
 Bru. Farewell to you ; — and you ; — and you, 
 Volumnius. — 
 Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; 
 Farewell to thee, too, Strato. — Countrymen, 
 My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life, 
 I found no man, but he was true to me. 
 i shall have glory by this losing day, 
 More than Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
 By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
 So fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
 Hath almost ended his life's history: 
 Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest. 
 That have but labor'd to attain this hour. 
 
 [Alarum. Cry within,- Fly, fly, fly. 
 
 Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 
 
 Bru. Hence ; I will follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt CLiTvs,DAnvA.Ktivs,a}7d Volumnius. 
 I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord: 
 Thou art a fellow of a good respect ; 
 Thy lifs hath hatf some snatch of honor in it : 
 Hold then my sword and turn away thy face, 
 While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato'? 
 
 Stra. Give me your hand first : Fare you well, 
 my lord. 
 
 Bru Farewell, good Strato. — Cssar, now be 
 still, 
 ' fcill'd not thee with half so good a will. 
 
 [He runs on his Sword, and dies. 
 
 Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antoni, 
 Mkssala, Lucilius, and their Army. 
 
 Oct. What man is that? 
 
 Mes. My master's man. — Strato, where is thy 
 master? 
 
 Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Mes- 
 sala; 
 The conquerors can but make a fire of him; 
 For Brutus only overcame himself, 
 And no man else hath honor by his death. 
 
 Luc. So Brutus should be found, — I thank thee, 
 Brutus, 
 That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. 
 
 Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain 
 them.' 
 Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? 
 
 Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer 2 me to you. 
 
 Oct. Do so, Messala. 
 
 Mes. How died my master, Strato 1 
 
 Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 
 
 Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, 
 That did the latest service to my master. 
 
 Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all: 
 All the conspirators, save only he, 
 Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 
 He only, in a general honest thought, 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 His life was gentle, and the elements 
 So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, 
 And say to all the world, This was a man! 
 
 Oct. According to his virtue let us use him, 
 With all respect and rites of burial. 
 Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, 
 Most like a soldier, order'd honorably. — 
 So, call the field to rest: and let's away, 
 To part the glories of this happy day. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 « Receire into my Barrioe. 
 
 * Recommend. 
 
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 O.ESAR, > 
 
 Lepidcs, ) 
 
 M Antony, 
 
 Octavius C 
 
 M. JEnih. L 
 
 Sextus Pompeius 
 
 Domitius Enobarbus, 
 
 Ventidius, 
 
 Eros, 
 
 SuARUS, 
 
 Dercetas, 
 
 Demetrius, 
 
 Philo, 
 
 Mec^nas, 
 
 Agrippa, 
 
 DoLABELLA, 
 
 Proculeius, 
 
 Thtreus, 
 
 Gallus, 
 
 Triumvirs 
 
 Friends of Pompey 
 
 ► Friends of Antony. 
 
 J 
 
 Menas, 
 
 Menecrates, 
 
 Varrius, 
 
 Taurus, Lieutenant-General to Caesar. 
 
 Canidius, Lieutenant-General to Antony. 
 
 Silius, an Officer in Ventidius's Army. 
 
 Euphronius, an Ambassador from Antony to 
 
 Caesar. 
 Alexas, Mardian, Seleucus, and Diomedes, 
 
 Attendants on Cleopatra. 
 A Soothsayer. 
 A Clown. 
 
 Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. 
 Octavia, Sister to Caesar, and Wife to Antony. 
 
 > t Attendants on Cleopatra. 
 
 Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, dispersed; in several parts of the Roman Empire. 
 
 > Friends to Caesar. 
 
 ACTI. 
 
 SCENE I. — Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Philo. 
 Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's, 
 O'erflovvs the measure: Those his goodly eyes, 
 That o'er the files and musters of the war 
 Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, 
 The office and devotion of their view 
 Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, 
 Which in the scuffles of great fights had burst 
 The buckles on his breast, reneges' all temper; 
 And is become the bellows and the fan, 
 To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come! 
 
 Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with 
 
 their Trains,- Eunuchs fanning her. 
 Take but good note, and you shall see in him 
 The triple pillar of the world transform'd 
 Into a strumpet's fool: behold and see. 
 
 Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 
 Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be 
 
 reckon'd. 
 Cleo. I'll set a bourn' how far to be belov'd. 
 Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 
 new earth. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 Ait. News, my good lord, from Rome. 
 Ant. Grates 3 me: — The sum ? 
 
 Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony. 
 * Renounces. a Bound cr limit. ' Offends. 
 
 T701] 
 
 Fulvia, perchance, is angry ; Or, who kn jws 
 If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent 
 His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or this; 
 Take in * that kingdom, and enfranchise that; 
 Perform' t, or else we damn thee. 
 
 Ant. How, my love! 
 
 Cleo. Perchance, — nay, and most like, 
 You must not stay here longer, your dismission 
 Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony. — 
 Where's Fulvia's process 1 s Caesar's, I would say? 
 
 —Both ?— 
 Call in the messengers. — As I am Egypt's queen 
 Thou blushest, Antony ; and that blood of thine 
 Is Caesar's homager ; else so thy cheek pays shame, 
 When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. — The mes- 
 sengers. 
 
 Ant Let Rome in Tyber melt ! and the wide arch 
 Of the ranged empire fall ! Here is my space ; 
 Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike 
 Feeds beast as man : the nobleness of life 
 Is, to do thus ; when such a mutual pair 
 
 [Embracing 
 And such a twain can do't, in which, I bind, 
 On pain of punishment, the world to weet, 6 
 We stand up peerless. 
 
 Cleo. Excellent falsehood! 
 
 Why did he marry Fulvia, and no., '.ove her? — 
 I'll seem the fool I am not: Antony 
 Will be himself. 
 
 Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. — 
 
 Subdue, conquer. » Summons. • Know 
 
702 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 A-CT t 
 
 Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, 
 Let's not confound ' the time with conference harsh : 
 There's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
 Without some pleasure now : What sport to-night? 
 
 Cleo. Hear the ambassadors. 
 
 Ant. Fye, wrangling queen ! 
 
 Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to. laugh, 
 To weep; whose every passion fully strives 
 To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd ! 
 No messenger; but thine and all alone, 
 To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note 
 The qualities of people. Come, my queen ; 
 Last night you did desire it: — Speak not to us. 
 [Exeunt Ant. and Cleop. with their Train. 
 
 Dem. Is Csesar with Antonius priz'd so slight? 
 
 Phi Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
 He comes too short of that great property 
 Which still should go with Antony. 
 
 Dem. I am full sorry, 
 
 That he approves the common liar, 8 who 
 Thus speaks of him at Rome : But I will hope 
 Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Hoom. 
 Enter Cratimi an, Iiias, Alex as, an da Soothsayer. 
 
 Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing 
 Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the 
 soothsayer that you praised so to the queen? O, that 
 I knew this husband, which, you say, must change 
 his horns with garlands! 
 
 Alex. Soothsayer. 
 
 Sooth. Your will ? 
 
 Char. Is this the man ? — Is't you, sir, that know 
 things ? 
 
 Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy, 
 A little I can read. 
 
 Alex. Show him your hand. 
 
 Enter Enobarbus. 
 
 Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly: wine enough, 
 Cleopatra's health to drink. 
 
 Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 
 
 Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 
 
 Char. Pray, then, foresee me one. 
 
 Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 
 
 Char. He means, in flesh. 
 
 Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old. 
 
 Char. Wrinkles forbid ! 
 
 Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. 
 
 Char. Hush! 
 
 Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than beloved. 
 
 Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 
 
 Alex. Nay, hear him. 
 
 Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let 
 me be married to three kings in a forenoon, and 
 widow them all let me have a child at fifty, to 
 whora Herod of Jewry may do homage: find me 
 to marry me with Octavius Cassar, and companion 
 me with my mistress. 
 
 Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. 
 
 Char. excellent! I love long life better than 
 figs. 
 
 Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former 
 fortune 
 Than that which is to approach. 
 
 Char. Then, belike, my children shall have no 
 names: 9 Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches 
 must I have? 
 
 Sooth. If every of your wishes had a womb, 
 And fertile every wish, a million. 
 
 Char. Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch. 
 1 Consume. » Fame. » Shall be bastards. 
 
 Alex. You think, none but your sheets are priv* 
 to your wishes. 
 
 Char. Nay, come, teH Iras hers. 
 
 Alex. We'll know ail our fortunes. 
 
 Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night 
 shall be — drunk to bed. 
 
 Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if noth- 
 ing else. 
 
 Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth 
 famine. 
 
 Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot sooth- 
 say. 
 
 Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog- 
 nostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. — Pr'ythee, 
 tell her but a worky-day fortune. 
 
 Sooth. Your fortunes are alike. 
 
 Iras. But how? but how? give me particulars. 
 
 Sooth. I have said. 
 
 Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she 1 
 
 Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortune 
 better than I, where would you choose it? 
 
 Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 
 
 Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! Alex- 
 as, — come, his fortune, his fortune. — 0, let him 
 marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis,' I be- 
 seech thee ! And let her die too, and give him a 
 worse ! and let worse follow worse, till the worst of 
 all follow him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a 
 cuckold ! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though 
 thou deny me a matter of more weight ; good Isis, 
 I beseech thee ! 
 
 Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of 
 the people ! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a 
 handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sor- 
 row to behold a foul knave uncuckolded ; There- 
 fore, dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him ac- 
 cordingly ! 
 
 Char. Amen. 
 
 Alex. IiO, now ! if it lay in their hands to make 
 me a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, 
 but they'd do't. 
 
 Eno. Hush ! here comes Antony. 
 
 Char. Not he, the queen, 
 
 Enter Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo. Saw you my lord? 
 
 Eno. No, lady. 
 
 Cleo. Was he not here ? 
 
 Char. No, madam. 
 
 Cleo. He was disposed to mirth ; but on a sudden 
 A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enobarbus. 
 
 Eno. Mad&rn. 
 
 Cleo. Seek him and bring him hither. Where's 
 Alexas? 
 
 Alex. Here, madam,, at your service.^-My lord 
 approaches. 
 
 Enter Antont, with a Messenger and Attendants. 
 Cleo. We will not look upon him : Go with us. 
 [Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas, 
 Iras, Ch armjan, Soothsayer and Attendants. 
 Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 
 Ant. Against my brother Lucius? 
 Mess. Ay : 
 But soon that war had end, and the time's state 
 Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainsl 
 
 Caesar ; 
 Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, 
 Upon the first encounter, drave them. 
 
 Ant. Well, 
 
 What worst? 
 
 Mess. The nature of bad news infects the telle ■ 
 Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward. — On 
 * An Egyptian goddess. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATR V. 
 
 703 
 
 Things, that are past, are done with me. — 'Tisthus : 
 Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, 
 t hear him as he flatter'd. 
 
 Mess. Labienus 
 
 ^This is stiff* news) hath, with his Parthian force, 
 Extended 1 Asia from Euphrates: 
 His conquering banner shoos, from Syria 
 To Lydia, and to Ionia ; 
 Whilst 
 
 Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say — 
 
 Mess. O, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
 tongue ; 
 Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome ; 
 Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase : and taunt my faults 
 With such full license, as both truth and malice 
 Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth 
 
 weeds, 
 When our quick winds 3 lie still; and our ills told us, 
 Is as our earing.* Fare thee well a while. 
 
 Mess. At your noble pleasure. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. From Sicyon how the news 1 Speak there. 
 
 1 Att. The man from Sicyon. — Is there such a 
 
 one 1 
 " Att. He stays upon your will. 
 Ant. Let him appear, — 
 
 These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 Or lose myself in dotage. — What are you 1 
 
 2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 
 
 Ant. Where died she 7 
 
 2 Mess. In Sicyon : 
 Her length of sickness, with what else more serious 
 Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a Letter. 
 
 Ant. • Forbear me. — 
 
 [Exit Messenger. 
 There's a great spirit gone ! Thus did I desire it : 
 What our contempts do often hurl from us, 
 We wish it ours again; the present pleasure, 
 By revolution lowering, does become 
 The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone ; 
 The hand could pluck her back, thatshov'd heron. 
 I must from this enchanting queen break off; 
 Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, 
 My idieness doth hatch. — How now! Enobarbus! 
 Enter Esobahbus. 
 
 Eno. What's your pleasure, sir 1 
 
 Ant. I must with haste from hence. 
 
 Eno. Why then, we kill all our women : We see 
 how mortal an unkindness is to them ; if they suf- 
 fer our departure, death's the word. 
 
 Ant. I must be gone. 
 
 Eno. Under compelling occasion, let women die : 
 It were pity to cast them away for nothing; though, 
 between them and a great cause, they should be 
 esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the 
 least noise of this, dies instantly ; I have seen her 
 die twenty times upon far poorer moment: I do 
 think, there is mettle in death, which commits 
 some loving act upon her, she hath such a celerity 
 in dying. 
 
 Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 
 
 Eno. Alack, sir, no ; her passions are made of 
 nothing but the finest part of pure love : We can- 
 not call her winds and waters, sighs and tears; they 
 are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can 
 report: this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she 
 makes a shower of rain as well as Jove, 
 
 Ant. 'Would I had never seen her ! 
 
 Eno. 0, sir, you had then left unseen a wonder- 
 
 » Orer-run ' In some editions minds. 
 
 ♦Tilling, ploughing; prepare us to produce good seed. 
 
 ful piece of work ; which not to have been blessed 
 withal, would have discredited your travel. 
 
 Ant. Fulvia is dead. 
 
 Eno. Sir! 
 
 Ant. Fulvia is dead. 
 
 Eno. Fulvia? 
 
 Ant. Dead. 
 
 Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. 
 When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a 
 man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the 
 earth ; comforting therein, that when old robes are 
 worn out, there are members to make new. If 
 there were no more women but Fulvia, then had 
 you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented : this 
 grief is crowned with consolation ; your old smock 
 brings forth a new petticoat : — and, indeed, the tears 
 live in an onion, that should water this sorrow. 
 
 Ant. The business she hath broached in the state, 
 Cannot endure my absence. 
 
 Eno. And the business you have broached here, 
 cannot be without you; especially that of Cleopatra's, 
 which wholly depends on your abode. 
 
 Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers 
 Have notice what we propose. I shall break 
 The cause of our expedience 5 to the queen, 
 And get her love 6 to part. For not alone 
 The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, 
 Do strongly speak to us : but the letters too 
 Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
 Petition us at home: Sextus Pompeius 
 Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands 
 The empire of the sea : our slippery people 
 (Whose love is never link'd to the deserver, 
 Till his deserts are past) begin to throw 
 Pompey the great, and all his dignities, 
 Upon his son; who, high in name and power, 
 Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
 For the main soldier: whose quality, going on, 
 The sides o'the world may danger. Much is breeding, 
 Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, 
 And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure, 
 To such whose place is under us, requires 
 Our quick remove from hence. 
 
 Eno. I shall do't. ' [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmtan, Iras, and Alexas. 
 
 Cleo. Where is he 1 
 
 Char. I did not see him since. 
 
 Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he 
 does : — 
 I did not send you :*■ — If you find him sad, 
 Say, I am dancing ; if in mirth, report 
 That I am sudden sick : Quick, and return. 
 
 [Exit Alexas. 
 
 Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him 
 dearly, 
 You do not hold the method to enforce 
 The like from him. 
 
 Cleo. What should! do, I do not? 
 
 Char. In each thing give him way, cross him 
 in nothing. 
 
 Cleo. Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him. 
 
 Char. Tempt him not so too far : I wish, forbear ; 
 In time we hate that which we often fear. 
 
 Enter Antony. 
 But here comes Antony. 
 
 Cleo. I am sick, and sutler. 
 
 Ant . I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose, 
 
 Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall ; 
 
 • Expedition. « Leave. 
 
 * Look as if I did not send you 
 
704 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ActI 
 
 It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
 Will not sustain it. 
 
 Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — 
 
 Clco. Pray you, stand further from me. 
 
 A', J. What's the matter] 
 
 Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some 
 good news. 
 What says the married woman 1 — You may go; 
 'Would, she had never given you leave to come ! 
 Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you Here, 
 I have no power upon you ; hers you are. 
 
 Ant. The gods best know, — 
 
 Cleo. O, never was there queen, 
 
 So mightily betray'd ! Yet, at the first, 
 I saw the treasons planted. 
 
 Ant. Cleopatra, — 
 
 Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and 
 true, 
 Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, 
 Who have been false to Fulvia 1 Riotous madness, 
 To be entangled with those mouth-made vows, 
 Which break themselves in swearing ! 
 
 Ant. Most sweet queen, — 
 
 Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no color for your going, 
 But bid farewell, and go: when you sued staying, 
 Then was the time for words: No going then; — 
 Eternity was in our lips and eyes; 
 Bliss in our brows bent; 8 none our parts so poor, 
 But was a race 9 of heaven ; They are so still, 
 Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, 
 Art turn'd the greatest liar. 
 
 Ant. How now, lady! 
 
 Cleo. I would, I had thy inches ; thou shouldst 
 know, 
 There were a heart in Egypt. 
 
 Ant. Hear me, queen : 
 
 The strong necessity of time commands 
 Our services awhile; but my full heart 
 Remains in use with you. Our Italy 
 Shines o'er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius 
 Makes his approaches to the port 1 of Rome: 
 Equality of two domestic powers 
 Breeds scrupulous faction : The hated, grown to 
 
 strength, 
 Are newly grown to love : the condemn'd Pompey, 
 Rich in his father's honor, creeps apace 
 Into the hearts of such as have not thrived 
 Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten ; 
 And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge- 
 By any desperate change: My more particular, 
 And that which most with you should safe my 
 
 going, 
 Is Fulvia's death. 
 
 Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me 
 freedom, 
 It does from childishness: — Can Fulvia die] 
 
 Ant. She's dead, my queen: 
 Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read 
 The garboils she awaked ; 3 at the last, best : 
 See, when, and where she died. 
 
 Cleo. most false love ! 
 
 Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill 
 With sorrowful water] Now I see, I see, 
 In Fulvia's death, how mine received shall be. 
 
 Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know 
 The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, 
 As you shall give the advice : Now, by the fire, 
 That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence, 
 Thy soldier, servant; making peace, or war, 
 \s thou affect'st. 
 
 Cleo. Cut mj lace, Charmian, come ; — 
 
 • The arch of our eye-browc. » Smack or flavor. 
 
 Ht« » The commotion she occasioned 
 
 But let it be. — I am quickly ill, and well : 
 So Antony loves. 
 
 Ant. My precious queen, forbear ; 
 
 And give true evidence to hU love, which stand* 
 An honorable trial. 
 
 Cleo. So Fulvia told me. 
 
 I pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her ; 
 Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears 
 Belong to Egypt : 3 Good now, play one scene 
 Of excellent dissembling ; and let it look 
 Like perfect honor. 
 
 Ant. You'll heat my blood ; no more. 
 
 Cleo. You can do better yet ; but this is meetly. 
 
 Ant. Now by my sword, 
 
 Cleo. And target, — Still he mends 
 
 But this is not the best: Look, pr'ythee, Charmian, 
 How this Herculean Roman does become 
 The carriage of his chafe.* 
 
 Ant. I'll leave you, lady. 
 
 Cleo. Courteous lord, one word. 
 Sir, you and I must part, — but that's not it : 
 Sir, you and I have lov'd, — but there's not it; 
 That you know well : Something it is I would, — 
 0, my oblivion 6 is a very Antony, 
 And I am all forgotten. 
 
 Ant. But that your royalty 
 
 Holds idleness your subject, I should take yci 
 For idleness itself. 
 
 Cleo. 'Tis sweating labor, 
 
 To bear such idleness so near the heart 
 As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me ; 
 Since my becomings kill me, when they do not 
 Eye well to you : Your honor calls you hence ; 
 Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, 
 And all the gods go with you ! upon your sword 
 Sit laurel'd victory ! and smooth success 
 Be strew 'd before your feet! 
 
 Ant. Let us go. Come; 
 
 Our separation so abides and flies, 
 That you, residing here, go'st yet with me, 
 And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. 
 Away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Rome. An Apartment in Csesar'i 
 
 House. 
 Enter Octavics Cjesab, Lepidus, and Attend- 
 ants. 
 
 Cses. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know 
 It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate 
 One great competitor: From Alexandria 
 This is the news : He fishes, drinks, and wastes 
 The lamps of night in revel : is not more manlike 
 Than Cleopatra; nor the queen Ptolemy 
 More womanly than he : hardly gave audience, or 
 Vouchsafed to think he had partners : You shall 
 
 find there 
 A man, that is the abstract of all faults 
 That all men follow. 
 
 Lep. I must not think, there ar*> 
 
 Evils enough to darken all his goodness: 
 His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven 
 More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary, 
 Rather than purchas'd; 6 what he cannot change, 
 Than what he chooses. 
 
 Cass- You are too indulgent; Let us grant, it is not 
 Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy; 
 To give a kingdom for a mirth; to sit 
 And keep the turn of tippling with a slave; 
 To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet 
 With knaves that smell of sweat : say, this become* 
 him, 
 
 3 To me, the queen of Egypt. * Rage 
 
 » Oblivious memory. * Procured by his own fault 
 
feCKXE V 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 70S 
 
 (As his composure must be rare indeed, 
 
 Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must 
 
 Antony 
 No way excuse his soils, when we do bear 
 So great weight in his lightness. If he fill'd 
 His vacancy with his voluptuousness, 
 Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bon?s, 
 Call on him'for't: but, to confound 9 audi time, 
 That drums him from his sport, and ipeaks as loud 
 As his own state, and ours, — 'tis to be chid 
 As we rate boys; who being mature in knowledge, 
 Pawn their experience to their present pleasure^ 
 And so rebel to judgment. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Lep. Here's more news. 
 
 Mess. Thy biddings have been done ; and every 
 hour, 
 Most noble Cresar, shalt thou have report 
 How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ; 
 And it appears, he is l>elov'd of those 
 That only have fear'd Caesar: to the ports 
 The discontents' repair, and men's reports 
 Give him much wrong'd. 
 
 Cses. I should have known no less : — 
 
 It hath been taught us from the primal state, 
 That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were; 
 And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth 
 
 love, 
 Comes dear'd,by being lack'd. 1 This common body, 
 Like a vagabond flag upon the stream, 
 Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide, 
 To rot itself with motion. 
 
 Mess. Coesar, I bring thee word, 
 
 Meneerates and Menas, famous pirates, 
 Make the sea serve them ; which they ear and wound 
 With keels of every kind : Many hot inroads 
 They make in Italy ; the borders maritime 
 Lack blood 3 to think on't, and flush youth revolt: 
 N ; vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon 
 Taken as seen; for Pompey's name strikes more, 
 Than could his war resisted. 
 
 Cses. Antony, 
 
 Leave thy lascivious wassels. 3 When thou once 
 Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st 
 Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel 
 Did famine follow; whom thou fought'st against, 
 Though daintily brought up, with patience more 
 Than savages could suffer: Thou didst drink 
 The stale ' of horses, and the gilded puddle ' 
 Which beasts would cough at: thy palate then did 
 
 deign 
 The roughest berry on the rudest hedge ; 
 Yea, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets, 
 The barks of trees thou browsed'st; on the Alps 
 It is reported, tbou didst eat strange flesh, 
 Which some did die to look on : And all this 
 (It wounds thine honor, that I speak it now) 
 Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek 
 So much as lank'd not. 
 
 Lep. It is pity of him. 
 
 Cxs. Let his shames quickly 
 Drive him to Rome: 'Tis time we twain 
 Did show ourselves i' the field ; and, to that end, 
 Assemble we immediate council : Pompey 
 Thrives in our idleness. 
 
 Lep. To-morrow, Csesar, 
 
 I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly 
 Both, what by sea and land I can be able, 
 To 'front t'nis present time. 
 
 ' Visit him. 8 Consume. • Discontented, 
 
 i Endeared by being missed. a Turn pale. 
 
 * Feastings ; in the old copy it is vaissailes, i. e. vassals. 
 
 * Urine » Stagnant, slimy water. 
 
 Cxs. Till which encounter, 
 
 It is my business too. Farewell. 
 
 Lep. Farewell, my lord : What you shall know 
 mean time 
 Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, 
 To let me be partaker. 
 
 Cxs. Doubt not, sir: 
 
 I knew it for my bond. 6 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace 
 
 Enter Cleopatka, Chahmian, Ikas, and 
 Mahdian. 
 
 Cleo. Charmian, — 
 
 Char. Madam. 
 
 Cleo. Ha, ha !— 
 Give me to drink mandragora. 1 
 
 Char. Why, madam ? 
 
 Cleo That I might sleep out this great gap of 
 time, 
 My Antony is away. 
 
 Char. *You think of him 
 
 Too much. 
 
 Cleo. O, treason ! 
 
 Char. Madam, I trust, not so. 
 
 Cleo. Thou, eunuch ! Mardian ! 
 
 Mar. What's your highness' pleasure? 
 
 Cleo. Not now to hear thee sing; I take no 
 pleasure 
 In aught an eunuch has : 'Tis well for thee, 
 That, being unseminar'd, f: thy freer thoughts 
 May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections? 
 
 Mar. Yes, gracious madam. 
 
 Cleo. Indeed ? 
 
 Mar. Not in deed, madam ; for I can do nothing 
 But what in deed is honest to be done : 
 Yet have I fierce affections, and think, 
 What Venus did with Mars. 
 
 Cleo. O Charmian, 
 
 Where think'st thou he is now ? Stands he, or 
 
 sits he ? 
 Or does he walk ? or is he on his horse ? 
 happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony ! 
 Do bravely, horse! for wot'st thou whom thou 
 
 mov'st? 
 The demi- Atlas of this earth, the arm 
 And burgonet' of men. — He's speaking now, 
 Or murmuring, Wliere's my serpent of old Nile? 
 For so he calls me: Now I feed myself 
 With most delicious poison :— Think on me, 
 That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black, 
 And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Cssar, 
 When thou wast here above the ground, I was 
 A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey 
 Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow; 
 There would he anchor his aspect, and die 
 With looking on his life. 
 
 Enter Alexas. 
 
 Alex. Sovereign of Egypt, hail ! 
 
 Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony? 
 Yet coming from him, that great medicine hath 
 With his tinct gilded thee.— 
 How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? 
 
 Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen, 
 He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, — 
 This orient pearl; — his speech sticks in my heart 
 
 Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence. 
 
 Alex. Good friend, quoth he 
 
 Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt sends 
 This treasure of an oyster,- at whose foot, 
 To mend the petty present, I will piece. 
 Her opulent throne with kingdoms,- All the east 
 
 o My bounden duty. 
 • Unmanned. 
 
 1 A sleepy potion 
 » A helmet 
 
706 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 \CT II. 
 
 1 
 
 Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded, 
 And soberly did mount a termagant 1 steed, 
 Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have 
 
 spoke *> 
 
 Was beastly dumb'd by him. 
 
 Cleo. What, was he sad, or merry 1 
 
 Alex. Like to the time o' the year beiween the 
 
 extremes 
 Of hot and cold ; he was nor sad, nor merry. 
 
 Cleo. O well-divided disposition ! — Note him, 
 Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man; but note 
 
 him: 
 He was not sad : for he would shine on those 
 That make their looks by his: he was not merry; 
 Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay 
 In Egypt with his joy: but between both; 
 O heavenly mingle ! — Be'st thou sad or merry, 
 The violence of either thee becomes ; 
 So does it no man else. — Met'st thou my posts'! 
 
 Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers : 
 Why do you send so thick 1 
 
 Cleo. Who's born that day 
 
 When I forget to send to Antony, 
 Shall die a beggar. — Ink and paper, Charmian.— 
 Welcome, my good Alexas. — Did I, Charmian, 
 Ever love Caesar so? 
 
 Char. O that brave Caesar ! 
 
 Cleo. Be choked with such another emphasio! 
 Say, the brave Antony. 
 
 Char The valiant Caesar ! 
 
 Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth, 
 If thou with Caesar paragon again 
 My man of men. 
 
 Char. By your most gracious pardon, 
 
 I sing but after you. 
 
 Cleo. My salad days; 
 
 When I was green in judgment: — Cold in blood, 
 To say, as I said then ! — But, come, away: 
 Get me ink and paper: he shall have every day 
 A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Messina. A Room in Pompey's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas. 
 
 Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist 
 The deeds of justest men. 
 
 Mene. Know, worthy Pompey, 
 
 That what they do delay, they not deny. 
 
 Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, 
 decays 
 The thing we sue for. 
 
 Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, 
 
 Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers 
 Deny us for our good; so find we profit, 
 By losing of our prayers. 
 
 Pom. I shall do well: 
 
 The people love me, and the sea is mine ; 
 My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope 
 Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony 
 In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
 No wars without doors : Caesar gets money, where 
 He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both, 
 Of both is flatter'd; but he neither loves, 
 Nor either cares for him. 
 
 Men. Caesar and Lepidus 
 
 Are in the field ; a mighty strength they carry. 
 
 Pom. Where have you this 1 'tis false. 
 
 Men. From Silvius, sir. 
 
 Pom. He dreams ; I know, they are in Rome 
 together, 
 Looking for Antony: But all charms of love, 
 Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned 3 lip! 
 Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both ! 
 Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts, 
 Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks, 
 Sharpen wi£i cloyless sauce his appetite; 
 That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honor, 
 Even till 3 a Lethe'd dulness. — How now, Varrius? 
 
 Enter Varrius. 
 
 Vur. This is most certain that I shall deliver : 
 Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 
 Expected; since he went from Egypt, 'tis 
 A space for further travel. 
 
 Pom. I could have given less matter 
 
 A. better ear. — Menas, I did not think, 
 
 « Furious 
 
 * Declined, faded 
 
 This amorous surfeiter would have don'd 1 his helm* 
 For such a petty war : his soldiership 
 Is twice the other twain : But let us rear 
 The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
 Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
 The ne'er lust-wearied Antony. 
 
 Men.' I cannot hope, 
 
 Caesar and Antony shall well greet together: 
 His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Caesar; 
 His brother warr'd upon him ; although, I think, 
 Not mov'd by Antony. 
 
 Pom. I know not, Menas, 
 
 How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
 Wer't not that we stand up against them all, 
 'Twere pregnant they should square 6 between 
 
 themselves; 
 For they have entertained cause enough 
 To draw their swords : but how the fear of us 
 May cement their divisions, and bind up 
 The petty difference, we yet not know. 
 Be it as our gods will have it ! It only stands 
 Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands. 
 Come, Menas. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Rome. A Room in the House of 
 Lepidus. 
 
 Enter Enobahbcs and Lepidus. 
 
 hep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed, 
 And shall become you well, to entreat your captain 
 To soft and gentle speech. 
 
 Eno. I shall entreat him 
 
 To answer like himself: If Caesar move him, 
 Let Antony look over Caesar's head, 
 And speak as loud as. Mars. By Jupiter, 
 Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
 I would not shave to-day. 
 
 hep. 'Tis not a time 
 
 For private stomaching. 
 
 Eno. Every time 
 
 Serves for the matter that is then born i.i it. 
 
 hep. But small to greater matters must give way 
 
 Eno. Not if the small come first. 
 
 hep. Your speech is passion 
 
 But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes 
 The noble Antony. 
 
 * Done on ; i e. put on. » Helmet. • Q-tarr«L 
 
«JCENE IJ. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 707 
 
 Enter Axtoktt and Ventidius. 
 
 F.no. And yonder, Caesar. 
 
 Enter Cjesar, Mecenas, and Agrippa. 
 
 Ant. If we compose 1 well here, to Parthia: 
 Hark you, Ventidius. 
 
 Cses. I do not know, 
 
 Mecssnas ; ask Agrippa. 
 
 Lep. Noble friends, 
 
 That which combin'd us was most great, and let not 
 A leaner action rend us. What's amiss, 
 May it be gently heard: When we debate 
 Our trivial difference loud, we do commit 
 Murder in healing wounds: Then, noble partners, 
 (The rather, for I earnestly beseech,) 
 Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, 
 Nor curstness 3 grow to the matter. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis spoken well; 
 
 Were we before our armies, and to fight, 
 I should do thus. 
 
 Cses. Welcome to Rome. 
 
 Ant. Thank you. 
 
 Cses. Sit. 
 
 Ant. Sit, sir! 
 
 Cses. Nay, 
 
 Then— 
 
 Ant. I learn, you take things ill, which are not so; 
 Or, being, concern you not. 
 
 Cses. I must be laugh'd at, 
 
 If, or for nothing, or a little, I 
 Should say myself offended ; and with you 
 Chiefly i' the world: more laugh'd at, that I should 
 Once name you derogately, when to sound your 
 
 name 
 It not concern 'd me. 
 
 Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar, 
 
 What was't to you? 
 
 Cses. No more than my residing here at Rome 
 Might be to you in Egypt : Yet, if you there 
 Did practise" on my state, your being in Egypt 
 Might be my question. 1 
 
 Ant. How intend you, practis'd ? 
 
 Cses. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent, 
 By what did here befall me. Your wife, and brother, 
 Made wars upon me ; and their contestation 
 Was theme for you, you were the word of war. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake your business ; my brother 
 never 
 Did urge me in his act: I did enquire it; 
 And have my learning from some true reports, 
 That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather 
 Discredit my authority with yours; 
 And make the wars alike against my stomach, 
 Having alike your cause? Of this, my letters 
 Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel, 
 As matter whole you have not to make it with, 
 It must not be with this. 
 
 Cses. You praise yourself 
 
 By laying defects of judgment to me; but 
 Vou patch'd up your excuses. 
 
 Ant. Not so, not so; 
 
 I know you could not lack, I am certain on't, 
 Very necessity of this thought, that I, 
 Your partner in the cause 'gainst which he fought, 
 Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars 
 Which fronted 2 mine own peace. As for my wife, 
 I would you had her spirit in such another: 
 The third o' the world is yours ; which with a snaffle 
 You may pace easy, but not such a wife. 
 
 Eno. ' Woi Id we had all such wives, that the men 
 might go to wars with the women ! 
 
 ' Agree. » Let not ill humor be added. 
 
 1 Use bad arts or stratagems. ' Subject of conversation. 
 » Opposed. 
 
 Ant. So much uncurable, h^r garboils,' Caesai 
 Made out of her impatience, (wjiich not wanted 
 Shrewdness of policy too,) I grieving grant, 
 Did you tod much disquiet: for that, you must 
 But say, I could not help it. 
 
 Cses. I wrote to you, 
 
 When rioting in Alexandria; you 
 Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
 Did gibe my missive 4 out of audience. 
 
 Ant. Sir, 
 
 He fell upon me, ere admitted; then 
 Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want 
 Of what I was i' the morning: but, next day, 
 I told him of myself; which was as much 
 As to have ask'd him pardon: Let this fellow 
 Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, 
 Out of our question 5 wipe him, 
 
 Cees. You have broken 
 
 The article of your oath ; which you shall never 
 Have tongue to charge me with. 
 
 Lep. Soft, Caesar. 
 
 Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak ; 
 The honor's sacred which he talks on now, 
 Supposing that I lack'd it: But on, Caesar; 
 The article of my oath, — 
 
 Cses. To lend me arms, and aid, when I required 
 them ; 
 The which you both denied. 
 
 Ant. Neglected, rather ; 
 
 And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up 
 From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
 I'll play the penitent to you : but mine honesty 
 Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power 
 Work without it: Truth is, that Fulvia, 
 To have me out of Egypt, made wars hen:; 
 For which myself, the ignorant motive, do 
 So far ask pardon, as befits mine honor 
 To stoop in such a case. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis nobly spoken. 
 
 Mec. If it mightpleaseyou, to enforce no further 
 The griefs 6 between ye : to forget them quite, 
 Were to remember that the present need 
 Speaks to atone 1 you. 
 
 Lep. Worthily spoke, Mecsenas. 
 
 Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for 
 the instant, you may, when you hear no more words 
 of Pompey, return it again : you shall have time to 
 wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do. 
 
 Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more. 
 
 Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost 
 forgot. 
 
 Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak 
 no more. 
 
 Eno. Go to, then ; your considerate stone. 
 
 Cses. I do not much dislike the matter, but 
 The manner of his speech : for it cannot be, 
 We shall remain in friendship, our conditions 9 
 So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
 What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge 
 0' the world I would pursue it. 
 
 Agr. Give me leave, Cacsar,- 
 
 Cses. Speak, Agrippa. 
 
 Agr. Thou hast a sister by the mother's side, 
 Admir'd Octavia: great Mark Antony 
 Is now a widower. 
 
 Cses. Say not so, Agrippa, 
 
 If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
 Were well deserv'd of rashness. 
 
 Ant. I am not married. Csesar: let me hcai 
 Agrippa further speak. 
 
 Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity, 
 
 3 Commotions. 
 • Grievances. 
 
 * Messenger. 
 ' Reconcile. 
 
 Conversation 
 * Disposition* 
 
708 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 To mako you brc'hers, and to knit your hearts 
 With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
 Octavia to his wife: whose beauty claims 
 No worse a husband than the best of men ; 
 Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak 
 That which none else can utter. By this marriage, 
 All little jealousies, which now seem great, 
 And all great fears, which now import their dangers, 
 Would then be nothing: truths would be but tales 
 Where now half tales be truths : her love to both, 
 Would, each to other, and all loves to both, 
 Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke ; 
 For 'tis a studied, not a present thought, 
 By duty ruminated. 
 
 Ant. Will Caesar speak ? 
 
 Caes. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd 
 With what is spoke already. 
 
 Ant. What power is in Agrippa, 
 
 If I would say, Agrippa, be it so, 
 To make this good ? 
 
 Cats. The power of Caesar, and 
 
 His power unto Octavia. 
 
 Ant. May I never 
 
 To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, 
 Dream of impediment ! — Let me have thy hand : 
 Further this act of grace; and, from this hour, 
 The heart of brothers govern in our loves, 
 And sway out great designs ! 
 
 Cass. There is my hand. 
 
 A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
 Did ever love so dearly : Let her live 
 To join our kingdoms, and our hearts ; and never 
 Fly off our loves again ! 
 
 hep. Happily, amen ! 
 
 Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst 
 Pompey; 
 For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great, 
 Of late upon me : I must thank him only, 
 Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; 
 At heel of that, defy him. 
 
 hep. Time calls upon us: 
 
 Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
 Or else he seeks out us. 
 
 Ant. And where lies he? 
 
 Cass. About the Mount Misenum. 
 
 Ant. What's his strength 
 
 By land? 
 
 Cass. Great and increasing : but by sea 
 He is an absolute master. 
 
 Ant. So is the fame. 
 
 'Would, we had spoke together! Haste we for it: 
 Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
 The business we have talk'd of. 
 
 Caes. With most gladness ; 
 
 And do invite you to my sister's view, 
 Whither straight I will lead you. 
 
 Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 
 
 Not lack your company, 
 
 hep. Noble Antony, 
 
 Not sickness should detain me. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt Cmsxn, Antony, and 
 Lepidus. 
 
 Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir. 
 
 Eno. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecsenas! 
 —my honorable friend, Agrippa ! — 
 
 Agr Good Enobarbusl 
 
 Mec. We have cause to be glad, that matters are 
 so well digested. You .staid well by it in Egypt. 
 
 Enc Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of counte- 
 nance, and made the night light with drinking. 
 
 Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a break- 
 fast, and but twelve persons there; Is this true? 
 
 Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle : we had 
 
 much more monstrous matter of feast, which wo«Jii« 
 ly deserved noting. 
 
 Mec. She's a most triumphant lady, if report be 
 square' to her. 
 
 Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, «ihe 
 pursed up his heart upon the river ofCydnus. 
 
 Agr. There she appeared indeed ; or my reportej 
 devised well for her. 
 
 Eno. I will tell you : 
 The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
 Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; 
 Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that 
 The winds were love-sick with them : the oars nert 
 
 silver ; 
 Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
 The water, which they beat, to follow faster, 
 As amorous of their strokes. For her own pers"n, 
 It beggav'd all description : she did lie 
 In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,) 
 O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see, 
 The fancy out-work nature: on each side he», 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 With diverse-color'd fans, whose wind did seem 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool. 
 And what they undid, did. 
 
 Agr. 0, rare for Antony! 
 
 Eno. Her gentlewomen, like tho Nereides, 
 So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, 
 And made their bends adornings : at the helm 
 A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackles 
 Swell with the touches of those flower-soft handg^ 
 That yarely frame' the office. From the barge 
 A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
 Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
 Her people out upon her; and Antony, 
 Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone, 
 Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy, 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, 
 And made a gap in nature. 
 
 Agr. Rare Egyptian! 
 
 Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, 
 Invited her to supper: she replied, 
 It should be better, he became her guest; 
 Which she entreated ; Our courteous Antony, 
 Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard speak 
 Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast; 
 And, for his ordinary, pays his heart, 
 For what his eyes eat only. 
 
 Agr. Royal wench! 
 
 She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed; 
 He plough'd her, and she cropp'd. 
 
 Eno. I saw her once 
 Hop forty paces through the public street: 
 And having lost her breath, she sp<"ke and panted 
 That she did make defect, perfection, 
 And, breathless, power breathe forth. 
 
 Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 
 
 Eno. Never ; he will not. 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her infinite variety: Other women 
 Cloy th' appetites they feed; but she makes hungry 
 Where most she satisfies. For vilest things 
 Become themselves in her; that the holy priests 
 Bless her, when she's riggish. 5 
 
 Mec. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle 
 The heart of Antony, Octavia is 
 A blessed lottery to him. 
 
 Agr. Let us go. — 
 
 Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest, 
 Whilst you abide here. 
 
 Eno. Humbly, sir, I thank /ou 
 
 [Exeunt 
 9 Suit -with her merits » Readily perform. » Wtntoa 
 
Scene V. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 70S* 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in Caesar's House. 
 
 Enter Cjesar, Antony, Octavia between them,- 
 
 Attendants, and a Soothsayer. 
 
 Ant. The world, and my great office, will some- 
 times 
 Divide me from your bosom. 
 
 Octa. All which time 
 
 Before the gods my knee shall bow in prayers 
 To them for you. 
 
 Ant. Good night, sir. — My Octavia, 
 
 Read not my blemishes in the world's report; 
 I have not kept my square; but that to come 
 Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear lady. 
 
 Octa. Good night, sir. 
 
 Cxs. Goodnight. [Ex. Cmsa.ti and Octavia. 
 
 Ant. Now, sirrah ! you do wish yourself in Egypt] 
 
 Sooth. Would I had never come from thence, 
 nor you 
 Thither ! 
 
 Ant. If you can, your reason? 
 
 Sooth. I see't in 
 
 My motion, have it not in my tongue: But yet 
 Hie you again to Egypt. 
 
 Ant. . Say to me, 
 
 Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's, or mine? 
 
 Sooth. Caesar's. 
 Therefore, Antony, stay not by his side : 
 Thy daemon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
 Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 
 Where Caesar's is not; but near him, thy angel 
 Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd ; therefore 
 Make space enough between you. 
 
 Ant. Speak this no more. 
 
 Sooth. To none but thee ; no more, but when to 
 thee, 
 [f thou dost play with him at any game, 
 Thou art sure to lose ; and, of that natural luck, 
 He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy lustre thickens, 
 When he shines by : I say again, thy spirit 
 Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; 
 But, he away, 'tis noble. 
 
 Ant. Get thee gone : 
 
 Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him : 
 
 [Exit Soothsayer. 
 He shall to Parthia. — Be it art, or hap, 
 He hath spoken true: the very dice obey him; 
 And, in our sports, my better cunning faints 
 Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds: 
 His cocks do win the battles still of mine, 
 When it is all to nought; and his quails 3 ever 
 Beat mine, inhoop'd 4 at odds. I will to Egypt: 
 And though I make this marriage for my peace, 
 
 Enter Ventidius. 
 I' the east my pleasure lies: — O, come, Ventidius, 
 You must to Parthia; your commission's ready: 
 Follow me, and receive it. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Street. 
 Enter Lepidus, Meczknas, and Agrippa. 
 hep. Trouble yourselves no further: pray you 
 hasten 
 Vour generals after. 
 
 Agr. Sir, Mark Antony 
 
 Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow. 
 
 hep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress, 
 Which will become you both, farewell. 
 
 Alec. We shall, 
 
 As I conceive the journey, be at mount' 
 Before you, Lepidus. 
 
 hep. Your way is shorter, 
 
 » The ancients used to match quails as we match cocks 
 4 Ine/osel ' Mount Misenum. 
 
 My purposes do draw me much about' 
 
 You'll win two days upon me. 
 
 Mec. Agr. Sir, good success 
 
 hep. Farewell. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in th- Palace. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas. 
 
 Cleo. Give me some music; music, moody' food 
 Of us that trade in love. 
 
 Attend. The music, ho! 
 
 Enter Mardian. 
 
 Cleo. Let it alone ; let us to billiards : 
 Come, Charmian. 
 
 Char. My arm is sore, best play with Mardian. 
 
 Cleo. As well a woman with an eunuch play'd, 
 As with a woman : — Come, you'll play with me, sir? 
 
 Mar. As well as I can, madam. 
 
 Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though it 
 come too short, 
 The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now: — 
 Give me mine angle, — We'll to the river: there, 
 My music playing far off, I will betray 
 Tawny-finn'd fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce 
 Their slimy jaws; and, as I draw them up, 
 I'll think them every one an Antony, 
 And say, Ah! ha ! you're caught. 
 
 Char. 'Twas merry, when 
 
 You wager'd on your angling; when your diver 
 Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he 
 With fervency drew up. 
 
 Cleo. That time !— -0 times !— 
 
 I laughed him out of patience ; and that night 
 I laugh'd him into patience : and next morn, 
 Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed; 
 Then put my tires 1 and mantles on him, whilst 
 I wore his sword Philippan. ! from Italy ; 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, 
 That long time have been barren. 
 
 Mess. Madam, madam, — 
 
 Cleo. Antony's dead ? 
 If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress : 
 But well and free, 
 
 If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
 My bluest veins to kiss ; a hand, that kings 
 Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 
 
 Mess. First, madam, he's well. 
 
 Cleo. Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark 
 We use 
 To say, the dead are well; bring it to that, 
 The gold I give thee, will I melt, and pour 
 Down thy ill-uttering throat. 
 
 Mess. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Cleo. Well, go to, I will 
 
 But there's no goodness in thy face : if Antony 
 Be free and healthful, — why so tart a favor 3 
 To trumpet such good tidings? If not well, 
 Thou shouldst come like a fury crown'd with snakes, 
 Not like a formal man. 9 
 
 Mess. Will't please you hear me • 
 
 Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou 
 speak'st : 
 Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, s well, 
 Or friends with Caesar, or not i-iptive to him, 
 I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 
 Rich pearls upon thee. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he's wen. 
 
 Cleo. Well liatl 
 
 Mess. And friends with Csesa 
 
 Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man 
 
 « Melancholy. 
 
 • So sour a countenance 
 
 1 Head dre&'. 
 
 • A man i.i hid i>nn»«* 
 
710 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act It J 
 
 Mess. Csesai and he are greater friends than ever. 
 
 Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 
 
 Mess. But yet, madam — 
 
 Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay 
 The good precedence ; fye upon but yet: 
 But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth 
 some monstrous malefactor. Pr'y thee, friend, 
 Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, 
 The good and bad together: He's friends with 
 
 Csesar ; 
 In state of health, thou say'st ; and, thou say'st, free. 
 
 Mess. Free, madam ! no ; I made no such report : 
 He's bound unto Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. For what good turn ? 
 
 Mess. For the best turn i'the bed. ' 
 
 Cleo. I am pale, Charmian. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee ! 
 [Strikes him down. 
 
 Mess. Good madam, patience. 
 
 Cleo. What say you ? — Hence, 
 
 [Strikes him again. 
 Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes 
 Like balls before me ; I'll unhair thy head ; 
 
 [She kales him up and down. 
 Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, 
 Smarting in ling'ring pickle. 
 
 Mess. Gracious madam, 
 
 I, that do bring the news, made not the match. 
 
 Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, 
 And make thy fortunes proud : the blow thou hadst 
 Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage ; 
 And I will boot* thee with what gift beside 
 Thy modesty can beg. 
 
 Mess. He's married, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. 
 
 [Draws a Dagger. 
 
 Mess. Nay, then I'll run : — 
 
 What mean you, madam] T have made no fault. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Char. Good madam , keep yourself within yourself; 
 The man is innocent. 
 
 Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunder- 
 bolt.— 
 Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
 Turn all to serpents! — Call the slave again; 
 - Though I am mad, I will not bite him : — Call. 
 
 Char. He is afear'd to come. 
 
 Cleo. I will not hurt him : — 
 
 These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
 A meaner than myself; since I myself 
 Have given myself the cause. — Come hither, sir. 
 
 Re-enter Messenger. 
 
 Though it be honest, it is never good 
 To bring bad news : Give to a gracious message 
 A host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell 
 Themselves, when they be felt. 
 
 Mess. I have done my duty. 
 
 Cleo. Is he married 1 
 I cannot hate thee worser than I do, 
 If thou again say, Yes. 
 
 Mess. He is married, madam. 
 
 Cleo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou hold 
 there still 1 
 
 Mess. Should I lie, madam ] 
 
 Cleo. 0, I would, thou didst; 
 
 So half my Egypt were submerged, and made 
 A cistern for scaled snakes ! Go, get thee hence ; 
 Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
 Tn:m woildst appear most ugly. He is married] 
 
 Mcs3 I crave your highness' pardor 
 > Recompense 
 
 Cleo. He is married] 
 
 Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend 
 you: 
 To punish me for what you make me do, 
 Seems much unequal: He is married to Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. 0, that his fault should make a knave of thee, 
 That art not!— What] thou'rt sure oft]— Get 
 
 thee hence : 
 The merchandize which thou hast brought from 
 
 Rome 
 Are all too dear for me ; Lie they upon thy hand, 
 And be undone by 'em ! [Exit Messenger. 
 
 Char. Good your highness, patience. 
 
 Cleo. In praising Antony, I have dispraised Caesar 
 
 Char. Many times, madam. 
 
 Cleo. I am paid for't n<*w 
 
 Lead me from hence, 
 
 I faint ; Iras. Charmian, — 'Tis no matter: — 
 Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him 
 Report the feature of Octavia, her years, 
 Her inclination, let him not leave out 
 The color of her hair : — bring me word quickly. — 
 
 [Exit Alexas. 
 Let him for ever go; — Let him not— Charmian, 
 Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
 T'other way he's a Mars: — Bid you Alexas 
 
 [To MaRDIAB 
 
 Bring me word, how tall she is. — Pity me, Char 
 
 mian, 
 But do not speak to me. — Lead me to my chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Near Misenum. 
 Enter Pompey and Menas, at one side, with Drum 
 
 and Trumpet: at another, Cesar, Lepidds, 
 
 Antony, Enobarbus, Mecenas, ivith Soldiers 
 
 marching. 
 
 Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine; 
 And we shall talk before we fight. 
 
 Cass. Most meet, 
 
 That first we come to words ; and therefore have we 
 Our written purposes before us sent ; 
 Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us k) ow 
 If 't will tie up thy discontented sword ; 
 And carry back to Sicily much tall 5 youth 
 That else must perish here. 
 
 Pom. To you all three, 
 
 The senators alone of this great world, 
 Chief factors for the gods, — I do not know, 
 Wherefore- my father should revengers want, 
 Having a son, and friends ; since Julius Caesar, 
 Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, 3 
 There saw you laboring for him. What was it, 
 That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire] And what 
 Made the all-honor'd, honest, Roman Brutus, 
 With the arm'd rest, courteous of beauteous free- 
 dom, 
 To drench the Capitol ; but that they would 
 Have one man but a man ] And that is it, 
 Hath made me rig my navy; at whose burden 
 The anger'd ocean foams ; with which I meant 
 To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome 
 Cast on my noble father. 
 
 Cses. Take your time. 
 
 Ant. Thou canst not fear 4 us,Pompey, with thy 
 sails ; 
 We'll speak with thee at sea: at land, thou know'et 
 How much we do o'er-count thee. 
 
 Pom. At land, indeti. 
 
 Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house: 
 But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself. 
 Remain in't as thou mayst. 
 
 » Br»ve. » Haunted. * Affright 
 
JSCENL VII 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 711 
 
 Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us, 
 
 (For this is from trie present,') how you take 
 Th? offers we have sent you. 
 
 Caes. There's the point. 
 
 .4«A Which, do not be entreated to, but weigh 
 What it is worth embraced. 
 
 Cass. And what may follow. 
 
 To try a larger fortune. 
 
 Pom. You have made me offer 
 
 Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must 
 Rid all the sea of pirates ; then, to send 
 Measures of wheat to Rome : This 'greed upon, 
 To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
 Our targe* undinted. 
 
 Cass. Ant. Lep. That's our offer. % 
 
 Pom. Know then, 
 
 I came before you, here, a man prepar'd 
 To take this offer: But Mark Antony 
 Put me to some impatience : — Though I lose 
 The praise of it by telling, you must know, 
 When Caesar and your brothers were at blows, 
 Your mother came to Sicily, and did find 
 Her welcome friendly. 
 
 Ant. I have heard it, Pompey ; 
 
 And am well studied for a liberal thanks, 
 Which I do owe you. 
 
 Pom. Let me have your hand : 
 
 I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 
 
 Ant. The beds i'the east are soft ; and thanks to 
 you, 
 That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither, 
 For I have gain'd by it. 
 
 Cass. Since I saw you last, 
 
 There is a change upon you. 
 
 Pom. Well, I know not 
 
 What counts 1 harsh fortune casts upon my face; 
 But in my bosom shall she never come, 
 To make my heart her vassal. 
 
 Lep. Well met here. 
 
 Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. — Thus we are agreed : 
 I crave, our composition may be written, 
 And seal'd between us. 
 
 Cses. That's the next to do. 
 
 Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part ; and 
 let us 
 Draw lots who shall begin. 
 
 Ant. That will I, Pompey. 
 
 Pom. No, Antony, take the lot; but, first, 
 Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery 
 Shall have the fame. I have heard, that Julius Caesar 
 Grew fat with feasting there. 
 
 Ant. You have heard much. 
 
 Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 
 
 Ant. And fair words to them. 
 
 Pom. Then so much have I heard: 
 And I have heard, Apollodorus carried — 
 
 Eno. No more of that: — He did so. 
 
 Pom. What, I pray you ? 
 
 Eno. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattrass. 
 
 Pom. I know thee now : — How far'st thou, 
 soldier? 
 
 Eno. Well: 
 
 And well am like to do : for, I perceive, 
 ^our feasts are toward. 
 
 Pom. Let me shake thy hand ; 
 
 I never hated thee : I have seen thee fight, 
 When I have envied thy behavior. 
 
 Eno. Sir, 
 
 I never loved you much : but I have prais'd you, 
 When you have well deserv'd te«i times as much 
 As I have said you did. 
 
 Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 
 
 • Present luljject. « Target, shield ' Scores, marks. 
 
 It nothing ill becomes thee. — 
 Aboard my galley, I invite you all : 
 Will you lead, lords 1 
 
 Cass. Ant. Lep. Show us the way, sir. 
 
 Pom. Come 
 
 [Exeutit Pompey, Cesar, Antony, Lb- 
 pidcts, Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have 
 made this treaty. — [Aside.] — You and I have 
 known," sir. 
 
 Eno. At sea, I think. 
 
 Men. We have, sir. 
 
 Eno. You have done well by water. 
 
 Men. And you by land. 
 
 Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me 
 though it cannot be denied what I have done by 
 land. 
 
 Men. Nor what I have done by water. 
 
 Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own 
 safety: you have been a great thief by sea. 
 
 Men. And you by land. 
 
 Eno. There I deny my land service. But give 
 me your hand, Menas: If our eyes had authority, 
 here they might take two thieves kissing. 
 
 Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their 
 hands are. 
 
 Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true 
 face. 
 
 Men. No slander; they steal hearts. 
 
 Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 
 
 Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a 
 drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away his 
 fortune. 
 
 Eno. If he do, sure he cannot weep it back again. 
 
 Men. You have said, sir. We looked not for 
 Mark Antony here; Pray you, is he married tc 
 Cleopatra 1 
 
 Eno. Caesar's sister is called Octavia. 
 
 Men. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Mar- 
 cellus. 
 
 Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. 
 
 Men. Pray you, sir? 
 
 Eno. 'Tis true. 
 
 Men. Then is Caesar and he forever knit together. 
 
 Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I 
 would not prophesy so. 
 
 Men. I think trie policy of that purpose made 
 more in the marriage, than the love of the parties. 
 
 Eno. I think so too. But you shall find, the 
 band that seems to tie their friendship together, 
 will be the very strangler of their amity ; Octavia 
 is of a holy, cold, and still conversation. 
 
 Men. Who would not have his wife so 1 
 
 Eno. Not he, that himself is not so ; which is 
 Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again : 
 then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in 
 Caesar: and, as I said before, that which is the 
 strength of their amity, shall prove the immediate 
 author of their variance. Antony will use his affec- 
 tion where it is ; he married but his occasion here 
 
 Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you 
 aboard ? I have a health for you. 
 
 Eno. I shall f ake it, sir : we have used our throats 
 in Egypt. 
 
 Men. Come ; 1 .t's away. [ Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— On board Pompey'? Galley, 
 
 lying near Misenum. 
 
 Music. Enter two or three Servants, with a banquet 
 
 \Serv. Here they'll be, man : Some o' their plants 
 
 are ill-rooted already ; the least wind i' the woric 
 
 will blow them down. 
 
 • Been acquainted * Peat 
 
712 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act II 
 
 2 Serv. Lepidus is high-colored. 
 
 1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 
 
 2 Serv. As they pinch one another hy the dis- 
 position, he eries out, No more,- reconciles them to 
 his entreaty, and himself to the drink. 
 
 1 Sen: But it raises the greater war between 
 him and his discretion. 
 
 2 Serv. Why this it is to have a name in great 
 men's fellowship : I had as lief have a reed that will 
 do me no service, as a partizan ' I could not heave. 
 
 1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not 
 to be seen to move in't, are the holes where eyes 
 should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. 
 
 A Sennet sounded. Enter Cesar, Antony, Pom- 
 pet, Lepidus, Aghippa,Mec;enas, Enobakbus, 
 Menas. with other Captains. 
 
 Ant. Thus do they, sir: [To Cjesah.] They 
 take the flow o' the Nile 
 By certain scales i' the pyramid ; they know, 
 By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth, 
 Or foison, 2 follow: The higher Nilus swells, 
 The more it promises: as it ebbs, the seedsman 
 Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 
 And shortly comes to harvest. 
 
 Lep. You have strange serpents there. 
 
 Ant. Ay, Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your 
 mud by the operation of your sun ; so is your cro- 
 codile. 
 
 Ant. They are so. 
 
 Pom. Sit, — and some wine.— A health to Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll 
 ne'er out. 
 
 Eno. Not till you have slept ; I fear me, you'll 
 be in, till then. 
 
 Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard, the Ptolemies' 
 pyramises are very goodly things ; without contra- 
 diction, I have heard that. 
 
 Men. Pompey, a word. [Aside. 
 
 Pom. Say in mine i,ar : What is't ? 
 
 Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain, 
 And hear me speak a word. [Aside. 
 
 Pom. Forbear me till anon, — 
 
 This wine for Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile? 
 
 Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad 
 as it hath breadth; it is just so high as it is, and 
 moves with its own organs: it lives by that which 
 nourisheth it ; and the elements ortce out of it, it 
 transmigrates. 
 
 Lep. What color is it of! 
 
 Ant. Of its own color too. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis a strange serpent. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet. 
 
 Cass. Will this description satisfy him ? 
 
 Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, 
 else he is a very epicure. 
 
 Pom. [To Menas aside.'] Go, hang, sir, hang ! 
 Tell me of that ? away ! 
 Do as 1 bid you. — Where's this cup I call'd for ! 
 
 Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me, 
 Rise from thy stool. [Aside. 
 
 Pom* I think, thou'rt mad. The matter? 
 
 [Rises, and walks aside. 
 
 Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. 
 
 Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith: 
 What's else to say ? 
 Be jolly, lords. 
 
 Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, 
 
 Keep off them, for you sink. 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world ? 
 
 Pike. 
 
 » Plenty. 
 
 Pom. What sayst thou ! 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? 
 That's twice. 
 
 Pom. How should that be ? 
 
 Men. But entertain it, and, 
 
 Although you think me poor, I am the man 
 Will give thee all the world. 
 
 Pom. Hast thou drunk well ? 
 
 Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. 
 Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove : 
 Whate'er the ocean pales, 3 or sky inclips,* 
 Is thine, if thou wilt have't. 
 
 Pom. Show me which way. 
 
 Men. These three world-sharers, these competi- 
 
 t tors, 5 
 
 Are in thy vessel: Let me cut the cable; 
 And, when we are put off, fall to their throats: 
 All there is thine. 
 
 Pom. Ah, this thou shouldst have done, 
 
 And not have spoken on't ! in me, 'tis villany ; 
 In thee, it had been good service. Thou must know, 
 'Tis not my profit that doth lead mine honor; 
 Mine honor, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue 
 Hath so betray'd thine act: Being done unknown, 
 I should have found it afterwards well done; 
 But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 
 
 Men. For this ? [Aside. 
 
 I'll never follow thy pall'd 6 fortunes more. — 
 Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd, 
 Shall never find it more. 
 
 Pom. This health to Lepidus. 
 
 Ant. Bear him ashore. — I'll pledge it for him, 
 Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Here's to thee, Menas. 
 
 Men. Enobarbus, welcome. 
 
 Pom. Fill till the cup be hid. 
 
 Eno. There's a strong fellow, Menas. 
 
 [Pointing to the Attendant who carries 
 off Lepidus. 
 
 Men. Why ? 
 
 Eno. He bears 
 
 The third part of the world, man; Seest not? 
 
 Men. The third part then is drunk: 'Would it 
 were all, 
 That it might go on wheels ! 
 
 Eno. Drink thou ; increase the reels. 
 
 Men. Come. 
 
 Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 
 
 Ant. It ripens towards it. — Strike the vessels, ho! 
 Here is to Caesar. 
 
 Caes. I could well forbear it. 
 
 It's monstrous labor when I wash my brain, 
 And it grows fouler. 
 
 Ant. Be a child o' the time. 
 
 Caes. Possess' it, I'll make answer : But I had 
 rather fast 
 From all, four days, than drink so much in one. 
 
 Eno. Ha, my brave emperor ! [To Antony 
 Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
 And celebrate our drink? 
 
 Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier 
 
 Ant. Come, let us all take hands ; 
 Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense 
 In soft and delicate Lethe. 
 
 Eno. All take hands. — 
 
 Make battery to our ears with the loud music: — 
 The while, I'll place you : Then the boy shall sing ; 
 The holding 9 every man shall bear, as loud 
 As his strong sides can volley. 
 
 [Music plays. Enobakbus places them 
 hand in hand. 
 
 1 Encompasses. 4 Embraces. 'Confederates. 
 
 « Cloyed. ' Understand. • Burden, ehorak 
 
Act III. Scene I. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 718 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Come, thou monarch of the vine, 
 Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne.-" 
 In thy vats our cares be' drown* d; 
 With thy grapes our hairs be crown'd; 
 Cup us, till the world go round; 
 Cup us till the world go round/ 
 
 Cses. What would you more 7 — Pompey, good 
 night. Good brother, 
 
 Let me request you off: our graver business 
 
 Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords, let's part; 
 
 You see, we have burnt our cheeks : Strong Eno- 
 barbe 
 
 Is weaker than the wine ; and mine own tongue 
 
 Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath al- 
 most 
 
 Antic'd us all. What needs more words 1 Good 
 night, — 
 
 Good Antony, your hand. 
 
 Pom. I'll try you o'theshme 
 
 Ant. And shall, sir ; give's your hand. 
 Pom. O, Antony 
 
 You have my father's house. — But what? we ar« 
 
 friends : 
 Come, down into the boat. 
 
 Eno. Take heed you fall not. — 
 
 [Exeunt Pompey, CjEsar, Antony, and 
 Attendants. 
 Menas,I'll not on shore. 
 
 Men. No, to my cabin. — 
 
 These drums, these trumpets, flutes! what! — 
 Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
 To these great fellows: sound, and be hangM. 
 sound out. 
 
 A Flourish of Trumpets, with Drums 
 Eno. Ho, says 'a ! — There's my cap. 
 Men. Ho ! — noble captain ! 
 
 Come. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Plain in Syria. 
 
 i?7»/er Ventidius, as after Conquest, with Silius, 
 and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the 
 dead Body of Pacorus borne before him. 
 Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck ; and 
 now 
 Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death 
 Make me revenger. — Bear the king's son's body 
 Before our army : — Thy Pacorus, Orodes,' 
 Pays this for Marcus Crassus. 
 
 Sil. Noble Ventidius, 
 
 Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, 
 The fugitive Parthians follow ; spur through Media, 
 Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither 
 The routed fly : so thy grand captain Antony 
 Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and 
 Put garlands on thy head. 
 
 Ven. O Silius, Silius, 
 
 I have done enough: a lower place, note well, 
 May make too great an act: For learn this, Silius; 
 Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire 
 Too high a fame, when him we serve's away. 
 Caesar, and Antony, have ever won 
 More in their officer, than person: Sossius 
 One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, 
 For quick accumulation of renown, 
 Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favor: 
 Who does i' the wars more than his captain can, 
 Becomes his captain's captain ; and ambition, 
 The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss, 
 Than gain, which darkens him. 
 I could do more to do Antonius good, 
 But 'twould offend him ; and in his offence 
 Should my performance perish. 
 
 Sil. Thou hast Ventidius, 
 
 That without which a soldier, and his sword, 
 Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to An- 
 tony 1 
 Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name, 
 That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
 How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, 
 The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
 v Ve have jaded out o' the field. 
 Sil. Where is he now ? 
 
 Ven. He purposeth to Athens: whither with 
 what haste 
 • ByM. » Pacorus was the son of Orodes, kiag of Parthia. 
 
 The weight we must convey with us will permit, 
 We shall appear before him. — On, there; pass along. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Rome. An Ante-chamber in Cae- 
 sar's House. 
 
 Enter Agrippa and Enobaubus, meeting. 
 Agr. What, are the brothers parted 1 
 Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he is 
 gone; 
 The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps 
 To part from Rome ; Caesar is sad ; and Lepidus, 
 Since Pompey's feast, as Menas says, is troubled 
 With the green-sickness. 
 
 Agr. 'Tis a noble Lepidus. 
 
 Eno. A very fine one : 0, how he loves Caesar ! 
 Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark An- 
 tony ! 
 Eno. Caesar, why he's the Jupiter of men. 
 Agr. What's Antony 7 The god of Jupiter. 
 Eno. Spake you of Coesar? How 1 the nonpareil ! 
 Agr. O Antony ! O thou Arabian bird ! a 
 Eno. Would you praise Ctesar, say, — Caesar; — 
 
 go no" further. 
 Agr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellent 
 
 praises. 
 Eno. But he loves Caesar best; — Yet he loves 
 Antony : 
 Ho ! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, 
 
 cannot 
 Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love 
 To Antony. But as for Caesar, 
 Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 
 
 Agr. Both he loves. 
 
 Eno. They are his shards, 3 and he their beetle. 
 So. — [Trumpets. 
 
 This is to horse. — Adieu, noble Agrippa. 
 
 Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier; and farewell. 
 Enter Cjesar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia 
 Ant. No further, sir. 
 
 Cses. You take from me a great part of myself; 
 Use me well in it. — Sister, prove such a wife 
 As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band' 
 Shall pass on thy approcf. — Most noble Antony, 
 Let not the piece of virtue,' *»'hich is set 
 Betwixt us, as the cement of our love, 
 
 s The phoenix. 
 
 3 Wing-eases. 
 
 ' Octevtft 
 
714 
 
 ANTONY AND 3LEOPATRA. 
 
 Act III 
 
 To keep it huilded, be the ram, to batter 
 The fortress of it : for better might we 
 H ave loved without this mean, if on both parts 
 This be not cherish'd. 
 
 Ant. Make me not offended 
 
 In your distrust. 
 
 Caes. I have said. 
 
 Ant. You shall not find, 
 
 Though you be therein curious, 6 the least cause 
 For what you seem to fear : So, the gods keep you, 
 And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends ! 
 We will here part. 
 
 Caes. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well ; 
 The elements be kind to thee, and make 
 Thy spirits all of comfort! fare thee well. 
 
 Octa. My noble brother ! — 
 
 Ant. The April's in her eyes : It is love's spring, 
 And these the showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful. 
 
 Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house; and — 
 
 Caes What, 
 
 Octa via? 
 
 Octa. I'll tell you in your ear. 
 
 Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can 
 Her heart inform her tongue : the swan's down 
 
 feather, 
 That stands upon the swell at full of tide, 
 And neither way inclines. 
 
 Eno. Will Caesar weep? [Aside to Aguippa. 
 
 Agr. He has a cloud in's face. 
 
 Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse ; 
 So is he, being a man. 
 
 Agr. Why, Enobarbus? 
 
 When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, 
 He cried almost to roaring ; and he wept, 
 When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 
 
 Eno. That year, indeed, he was troubled with a 
 rheum ; 
 What willingly he did confound,' he wail'd: 
 Believe it, till I weep too. 
 
 Caes. Noy sweet Octavia, 
 
 You shall hear from me still : the time shall not 
 Out-go my thinking on you. 
 
 Ant. Come, sir, come; 
 
 I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love: 
 Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go, 
 And give you to the gods. 
 
 Caes. Adieu; be happy! 
 
 Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light 
 To thy fair way ! 
 
 Caes. Farewell, farewell ! [Kisses Octavia. 
 
 Ant. Farewell ! 
 
 [Trumpets sound. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Cleopatiia, Chahmian,Iiias, and Alvxxs. 
 
 C/eo. Where is the fellow ? 
 
 Alex. Half afeard to come. 
 
 Cleo. Go to, go to : — Come hither, sir. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Alex. Good majesty, 
 
 Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you, 
 riut when you are well pleas'd. 
 
 Cleo. That Herod's head 
 
 I'll have: But how ? when Antony is gone, 
 Through whom I might command it. — Come thou 
 near. 
 
 Mess. Most gracious majesty, — 
 
 Cleo- Didst thou behold 
 
 Octavia ! 
 
 Mess. Ay, dread queen. 
 
 Clio. Where ? 
 
 • Scrupulous. ' Destroy. 
 
 Mess. Madam, in Rom* 
 
 I look'd her in the face, and saw her led 
 Between her brother and Mark Antony. 
 
 Cleo. Is she as -tall as me ? 
 
 Mess. She is not, madaru 
 
 Cleo. Didsthearher speak? isshe shrill-tongue*:, 
 or low ? 
 
 Mess. Madam, I heard her speak ; she is low 
 voiced. 
 
 Cleo. That's not so good: — He cannot like her 
 long. 
 
 Char. Like her ! Isis ! 'tis impossible. 
 
 Cleo. I think so, Charmian : Dull of tongue, ami 
 dwarfish ! — 
 What majesty is in her gait? Remember 
 If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 
 
 Mess. She cieeps; 
 
 Her motion and her station 8 are as one : 
 She shows a body rather than a life; 
 A statue, than a breather. 
 
 Cleo. Is this certain ? 
 
 Mess. Or I have no observance. 
 
 Char. Three in Egypt 
 
 Cannot make better note. 
 
 Cleo. He's very knowing, 
 
 I do perceive't: — There's nothing in her yet: — 
 The fellow has good judgment. 
 
 Char. Excellent. 
 
 Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Mess. Madam, 
 
 She was a widow. 
 
 Cleo. Widow? — Charmian, hark. 
 
 Mess. And I do think, she's thirty. 
 
 Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind ? is it long, 
 or round? 
 
 Mess. Round even to faultiness. 
 
 Cleo. For the most part too, 
 
 They are foolish that are so. — Her hair, what color? 
 
 Mess. Brown, madam: And her forehead is as 
 low 
 As she would wish it. 
 
 Cleo. There is gold for thee. 
 
 Thou must not take my former sharpness ill: 
 I will employ thee back again ; I find thee 
 Most fit for business: Go, make thee ready; ' 
 Our letters are prepared. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 C/utr. A proper man. 
 
 Cleo. Indeed he is so: I repent me much, 
 That sol harry'd'him. Why, methinks, by him, 
 This creature's no such thing. 
 
 Char. 0, nothing, madam 
 
 Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and 
 should know. 
 
 Char. Hath he seen majesty ? Isis else defend, 
 And serving you so long ! 
 
 Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, 
 good Charmian : 
 But 'tis no matter: thou shalt bring him to me 
 Where I will write: All may be well enough. 
 
 Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Athens. A Room in Antony* 
 House. 
 Enter Antony and Octavia. 
 Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — 
 That were excusable, that, and thousands more 
 Of semblable import, — but he hath waged 
 New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his will, and read it 
 To public ear : 
 
 Spoke scantly of me : when perforce he could nol 
 But pav me terms of honor, cold and sickly 
 He vei ted them; most narr>w measure lent m«: 
 • Standing still. » Pulled, luffed. 
 
Scene V. . 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 716 
 
 When the best hint was given him, he not took't, 
 Or did it from his teeth.' 
 
 Octa. O my good lord, 
 
 Believe not all; or, if you must believe, 
 Stomach 2 not all. A more unhappy lady, 
 If this division chance, ne'er stood between, 
 Praying for both parts: 
 And the good gods will mock me presently, 
 When I shall pray, 0, bless my lord and husband.' 
 Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
 O, bless my brother! Kusband win, win brother, 
 Prays, and destroys the prayer; no midway 
 'Twixt these extremes at all. 
 
 Ant. Gentle Octa via, 
 
 Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks 
 Best to preserve it : If I lose mine honor, 
 I lose myself: better I were not yours, 
 Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested, 
 Yourself shall go between us : The mean time, lady, 
 I'll raise the preparation of a war 
 Shall stain 3 your brother; Make your soonest haste : 
 So your desires are yours. 
 
 Octa. Thanks to my lord. 
 
 The Jove of power make nie, most weak, most weak, 
 Your reconciler! Wars 'twixt you twain would be 
 As if the world should cleave, and that slain men 
 Should solder up the rift. 
 
 Ant. When it appears to you where this begins, 
 Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults 
 Can never be so equal, that your love 
 Can equally move with them. Provide your going; 
 Choose your own company, and command what cost 
 Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Enobarbus and Eros, meeting. 
 
 Eno. How now, friend Eros ] 
 
 Eros. There's strange news come, sir. 
 
 Eno. What, man] 
 
 Eros. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon 
 Pompey. 
 
 Eno. This is old ; What is the success ? 4 
 
 Eros. Caesar, having made use of him 5 in the 
 wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him riva- 
 lity ; 6 would not let him partake in the glory of the 
 action : and not resting here, accuses him of let- 
 ters he had formerly wrote to Pompey ; upon his 
 own appeal," seizes him : So the poor third is up, 
 till death enlarge his confine. 
 
 Eno. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no 
 more ; 
 And throw between them all the food thou hast, 
 They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony] 
 
 Eros. He's walking in the garden — thus; and 
 spurns 
 The rush that lies before him ; cries Fool, Lepidus/ 
 And threats the throat of that his officer, 
 That murder'd Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Our great navy's rigged. 
 
 Eros. For Italy, and Csssar. More, Domitius; 
 My lord desires you presently: my news 
 I might have told hereafter. 
 
 E?io. 'Twill be naught: 
 
 But let it be. — Bring me to Antony. 
 
 Eros. Come, sir. [Exeunt. 
 
 8CENE VI. — Rome. A Room in Caesar's House. 
 Enter C;esar, Agrippa, eind Mkcjejtas. 
 Cses. Contemning Rome, he has done all this : 
 And more; 
 
 * Indistinct, through his teeth a Resent. 
 
 » Disgrace. * What follows ? ! i. e. Lepidus. 
 
 • Equal rank. ' Accusation. | 
 
 In Alexandria, — here's the manner of it,— 
 I'the market-place, on a tribunal silvcr'd, 
 Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
 Were publicly enthron'd; at the feet, sat 
 Caesarion, whom they call my father's son , 
 And all the unlawful issue, that their lust 
 Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
 He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt ; made her 
 Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, 
 Absolute queen. 
 
 Mec. This in the public eye] 
 
 Cses. I' the common show-place, where they e* 
 ercise. 
 His sons he there proclaimed, The kings of kings 
 Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia, 
 He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy, he assigned 
 Syria, Silicia, and Phoenicia: She 
 In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
 That day appear'd ; and oft before gave audience, 
 As 'tis reported, so. 
 
 Mec. Let Rome be thus 
 
 Inform'd. 
 
 Agr. Who, queasy 8 with his insolence 
 
 Already, will their good thoughts call from him. 
 
 Cses. The people know it; and have now receiv'd 
 His accusations. 
 
 Agr. Whom does he accuse ] 
 
 Cses. Caesar : and that, having in Sicily 
 Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we have not rated* hirr. 
 His part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent me 
 Some shipping unrestor'd : lastly, he frets, 
 That Lepidus of the triumvirate 
 Should be depos'd; and, being, that we detain 
 All his revenue. 
 
 Agr. Sir, this should be answer'd. 
 
 Cses. 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone. 
 I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel ; 
 That he his high authority abus'd, 
 And did deserve his change ; for what I have con- 
 
 quer'd, 
 I grant him part; but then, in his Armenia, 
 And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I 
 Demand the like. 
 
 Mec. He'll never yield to that. 
 
 Cses. Nor must not then be yielded to in this 
 
 Enter Octavia. 
 
 Octa. Hail, Caesar, and my lord! hail most dear 
 Caesar ! 
 
 Cses. That ever I should call thee, cast-away ! 
 
 Octa. You have not call'd me so, nor have you 
 cause. 
 
 Cses. Why have you stol'n upon us thus] You 
 come not 
 Like Caesar's sister : The wife of Antony 
 Should have an army for an usher, and 
 The neighs of horse to tell of her approach, 
 Long ere she did appear; the trees by the way 
 Should have borne men; and expectation fainted 
 Longing for what it had not: nav, the dust 
 Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, 
 Rais'd by your populous troops: But you are 
 
 come 
 A market-maid to Rome ; and have prevented 
 The ostent 1 of our love, which, left unshown, 
 Is often left unlov'd: we should have met you 
 By sea, and land ; supplying every stage 
 With an augmented greeting. 
 
 Octa. Good my lord, 
 
 To come thus was I not constraint, but did it 
 On my free-will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
 Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted 
 • Sick, disgusted. •Assigned. 'Show, token 
 
716 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 My grieved ear withal; whereon, I begg'd 
 His pardon for return. 
 
 Cses. Which soon he granted, 
 
 Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him. 
 
 Octa. Do not say so, my lord. 
 
 Cses. I have eyes upon him, 
 
 And his affairs come to me on the wind. 
 Where is he now? 
 
 Octa. My lord, in Athens. 
 
 Cses. No, my most wronged sister ; Cleopatra 
 Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire 
 Up to a whore; who now are levying 
 The kings o' the earth for war: He hath assembled 
 Bocchus, the king of Lybia; Archelaus, 
 Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king 
 Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas: 
 King Malchus of Arabia; king of Pont; 
 Herod of Jewry ; Mithridates, king 
 Of Comagene; Polemon and Amintas, 
 The kings of Mede, and Lycaonia, with a 
 More larger list of sceptres. 
 
 Octa. Ah me, most wretched, 
 
 That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, 
 That do afflict each other ! 
 
 Cses. Welcome hither ; 
 
 Your letters did withhold our breaking forth ; 
 Till we perceiv'd both how you were wrong led, 
 And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart: 
 Be 3 r ou not troubled with the time, which drives 
 O'er your content these strong necessities ; 
 But let determin'd things to destiny 
 Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome : 
 Nothing more dear to me. You are abused 
 Beyond the mark of thought: and the high gods, 
 To do you justice, make them ministers 
 Of us, and those that love you. Best of comfort; 
 And ever welcome to us. 
 
 Agr. Welcome, lady. 
 
 Mec. Welcome, dear madam. 
 Each heart in Rome does love and pity you: 
 Only the adulterous Antony, most large 
 In his abominations, turns you off; 
 And gives his potent regiment 2 to a trull, 
 That noises it against us. 
 
 Octa. Is it so, sir ? 
 
 Cms. Most certain. Sister, welcome : Pray you, 
 Be ever known to patience : My dearest sister ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. — Antony's Camp near the Promon- 
 tory of Actiurn. 
 Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbtjs. 
 Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 
 Eno. But why, why, why ? 
 Cleo. Thou hast forspoke 3 my being in these wars; 
 And say'st, it is not fit. 
 
 Eno. Well, is it] is it] 
 
 Cleo. Is't not ] Denounce against us, why should 
 not we 
 Be there in person] 
 
 Eno. [Aside.] Well, I could reply : — 
 If we should serve with horse and mares together, 
 The horse were merely 4 lost; the mares would bear 
 A soldier, and his horse. 
 
 Cleo. What is't you say ] 
 
 Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony ; 
 
 Take from his heart, take from his brain, from his 
 
 time, 
 What should not then be spared. He is already 
 Traduced for levity ; and 'tis said in Rome, 
 That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids, 
 Manage this war. 
 
 "> Government. E Forbid. * Absolutely. 
 
 Cleo. Sink Rome ; and their tongues rot, 
 
 That speak against us ! A charge we bear i'the war, 
 And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
 Appear there for a man. Speak not against it; 
 I will not stay behind. 
 
 Eno. Nay, I have done: 
 
 Here comes the emperor. 
 
 Enter Antony and Canihius. 
 
 Ant. Is't not strange, Canidius, 
 
 That from Tarentum, and Brundusium, 
 He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea, 
 And take in 5 Toryne] — You have heard on't, 
 sweet 1 
 
 Cleo. Celerity is never more admired, 
 Than by the negligent. 
 
 Ant. A good rebuke, 
 
 Which might have well become the best of men, 
 To taunt at slackness. — Canidius, we 
 Will fight with him by sea. 
 
 Cleo. By sea ! What else 
 
 Can. Why will my lord do so ] 
 
 Ant. For 6 he dares us to't 
 
 Eno. So hath my lord dared him to single fight 
 
 Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, 
 Where Caesar fought with Pompey: But these offers, 
 Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off; 
 And so should you. 
 
 Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd : 
 
 Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people 
 Ingross'd by swift impress j 1 in Caesar's fleet 
 Are those, that often have 'gainst Pompey fought : 
 Their ships are yare ; 8 yours, heavy. No disgrace 
 Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, 
 Being prepar'd for land. 
 
 Ant. By sea, by sea. 
 
 Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away 
 The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
 Distract your army, which doth most consist 
 Ofwar-mark'd footmen; leave unexecuted 
 Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
 The way which promises assurance : and 
 Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, 
 From firm security. 
 
 Ant. I'll fight at sea. 
 
 Cleo. I have sixty sails," Caesar none be ^r. 
 
 Ant. Our overplus of shipping will w burn; 
 And, with the rest full-mann'd from the head i 
 
 Actium 
 Beat the approaching Caesar. But if we fail, 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 We then can do't at land. — Thy business] 
 
 Mess. The news is true, my lord ; he is descried 
 Caesar has taken Toryne. 
 
 Ant. Can he be there in person ' 'tis impossible 
 Strange, that his power should be. — Canidius, 
 Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
 And our twelve thousand horse: — We'll to our 
 ship ; 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 Away, my Thetis !' — How now, worthy soldiei ] 
 
 Sold. noble emperor, do not fight by sea; 
 Trust not to rotten planks: Do you misdoubt 
 This sword, and these my wounds] Let the 
 
 Egyptians, 
 And the Phoenicians, go a ducking; we 
 Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, 
 And fighting foot to foot. 
 
 Ant. Well, well, away. 
 
 [Ex. Anton t, Cleopatra, and Enobarbus 
 
 > Take, subdue « Because. ' Pressed in baste. 
 
 • Kcady. 9 Ships. « Cleopatra. 
 
Scene IX. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 717 
 
 Sold. By Hercules, I think, I am i' the right. 
 
 Can. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action grows 
 Not in the power on't: So our leader's led, 
 And we are women's men. 
 
 Sold. You keep by land 
 
 The legions and the horse whole, do you not? 
 
 Can. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, 
 Publicola, and Crelius, are for sea : 
 But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar's 
 Carries 5 beyond belief. 
 
 Sold. While he was yet in Rome, 
 
 His power went out in such distractions, as 
 Beguil'd all spies. 
 
 Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear you ? 
 
 Sold. They say, one Taurus. 
 
 Can. Well I know the man. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The emperor calls for Canidius. 
 
 Can. With news the time's with labor ; and throes 
 forth, 3 
 Each minute, some. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— A Plain near Actium. 
 
 Enter Cesar, Taurus, Officers, and others. 
 Cses. Taurus, — 
 Taur. My lord. 
 
 Cses. Strike not by land; keep whole: 
 
 Provoke not battle, till we have done at sea. 
 Do not exceed the prescript of this scroll : 
 Our fortune lies upon this jump. 4 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
 
 Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon' side o' the hill, 
 In eye of Caesar's battle; from which place 
 We may the number of the ships behold, 
 And so proceed accordingly. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Canidius, marching with his Land Army 
 
 one way over the Stage,- and Taurus, the Lieu- 
 tenant o/Cjesar, the other way. After their 
 
 going in, is heard the noise of a Sea-Fight. 
 Alarum. Re-enter Enobarbus. 
 
 Eno. Naught, naught, all naught ! I can behold 
 no longer: 
 The Antoniad, 6 the Egyptian admiral, 
 With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder ; 
 To see't, mine eyes are blasted. 
 Enter Scarus. 
 
 Scar. Gods, and goddesses, 
 
 All the whole synod of them ! 
 
 Eno. What's thy passion ? 
 
 Scar. The greater cantle 6 of the world is lost 
 With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away 
 Kingdoms and provinces. 
 
 Eno. How appears the fight? 
 
 Scar. On our side like the token'd 1 pestilence, 
 Where death is sure. Yon' ribald-rid nag of Egypt, 
 Whom leprosy o'ertake ! i' the midst o' the fight, — 
 When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, 
 Both as the same, or rather ours the elder, — 
 The brize 8 upon her, like a cow in June, 
 Hoists sails, and flies. 
 
 Eno. That I beheld: mine eyes 
 
 Did sicken at the sight on't, and could not 
 Endure a further view. 
 
 Scar. She once being loof 'd, s 
 
 The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, 
 Claps on his sea-wing, and like a doting mallard, 
 Leaving the fight in height, flies after her ; 
 
 » Goes. » Brings ft rth. * Hazard. 
 
 • Name of Cleopatra's ship. • Corner. 
 " Sp-.'Ued. k The gad-fly that stings cattle. 
 
 • Brought cl**e to the wind. 
 
 I never saw an action of such shame ; 
 Experience, manhood, honor ne'er before 
 Did violate so itself. 
 
 Eno. Alack, alack ! 
 
 Enter Canidius. 
 
 Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath. 
 And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
 Been what he knew himself, it had gone well : 
 O, he has given example for our flight, 
 Most grossly, by his own. 
 
 Eno. Ay, are you thereabouts? Why then, good 
 night 
 Indeed. [Aside. 
 
 Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. 
 
 Scar. 'Tis easy to't ; and there I will attend 
 What further comes. 
 
 Can. To Caesar will I render 
 
 My legions and my horse ; six kings already 
 Show me the way of yielding. 
 
 Eno. I'll yet follow 
 
 The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason 
 Sits in the wind against me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX.— Alexandria. A Room in the 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Anton t and Attendants. 
 
 Ant. Hark, the land bids me tread no more 
 upon't, 
 It is asham'd to bear me ! Friends, come hither, 
 I am so lated' in the world, that I 
 Have lost my way for ever : — I have a ship 
 Laded with gold ; take that, divide it : fly, 
 And make your peace with Caesar. 
 
 Att. Fly ! not we. 
 
 Ant. I have fled myself; and have instructed 
 cowards 
 To run, and show their shoulders. — Friends, be 
 
 gone; 
 I have myself resolv'd upon a course, 
 Which has no need of you; be gone : 
 My treasure's in the harbor, take it. — 0, 
 I follow'd that I blush to look upon: 
 My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white 
 Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
 For fear and doting. — Friends, be gone ; you shall 
 Have letters from me to some friends, that will 
 Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, 
 Nor make replies of loathness : take the hint 
 Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left 
 Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway: 
 I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
 Leave me, I pray, a little; 'pray you now : — 
 Nay, do so ; for, indeed, I have lost command, 
 Therefore I pray you: — I'll see you by and by. 
 
 [Sits down 
 Enter Eros, and Cleopatra, led by Charmi kh 
 and Iras. 
 Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him : — Coinfi.y 
 
 him. 
 Iras. Do, most dear queen. 
 Char. Do ! Why, what else ' 
 Cleo. Let me sit down. Juno ! 
 Ant. No, no, no, no, no. 
 Eros. See you here, sir ? 
 Ant. O fye, fye, fye. 
 Char. Madam, — 
 
 Iras. Madam; good empress. — 
 Eros. Sir, sir, — 
 
 Ant. Yes, my lord, yes; — He,' at Philippi, kei* 
 His sword even like a dancer ; while I struck 
 The lean and wrinkled Cassius: and 'twas I. 
 
 1 Belated, benighted. 
 
 2 Crea** 
 
718 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 
 
 Act ill 
 
 That the mad Brutus ended : he alone 
 
 Dealt on lieutenantry, 3 and no practice had 
 
 In the brave squares of war: Yet now — No matter. 
 
 Clec. Ah, stand by. 
 
 Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen. 
 
 iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him: 
 He is unqualitied 4 with very shame. 
 
 Cleo. Well then. — Sustain me : — ! 
 
 Eros. Most noble sir, arise; the queen ap- 
 proaches ; 
 Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her ; but 8 
 Four comfort makes the rescue. 
 
 Ant. I have offended reputation; 
 A most unnoble swerving. 
 
 Eros. Sir, the queen. 
 
 Ant. 0, whither hast thou led me, Egypt ? See, 
 Hjw I convey my shame out of thine eyes 
 By looking back on what I have left behind 
 'Stroy'd in dishonor. 
 
 Cleo. O my lord, my lord ! 
 
 Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought, 
 You would have followed. 
 
 Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too well, 
 
 My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings, 
 And thou shouldst tow me after : O'er my spirit 
 Thy full supremacy thou knew'st; and that 
 Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods 
 Command me. 
 
 Cleo. O, my pardon. 
 
 Ant. Now I must 
 
 To the young man send humble treaties, dodge 
 And palter in the shifts of lowness ; who 
 With half the bulk o' the world play'd as I pleas'd, 
 Making and marring fortunes. You did know 
 How much you were my conqueror ; and that 
 My sword, made weak by my affection, would 
 Obey it on all cause. 
 
 Cleo. O pardon, pardon. 
 
 Ant. Fall not a tear, I say: one of them rates 6 
 All that is won and lost : Give me a kiss ; 
 Even this repays me. — We sent our schoolmaster, 
 Is he come back? — Love, I am full of lead: — 
 Some wine, within there, and our viands: — For- 
 tune knows, 
 We scorn her most, when most she offers blows. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.— Caesar's Camp in Egypt. 
 Enter Cesar, Dolabella, Thyretjs, and others. 
 
 Cses. Let him appear that's come from Antony. — 
 Know you him ? 
 
 Dol. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster; 1 
 
 An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither 
 He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, 
 Which had superfluous kings for messengers, 
 Not many moons gone by. 
 
 Enter Euphronius. 
 
 Cses. Approach, and speak. 
 
 Eup. Such as I am, I come from Antony: 
 I was of late as petty to his ends, 
 As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf 
 To his grand sea. 
 
 Cses. Be it so; Declare thine office. 
 
 Eup. Lord of his fortunes, he salutes thee, and 
 Requires to live in Egypt : which not granted, 
 He lessens his requests: and to thee sues, 
 To let him breathe between the heavens and earth, 
 A private man in Athens : This for him. 
 Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness; 
 Submits her to thy might; and of thee craves 
 
 3 Fought by his officers. * Divested of his faculties. 
 
 * Unless. • Equals in value. 
 
 ' i'uplironius, schoolmaster to Antony's children. 
 
 The circle" of the Ptolemies for her heirs, 
 Now ha/.arded to thy grace. 
 
 Cses. For Antony, 
 
 I have no ears to his request, ^he jueon 
 Of audience, nor desire, shall fail- io she 
 From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, 
 Or take his life there: This if she perform, 
 She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. 
 
 Eup. Fortune pursue thee ! 
 
 Cses. Bring him through the bands. 
 
 [Exit Euphronius 
 To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time: Despatch; 
 From Antony win Cleopatra: promise, 
 
 [To Thyreus. 
 And in our name, what she requires ; add more, 
 From thine invention, offers: women are not, 
 In their best fortunes, strong; but want will perjure. 
 The ne'er touch'd vestal : Try thy cunning, Thyreus; 
 Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we 
 Will answer as a law. 
 
 Thyr. Caesar, I go. 
 
 Cses. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw;' 
 And what thou think'st his very action speaks 
 In every power that moves. • 
 
 Thyr. Caesar, I shall. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XI. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, and 
 Iras. 
 
 Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus? 
 
 Eno. Think, and die. 
 
 Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this? 
 
 Eno. Antony only, that would make his will 
 Lord of his reason. What although you fled 
 From that great face of war, whose several range* 
 Frighted each other? why should he follow .' 
 The itch of his affection should not then 
 Have nick'd his captainship; at such a point, 
 When half to half the world oppos'd, he being 
 The mered question; 1 'Twas a shame no less 
 Than was his loss, to course your flying flags, 
 And leave his navy gazing. 
 
 Cleo. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Enter Antony, with Etjphronius. 
 
 Ant. Is this his answer ? 
 
 Eup. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ant. The queen 
 
 Shall then have courtesy, so she will yield 
 Us up. 
 
 Eup. He says so. 
 
 Ant. Let her know it. — 
 
 To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head, 
 And he will fill thy wishes to the brim 
 With principalities. 
 
 Cleo. That head, my lord? 
 
 Ant. To him again ; tell him he wears the rose 
 Of youth upon him ; from which the world should 
 
 note 
 Something particular: his coin, ships, legions, 
 May be a coward's; whose ministers would prevail 
 Under the service of a child, as soon 
 As i' the command of Caesar: I dare him therefore 
 To lay his gay caparisons' apart, 
 And answer me declined, 3 sword against sword, 
 Ourselves alone: I'll write it; follow me. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony and EcrHRONiirs 
 
 Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Caesar will 
 Unstate his happiness, and be staged to the show, 
 Against a sworder. — I see, men's judgments are 
 
 • Diadem, the crown. 
 
 » Conforms himself to this breach of his .fortune. 
 
 1 The only cause of dispute. 
 
 s Circumstances of splendor. 3 In age and pem 
 
Scene XI. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 719 
 
 A parcel ' of theii fortunes : and things outward 
 Do draw the inward quality after them, 
 To suffer all alike. That he should dream, 
 Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will 
 Answer his emptiness; — Caesar, thou hast subdu'd 
 His judgment too, 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Alt. A messenger from Caesar. 
 
 Cleo. What, no more ceremony? — See, my 
 women ! — 
 Against the blown rose may they stop their nose, 
 That kneel'd unto the buds. — Admit him, sir. 
 
 Eno. Mine honesty, and I, begin to square.* 
 
 [Aside. 
 The loyalty, well held to fools, does make 
 Our faith mere folly : — Yet, he that can endure 
 To follow with allegiance a fallen lord, 
 Does conquer him that did his master conquer, 
 And earns a place i' the story. 
 
 Enter Thtreus. 
 
 Cleo. Caesar's will ? 
 
 Thyr. Hear it apart. 
 
 Cleo. None but friends; say boldly. 
 
 Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 
 
 Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has ; 
 Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master 
 Will leap to be his friend : For us, you know, 
 Whose he is, we are; and that's Caesar's. 
 
 Thyr. So.— 
 
 Thus then, thou most renown'd ; Caesar entreats, 
 Not to consider in what case thou stand'st, 
 Further than he is Caesar. 
 
 Cleo. Go on : Right royal. 
 
 Tliyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony 
 As you did love, but as you fear'd him. 
 
 Cleo. O ! 
 
 Thyr. The scars upon your honor, therefore, he 
 Does pity, as constrained blemishes, 
 Not as deserv'd. 
 
 Cleo. He is a god, and knows 
 
 What is most right : Mine honor was not yielded, 
 But conquer'd merely. 
 
 Eno. To be sure of that, [Aside. 
 
 I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky, 
 That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
 Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit Enobahbus. 
 
 Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar 
 
 What you require of him ? for he partly begs 
 To be desired to give. It much would please him, 
 That of his fortunes you should make a staff 
 To lean upon : but it would warm his spirits, 
 To hear from me you had left Antony, 
 \nd put yourself under his shrowd, 
 The universal landlord. 
 
 Cleo. What's your name ? 
 
 Thyr. My name is Thyreus. 
 
 Cleo. Most kind messenger, 
 
 Say to great Caesar this, In disputation 6 
 I kiss his conquering hand: tell him I am prompt 
 To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel : 
 Tell him, from his all-obeying 1 breath I hear 
 The doom of Egypt. 
 
 Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course. 
 
 Wisdom and fortune combating together, 
 If that the former dare but what it can, 
 No chance may shake it. Give me grace 8 to lay 
 My duty on your hand. 
 
 Cleo. Your Caesar's father 
 
 Oft, when he hath mused of taking kingdoms in, 9 
 
 «Are of a piece with them. « Quarrel. 
 
 « Supposed to he an error for deputation, i. e. by proxy. 
 
 < Obayed. • Grant me the fevor. » Conquering. 
 
 Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place, 
 As it rain'd kisses. 
 
 Re-enter Antony and Enobahbus. 
 
 Ant. Favors, by Jove that thunders!— 
 
 What art thou, fellow ? 
 
 Thyr. One, that but performs 
 
 The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
 To have command obey'd. 
 
 Eno. You will be whipp'd. 
 
 Ant. Approach, there : — Ay, you kite ! — Now 
 gods and devils ! 
 Authority melts from me : Of late, when I cried, Ho! 
 Like boys unto a muss, 1 kings would start forth, 
 And cry, Your will? Have you no ears ? I am 
 
 Enter Attendants. 
 Antony yet. Take hence this Jack. a and whip him. 
 
 Eno. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp, 
 Than with an old one dying. 
 
 Ant. Moon and stars ! 
 
 Whip him : — Were't twenty of the greatest tribu- 
 taries 
 That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them 
 So saucy with the hand of she here, (What's her name 
 Since she was Cleopatra ?) — Whip him, fellows, 
 Till, like a boy, you see hiin cringe his face, 
 And whine aloud for mercy : Take him hence. 
 
 Thyr. Mark Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Tug him away : being whipp'd. 
 
 Bring him again : — This Jack of Caesar's shall 
 Bear us an errand to him. — 
 
 [Exeunt Atiet;>i itith Thtreus. 
 You were half blasted ere I knew you : — Ha! 
 Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, 
 Forborne the getting of a lawful race, 
 And by a gem of women, to be abused 
 By one that looks on feeders ? " 
 
 Cleo. Good my lord, — 
 
 Ant. You have been a boggier ever : — 
 But when we in our viciousness grow hard, 
 (0 misery on't!) the wise gods seel' our eyes; 
 In our own filth drop our clear judgments ; make us 
 Adore our errors : laugh at us, while we strut 
 To our confusion. 
 
 Cleo. O, is it come to this? 
 
 Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon 
 Dead Caesar's trencher : nay, you were a fragment 
 Of Cneius Pompey's; besides what hotter hours, 
 Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have 
 Luxuriously pick'd out: — For, I am sure, 
 Though you can guess what temperance should be, 
 You know not what it is. 
 
 Cleo. Wherefore is this ? 
 
 Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards, 
 And say, God quit you! be familiar with 
 My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal, 
 And plighter of high hearts ! — O, that I were 
 Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar 
 The horned herd ! for I have savage cause ; 
 And to proclaim it civilly, were like 
 A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank 
 For being yare. ' about him.— Is he whipp'd ? 
 Re-enter Attendants, with Thtreus. 
 
 1 Aft. Soundly, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Cry'd he? and begg'd he pardon? 
 
 1 Alt. He did ask favor. 
 
 Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent 
 Thou wast not made his daughter ; and be thou sorry 
 To follow Caesar in his triumph, since 
 Thou hast been whipp'd for following him : henc© 
 forth, 
 
 1 Scramhle. 
 * Servants. 
 
 * Close up 
 
 » A term of contempt 
 » Rea?? y«ndF 
 
720 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 The white hand of a lady fever thee, 
 
 ?hake thou to look on't. — Got thee back to 
 
 Caesar, 
 Tell him thy entertainment : Look, thou say, 
 He makes me angry with him : tor he seems 
 Proud and disdainful ; harping on what I am ; 
 Not what he knew I was : he makes me angry ; 
 And at this time most easy 'tis to do't ; 
 When my good stars, that were my former guides 
 Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires 
 Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike 
 My speech, and what is done ; tell him, he has 
 Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom 
 He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, 
 As he shall like, to quit 8 me : Urge it thou: 
 Hence, with thy stripes, begone. [Exit Thyretjs. 
 
 Clco. Have you done yet ? 
 
 Ant. Alack, our terrene ' moon 
 
 Is now eclips'd; and it portends alone 
 The fall of Antony ! 
 
 Cleo. I must stay his time. 
 
 Ant. To flatter Csesar, would you mingle eyes 
 With one that ties his points ? 
 
 Cleo. Not know me yet ? 
 
 Ant. Cold-hearted toward me ? 
 
 Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so, 
 
 From my cold heart let heaven engender hail, 
 And poison it in the source ; and the first stone 
 Drop in my neck: as it determines, 8 so 
 Dissolve my life ! The next, Clarion 9 smite ! 
 Till, by degrees, the memory of my womb, 
 Together with my brave Egyptians all, 
 By the discandying 1 of this pelleted storm, 
 Lie graveless ; till the flies and gnats of Nile 
 Have buried them for prey ! 
 
 Ant. I am satisfied. 
 
 Csesar sits down in Alexandria : where 
 I will oppose his fate. Our force by land 
 Hath nobly held; our se-er'd navy too 
 
 Have knit again, and fleet 3 threatening most sew 
 
 like. 
 Wmere hast thou been, my heart ? — Dost thou hear 
 
 lady? 
 If from the field I shall return once more 
 To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood; 
 I and my sword will earn our chronicle ; 
 There is hope in it yet. 
 
 Cleo. That's my brave lord ! 
 
 Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, brcath'd, 
 And fight maliciously : for when mine houte 
 Were nice 4 and lucky, men did ransom lives 
 Of me for jests ; but now, I'll set my teeth, 
 And send to darkness all that stop me. — Come, 
 Let's have one other gaudy night: call to me 
 All my sad captains, fill our bowls , once more 
 Let's mock the midnight bell. 
 
 Cleo. It is my birth-day : 
 
 I had thought to have held it poor; but, since my 
 
 lord 
 Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. 
 Ant. We'll yet do well. 
 Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord. 
 Ant. Do so. we'll speak to them ; and to-night 
 I'll force 
 The wine peep through their scars. — Come on, 
 
 my queen; 
 There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight, 
 I'll make death love me; for I will contend 
 Even with his pestilent scythe. 
 
 [Ex. Antony, Cleopatra, and Attendants. 
 Eno. Now he'll out-stare the lightning. To be 
 furious 
 Is, to be frighted out of fear; and in that mood, 
 The dove will peck the estridge; 5 and I see still, 
 A diminution in our captain's brain 
 Restores his heart: When valor preys on reason, 
 It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 
 Some way to leave him. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I. — Caesar's Camp at Alexandria. 
 
 Enter Cesar, reading a Letter; Agrippa, Me- 
 C2ENAS, and others. 
 
 Caes. He calls me, boy ; and chides, as he had 
 power 
 To beat me out of Egypt : my messenger 
 He hath whipp'd with rods ; dares me to personal 
 
 combat, 
 Csesar to Antony : Let the old ruffian know, 
 I have many other ways to die ; mean time, 
 Laugh at his challenge. 
 
 Mec. Csesar must think, 
 
 When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted 
 Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
 Make boot * of his distraction : Never anger 
 Made good guard for itself. 
 
 C'fes. Let our best heads 
 
 Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
 We. mean to fight : — Within our files there are, 
 Of those that serv'd Mark Antony but late, 
 Enough to fetch him in. See it be done ; 
 And feast the army : we have store to do't, 
 And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ' Requite. » Earthly. • Dissolves. 
 
 » Her son by Julius C«sar ' Melting. 
 
 r«!<« advantage. 
 
 SCENE II. — Alexandria. A Room in the 
 Palace. 
 Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Char 
 mian, Iras, Alexas, and others. 
 Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius. 
 Eno. No 
 
 Ant. Why should he not? 
 Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better 
 fortune, 
 He is twenty men to one. 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, soldier, 
 
 By sea and land I'll fight : or I will live, 
 Or bathe my dying honor in the blood 
 Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well? 
 Eno. I'll strike ; and cry, Take all. 
 Ant. Well said ; come on. — 
 
 Call forth my household servants; let's to-night 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 Be bounteous at our meal. — Give me thy hand, 
 Thou hast been rightly honest- so hast thou; — 
 And thou, — and thou, — and '.hou;--you have 
 
 serv'd me well, 
 And kings have been your fellows. 
 
 Cleo. What means this? 
 
 Eno. 'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow 
 shoots [Aside 
 
 Out of the mind. 
 
 » Float. « Trifling. • Ostrich 
 
Stenb IV. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 TA i 
 
 Ant. And thou art honest too. 
 
 I wish I could be made so many men; 
 And all of you clapp'd up together in 
 An Antony ; that I might do you service, 
 &3 good as you have done. 
 
 •Hero. The gods forbid ! 
 
 Ant- Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: 
 Scant not my cups: and make as much of me, 
 As wnen my empire was your fellow too, 
 And sufler'd my command. 
 
 Cleo. What does he mean ? 
 
 Eno. To make his followers weep. 
 
 Ant. Tend me to-night ; 
 
 May be, it is the period of your duty : 
 Haply, you shall not see me more ; or if, 
 A mangled shadow: perchance to-morrow 
 You'll serve another master. I look on you, 
 As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, 
 I turn you not away ; but, like a master 
 Married to your good service, stay till death : 
 Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more, 
 And the gods yield 6 you for't! 
 
 Eno. What mean you, sir, 
 
 To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; 
 And I, an ass, am onion-eyed ; for shame, 
 Transform us not to women. 
 
 Ant. Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus ! 
 Grace grow where those drops fail ! My hearty 
 
 friends, 
 Vou take me in too dolorous a sense; 
 I spake to you for your comfort: did desire you 
 To burn this night with torches : Know, my hearts, 
 I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you, 
 Where rather I'll expect victorious lite, 
 Than death and honor. Let's to supper; come, 
 And drown consideration. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Before the Palace. 
 Enter two Soldiers to their Guards. 
 
 1 Sold. Brother, good night: to-morrow is the day. 
 
 2 Sold. It will determine one way: fare you well. 
 Heard you of nothing strange about the streets'? 
 
 1 Sold. Nothing : What news 1 
 
 2 Sold. Belike, 'tis but a rumor: 
 Good uight to you. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, sir, good night. 
 
 Enter two other Soldiers. 
 
 2 Sold. Soldiers, 
 Have careful watch. 
 
 3 Sold. And you : Good night, good night. 
 
 [The first two place themselves at 
 their Posts. 
 
 4 Sold.. Here we: [They take their Posts.~\ and 
 
 if to-morrow 
 Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope 
 Our landmen will stand up. 
 
 3 Sold. 'Tis a brave army, 
 And full of purpose. 
 
 [Music of Hautboys under the Stage. 
 
 4 Sold. Peace, what noise? 
 
 1 Sold. List, list ! 
 
 2 Sold. Hark! 
 
 1 Sold. Music i' the air. 
 
 3 Sold. Under the earth. 
 
 4 Sold. It signs 1 well, 
 Does't not? 
 
 3 Sold. No. 
 
 1 Sold. Peace, I say. What should this mean ? 
 
 2 Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules,whom Antony lov'd, 
 Now leaves him. 
 
 « IU-ini ' Bodes. 
 
 1 Sold. Walk ; let's see if other watchmen 
 Do hear what we do. [ They advance to another Post- 
 
 2 Sold. How now, masters? 
 
 Sold. How now 1 
 
 How now? do you hear this? 
 
 [Several speaking together. 
 1 Sold. Ay ; Is't not strange 1 
 
 3 Sold. Do you hear, masters? do you hear? 
 
 1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter 
 Let's see how 'twill give off. 
 
 Sold. [Several speaking.] Content: 'Tis strange, 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Antony, and Cleopatra; Charmian, ana 
 others, attending. 
 
 Ant. Eros! mine armor, Eros! 
 Cleo. Sleep a little. 
 
 Ant. No, my chuck. — Eros, come; mine armor, 
 Eros! 
 
 Enter Eros, with Armor. 
 Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on : — 
 If fortune be not curs to-day, it is 
 Because we brave her. — Come. 
 
 Cleo. Nay, I'll help too. 
 
 What's this for ? 
 
 Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art 
 
 The armorer of my heart : — False, false ; this, this 
 
 Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help: Thus it must be. 
 
 Ant. Well, well 
 
 We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow? 
 Go, put on thy defences. 
 
 Eros. Briefly, sir. 
 
 Cleo. Is not this buckled wall? 
 
 Ant. Rarely; rarely. 
 
 He that unbuckles this, till we do please 
 To rloff't 8 for our repose, shall hear a storm. — 
 Thou fumblest, Eros; and my queen's a squire 
 More tight 5 at this than thou: Despatch. — love, 
 That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st 
 The royal occupation ! thou shouldst see 
 
 Enter an Officer, armed. 
 A workman in't. — Good morrow to thee; wel- 
 come; 
 Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge : 
 To business that we love, we rise betime, 
 And go to it with delight. 
 
 1 Off. A thousand, sir, 
 Early though it be, have on their riveted trim, 
 And at the port expect you. 
 
 [Shout. Trumpets. Flourish 
 
 Enter other Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 2 Off. The morn is fair. — Good morrow, general. 
 All. Good morrow, general. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis well blown, lads. 
 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins betimes. — 
 So, so; come, give me that : this way, well said 
 Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me: 
 This is a soldier's kiss: rebukable [Kisses her. 
 And worthy shameful check it were, to stand 
 On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee. 
 Now, like a man of steel. — You that will fight. 
 Follow me close; I'll bring you to't. — Adieu. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony, Eros, Officers, and. 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Char. Please you, retire to your chambei ? 
 
 Cleo. Lead mc 
 
 He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar mighi 
 « Put it off. • Handv 
 
722 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Determine this great war in single fight! 
 
 '"'hen, Antony, — But now,-- Well, on. [Exeunt. 
 
 toCENE V. — Antony's Camp near Alexandria. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Ekos; a 
 
 Soldier meeting them. 
 
 Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony. 
 
 Ant. 'Would, thou and those thy scars had once 
 prevail'd 
 To make me fight a) land ! 
 
 Sold. Hadst thou done so, 
 
 The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
 That has this morning left thee, would have still 
 Follow'd thy heels. 
 
 Ant. Who's gone this morning? 
 
 Sold. Who ? 
 
 One ever near thee: Call for Enobarbus, 
 He shall not hear thee ; or from Caesar's camp 
 Say, I am none of thine. 
 
 Ant. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Sold. Sir, 
 
 He is with Caesar. 
 
 Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 
 
 He has not with him. 
 
 Ant. Is he gone? 
 
 Sold. Most certain. 
 
 Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after; do it; 
 Detain no jot, I charge thee: write to him 
 (I will subscribe) gentle adieus and greetings: 
 Say, that I wish he never find more cause 
 To change a master. — O my fortunes have 
 Corrupted honest men ; — Eros, despatch. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Caesar's Camp before Alexandria. 
 Flourish. Enter C?esar, with Agrippa, Eno- 
 barbus, and others. 
 
 Cass. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight : 
 Our will is, Antony be took alive; 
 Make it so known. 
 
 Agr. Caisar, I shall. [Exit Agrippa. 
 
 Cses. The time of universal peace is near: 
 Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world 
 Shall bear the olive freely. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Antony 
 
 Is come into the field. 
 
 Cses. Go, charge Agrippa 
 
 Plant those that have revolted in the van, 
 That Antony may seem to spend his fury 
 Upon himself. [Exeunt Caesar and his Train. 
 
 Eno. Alexas did revolt ; and went to Jewry, 
 On affairs of Antony : there did persuade 
 Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar, 
 And leave his master Antony : for this pains, 
 Caesar hath hanged him. Canidius, and the rest 
 That fell away, have entertainment, but 
 No honorable trust. I have done ill ; 
 Of which I do accuse myself so sorely, 
 That I will joy no more. 
 
 Enter a Soldier of Cesar's. 
 
 Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 
 
 Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
 His bounty overplus: The messenger 
 Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now, 
 Unloading of his mules. 
 
 Eno. I give it you. 
 
 Sold. Mock me not, Enobarbus. 
 
 I tell you true : Best that you safed the bringer 
 Out of the host; I must attend mine office, 
 Or would have done't myself. Your emperor 
 Continues still a Jove. [Exit Soldier. 
 
 Eno I am alone the villain of the earth. 
 
 And feel I am so most. Antony, 
 
 Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have prtw 
 
 My better service, when my turpitude 
 
 Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows 1 m) 
 
 heart : 
 If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
 Shall outstrike thought: but thought will do't, I feel 
 I fight against thee! — No: I will go seek 
 Some ditch, wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits 
 My latter part of life. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Field of Battle between the Camps. 
 
 Alarums. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa, 
 
 and others. 
 
 Agr. Retire, we have engaged ourselves too far: 
 Cassar himself has work, and our oppression 
 Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Antony and Scarus, wounded. 
 
 Scar. my brave emperor, this is fought indeed ! 
 Had we done so at first, we had driven them home 
 With clouts about their heads. 
 
 Ant. Thou bleed'st apace. 
 
 •Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T, 
 But now 'tis made an H. 
 
 Ant. They do retire. 
 
 Scar. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes ; I have yet 
 Room for six scotches" more. 
 
 Enter Enes. 
 
 Eros. They are beaten, sir ; and our advantage 
 serves 
 For a fair victory. 
 
 Scar. Let us score their backs, 
 
 And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind; 
 'Tis sport to maul a runner. 
 
 Ant. I will reward thee 
 
 Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold 
 For thy good valor. Come thee on. 
 
 Scar. I'll halt after. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE YUl.— Under the Walls of Alexandria. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Antony, marching,- Scarus, and 
 Forces. 
 Ant. We have beat him to his camp ; Run one 
 before, 
 And let the queen know of our guests. — To-morrow, 
 Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood 
 That has to-day escaped. I thank you all ; 
 For doughty'-handed are you ; and have fought 
 Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been 
 Each man's like mine ; you have shown all Hectors. 
 Enter the city, clip' your wives, your friends, 
 Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears 
 Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss 
 The honor'd gashes whole. — Give me thy hand ; 
 
 [To Scarus 
 Enter Cleopatra, attended. 
 To this great fairy* I'll commend thy acts, 
 Make her thanks bless thee. — O thou day o' the 
 
 world, 
 Chain mine arm'd neck; leap thou, attire and all, 
 Through proof of harness 6 to my heart, and there 
 Ride on the pants triumphing. 
 
 Cleo. Lord of lords ! 
 
 O infinite virtue ! com'st thou smiling from 
 The world's great snare uncaught ? 
 
 Ant. My nightingale, 
 
 We have beat them to their beds. What, girl? 
 though grey 
 
 ' Swells. 3 Cut?. » Brave. * Embrace 
 
 • Beauty united with power, was the popular character 
 istic of fairies. « Armor of proof. 
 
Scene X. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA 
 
 733 
 
 Do something mingle with our brown ; yet have we 
 A brain that nourishes o"r nerves, and can 
 Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man; 
 Commend unto his lips thy favoring hand; 
 Kiss it, my warrior: — He hath fought to-day, 
 As if a god, in hate of mankind, had 
 Destroy'd in such a shape. 
 
 Cleo. I'll give thee, friend, 
 
 An armor all of gold ; it was a king's. 
 
 Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled 
 Like holy Phoebus' car. — Give me thy hand; 
 Through Alexandria make a jolly march ; 
 Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe' 
 
 them. 
 Had our great palace the capacity 
 To camp this host, we all would sup together; 
 And drink carouses to the next day's fate, 
 Which promises royal peril. — Trumpeters, 
 With brazen din blast you the city's ear ; 
 Make mingle with our rattling tambourines ; 
 That heaven and earth may strike their sounds to- 
 gether, 
 Applauding our approach. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX.— Csesar's Camp. 
 Sentinels on their Post. Enier Enobarbus. 
 
 1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour 
 We must return to the court of guard : The night 
 Ts shiny ; and, they say, we shall embattle 
 
 By the second hour i' the morn. 
 
 2 Sold. This last day was 
 A shrewd one to us. 
 
 Eno. O, bear me witness, night, — 
 
 3 Sold. What man is this? 
 
 2 Sold. Stand close, and list to him. 
 Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, 
 
 When men revolted shall Upon record 
 Bear hateful memory, poor Encbarbus did 
 Before thy face repent ! — 
 
 1 Sold. Enobarbus! 
 
 3 Sold. Peace; 
 Hark further. 
 
 Eno. sovereign mistress of true melancholy, 
 The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me: 
 That life, a very rebel to my will, 
 May hang no longer on me: Throw my heart 
 Against the flint and hardness of my fault; 
 Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, 
 And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
 Nobler than my revolt is infamous, 
 Forgive me in thine own particular; 
 But let the world rank me in register 
 A master-leaver, and a fugitive: 
 O Antony ! Antony ! [Dies. 
 
 2 Sold. Let's speak 
 To him. 
 
 1 Sold. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks 
 May concern Caesar. 
 
 3 Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps. 
 
 1 Sold. Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his 
 Was never yet for sleeping. 
 
 2 Sold. Go we to him. 
 
 3 Sold. Awake, awake, sir ; speak to us. 
 
 2 Sold. Hear you, sir 1 
 1 Sold. The hand of death hath raught" him. 
 
 Hark, the drums [Drums afar off. 
 
 Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 
 To the court of guard: he is of note: our hour 
 Is fully out. 
 
 3 Sold. Come on then; 
 
 He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the Body. 
 1 0wn. • Reached 
 
 SCENE X.— Between the two Camps. 
 
 Enter Antony and Sc Alius, with J ortes. march 
 
 ing. 
 
 Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea ; 
 We please them not by land. 
 
 Scar. For both, my loid 
 
 Ant. I would, they'd fight i' the fire, or in the air 
 We'd fight there too. But this it is ; our foot 
 Upon the hills adjoining to the city, 
 Shall stay with us ; order for sea is given ; 
 They have put forth the haven, further on, 
 Where their appointment we may best discover, 
 And look on their endeavor. [Exeunt 
 
 Enter Cjbsar, and his Forces, marching. 
 
 Caes. But 9 being chaiged, we will be still by land. 
 Which, as I take't, we uhall ; for his best force 
 Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, 
 And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Antont and Scarus. 
 
 Ant. Yet they're not join'd: Where yonder pine 
 does stand, 
 I shall discover all: I'll bring thee word 
 Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit. 
 
 Scar. Swallows have built 
 
 In Cleopatra's sails their nest: the augurers 
 Say, they know not, — they cannot tell: — look 
 
 grimly 
 And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
 Is valiant and dejected ; and, by starts, 
 His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear, 
 Of what he has, and has not. 
 
 Alarum afar off, as at a Sea Fight. 
 Re-enter Antokt. 
 
 Ant. All is lost ■ 
 
 This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me : 
 My fleet hath yielded to the foe : and yonder 
 They cast their caps up, and carouse together 
 Like friends long lost. — Triple-turn'd whore ! l 'tia 
 
 thou 
 Hast sold me to this novice ; and my heart 
 Makes only wars on thee. — Bid them all fly ; 
 For when I am revenged upon my charm, 
 I have done all: — Bid them all fly, begone 
 
 [Exit Scarps. 
 O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : 
 Fortune and Antony part here ; even here 
 Do we shake hands. — All come to this 1 — The hearts 
 That spaniel'd m.e at heels, to whom I gave 
 Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
 On blossoming Csesar; and this pine is bark'd, 
 That over-topp'd them all. Betray'd I am : 
 this false soul of Egypt! this grave charm, 
 Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd thfui 
 
 home; 
 Whose bosom was my crownet, 2 my chief end, 
 Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, 3 
 Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. — 
 What, Eros, Eros! 
 
 Enter Cleopatra. 
 
 \h! thou spell! Avaunt. 
 
 Cleo. Why is my lord enraged against his love ? 
 
 Ant. Vanish : or I shall give thee thy deserving, 
 And blemish Ccesar's triumph. Let him take thee, 
 And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians: 
 Follow his chariot like the greatest spot 
 Of all thy sex; most monster-like, shown 
 
 • Without. 
 
 1 Cleopatra first belonged to Julius Csesar, then to A» 
 tony, and now, as Antony supposes, to Augustus, 
 a Finish. 
 
 • A cheating game, at present named pricHng altMbeU 
 
724 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Aci IV 
 
 For poor'st diminutives,' to dolts ; and let 
 
 Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
 
 With her prepared nails. [Exit Cleo.] Tis well 
 
 thou'rt gone, 
 If it be well to live: But better 'twere 
 Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death 
 Might have prevented many. — Eros, ho ! — 
 The shirt of Nessus is upon me : Teach me, 
 Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage: 
 Let me lodge Lichas* on the horns o'the moon; 
 And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club, 
 Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die ; 
 To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall 
 Under this plot: she dies for't. — Eros, ho! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE XI. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mar- 
 dian. 
 
 Cleo. Help me, my women ! 0, he is more mad 
 Than Telamon 6 for his shield ; the boar of Thessaly 
 Was never so emboss'd. 1 
 
 Char. To the monument; 
 
 There lock yourself, and send him word you are 
 
 dead. 
 The soul and body rive not more in parting, 
 Than greatness going off. 
 
 Cleo. To the monument: — 
 
 Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself; 
 Say, that the last I spoke was, Antony, 
 And word it, pr'ythee, piteously : Hence, 
 Mardian ; and bring me how he takes my death. — 
 To the monument. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE XII.— Another Room.. 
 
 Enter Antony and Eros. 
 
 Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me! 
 
 Eros. Ay, noble lord. 
 
 Ant. Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish ; 
 A vapor, sometime, like a bear, or lion, 
 A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, 
 A forked mountain, or blue promontory 
 With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, 
 And mock our eyes with air: Thou hast seen these 
 
 signs ; 
 They are black vesper's pageants. 
 
 Eros. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ant. That which is now a horse, even with a 
 thought, 
 The rack 8 dislimns; and makes it indistinct, 
 As water is in water. 
 
 Eros. It does, my lord. 
 
 Ant. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is 
 Even such a body : here I am Antony ; 
 Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
 I made these wars for Egypt; and the queen, — 
 Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine ; 
 Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't 
 A million more, now lost, — she, Eros, has 
 Pack'd cards with Caesar, and false play'd my glory 
 Unto an enemy's triumph. — 
 Nay, weep not, gentle Eros; there is left us 
 Ourselves to end ourselves. — 0, thy vile lady! 
 
 Enter Mardian. 
 She hag robb'd me of my sword. 
 
 Mar. No, Antony: 
 
 My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled 
 With thine entirely. 
 
 Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ; 
 
 She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death. 
 
 « For the smallest piece of money. 
 • The boy that brought the poisoned shirt to Hercules. 
 « Ajax 'JVlamon for the shield of Achilles. 
 VoaaUny at the mouth. » The fleeting clouds. 
 
 Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once 
 And that she has discharged: What thou wouldst do. 
 Is done unto thy hand : the last she spake 
 Was, Antony! most noble Antony! 
 Then in the midst a tearing groan did break 
 The name of Antony ; it was divided 
 Between her heart and lips : she render'd life, 
 Thy name so buried in her. 
 
 Ant. Dead then? 
 
 Mar. Dead. 
 
 Ant. Eros, unarm ; the long day's task is done, 
 And we must sleep: — That thou depart'st henc* 
 
 safe, 
 Does pay thy labor richly ; Go. — Off, pluck off; — 
 [Exit Mardian 
 The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
 The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides! 
 Heart, once be stronger than thy continent, 5 
 Crack thy frail case ! — Apace, Eros, apace. — 
 No more a soldier: — bruised pieces, go; 
 You have been nobly borne. — From me a while. 
 
 [Exit Eros. 
 I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
 Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now 
 All length is torture: — Since the torch is out, 
 Lie down, and stray no further: Now all labor 
 Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles 
 Itself with strength : Seal then, and all is done. — ■ 
 Eros! — I come, my queen: — Eros! Stay for me: 
 Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in 
 
 hand, 
 And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze: 
 Dido and her -.-Eneas shall want troops, 
 And all the haunt be ours. — Come, Eros, Eros ! 
 
 Re-enter Eros. 
 
 Eros. What would my lord 1 
 
 Ant. Since Cleopatra died, 
 
 I have liv'd in such dishonor, that the gods 
 Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
 Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back 
 With ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack 
 The courage of a woman ; less noble mind 
 Than she, which, by her death, our Csesar tells, 
 I am conqueror of myself. Thou art sworn. Eros, 
 That, when the exigent should come, (which now 
 Is come, indeed,) when I should see behind me 
 The inevitable prosecution of 
 Disgrace and horror, that, on my command, 
 Thou then wouldst kill me: do't; the time is 
 
 come; 
 Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Cssar thou defeat'st. 
 Put color in thy cheek. 
 
 Eros. The gods withhold me! 
 
 Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts, 
 Though enemy, lost aim, and could not? 
 
 Ant. Eros, 
 
 Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome, and see 
 Thy master thus with pleach'd 1 arms, bending down 
 His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
 To penetrative shame; whilst the wheel'd seat 
 Of fortunate Ctesar, drawn before him, branded 
 His baseness that ensued ! 
 
 Eros. I would not see't 
 
 Ant. Come then ; for with a wound I must be 
 cured. 
 Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn 
 Most useful for thy country. 
 
 Eros. 0, sir, pardon me. 
 
 Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st the* 
 not then 
 To do this when I bade thee ? Do it at once ; 
 9 i. e. The thing that contains thee. ' Folded. 
 
Scene XIII. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Or thy precedent services are all 
 
 But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 
 
 Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance, 
 Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 
 
 Ant. Lo thee ! [Turning from him. 
 
 Eros. My sword is drawn. 
 
 Ant. Then let it do at once 
 
 The thing why thou hast drawn it. 
 
 Eros. My dear master, 
 
 My captain, and my emperor ! let me say, 
 Before I strike this bloody stroke, Farewell. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis said, man; — and farewell. 
 
 Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now ? 
 
 Ant. Now, Eros. 
 
 Eros. Why, there then: — [Falls on his sword.'] 
 Thus do I escape the sorrow 
 Of Antony's death. [Dies. 
 
 Ant. Thrice nobler than myself! 
 
 Thou teachest me, valiant Eros, what 
 I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and 
 
 Eros 
 Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me 
 A nobleness in record: But I will be 
 A bridegroom in my death, and run into't 
 As to a lover's bed. Come then ; and, Eros, 
 Thy master dies thy scholar ; to do thus 
 
 [Falling on his sword. 
 I learn 'd of thee. How! not yet dead? not dead? — 
 The guard ! — ho ! — O, despatch me. 
 
 Enter Dercetas and Guard. 
 
 1 Guard. What's the noise ? 
 Ant. I have done my work ill, friends : O, make 
 
 an end 
 Of what I have begun. 
 
 2 Guard. The star is fallen. 
 1 Guard. And time is at his period. 
 
 All. Alas, and woe ! 
 
 Ant. Let him that loves me strike me dead. 
 
 1 Guard. Not I. 
 
 2 Guard. Nor I. 
 
 3 Guard. Nor any one. [Exeunt Guard. 
 Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers 
 
 fly. 
 Phis sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings, 
 Shall enter me with him. 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 
 Dio. Where's Antony ? 
 
 Der. There, Diomed, there. 
 
 Dio. Lives he ? 
 
 Wilt thou not answer, man? [Exit Dercetas. 
 
 Ant. Art thou there, Diomed ? Draw thy sword, 
 and give me 
 Sufficient strokes for death. 
 
 Dio. Most absolute lord, 
 
 My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 
 
 Ant. When did she send thee ? 
 
 Dio. Now, my lord, 
 
 Ant. Where is she? 
 
 Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a pro- 
 phesying fear 
 Of what hath come to pass : for when she saw 
 (Which never shall be found) you did suspect 
 She had dispos'd with Ca?sar, and that your rage 
 Would not be purged, she sent you word she was 
 
 dead; 
 But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
 Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come, 
 I dread, too late. 
 
 Ant. Too late, good Diomed: — Call my guard, 
 I pr'ythee. 
 
 » Dignitv 
 
 72T 
 
 The 
 
 Dio. What ho ! the emperor's guard ! 
 guard, what, ho! 
 Come, your lord calls. 
 
 Enter some of the Guard. 
 
 Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra 
 bides: 
 'Tis the last service that I shall command you. 
 1 Guard. Woe are we, sir, you may not live to 
 wear 
 All your true followers out. 
 
 All. Most heavy day ! 
 
 Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp 
 fate 
 To grace it with your sorrows : bid that welcome 
 Which comes to punish us, and we punish it, 
 Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up: 
 I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends, 
 And have my thanks for all. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing Antony. 
 
 SCENE XIII.— A Monument. 
 Enter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 
 
 Cleo. O, Charmian, I will never go from hence. 
 
 Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 
 
 Cleo. No, I will not; 
 
 All strange and terrible events are welcome, 
 But comforts we despise; our size of sorrow, 
 Proportion'cf to our cause, must be as great 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 As that which makes it. — How now ? Is he dead? 
 
 Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead. 
 Look out o' the other side your monument, 
 His guard have brought him thither. 
 
 Enter Antony, borne by the Guard. 
 
 Cleo. O thou sun, 
 
 Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in ! — darkling 
 
 stand 
 The varying shore o' the world !— Antony! 
 Antony, Antony! — Charmian, help; help, Iras; 
 Help, friends below : Let's draw him hither. 
 
 Ant. Peace : 
 
 Not Caesar's valor hath o'erthrown Antony, 
 But Antony's hath triumphed on itself. 
 
 Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony 
 Should conquer Antony; but wo 'tis so! 
 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying ; only 
 I here importune death awhile, until 
 Of many thousand kisses the poor last 
 I lay upon thy lips, — 
 
 Cleo. I dare not, dear, 
 
 (Dear my lord, pardon.) I dare not, 
 Lest I be taken : not the imperious show 
 Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall 
 Be brooch'd 3 with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, have 
 Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe ; 
 Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes, 
 And still conclusion, 4 shall acquire no honor 
 Demuring upon me. — But come, come, Antony,— 
 Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up;— 
 Assist, good friends. 
 
 Ant. 0, quick, or I am gone. 
 
 Cleo. Here's sport indeed! — How heavy weighs 
 my lord ! 
 Our strength is all gone into hea\ incss, 
 That makes the weight : Had I great Juno's power. 
 The strong winged Mercury should fetch thee up. 
 And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little. — 
 Wishers were ever fools ; — 0, come, come, come, 
 [They draw Antovt up 
 And welcome, welcome ! die, where thou hast liv'd 
 
 » Ornamented. « Sedate determination 
 
726 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act \ 
 
 Quicken' with kissing; had my lips that power, 
 Thus w\Aiid I wear them out. 
 
 All. A heavy sight. 
 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying: 
 Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 
 
 Cleo. No, let me speak ; and let me rail so high, 
 That the false housewife Fortune break her 
 
 wheel, 
 Provoked by my offence. 
 
 Ant. One word, sweet queen : 
 
 Of Csesar, seek your honor, with your safety. — ! 
 
 Cleo. They do not go together. 
 
 Ant. Gentle, hear me: 
 
 None about Csesar trust, but Proculeius. 
 
 Cleo. My resolution, and my hands, I'll trust ; 
 None about Caesar. 
 
 Ant. The miserable change now at my end, 
 Lament nor sorrow at: but please your thoughts, 
 In feeding them with those my former fortunes 
 Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o' the world, 
 The noblest : and do now not basely die, 
 Nor cowardly ; put off my helmet to 
 My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman 
 Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is going; 
 I can no more. [Dies. 
 
 Cleo. Noblest of men, woo't die ? 
 
 Hast thou no care of me? Shall I abide 
 In this dull world, which in thy absence is 
 No better than a stye? — 0, see, my women, 
 The crown o' the earth doth melt : — My lord ! — 
 O, wither'd is the garland of the war, 
 The soldier's pole is fallen ; young boys, and girls, 
 Are level now with men ; the odds is gone, 
 
 And there is nothing left remarkable 
 
 Beneath the visiting moon. [She faints. 
 
 Char. quietness, lady ! 
 
 Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign. 
 
 Char. Lady, — 
 
 Iras. Madam, — 
 
 Char. O madam, madam, madam ! 
 
 Iras. Royal Egypt! 
 
 Empress! 
 
 Char. Peace, peace, Iras. 
 
 Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman; and com- 
 manded 
 By such poor passion as the maid that milks, 
 And does the meanest chares. 6 — It were for me 
 To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods; 
 To tell them that this world did equal theirs. 
 Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but naught, 
 Patience is sottish; and impatience does 
 Become a dog that's mad : Then is it sin, 
 To rush into the secret house of death, 
 Ere death dare come to us? — How do you, women? 
 What, what? good cheer ! Why, how now, Char- 
 
 mian? 
 My noble girls! — Ah, women, women, look! 
 Our lamp is spent, it's out: — Good sirs, take 
 heart: — ■ [To the Guard below. 
 
 We'll bury him: and then what's brave.what's noble, 
 Let's do it aftei the high Roman fashion, 
 And make death proud to take us. Come away: 
 This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 
 Ah, women, women ! come ; we have no friend 
 But resolution, and the briefest end. 
 [Exeunt; those above bearing off Antony's Body. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I. — Cesar's Camp before Alexandria. 
 
 Enter Cesar, Agbippa, Dolabella, Mecenas, 
 
 Gallus, Proculeius, and others. 
 
 Caes. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield ; 
 Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks us by 
 The pauses that he makes. 
 
 Do/. Csesar, I shall. [Exit Dolabella. 
 
 Enter Debcetas, ivitk the Sword of Antony. 
 
 Cass. Wherefore is that? and what art thou, 
 that dar'st 
 Appear thus to us ? 
 
 Der. I am call'd Dercetas ; 
 
 Mark Antony I serv'd, who best was worthy, 
 Beat to be serv'd : whilst he stood up and spoke, 
 He was my master : and I wore my life, 
 To ^pend upon his haters : If thou please 
 To take me to thee, as I was to him 
 I'll be to Caesar ; If thou pleasest not, 
 I yield thee up my life. 
 
 Cass. What is't thou say'st ? 
 
 Der. I say, O Cossar, Antony is dead. 
 
 Caes. The breaking of so great a thing should make 
 \ greater crack: The round world should have shook 
 l..io».s into civil streets, 
 
 And citizens to their dens. — The death of Antony 
 Is not a single doom; in the name lay 
 A moiety of the world. 
 
 Der. He is dead, Casar; 
 
 Not by a public minister of justice, 
 Nor by a hired knife ; but that self hand, 
 Which writ his honor in the acts it did, 
 Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, 
 Splittcd the heart. — This is his sword, 
 » Revive. 
 
 I robb'd his wound of it ; behold it stain'd 
 With his most noble blood. 
 
 Caes. Look you sad, friends 1 
 
 The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings 
 To wush the eyes of kings. 
 
 Agr. And strange it is, 
 
 That nature must compel us to lament 
 Our most persisted deeds. 
 
 Mec. His taints and honors 
 
 Waged equal with him. 
 
 Agr. A rarer spirit never 
 
 Did steer humanity : but you gods will give us 
 Some faults to make us mend. Caesar is touch'd. 
 Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set before him, 
 He needs must see himself. 
 
 Caes. Antony! 
 
 I have follow'd thee to this : — But we do lance 
 Diseases in our bodies : I must perforce 
 Have shown to thee such a declining day, 
 Or look on thine ; we could not stall together 
 In the whole world : but yet let me lament, 
 With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, 
 That thou, my brother, my competitor 
 In top of all design, my mate in empire, 
 Friend and companion in the front of war, 
 The arm of mine own body, and the heart 
 Where mine his' thoughts did kindle,- -that our stars, 
 Unreconciliable, should divide 
 Our equalness to this. — Hear mr , good friends, — 
 But I will tell you at some meeter season; 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 The business of this man looks out of him, 
 We'll hear him what he says. — Whence are yon ' 
 s Task-work. ' Tto 
 
Scene 11 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 72? 
 
 Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my 
 mistress, 
 Confin'd in all she has, her monument, 
 Of thy intents desires instruction; 
 That she preparedly may frame herself 
 To the way she's forced to. 
 
 Cass. Bid her have good heart; 
 
 She soon shall know of us, l>y some of ours, 
 How honorable and how kindly we 
 Determine for her : for Caesar cannot live 
 To be ungentle. 
 
 Mess. So the gods preserve thee ! [Exit. 
 
 Cass. Come hither, Proculeius; Go, and say, 
 We purpose her no shame ; give her what comforts 
 The quality of her passion shall require ; 
 Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
 She do defeat us : for her life in Rome 
 Would be eternal in our triumph: Go, 
 And, with your speediest, bring us what she says, 
 And how you find of her. 
 
 Pro. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Proculeius. 
 
 Cass. Gallus, go you along. — Where's Dolabella, 
 To second Proculeius? [Exit Gallus. 
 
 Agr. Mee. Dolabella ! 
 
 Cass. Let him alone, for I remember now 
 How he's employed; he shall in time be ready. 
 Go with me to my tent ; where you shall see 
 How hardly I was drawn into this war; 
 How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
 In all my writings : Go with me and see 
 What I can show in this. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Alexandria. A Room in the 
 Monument. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras. 
 Clco. My desolation does begin to make 
 A better life : 'Tis paltry to be Caesar ; 
 Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave, 8 
 A minister of her will; And it is great 
 To do that thing that ends all other deeds; 
 Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; 
 Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung. 
 The beggar's nurse and Cesar's. 
 Enter, to the Gates of the Monument, Procu- 
 leius, Gallus, and Soldiers. 
 Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt; 
 And bids thee study on what fair demands 
 Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 
 
 Cleo. [Within.'] What's thy name? 
 
 Pro. My name is Proculeius. 
 Cleo. [Within.] Antony 
 
 Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but 
 I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd, 
 That have no use for trusting. If your master 
 Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him, 
 That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
 No less beg than a kingdom : if he please 
 To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son, 
 He gives me so much of mine own, as I 
 Will kneel to him with thanks. 
 
 Pro. Be of good cheer ; 
 
 You are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing : 
 Make your full reference freely to my lord, 
 Who is so full of grace, that it flows over 
 On all that need : Let me report to him 
 Your sweet dependency : and you shall find 
 A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness, 
 Where he for grace is kneel'd to. 
 
 Cleo. [ Within.] Pray you, tell him 
 
 I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him 
 The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 
 • Serrmnt. 
 
 A doctrine of obedience; and would gladly 
 Look him i' the face. 
 
 Pro. This I'll report, dear lady 
 
 Have comfort; for I know, your plight is pitied 
 Of him that caus'd it. 
 
 Gal. You see how easily she may be surpris'd; 
 [Here Proculeius, and two of the Guard, 
 ascend the Monument by a Ladder placed 
 against a Window, and having descended, 
 come behind Cleopatra. Some of tht 
 Guard unbar and open the Gates. 
 Guard her till Caesar come. 
 
 [To Proculeius and the Guard. Exti 
 Gallus. 
 
 Iras. Royal queen! 
 
 Char. Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen ! — 
 
 Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands. 
 
 [Drawing a Dagger. 
 
 Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold : 
 
 [Seizes and disarms her. 
 Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this 
 Reliev'd, but not betray'd. 
 
 Cleo. What, of death too 
 
 That rids our dogs of languish ? 
 
 Pro. Cleopatra, 
 
 Do not abuse my master's bounty, by 
 The undoing of yourself: let the world see 
 His nobleness well acted, which your death 
 Will never let come forth. 
 
 Cleo. Where art thou, death ? 
 
 Come hither, come ! come, come, and take a queen 
 Worth many babes and beggars ! 
 
 Pro. temperance, lady ! 
 
 Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir 
 If idle talk will once be necessary, 
 I'll not sleep neither : This mortal house I'll ruin, 
 Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I 
 Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court ; 
 Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye 
 Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up, 
 And show me to the shouting varletry 3 
 Of censuring Rome ? Rather a ditch in Egypt 
 Be gentle grave to me! rather on Nilus' mud 
 Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies 
 Blow me into abhorring! rather make 
 My country's high pyramides my gibbet, 
 And hang me up in chains ! 
 
 Pro. You do extend 
 
 These thoughts of horror further than you shall 
 Find cause in Caesar. 
 
 Enter Dolabella. 
 
 Dol. Proculeius, 
 
 What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows 
 And he hath sent for thee : as for the queen, 
 I'll take her to my guard. 
 
 Pro. So, Dolabella, 
 
 It shall content me best: be gentle to her. — 
 To Caesar I will speak what you shall please, 
 
 [7b Cleopatra. 
 If you'll employ me to him. 
 
 Cleo. Say, I would die. 
 
 [Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers. 
 
 Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ? 
 
 Cleo. I cannot tell. 
 
 Dol. Assuredly, you know me. 
 
 Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known. 
 You laugh, whci boys, or women, tell their dreams 
 1st not your trick? 
 
 Dol. I understana not, madam. 
 
 Cleo. I dream'd, there was an empero- Ap 
 tony; — 
 
 • RnbUa 
 
728 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act V 
 
 0, sjch another sleep, that I might sec 
 But such another man ! 
 
 Dol. If it might please you, — 
 
 Cko. His face was as the heavens ; and therein 
 stuck 
 A sun. and moon ; which kept their course, and 
 
 lighted 
 The little O, the earth. 
 
 Dol. Most sovereign creature, — 
 
 Cko. His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm 
 Crested the world: his voice was propertied 
 As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends; 
 But when he meant to quail 1 and shake the orb, 
 He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, 
 There was no winter in't; an autumn 'twas, 
 That grew the more by reaping : His delights 
 Were dolphin-like ; they showed his back above 
 The element they liv'd in: In his livery 
 Walk'd crowns, and crownets; realms and islands 
 
 were 
 As plates dropp'd from his pocket. 
 
 Dol. Cleopatra, — 
 
 Cko. Think you, there was, or might be, such 
 a man 
 A.s *his I dream'd of 1 
 
 Dol. Gentle madam, no. 
 
 Cko. You lie up to the hearing of the gods. 
 But, if there be, or ever were due such, 
 it's past the size of dreaming: Nature wants stuff 
 To vie strange forms with fancy; yet, to imagine 
 An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy 
 Condemning shadows quite. 
 
 Dol. Hear me, good madam : 
 
 Your loss is as yourself, great: and you bear it 
 As answering to the weight : Would I might never 
 O'ertake pursued success, but I do feel, 
 By the rebound of yours, a grief that shoots 
 My very heart at root. 
 
 Cko. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Know you, what Ca3sar means to do with me '! 
 
 Dol. I am loath to tell you what I would you knew. 
 
 Cko. Nay, pray you, sir, — 
 
 Dol. Though he be honorable, — 
 
 Cko. He'll lead me then in triumph 1 
 
 Dol. Madam ; he will ; 
 
 I know it. 
 
 [Within.'] Make way there, — Ceesar. 
 
 Enter Cesar, Gallus, Proculeius, Mecjenas, 
 Seleucus, and Attendants. 
 
 Uses. Which is the queen 
 
 Of Egypt? 
 
 Dol. 'Tis the emperor, madam. 
 
 [Cleopatra kneels. 
 
 Caen Arise, 
 
 V'ou snail not kneel: — 
 I pray you, rise; rise, Egypt. 
 
 Cko. Sir, the gods 
 
 Will have it thus; my master and my lord 
 I must obey. 
 
 Cses. Take to you no hard thoughts: 
 
 The record of what injuries you did us, 
 Though written in our flesh, we shall remember 
 As things but done by chance. 
 
 Cko. Sole sir o' the world, 
 
 I cannot project 3 mine own cause so well 
 To make it clear; but do confess, I have 
 Been laden with like frailties, which before 
 Have often shamed our sex. 
 
 Cses. Cleopatra, know, 
 
 We will extenuate rather than enforce : 
 S you apply yourself to our intents, 
 
 » Crush. « Silver money * Shape or form. 
 
 (Which towardsyou are most gentle,) yon shall find 
 A benefit in this change ; but if you spf>k 
 To lay on me a cruelty, by taking 
 Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself 
 Of my good purposes, and put your children 
 To that destruction which I'll guard them from, 
 If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave. 
 
 Cko. And may, through all the world : 'tis your«' 
 and we 
 Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest, shall 
 Hang in what place you please. Here, my good 
 lord. 
 
 Cass. You shall advise me in all for Clcopatru 
 
 Cko. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewel* 
 I am possess'd of: 'tis exactly valued : 
 No petty things admitted. — Where's Seleucus ! 
 
 Sel. Here, madam. 
 
 Cko. This is my treasurer; let him speak, my lord 
 Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd 
 To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. 
 
 <Se/. Madam, 
 I had rather seel' my lips, than, to my peril, 
 Speak that which is not. 
 
 Cko. What have I kept back ? 
 
 Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made 
 known. 
 
 Cses. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra ; I approve 
 Your wisdom in the deed. 
 
 Cko. See, Casar ! O, behold, 
 
 How pomp is followed! mine will now be yours; 
 And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine 
 The ingratitude of this Seleucus does 
 Even make me wild; — slave, of no more trust 
 Than love that's hired ! — What, goest thou back ? 
 
 thou shalt 
 Go back, I warrant thee ; but I'll catch thine eyes, 
 Though they had wings : Slave, soulless villain, dog! 
 O rarely base ! 
 
 Cses. Good queen, let us entreat you. 
 
 Cko. Cajsar, what a wounding shame is this ; 
 That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me, 
 Doing the honor of thy lordliness 
 To one so meek, that mine own servant should 
 Parcel 5 the sum of my disgraces by 
 Addition of his envy ! Say, good Caesar, 
 That I some lady trifles have reserv'd, 
 Immoment toys, things of such dignity 
 As we greet modern 6 friends withal : and say, 
 Some nobler token I have kept apart 
 For Livia," and Octavia, to induce 
 Their mediation; must I be unfolded 
 With one that I have bred 1 The gods ! It smites me 
 Beneath the fall I have. Pi'y thee, go hence ; 
 
 [To Seleucus. 
 Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits 
 Through the ashes of my chance. — Wert thou a 
 
 man, 
 Thou wouldst have mercy on me. 
 
 Cses. Forbear, Seleucus. 
 
 [Exit Seleucus. 
 
 Cko. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are 
 misthought 
 For things that others do ; and, when we fall, 
 We answer others' merits in our name, 
 Are therefore to be pitied. 
 
 Cses. Cleopatra, 
 
 N ot what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd, 
 Put we i' the roll of conquest: still be it yours, 
 Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe, 
 Csesar's no merchant, to make prize with you 
 Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd. 
 
 * Sew up. 
 
 • Common. 
 
 » Add to. 
 
 ' Csesar'a wife 
 
SCRNE II. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 729 
 
 Make not your thoughts your prisons: no, dear 
 
 queen ; 
 For we intend so to dispo.se you, as 
 Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed and sleep: 
 Our care and pity is so much upon you, 
 That we remain your friend; And so, adieu. 
 
 Cleo. My master, and my lord! 
 
 Caes. Not so: Adieu. 
 
 [Extunt CajsAii and his Train. 
 
 Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I 
 should not 
 Be noble to myself; but hark thee, Charmian. 
 
 [Whispers Charmian. 
 
 Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done, 
 And we are for the dark. 
 
 Cleo. Hie thee again : 
 
 I have spoke already, and it is provided ; 
 Go, put it to the haste. 
 
 Char. Madam, I will. 
 
 Re-enter Dolabella. 
 
 Dol. Where is the queen 1 
 
 Char. Behold sir. [Exit Charmian. 
 
 Cleo. Dolabella] 
 
 Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command, 
 Which my love makes religion to obey, 
 I tell you this : Casar through Syria 
 Intends his journey; and, within three days, 
 You with your children will he send before : 
 Make your best use of this : I have perform'd 
 Your pleasure and my promise. 
 
 Cleo. Dolabella, 
 
 I shall remain your debtor. 
 
 Dol. I your servant. 
 
 Adieu, good queen ; I must attend on Csesar. 
 
 Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dol.] Now, 
 Iras, what think'st thou 1 
 Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown 
 In Rome, as well as I: mechanic slaves 
 With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
 Uplift us to the view; in their thick breaths, 
 Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, 
 And forced to drink their vapor. 
 
 Iras. The gods forbid ! 
 
 Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras : Saucy lictors 
 Will catch at us, like strumpets: and scald rhymers 
 Ballad us out o' tune : the quick 8 comedians 
 Extemporally will stage us, and present 
 Our Alexandria revels ; Antony 
 Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see 
 Borne squeaking Cleopatra boy 9 my greatness 
 V the posture of a whore. 
 
 Iras. O the good gods ! 
 
 Cleo. Nay, that is certain. 
 Iras. I'll never see it ; for, I am sure, my nails 
 Are stronger than mine eyes. 
 
 Cleo. Why that's the way 
 
 To fool their preparation, and to conquer 
 Their most absurd intents. — Now, Charmian] — 
 
 Enter Charmian. 
 Show me, my women, like a queen : — Go fetch 
 My best attires; — I am again for Cydnus, 
 To meet Mark Antony ; — Sirrah, Iras, go. — 
 Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed : 
 And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee 
 
 leave 
 To play till doomsday. — Bring our crown and all. 
 Wherefore's this noise ] 
 
 [Exit InAS. A Noise within. 
 
 Enter one of the Guard. 
 Guard. Here is a rural fellow, 
 
 • Lively. * Female characters were played by boys. 
 
 That will not be denied your highness presence; 
 He brings you figs. 
 
 Cleo. Let him come in. How poor an instrument 
 
 [Exit Guard. 
 May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty. 
 My resolution's placed, and I have nothing 
 Of woman in me : Now from head to foot 
 I am marble-constant : now the fleeting moon 
 No planet is of mine. 
 
 Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a Basket 
 Guard. This is the man. 
 
 Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guard 
 
 Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there, 
 That kills and pains not] 
 
 Clown. Truly I have him : but I would not be 
 the party that should desire you to touch him, for 
 his biting is immortal ; those, that do die of it, do 
 seldom or never recover. 
 
 Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died on't] 
 Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard 
 of one of them no longer than yesterday : a very 
 honest woman, but something given to lie; as a 
 woman should not do, but in the way of honesty: 
 hew she died of the biting of it, what pains she felt. 
 Truly, she makes a very good report o' the worm: 
 But he that will believe all that they say, shall never 
 be saved by half that they do : But this is most 
 fallible, the worm's an odd worm. 
 Cleo. Get thee hence ; farewell. 
 Cluw77. I wish you all joy of the worm. 
 Cleo. Farewell. [Clown sets down the Basket. 
 Clown. You must think this, look you, that the 
 worm will do his kind.* 
 Cleo. Ay, ay; farewell. 
 
 Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted, 
 but in the keeping of wise people; for, indeed, thfre 
 is no goodness in the worm. 
 
 Cleo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded. 
 Clown. Very good : give it nothing, I pray you, 
 for it is not worth the feeding. 
 Qleo. Will it eat me] 
 
 Clown. You must not think I am so simple, but 
 I know the devil himself will not eat a woman : I 
 know, that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the 
 devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whore- 
 son devils do the gods great harm in their women; 
 for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five. 
 Cleo. Well, get thee gone; farewell. 
 Clown. Yes, forsooth; I wish you joy of the 
 worm. [Exit 
 
 Re-enter Iras, with a Robe, Crown, && 
 Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have 
 Immortal longings in me : Now no more 
 The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: — 
 Yare, yare, 2 good Iras; quick. — Methinks, I hea 
 Antony call; I see him rouse himself 
 To praise my noble act; I hear him mock 
 The luck of Csesar, which the gods give men 
 To excuse their after wrath: Husband, I come* 
 Now to that name my courage prove my title ! 
 I am fire, and'air; my other elements 
 I give to baser life. — So, — have you d"ne ] 
 Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips 
 Farewell, kind Charmian ; — Iras, long farewell. 
 
 [Kisses them. Iras falls and dies 
 Have I the aspic in my lips ? Dost fall ' 
 If thou and nature can so gently part. 
 The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, 
 Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thoc .ie still ' 
 If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world 
 It is not worth leave-taking. 
 
 ' Act according to his nature. a Make haste. 
 
 2 Y 
 
730 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I may 
 say, 
 The gods themselves do weep ! 
 
 Cleo. This proves me base : 
 
 If she first meet the curled Antony, 
 He'll make demand of her; and spend that kiss, 
 Which is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch, 
 [To the Asp, which she applies to her Breast. 
 With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
 Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool, 
 Be angry and despatch. O, couldst thou speak ! 
 That I might hear thee call great Caesar, ass 
 Uapolicied ! 3 
 
 Char. O eastern star ! 
 
 Cleo. Peace, peace ! 
 
 Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
 That sucks the nurse asleep ] 
 
 Char. O, break! 0, break! 
 
 Cleo. As sweet a*s balm, as soft as air, as gentle — 
 O Antony! — Nay, I will take thee too: — 
 
 [Applying another Asp to her Arm. 
 What should I stay — [Falls on a Bed, and dies. 
 
 Char. In this wild world 1 — So, fare thee well. — 
 Now boast thee, death ! in thy possession lies 
 A lass unparallel'd. — Downy windows, close ; 
 And golden Phoebus never be beheld 
 Of eyes again so royal! Your crown's awry; 
 I'll mend it, and then play. 
 
 Enter the Guard, rushing in. 
 
 1 Guard. Where is the queen] 
 
 Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 
 
 1 Guard. Caesar hath sent — 
 
 Char. Too slow a messenger. 
 
 [Applies the Asp. 
 0, come : apace, despatch : I partly feel thee. 
 
 1 Guard. Approach, ho ! All's not well : Caesar's 
 
 beguil'd. 
 
 2 Guard. There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; — 
 
 call him. 
 
 1 Guard. What work is here ? — Charmian, is 
 
 this well done 1 
 Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess 
 Descended of so many royal kings. 
 k.h, soldier! [Dies. 
 
 Enter Dolabella. 
 Dol. How goes it here 1 
 
 2 Guard. All dead. 
 
 T)oL Caesar, thy thoughts 
 
 » TJjspoHtic, to leave me to myself. 
 
 Touch their effects in this: Thyself art coming 
 To see perform'd the dreaded act, which thou 
 So sought'st to hinder. 
 
 [ Within.'] A way there, way for Caesar 
 
 Enter Cesar, and Attendants. 
 
 Dol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer; 
 That you did fear, is done. 
 
 Cses. Bravest at the last: 
 
 She levell'd at ourpurposes, and, being royal, 
 Took her own way. — The manner of their deaths 7 
 I do not see them bleed. 
 
 Dol. Who was last with them ! 
 
 1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought 
 her figs ; 
 This was his basket. 
 
 Cses. Poison'd then. 
 
 1 Guard. O Caesar, • 
 
 This Charmian liv'd but now; she stood, and spake; 
 I found her trimming up the diadem 
 On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood, 
 And on the sudden dropp'd. 
 
 Cass. O noble weakness ! 
 
 If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear 
 By external swelling: but she looks like sleep, 
 As she would catch another Antony 
 In her strong toil of grace. 4 
 
 Dol. Here, on her breast, 
 
 There is a vent of blood, and something blown : 
 The like is on her arm. 
 
 1 Guard. This is an aspic's trail : and these fig- 
 leaves 
 Have slime upon them, such as the aspic leaves 
 Upon the caves of Nile. 
 
 Caes. Most probable, 
 
 That so she died; for her physician tells me, 
 She hath pursued conclusions infinite 
 Of easy ways to die. — Take up her bed; 
 And bear her women from the monument : — 
 She shall be buried by her Antony : 
 No grave upon the earth shall clip 6 in it . 
 A pair so famous. High events as these 
 Strike those that make them : and their story is 
 No less in pity than his glory, which 
 Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall, 
 In solemn show, attend this funeral; 
 And then to Rome. — Come, Dolabella, see 
 High order in this great solemnity. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 * Graceful appearance. > Enfold. 
 
CYMBELINE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 f/'rMnFLiNE, Kins of Britain. 
 
 Cloten, Son to the Queen by a former Husband. 
 
 Leoxatus Posthcmus, a Gentleman, Husbandto 
 
 Imogen. 
 13 el. iiii us, a banished Lord, disguised under the 
 name of Morgan. 
 
 f Sons to Cymbeline, disguised un- 
 Guiherius, J der the Names of Polydore 
 Arviragus, [ and Cadw al, supposed Sons to 
 
 ^ Belarius. 
 Philario, Friend to Posthumus, > y ,. 
 [achimo, Friend to Philario, $ 
 
 A French Gtntlema?i, Friend to Philario. 
 Caius Lucius, General of the Roman Forces. 
 A Roman Captain. 
 
 Two British Captains. 
 
 Pisanio, Servant to Posthumus. • 
 
 Cornelius, a Physician. 
 
 Two Gentlemen. 
 
 Two Gaolers. 
 
 Queen, Wife to Cymbeline. 
 
 Imogen, Daughter to Cymbeline by a format 
 Queen. 
 
 Helen, Woman to Imogen. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Appa- 
 ritions, a Soothsayer, a Dutch Gentleman, a 
 Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, Cap- 
 tains, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attend' 
 ants. 
 
 SCENE, sometimes in Britain; sometimes in Italy. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Britain. The Garden behind Cym- 
 beline's Palace. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. You do not meet a man but frowns: 
 
 our bloods' 
 No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers ; 
 Still seem, as does the king's. 
 
 2 Gent. But what's the matter] 
 
 1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his king- 
 
 dom, whom 
 He purpos'd to his wife's sole son,. (a widow, 
 That late he married,) hath referr'd herself 
 Unto a poor but worthy gentleman : She's wedded ; 
 Her husband banish'd ; she imprison'd : all 
 [s outward sorrow ; though, I think, the king 
 Be touch'd at very heart. 
 
 2 Gent. None but the king 1 
 
 1 Gent. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the queen, 
 That mostdesir'd the match: But not a courtier, 
 Although they wear their faces to the bent 
 
 Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not 
 Glad at the thing they scowl at. 
 
 2 Gent. And why so 1 
 
 1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess, is a thing 
 Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her, 
 (I mean, that married her, — alack, good man ! — 
 And therefore banish'd,) is a creature such 
 As, *o seek through the regions of the earth 
 For one nis like, there would be something failing 
 In him that should compare. I do not think, 
 So fair an outward, and such stuff within, 
 Endows a man but he 
 
 Inclination, natural disposition. 
 
 2 Gent. You speak him fai 
 
 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; 
 Crush him together, rather than unfold 
 
 His measure duly.' 
 
 2 Gent. What's his name, and birth ? 
 1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father 
 
 Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honor, 
 
 Against the Romans, with Cassibelan: 
 
 But had his titles by Tenantius, 4 whom 
 
 He serv'd with glory and admir'd success: 
 
 So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus: 
 
 And had, besides this gentleman in question, 
 
 Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time, 
 
 Died with their swords in hand; for which then 
 
 father 
 (Then old and fond of issue) took such sorrow. 
 That he quit being ; and his gentle lady, 
 Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd 
 As he was born. The king, he takes the babe 
 To his protection ; calls him Posthumus ; 
 Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber. 
 Puts him to all the learnings that his time 
 Could make him the receiver of; which he took 
 As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd : and 
 In his spring became a harvest : Lived in court 
 (Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lov'd - 
 A sample to the youngest; to the more mature. 
 A glass that featcd* them; and to the graver, 
 A child that guided dotards: to his mistress, 
 For whom he now is banished, — her own price 
 Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue, 
 
 2 i. e. You praise him extensively. 
 
 3 My praise, however extensive, is within his merit 
 
 * The father of Cymbeline » Formed their mann«n 
 
732 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act i 
 
 Bv her election may be truly read, 
 What kind of man he is. 
 
 2 Gent. I honor him 
 
 Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me, 
 Is she sole child to the king] 
 
 1 Gent. His only child. 
 He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing, 
 Mark it,) the eldest of them at three years old, 
 
 I' the swathing clothes the other, from their nur- 
 sery 
 
 Were stolen: and to this hour, no guess in know- 
 ledge 
 
 Which way they went. 
 
 2 Gent. How long is this ago! 
 
 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 
 
 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so con- 
 
 vey'd ! 
 So slackly guarded; And the search so slow, 
 That could not trace them ! 
 
 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange, 
 Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 
 Yet is it true, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 
 
 1 Gent. We must forbear ; Here comes the gen- 
 tleman, 
 The queen and princess. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 
 
 Queen. No, be assured, you shall not find me, 
 daughter, 
 After the slander of most step-mothers, 
 Evil-eyed unto you: you are my prisoner, but 
 Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 
 That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthu- 
 
 * mus, 
 So soon as I can win the offended king, 
 I will be known your advocate : marry, yet 
 The fire of rage is in him ; and 'twere good, 
 You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience 
 Your wisdom may inform you. 
 
 Post. Please your highness, 
 
 I will from hence to-day. 
 
 Queen. You know the peril : — 
 
 f 11 fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 
 The pangs of barr'd affections ; though the king 
 Hath charged you should not speak together. 
 
 [Exit Queen. 
 
 Imo. 
 Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
 Can tickle where she wounds ! — My dearest hus- 
 band, 
 I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing, 
 (Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what 
 His rage can do on me: You must be gone; 
 And I shall here abide the hourly shot 
 Of angry eyes; not comforted to live, 
 But that there is this jewel in the world, 
 That I may see again. 
 
 Post. My queen! my mistress! 
 
 O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause 
 To be suspected of more tenderness 
 Than doth become a man ! I will remain 
 The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth. 
 My residence in Rome at one Philario's; 
 Who to my father was a friend, to me 
 Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, 
 And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, 
 Though ink be made of gall. 
 
 Re-enter Queen. 
 
 Queen. be brief, I pray you: 
 
 ff the king come I shall incur I know not 
 
 How much of his displeasure: Yet I'll move him 
 
 [Aside. 
 To walk this way : I never do him wrong, 
 But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; 
 Pays dear for my offences. [Exit. 
 
 Post. Should w : e be taking leave 
 
 As long a term as yet we have to live, 
 The loathness to depart would grow : Adieu ! 
 
 Imo. Nay, stay a little: 
 Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 
 Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; 
 This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart; 
 But keep it till you woo another wife, 
 When Imogen is dead. 
 
 Post. How! how! another? — 
 
 You gentle gods, give me but this I have, 
 And sear up 6 my embracements from a next 
 With bonds of death ! — Remain thou here 
 
 [Putting on tJie Ring 
 While sense can keep it on ! And sweetest, fairest, 
 As I my poor self did exchange for you, 
 To your so infinite loss; so in our trifles 
 I still win of you : For my sake, wear this ; 
 It is a manacle of love; I'll place it 
 Upon this fairest prisoner. 
 
 [Putting a Bracelet on her Am 
 
 Imo. O, the gods ! 
 
 When shall we see again? 
 
 Enter Ctmbeline, and Lords. 
 
 Post. Alack, the king ! 
 
 Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, fron 
 my sight ! 
 If, after this command, thou fraught 1 the court 
 With thy unworthiness, thou diest : Away ! 
 Thou art poison to my blood. 
 
 Post. The gods protect you ! 
 
 And bless the good remainders of the court! 
 I am gone. [Exit. 
 
 Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death 
 More sharp than this is. 
 
 Cym. O disloyal thing, 
 
 That shouldst repair my youth; thou heapest 
 A year's age on me! 
 
 Imo. I beseech you, sir, 
 
 Harm not yourself with your vexation ; I 
 Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare 9 
 Subdues all pangs, all fears. 
 
 Cym. Past grace? obedience? 
 
 Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past 
 grace. 
 
 Cym. That mightst have had the sole son of 
 my queen ! 
 
 Imo. bless'd, that I might not ! I chose an eagle, 
 And did avoid a puttock. 3 
 
 Cym. Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have 
 made my throne 
 A seat for baseness. 
 
 Imo. No ; I rather added 
 
 A lustre to it. 
 
 Cym. O thou vile one ! 
 
 Imo. Sir, 
 
 It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus : 
 You bred him as my playfellow ; and he is 
 A man, worth any woman; overbuys me 
 Almost the sum he pays. 
 
 Cym. What ! — art thou mad ? 
 
 Imo. Almost, sir; Heaven restore me ! — 'WouW 
 I were 
 A neat-herd's 1 daughter! and my Leonatus 
 Our neighbor shepherd's son ! 
 
 • Close up. ' Fill • A more exquisite fttelinf. 
 » A kite. * Cattle keeper. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 733 
 
 Re-enter Queen. 
 
 Cym. Thou foolish thing! — 
 
 They were again together: you have done 
 
 [7b the Queen. 
 Not after our Ornmand. Away with her, 
 And pen her u} . 
 
 Queen. 'Beseech your patience : — Peace, 
 
 Dear lady daughter, peace; — Sweet sovereign, 
 Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some 
 
 comfort 
 Out of your best advice. 3 
 
 Cym. Nay, let her languish 
 
 A drop of blood a day; and, being aged, 
 Die of this folly! {Exit. 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Queen. Fye! — you must give way : 
 
 Here is your servant. — How now, sir! What news? 
 
 Pis. My lord your son drew on my master. 
 
 Queen. Ha ! 
 
 No harm, I trust, is done ? 
 
 Pis. There might have been, 
 
 But that my master rather play'd than fought, 
 And had no help of anger : they were parted 
 By gentlemen at hand. 
 
 Queen. I am very glad on't. 
 
 Imo. Your son's my father's friend ; he takes his 
 part. — 
 To draw upon an exile! — brave sir! — 
 I would they were in Afric both together ; 
 Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
 The goer back. — Why came you from your master? 
 
 Pis. On his command: He would not suffer me 
 To bring him to the haven : left these notes 
 Of what commands I should be subject to, 
 When it pleas'd you to 'employ me. 
 
 Queen. This hath been 
 
 Your faithful servant ; I dare lay mine honor, 
 He will remain so. 
 
 Pis. I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Queen. Pray, walk a while. 
 
 Imo. About some half hour hence, 
 
 I pray you speak with me : you shall, at least, 
 Go see my lord aboard: for this time, leave me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — ^4 public Place. 
 
 Enter Clotex, and two Lords. 
 
 1 Lord- Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt ; 
 the violence of action hath made you reek as a sac- 
 rifice : Where air comes out, air comes in : there's 
 none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. 
 
 Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it — 
 Have I hurt him ? 
 
 2 Lord. No, faith ; net so much as his patience. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. Hurt him? his body's a passable carcass, 
 if he be not hurt : it is a thoroughfare for steel if it 
 be not hurt. 
 
 2 Lord. His steel was in debt ; it went o' the 
 backside the town. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. The villain would not stand me. 
 2 Lord. No ; but he fled forward still, toward 
 your face. [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough of 
 your own: but he added to your having; gave you 
 some ground. 
 
 2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans : 
 Puppies ! [Aside. 
 
 Clo. I would they had not come between us. 
 2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how 
 long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside. 
 9 Consideration. 
 
 Clo. And that she should love this fellow, ami 
 refuse me ! 
 
 2 Lord. If it be a sin to make a true election, 
 she is damned. [Aside- 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, as I .told you always, her beauty and 
 her brain go not together: She's a good sign, but I 
 have seen small reflection of her wit. 3 
 
 2 Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the reflec- 
 tion should hurt her. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber: 'Would there 
 had been some hurt done ! 
 
 2 Lord. I wish not so ; unless it had been the fall 
 of an ass, which is no great hurt. [Aside 
 
 Clo. You'll go with us ? 
 
 1 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 
 Clo. Nay, come, let's go together. 
 
 2 Lord. Well, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 Enter Imogen a?id Pisanio. 
 
 I/no. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the 
 • haven, 
 And question'dst every sail: if he should write, 
 And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost 
 As offer'd mercy is. What was the last 
 That he spake to thee? 
 
 Pis. 'Twas, His queen, his queen/ 
 
 Imo. Then waved his handkerchief? 
 
 Pis. And kiss'd it, madam. 
 
 Imo. Senseless linen ! happier therein than I !— 
 And that was all ? 
 
 Pis. No, madam ; for so long 
 
 As he could make me with this eye o,r ear 
 Distinguish him from others, he did keep 
 The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, 
 Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind 
 Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, 
 How swift his ship. 
 
 Imo. Thou shouldst have made him 
 
 As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
 To after-eye him. 
 
 Pis. Madam, so I did. 
 
 Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings; 
 crack'd them, but 
 To look upon him ; till the diminution 
 Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle: 
 Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from 
 The smallness of a gnat to air; and then 
 Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. — But, good 
 
 Pisanio, 
 When shall we hear from him ? 
 
 Pis. Be assured, madam, 
 
 With his next 'vantage.' 
 
 Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had 
 Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him, 
 How I would think on him, at certain hours, 
 Such thoughts, and such; or I could make him swear 
 The shes of Italy should not betray 
 Mine interest, and his honor; or have charged him, 
 At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, 
 To encounter me with orisons, 5 for then 
 I am in heaven for him : or ere I could 
 Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
 Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father 
 And. like the tyrannous breathing of the north, 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. 
 Enter a Ladv. 
 
 LuJy. 
 
 The queen, madam, 
 
 Desires your highness' company. 
 
 3 To understand the force of tins idea, it should be re- 
 membered that anciently almost every sign had a n>ott<\ 
 or some attempt at a witticism underneath it. 
 
 * Opportunity. 'Meet me with rwiprccal prkjer 
 
734 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them de- 
 spatched. — 
 I will attend the queen. 
 
 Pis. Madam, I shall. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — An Apartment in Philario's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutch- 
 man, and a Spaniard. 
 
 lack. Believe it, sir: I have seen him in Britain: 
 he was then of a crescent note, 6 expected to prove 
 so worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name 
 of: but I could then have looked on him without 
 the help of admiration ; though the catalogue of his 
 endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to 
 peruse him by items. 
 
 Phi. You speak of him when he was less fur- 
 nished than now he is, with that which makes him 
 both without and within. 
 
 French. I have seen him in France : we had very 
 many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes 
 es he. 
 
 Iach. This matter of marrying his king's daugh- 
 ter (wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, 
 than his own) words him, I doubt not, a great deal 
 from the matter. 
 
 French. And then his banishment : 
 
 Iach. Ay, and the approbation of those, that 
 weep this lamentable divorce, under her colors, are 
 wonderfully to extend 1 him; be it but to fortify 
 her judgment, which else an easy battery might lay 
 flat, for taking a beggar without more quality. But 
 how comes it, he is to sojourn with you? How 
 creeps acquaintance ? 
 
 Phi. His father and I were soldiers together ; to 
 whom I have been often bound for no less than my 
 life:— 
 
 Enter Posthumus. 
 Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained 
 amongst you, as suits with gentlemen of your 
 knowing to a stranger of his quality. — I beseech 
 you all, be better known to this gentleman ; whom 
 I commend to you, as a noble friend of mine: How 
 worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather 
 than story him in his own hearing. 
 
 French. Sir, we have known together in Orleans. 
 
 Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for 
 courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay 
 still. 
 
 French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness; I 
 was glad I did atone 8 my countryman and you ; it 
 had been pity, you should have been put together 
 with so mortal a purpose, as then each bore, upon 
 importance' of so slight and trivial a nature. 
 
 Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young 
 traveller : rather shunn'd to go even with what I 
 heard, than in my every action to be guided by 
 others' experiences: but, upon my mended judg- 
 ment, (if I offend not to say it is mended,) my 
 quarrel was not altogether slight. 
 
 French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement 
 of swords; and by such two, that would, by all 
 likelihood, have confounded 1 one the other, or have 
 fallen both. 
 
 Iach. Can we, with manners, ask* what was the 
 difference ? 
 
 French. Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in 
 public, which may, without contradiction, suffer 
 the report. It was much like an argument that fell 
 
 • Increasing in fame. ' Praise him. » Reconcila. 
 
 • Instigation. ' Destroyed 
 
 out last night, where each of us fell in praise of oir. 
 country mistresses: This gentleman at that rim* 
 vouching (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation) 
 his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, 
 qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest 
 of our ladies in France. 
 
 Iach. That lady is not now living ; or this gentle- 
 man's opinion, by this, worn out. 
 
 Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. 
 
 Iach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours 
 of Italy. 
 
 Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, 
 I would abate her nothing; though I profess my- 
 self her adorer, not her friend. 3 
 
 Iach. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-in- 
 hand comparison,) had been something too fair, and 
 too good, for any lady in Britany. If she went 
 before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours 
 out-lustres many I have beheld, I could not but be- 
 lieve she excelled many: but I have not seen the 
 most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. 
 
 Post. I praised her, as I rated her: so do I my 
 stone. 
 
 Iach. What do you esteem it at 1 
 
 Post. More than the world onjoys. 
 
 Iach. Either your unparaguued mistress is dead, 
 or she's out-prized by a trifle. 
 
 Post. You are mistaken: the one may be sold, 
 or given : if there were wealth enough for the pur- 
 chase, or merit for the gift : the other is not a thing 
 for sale, and only the gift of the gods. 
 
 Iach. Which the gods have given you? 
 
 Post. Which, by their grace, I will keep. 
 
 Iach. You may wear her in title yours : but, you 
 know, strange fowl light upon neighboring ponds. 
 Your ring may be stolen too : so, of your brace of 
 unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and the 
 other casual ; a cunning thief, orathat-way accom- 
 plished courtier, would hazard the winning both of 
 first and last. 
 
 Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished 
 a courtier, to convince 3 the honor of my mistress ; 
 if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. 
 I do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves ; not- 
 withstanding I fear not my ring. 
 
 Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 
 
 Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy sig- 
 nior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we 
 are familiar at first. 
 
 Iach. With five times so much conversation, I 
 should get ground of your fair mistress : make her 
 go back, even to the yielding; had I admittance, 
 and opportunity to friend. 
 
 Post. No, no. 
 
 Iach. I dare, thereon, pawn the moiety of my 
 estate to your ring; which, in my opinion, o'er- 
 values it something: But I make my wager rather 
 against your confidence, than her reputation : and, 
 to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it 
 against any lady in the world. 
 
 Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold a 
 persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're 
 worthy of, by your attempt. 
 
 Iach. What's that? 
 
 Post. A repulse : Though your attempt, as you 
 call it, deserve more; a punishment too. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too 
 suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you 
 be better acquainted. 
 
 Iach. 'Would I had put my estate, and my 
 neighbor's, on the approbation" of what I havs 
 spoke. 
 
 « Lover. 'Overcome *Proo£ 
 
KcENE IV 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 73u 
 
 Post. What lady would you choose to assail ? 
 
 lack. Yours; whom in constancy, you think, 
 stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats 
 to your ring, that, commend me to the court where 
 vour lady is, with no more advantage than the op- 
 portunity of a second conference, and I will bring 
 from thence that honor of hers, which you imagine 
 so reserved. 
 
 Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it : 
 my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis part of if. 
 
 lack. You are a frienaV, and therein the wiser. 
 If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you 
 cannot preserve it from tainting: But, I see, you 
 have some religion in you, that you fear. 
 
 Post. This is but a custom in your tongue: you 
 bear a graver purpose, I hope. 
 
 Iach. I am the master of my speeches; and would 
 undergo what's spoken, I swear. 
 
 Post. Will you ? — I shall but lend my diamond 
 till your return : — Let there be covenants drawn 
 between us : My mistress exceeds in goodness the 
 hugeness of your unworthy thinking: I dare you 
 to this match : here's my ring. 
 
 Phi. I will have it no lay. 
 
 Iach. By the gods it is one : — If I bring you no 
 sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest 
 bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand du- 
 cats are yours ; so is your diamond too. If I come 
 off, and leave her in such honor as you have trust 
 in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold 
 are yours : — provided, I have your commendation,* 
 for my more free entertainment. 
 
 Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have 
 articles betwixt us: — only, thus far you shall an- 
 swer. If you make your voyage upon her, and 
 give me directly to understand you have prevailed, 
 I am no further your enemy, she is not worth our 
 debate : if she remain unsecured, (you not making 
 it appear otherwise,) for your ill opinion, and the 
 assault you have made to her chastity, you shall 
 answer me with your sword, 
 
 lack. Your hand ; a covenant : Wc will have 
 these things set down by lawful counsel, and straight 
 away for Britain ; lest the bargain should catch cold, 
 and starve : I will fetch my gold, and have our two 
 wagers recorded. 
 
 Post. Agreed. 
 
 [Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo. 
 French. Will this hold, think you ? 
 
 Phi. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray 
 let us follow 'em. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Britain. A Room in Cymbeline's 
 Palace. 
 Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 
 Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather 
 those flowers; 
 Make haste: Who has the note of them] 
 
 1 Lady. I, madam. 
 
 Queen. Despatch. [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Now master doctor ; have you brought those drugs? 
 Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they are, 
 madam : [Presenting a small Box. 
 
 But I beseech your grace, (without offence ; 
 My conscience bids me ask,) wherefore you have 
 Commanded of me these most poisonous com- 
 pounds, 
 Which are the movers of a languishing death ; 
 But, though slow, deadly? 
 
 Queen. I do wonder, doctor, 
 
 Thou ask'st me such a question : Have I not been 
 
 Thy pupil long ? Hast thou not learn'd me how 
 
 » Recommendation. 
 
 To make perfumes? distil ? preserve ? yea, so, 
 That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
 For my confections ? Having thus far proceeded. 
 (Unless you think me devilish,) is't not meet 
 That I did amplify my judgment in 
 Other conclusions? 6 I will try the forces 
 Of these thy compounds on such creatures as 
 We count not worth the hanging,(but none human,) 
 To try the vigor of them, and apply 
 Allayments to their act ; and by them gather 
 Their several virtues, and effects. 
 
 Cor. Your highness 
 
 Shall from this practice but make hard your heart: 
 Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
 Both noisome and infectious. 
 
 Queen. O, content thee. — 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him [Aside. 
 Will I first work: he's for his master, 
 And enemy to my son. — How now, Pisanio 1 — 
 Doctor, your service for this time is ended ; 
 Take your own way. 
 
 Cor. I do suspect you, madam ; 
 
 But you shall do no harm. [Aside. 
 
 Queen. Hark thee, a word. — 
 
 [To Pisanio. 
 
 Cor. [Aside.] I do not like her. She doth think, 
 she has 
 Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit, 
 And will not trust one of her malice with 
 A drug of such damn'd nature : Those she has, 
 Will stupify and dull the sense awhile: 
 Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and dogs; 
 Then afterward up higher; but there is 
 No danger in what show of death it makes, 
 More than the locking up the spirits a time, 
 To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
 With a most false effect; and I the truer, 
 So to be fa).:;e with her. 
 
 Queen. No further service, doctor, 
 
 Until I send for thee. 
 
 Cor. I humbly take my leave. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou 
 think, in time 
 She will not quench; and let instructions enter 
 Where folly now possesses ? Do thou work ; 
 When thou shalt bring me word, she loves my son, 
 I'll tell thee, on the instant, thou art then 
 As great as is thy master: greater; for 
 His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name 
 Is at last gasp: Return he cannot, nor 
 Continue where he is: to shift his being, 1 
 Is to exchange one misery with another; 
 And every day that comes, comes to decay 
 A day's work in him : What shalt thou expect, 
 To be depende/ on a thing that leans ? 
 Who cannot be new built; nor has no friends, 
 
 [The Queen drops a Box: Pisanio takes 
 it up. 
 So much as but to prop him ? — Thou tak'st up 
 Thou know'st not what ; but take it for thy labor : 
 It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
 Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know 
 What is more cordial: — Nay, I pr'ythee, lake it; 
 It is an earnest of a further good 
 That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
 The case stands with her; do't, as from thyself. 
 Think what a chance thou changest on ; but think 
 Thou hast thy mistress, still ; to boot, my son, 
 Who shall take notice of thee : I'll move' the king 
 
 « Experiments. ' To "hange his abode. 
 
736 
 
 CYMBELiNE. 
 
 Act I 
 
 To any shape of thy preferment, such 
 As thou'lt desire: and then myself, I chiefly, 
 That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
 To bad thy merit richly. Call my women: 
 Think on my words. [Exit Pisa.] — A sly and con- 
 stant knave ; 
 Not to be shaked : the agent for his master ; 
 And the remembrancer of her, to hold 
 The hand fast to her lord. — I have given him that, 
 Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
 Of liegers for her sweet. ; and which she, after, 
 Except she bend her humor, shall be assured 
 
 Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies. 
 To taste of too. — So, so ; — well done, well done ; 
 The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, 
 Bear to my closet: — Fare thee well, Pisanio; 
 Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies. 
 
 Pis. And shall do : 
 
 And when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
 I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE Vll. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 Imo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false ; 
 A foolish suitor to a wedded lady, 
 That hath her husband banish'd; — 0, that hus- 
 band! 
 My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated 
 Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stolen. 
 As my two brothers, happy ! but most miserable 
 Is the desire that's glorious: Blessed be those 
 How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, 
 Which seasons comfort. — Who may this be ? Eye ! 
 Enter Pisanio and Iachimo. 
 
 Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome ; 
 Comes from my lord with letters. 
 
 Iach. Change you, madam ? 
 
 The worthy Leonatus is in safety, 
 And greets your highness dearly. 
 
 [Presents a Letter. 
 
 Imo. Thanks, good sir: 
 
 You are kindly welcome. 
 
 Iach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, 
 She is alone the Arabian bird ; and I 
 Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend ! 
 Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! 
 Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; 
 Rather, directly fly. 
 
 Imo. [Reads.] — He is one of the noblest note, to 
 whose kindness I am most infinitely tied. Reflect 
 upon him accordingly, us you value your truest 
 
 Leonatus. 
 So far I read aloud : 
 But even the very middle of my heart 
 Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully. — 
 You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 
 Have words to bid you ; and shall find it so, 
 In all that I can do. 
 
 Iach. Thanks, fairest lady. — 
 
 What! are men mad! Hath nature given them eyes 
 To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
 Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
 The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones 
 Upon the number'd beach ? and can we not 
 Partition make with spectacles so precious 
 Twixt fair and. foul ? 
 
 Imo. What makes your admiration? 
 
 Iach. It tanno» be i' the eye; for apes and mon- 
 keys, 
 
 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and. 
 Contemn with mows 8 the other : Nor i' the judg 
 
 ment; 
 For idiots in this case of favor, would 
 Be wisely definite: Nor i' the appetite; 
 Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, 
 Should make desire vomit emptiness, 
 Not so allured to feed. 
 
 Imo. What is the matter, trow? 
 
 Iach. The cloyed will, 
 
 (That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, 
 That tub both fill'd and running,) ravening first 
 The lamb, longs after for the garbage. 
 
 Imo. What, dear sir, 
 
 Thus raps you? Are you well? 
 
 Iach. Thanks, madam; well: — 'Beseech you, 
 sir, desire [7b Pisanio. 
 
 My man's abode where I did leave him : he 
 Is strange and peevish. 9 
 
 Pis. I was going, sir, 
 
 To give him welcome. [Exit Pisanio 
 
 Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'be- 
 seech you ? 
 
 Iach. Well, madam. 
 
 Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is. 
 
 Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there 
 So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd 
 The Briton reveller. 
 
 Imo. When he was here, 
 
 He did incline to sadness; and oft-times 
 Not knowing why. 
 
 Iach. I never saw him sad. 
 
 There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
 An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
 A Gallian girl at home: he furnaces 
 The thick sighs from him : whiles the jolly Briton 
 (Your lord, I mean) laughs from's free lungs, 
 
 cries 0/ 
 Can my sides hold, to think, that man,— who knows 
 By history, report, or his own proof, 
 What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
 But must be, — luill his free hours languish for 
 Assured bondage? 
 
 Imo. Will my lord say so? 
 
 Iach. Ay, madam ; with his eyes in flood with 
 laughter. 
 It is a recreation to be by, 
 
 And hear him mock the Frenchman: But, hea- 
 vens know, 
 Some men are much to blame. 
 
 Imo. Not he, I hope. 
 
 Iach. Not he: But yet heaven's bounty towards 
 him might 
 Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much: 
 In you, — which I count his, beyond all talents, — 
 Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 
 To pity too. 
 
 Imo. What do you pity, sir ? 
 
 Iach. Two creatures, heartily. 
 
 Imo. Am I one, sir? 
 
 You look on me : What wreck discern you in me, 
 Deserves your pity ? 
 
 Iach. Lamentable! What! 
 
 To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace 
 I' the dungeon by a snuff? 
 
 Imo. I pray you, sir, 
 Deliver with more openness your answers 
 To my demands. Why do you pity me' 
 
 Iach. That others do, 
 
 I was about to say, enjoy your But 
 
 It is an office of the gods to 'venge it. 
 Not mine to speak on't. 
 
 » Making mouths » Shy and foolish. 
 
Scene VII 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 73? 
 
 Imo. Vou do seem to know 
 
 Something of me, or what concerns me: Pray you, 
 (Since doubting things go ill often hurts more 
 Than to be sure they do : For certainties 
 Either are past remedies; or, timely knowing, 
 The remedy then born,) discover to me 
 What both you spur and stop. 1 
 
 lack. Had I this cheek 
 
 To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch, 
 Whose every touch would force the feeler's soul 
 To the oath of loyalty ; this object, which 
 Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, 
 Fixing it only here: should I (damn'd then) 
 Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
 That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands 
 Made hard with hourly falsehood ; (falsehood as 
 With labor;) then lie peeping in an eye, 
 Base and unlustrous as the smoky light 
 That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit 
 That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
 Encounter such revolt. 
 
 Imo. My lord, I fear, 
 
 Has forgot Britain. 
 
 lath. And himself. Not I, 
 
 Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce 
 The beggary of his change ; but 'tis your graces 
 That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue, 
 Charms this report out. 
 
 Imo. Let me hear no more. 
 
 lack. O dearest soul ! your cause doth strike my 
 heart 
 With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
 So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,' 2 
 Would make the great'st king double! to be part- 
 
 ner'd 
 With tomboys, hired with that self-exhibition 3 
 Which your own coffers yield ! with diseas'd ven- 
 tures, 
 That play with all infirmities for gold, 
 Which rottenness can lend nature ! such boil'd stuff, 
 As well might poison poison! Be revenged; 
 Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you 
 Recoil from your great stock. 
 
 Imo. Revenged ! 
 
 How should I be revenged] If this be true, 
 (As I have such a heart, that both mine ears 
 Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true, 
 How should I be revenged 1 
 
 lack. Should he make me 
 
 Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets; 
 Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, 
 In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. 
 I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure; 
 More nobly than that runagate to your bed; 
 And will continue fast to your affection, 
 Still close, as sure. 
 
 Imo. What ho, Pisanio! 
 
 lack. Let me my service tender on your lips. 
 
 Imo. Away ! — I do condemn mine ears, that have 
 So long attended thee. — If thou wcrt honorable, 
 Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not 
 For such an end thou seek'st ; as base, as strange. 
 Thou vvrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 
 From thy report, as thou from honor ; and 
 Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains 
 Thee and the devil alike. — What ho, Pisanio ! — 
 The king my father shall be made acquainted 
 Of thy assault : if he shall think it lit, 
 \ saucy stranger in his court, to mart 
 
 •What you seem anxious to utter, and yet withhold. 
 * Sovereign command 'A'lowance, pension. 
 
 As in a Romish stew, and to expound 
 His beastly mind to us; he hath a court 
 He little cares for, and a daughter whom 
 He not respects at all. — What ho, Pisanio ! — • 
 
 Iach. happy Leonatus ! I may say; 
 The credit that thy lady hath of thee, 
 Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect goodness 
 Her assured credit! — Blessed live you long! 
 A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever 
 Country called his ! and you, his mistress, only 
 For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardon 
 I have spoke this, to know if your affiance 
 Were deeply-rooted; and shall make your lord, 
 That which he is new o'er: And he is one 
 The truest manner'd; such a holy witch, 
 That he enchants societies unto him : 
 Half all. men's hearts are his. 
 
 Imo. You make amends 
 
 Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god 
 He hath a kind of honor sets him off, 
 More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, 
 Most mighty princess, that I have adventured 
 To try your taking of a false report; which hath 
 Honor'd with confirmation your great judgment 
 In the election of a sir so rare, 
 Which you know, cannot err: The love I bear bin 
 Made me to fan' you thus; but the gods made 
 
 you, 
 Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon. 
 
 Imo. All's well, sir: Take my pewer i' the court 
 for yours. 
 
 Iach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
 To entreat your grace but in a small request, 
 And yet of moment too, for it concerns 
 Your lord; myself, and other noble friends, 
 Are partners in the business. 
 
 Imo. Pray, what is't ? 
 
 Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, 
 (The best feather of our wing,) have mingled sums, 
 To buy a present for the emperor ; 
 Which I, the factor for the rest, have done 
 In France: 'Tis plate of rare device; and jewels, 
 Of rich and exquisite form; their values great; 
 And I am something curious, being strange, 
 To have them in safe stowage ; May it please you 
 To take them in protection 1 
 
 Imo. Willingly; 
 
 And pawn mine honor for their safety : since 
 My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them 
 In my bed-chamber. 
 
 Iach. They are in a trunk, 
 
 Attended by my men : I will make bold 
 To send them to you only for this night : 
 I must aboard to-morrow. 
 
 Imo. 0, no, no. 
 
 Iach. Yes I heseech ; or I shall short my word, 
 By lengthening my return. From Gallia 
 I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise 
 To see your grace. 
 
 Imo. I thank you for your pains; 
 
 But not away to-morrow] 
 
 Iach. O, I must, madam ■ 
 
 Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please 
 To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night. 
 I have outstood my time; which is material 
 To the tender of our present. 
 
 Imo. I will write 
 
 Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept, 
 And truly yielded you : You are very welcome. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 * To fan, is to winnow. 
 
738 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act n 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Court before Cymbeline's Palace. 
 
 Enter Cloten, and two Lords. 
 
 Clo. Was there ever man had such luck ? when 
 I kissed the jack upon an up-cast, 6 to be hit away ! 
 I had a hundred pound on't: And then a whore- 
 son jackanapes must take me up for swearing; as 
 if I borrowed mine oaths of him, and might not 
 spend them at my pleasure. 
 
 1 Lord. What got he by that? You have broke 
 his pate with your bowl. 
 
 2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke 
 it, it would have run all out. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it 
 is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths : 
 Hal 
 
 2 Lord. No, my lord ; nor [Aside.'] crop the ears 
 of them. 
 
 Clo. Whoreson dog ! — I give him satisfaction ? 
 'Would he had been one of my rank! 
 
 2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. I am not more vexed at any thing in the 
 earth : — A pox on't ! I had rather not be so noble 
 as I am : they dare not fight with me, because of 
 the queen my mother : every jack-slave hath his 
 belly full of fighting, and I must go up and down 
 like a cock that nobody can match. 
 
 2 Lord. You are a cock and capon too ; and you 
 crow, cock, with your comb on. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Say est thou? 
 
 1 Lord. It is not fit your lordship should under- 
 take every companion that you give offence to. 
 
 Clo. No, I know that: but it is fit, I should 
 rommit offence to my inferiors. 
 
 2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. 
 Clo. Why, so I say. 
 
 1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that's come 
 to court to-night ? 
 
 Clo. A stranger! and I know not on't 
 
 2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows 
 it not. [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. There's an Italian come; and, 'tis 
 thought, one of Leonatus' friends. 
 
 Clo. Leonatus ! a banished rascal ; and he's an- 
 other, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this 
 stranger ? 
 
 1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages. 
 
 Clo. Is it fit, I went to look upon him ? Is there 
 no derogation in'tl 
 
 1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord. 
 Clo. Not easily, I think. 
 
 2 Lord. You are a fool granted ; therefore your 
 issues being foolish, do not derogate. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian : What I have 
 lost to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him. Come, 
 
 go- 
 
 2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship. 
 
 [Exeunt Cloten and first Lord. 
 That such a crafty devil as is his mother 
 Should yield the world this ass ! a woman, that 
 Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son 
 Cannot take two from twenty for his heart, 
 And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess, 
 Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st ! 
 Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd ; 
 A mother hourly coining plots ; a wooer 
 
 » Tie is describing his fate at bowls, the jack is the small 
 bejel at which the others are aimed. 
 
 More hateful than the foul expulsion 13 
 Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act 
 Of the divorce he'd make ! The heavens hold firm 
 The walls of thy dear honor ; keep unshak'd 
 That temple, thy fair mind; that thou mayst stand, 
 To enjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Bed-chamber,- in one Part of it 
 a Trunk. 
 
 Imogen reading in her Bed; a Lady attending 
 Imo. Who's there? my woman Helen? 
 Lady. Please you, madam 
 
 Imo. What hour is it ? 
 
 Lady. Almost midnight, madau 
 
 Imo. I have read three hours, then : mine eye 
 are weak: — 
 Fold down the leaf where I have left : To bed : 
 Take not away the taper, leave it burning ; 
 And if thou canst awake by four o'the clock, 
 I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholh 
 
 [Exit Lad} 
 To your protection I commend me, gods! 
 From fairies, and the tempters of the night, 
 Guard me, beseech ye ! 
 
 [Sleeps. Iachimo, from' the Trunk 
 Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labor'. 
 sense 
 Repairs itself by rest: Our Tarquin thus 
 Did softly press the rushes, 6 ere he waken'd 
 The chastity he wounded. — Cythe'rea, 
 How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! Fresh lily ! 
 And whiter than the sheets ! that I might touch 
 But kiss; one kiss ! — Rubies unparagon'd, 
 How dearly they do't ! — 'Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus : The flame o'the tapet 
 Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids. 
 To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
 Under these windows: White and azure, laced 
 With blue of heaven's own tinct. T — But my design 1 
 To note the chamber : — I will write all down : — 
 Such and such pictures : — There the window : — 
 
 Such 
 The adornment of her bed ; — The arras, figures, 
 Why, such, and such : — And the contents o' the 
 
 story, — 
 Ah, but some natural notes about her body, 
 Above ten thousand meaner moveables 
 Would testify, to enrich mine inventory: 
 sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! 
 And be her sense but as a monument, 
 Thus in a chapel lying ! — Come off, come off;— 
 
 [Taking off her Bracelet. 
 As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard ! 
 'Tis mine ; and this will witness outwardly, 
 As strongly as the conscience does within, 
 To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
 A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
 F the bottom of a cowslip: Here's a voucher, 
 Stronger than ever law could make: this secret 
 Will force him think I have pick'd the lock, and 
 
 ta'en 
 The treasure of her honor. No more.-To what 
 
 end? 
 Why should I write this down, that's riveted, 
 
 « It was anciently the custom to strew chambers with 
 rushes. 
 
 ' ». e. The white skin laced with blue veins. 
 
ScKNE III. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 7% 
 
 Screw'd to my memory 1 She hath been reading late 
 The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down, 
 Where Philomel gave up; — I have enough: 
 To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
 Swift, swift, you dragons of the night ! — that 
 
 dawning 
 May bare the raven's eye: I lodge in fear; 
 Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 
 
 [Clock strikes. 
 One, two, three, — Time, time! 
 
 [Goes into the Trunk. The Scene closes. 
 
 SCENE III. — An Ante-chamber joining Imo- 
 gen's Apartment. 
 Enter Cloten and Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man 
 in less, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. 
 
 Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 
 
 1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the 
 noble temper of your lordship: You are most hot, 
 and furious, when you win. 
 
 Clo. Winning would put any man into courage : 
 If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have 
 gold enough : It's almost morning, is't not ? 
 
 1 Lord. Day, my lord. 
 
 Clo. I would this music would come : I am ad- 
 vised to give her music o' the mornings ; they say, 
 it will penetrate. 
 
 Enter Musicians. 
 Come on ; tune : If you can penetrate her with 
 your fingering, so ; we'll try with tongue too: if 
 none will do, let her remain ; but I'll never give 
 o'er. First, a very excellent good conceited thing: 
 after a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich 
 words to it, — and then let her consider. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
 
 And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 
 On chalked' flowers that lies: 
 And, winking Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes,- 
 With every thing that pretty bin: 
 My lady sweet, arise,- 
 Arise, arise. 
 So, get you gone : If this penetrate, I will consider 
 your music the better : 9 if it do not, it is a vice in 
 her ears, which horse-hairs, and cat-guts, nor the 
 voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. 
 [Exeunt Musicians. 
 Enter Ctm belike and Queen. 
 
 2 Lord. Here comes the king. 
 
 Clo. I am glad, I was up so late ; for that's the 
 reason I was up so early : He cannot choose but 
 take this service I have done, fatherly. — Good 
 morrow to your majesty , and to my gracious mother. 
 
 Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern 
 daughter] 
 Will she not forth ? 
 
 Clo. I have assailed her with music, but she 
 vouchsafes no notice. 
 
 Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ; 
 She hath not yet forgot him : some more time 
 Must wear the print of his remembrance out, 
 And then she's yours. 
 
 Queen. You are most bound to the king ; 
 
 Who lets go by no 'vantages, that may 
 Prefer you to his daughter: Frame yourself 
 To orderly solicits ; and be friended 
 With aptness of the season: make denials 
 • Cupped. 9 Will pay you more for it. 
 
 Increase your services : so seem, as if 
 You were inspired to do those duties which 
 You tender to her: that you in all obey her, 
 Save when command to your dismission tends. 
 And therein you are senseless. 
 
 Clo. Senseless? not bo. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome 
 The one is Caius Lucius. 
 
 Cym. A worthy fellow, 
 
 Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; 
 But that's no fault of his: We must receive hire 
 According to the honor of his sender; 
 And towards himself his goodness forespenton us 
 We must extend our notice. — Our dear son, 
 When you have given good morning to your mis- 
 tress, 
 Attend the queen, and us; we shall have need 
 To employ you towards this Roman. — Come, our 
 queen. 
 [Exeunt Ctm., Queen, Lo^ls, and Mess. 
 
 Clo. If she be up, I'll speak v : th her ; if not, 
 Let her lie still, and dream. — By your leave, ho ! — 
 
 [Knocks, 
 I know her women are about her: What 
 If I do line one of their hands ? 'Tis gold 
 Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes 
 Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
 Their deer to the stand of the stealer ; and 'tis gold 
 Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the 
 
 thief; 
 Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man: What 
 Can it not do, and undo? I will make 
 One of her women lawyer to me; for 
 I yet not understand the case myself. 
 By your leave. [Knocks. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. Who's there, that knocks ? 
 
 Clo. A gentleman. 
 
 Lady. No more? 
 
 Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 
 
 Lady. That's more 
 
 Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, 
 Can justly boast of; What's your lordship's plea- 
 sure ? 
 
 Clo. Your lady's person; is she ready ? 
 
 Lady. Ay, 
 
 To keep her chamber. 
 
 Glo. There's gold for you; sell me your good 
 report. 
 
 Lady. How! my good name ? or to report of you 
 What I shall think is good ? — The princess 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 Clo. Good-morrow, fairest sister: Your sweet 
 
 hand. 
 Imo. Good morrow, sir : You lay out too much 
 pains 
 For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give, 
 Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, 
 And scarce can spare them. 
 
 Clo. Still, I swear I love you. 
 
 Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me ; 
 If you swear still, your recompence is still 
 That I regard it not. 
 
 Clo- This is no answer. 
 
 Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being 
 silent, 
 I would not speak. I pray you. spare me : i' iaitn 
 I shall unfold equal discourtesy 
 To your best kindness ; one of your great knowing 
 Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 
 
740 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act 11 
 
 Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: 
 I will not. 
 
 Imo. Fools are not mad folks. 
 
 Clo. Do you call me fool ? 
 
 Imo. As I am mad, I do; 
 If you'll b.e patient. I'll no more be mad; 
 That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, 
 You put me to forget a lady's manners, 
 By being so verbal : ' and learn now, for all, 
 That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, 
 By the very truth of it, I care not for you; 
 And am so near the lack of chanty, 
 (To accuse myself,) I hate you: which I had rather 
 You felt, than make't my boast. 
 
 Clo. You sin against 
 
 Obedience, which you owe your father. For 
 The contract you pretend with that base wretch, 
 (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, 
 With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none: 
 And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, 
 (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls 
 (On whom there is no more dependency 
 But brats and beggary) in self-figured knot: 3 
 Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by 
 The consequence o' the crown ; and must not soil 
 The precious note of it with a base slave, 
 A hilding 3 for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
 A pantler, not so eminent. 
 
 Imo. Profane fellow ! 
 
 Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more, 
 But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base 
 To be his groom : Thou wert dignified enough, 
 Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made 
 Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd 
 The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated 
 For being preferr'd so well. 
 
 Clo. The south-fog rot him ! 
 
 Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than 
 come 
 To be but named of thee. His meanest garment, 
 That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer, 
 In my respect, than all the hairs above thee, 
 Were they all made such men. — How now, Pisanio? 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Clo. His garment? Now, the devil — 
 
 Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee present- 
 
 iy=- 
 
 Clo. His garment? 
 
 Imo. I am sprighted * with a fool ; 
 
 Frighted and anger'd worse : — Go, bid my woman 
 Search for a jewel, that too casually 
 Hath left mine arm ; it was thy master's: 'shrew me, 
 If I would lose it for a revenue 
 Of any king's in Europe. I do think, 
 I saw't this morning : confident I am 
 Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it : 
 I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord 
 That I kiss aught but he. 
 
 Pis. 'Twill not be lost. 
 
 Imo. I hope so; go, and search. [Exit Pis. 
 
 Clo. You have abused me : — 
 
 His meanest garment? 
 
 Imo. Ay ; I said so, sir. 
 
 If you will make't an action, call witness to't. 
 
 Clo. I will inform your father. 
 
 Imo. Your mother too : 
 
 She's my good lady ; and w:,U conceive, I hope, 
 But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, 
 ^o the worst of discontent. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. I'll be revenged: — 
 
 His meanest garment? — Well. [Exit. 
 
 So Terbose, so full of talk. a Knots of their own tying. 
 •A low fallow, only fit to wa&r a livery. * Haunted. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rome. An Apartment in Phila 
 rio's House. 
 
 Enter Posthtjmus and Phila rio 
 
 Post. Fear it not, sir: 1 would, I were so sure 
 To win the king, as I am bold, her honor 
 Will remain hers. 
 
 Phi. What means do you make to him 
 
 Post. Not any ; but abide the change of time 
 Quake in the present winter's state, and wish 
 That warmer days would come: In these fear'd 
 
 hopes, 
 I barely gratify your love; they failing, 
 I must die much your debtor. 
 
 Phi. Your very goodness, and your company 
 O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 
 Hath heard of great Augustus : Caius Lucius 
 Will do his commission thoroughly: And, I think, 
 He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages, 
 Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
 Is yet fresh in their grief. 
 
 Post. I do believe, 
 
 (Statist 5 though I am none, nor like to be,) 
 That this will prove a war; and you shall hear 
 The legions now in Gallia, sooner landed 
 In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings 
 Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen 
 Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cresar 
 Smiled at their lack of skill, but found their courage 
 Worthy his frowning at : Their discipline 
 (Now mingled with their courages) will make 
 
 known 
 To their approvers, 6 they are people, such 
 That mend upon the world. 
 
 Enter Iachimo. 
 
 Phi. See ! Iachimo ? 
 
 Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land: 
 And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails, 
 To make your vessel nimble. 
 
 Phi. Welcome, sir. 
 
 Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made 
 The speediness of your return. 
 
 Iach. Your lady 
 
 Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon. 
 
 Post. And therewithal, the best; or let her beauty 
 Look through a casement to allure false hearts, 
 And be false with them. 
 
 Iach. Here are letters for you 
 
 Post. Their tenor good, I trust. 
 
 Iach. 'Tis very like. 
 
 Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court, 
 When you were there ? 
 
 Iach. He was expected then 
 
 But not approach'd. 
 
 Post. All is well yet. — 
 
 Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not 
 Too dull for your good wearing? 
 
 Iach. If I had lost it, 
 
 I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
 I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
 A second night of such sweet shortness, which 
 Was mine in Britain ; for the ring is won. 
 
 Post. The store's too hard to come by. 
 
 Iach. Not a whit, 
 
 Your lady being so easy. 
 
 Post. Make not, sir, 
 
 Your loss your sport; I hope, you know that we 
 Must not continue friends. 
 
 Iach. Good sir, we mu» 
 
 If you keep covenant: Had I not brought 
 The knowledge of your mistress home, I gran 
 We were to question furthei : but I now 
 
 5 Statesman. «To those who trv them 
 
Scene IV 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 '41 
 
 Profess myself the winner of her honor, 
 Togethc with your ring ; and not the wronger 
 Of her, or you, having proceeded but 
 By both your wills. 
 
 Post. If you can make't apparent 
 
 That you have tasted her in bed, my hand, 
 And ring is yours: If not, the foul opinion 
 You had of her pure honor, gains, or loses, 
 Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both 
 To who shall find them. 
 
 Iach. Sir, my circumstances, 
 
 Being so near the truth, as I will make them, 
 Must first induce you to believe: whose strength 
 I will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not, 
 You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
 You need it not. 
 
 Post. Proceed. 
 
 lack. First, her bed-chamber; 
 
 (Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess, 
 Had that was well worth watching,) it was hang'd 
 With tapestry of silk and silver : the story, 
 Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 
 And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
 The press of boats, or pride : A piece of work 
 So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
 In workmanship and value ; which, I wonder'd 
 Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, 
 Since the true life on't was — 
 
 Post. This is true; 
 
 And this you might have heard of here, by me, 
 Or by some other. 
 
 Iach. More particulars 
 
 Must justify my knowledge. 
 
 Post. So they must, 
 
 Or do your honor injury. 
 
 lack. The chimney 
 
 Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece, 
 Chaste Dian, bathing : never saw I figures 
 So likely to report themselves : the cutter 
 Was as another Nature, dumb ; outwent her, 
 Motion and breath left out. 
 
 Post. This is a thing, 
 
 Which you might from relation likewise reap; 
 Being, as it is, much spoke of. 
 
 Iach. The roof o' the chamber 
 
 With golden chcrubins is fretted : Her andirons * 
 (I had forgot them) wee two winking Cupids 
 Of silver, each on ore foot standing, nicely 
 Depending on their biiii Is. 
 
 Post. This is her honor! — 
 
 Let it be granted, you hive seen all this, (and 
 
 praise 
 Be given to your remembrance,) the description 
 Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves 
 The wager you have laid. 
 
 lack. Then if you can, 
 
 [Pulling out the Bracelet. 
 Be pale ; I beg but leave to air this jewel : See ! — 
 And now 'tis up again: It must be married 
 To that your diamond ; I'll keep thern. 
 
 Post. Jove ! — 
 
 Once more let me behold it : Is it that 
 Which I left with her 1 
 
 Iach. Sir, (I thank her,) that: 
 
 She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet; 
 Her pretty action did outsell her gift, 
 And yet enrieh'd it too : She gave it me, and said. 
 She priz'd it once. 
 
 Post. May be, she pluck'd it off, 
 
 To send it me. 
 
 lack. She writes so to you 1 doth she 1 
 
 'Orcainent«Ml iron bars which support wood burnt in 
 
 Post. 0, no, no, no; 'tis true. Here, take thi? 
 too ; [Gives the Ring. 
 
 It is a basilisk unto mine eye, 
 Kills me to look on't : — Let there be no honor, 
 Where there is beauty: truth, where semblance; 
 
 love, 
 Where there's another man : The vows of women 
 Of no more bondage be, to where they are made 
 Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing:— 
 0, above measure, false ! 
 
 Phi. Have patience, sir, 
 
 And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won: 
 It may be probable she lost it; or, 
 Who knows, if one of her women, being corrupted,, 
 Hath stolen it from her ? 
 
 Post. Very true ; 
 
 And so, I hope, he cameby't: — Back my ring: — 
 Render to me some corporal sign about her, 
 More evident than this : for this was stolen. 
 
 lack. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 
 
 Post. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swear3. 
 'Tis true; — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true: I am 
 
 sure, 
 She would not lose it : her attendants are 
 All sworn and honorable : — They induced to 
 
 steal it! 
 And by a stranger 1 — No, he hath enjoy'd her : 
 The cognizance 8 of her incontinency 
 Is this, — she hath bought the name of whore thus 
 
 dearly. — 
 There, take thy hire : and all the fiends of hell 
 Divide themselves between you ! 
 
 Phi. Sir, be patient; 
 
 This is not strong enough to bo believ'd 
 Of one persuaded well of 
 
 Post. Never talk on' , 
 
 She hath been colted by him. 
 
 Iach. If you seek 
 
 For further satisfying, under her breast 
 (Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud 
 Of that most delicate lodging : by my life, 
 I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger 
 To feed again, though full. You do remember 
 This stain upon her'! 
 
 Post. Ay, and it doth confirm 
 
 Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 
 Were there no more but it. 
 
 Iach. Will you hear more 1 
 
 Post. Spare your arithmetic: never count the 
 turns ; 
 Once, and a million! 
 
 Iach. I'll be sworn, 
 
 Post. No swearing. 
 
 If you will swear you have not done't, you lie ; 
 And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny 
 Thou hast made me cuckold. 
 
 Iach. I will deny nothing. 
 
 Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal! 
 I will go there, and do't ; i' the court ; before 
 Her father : — I'll do something [Exit. 
 
 Phi. Quite beside 
 
 The government of patience ! — You have won : 
 Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath 
 He hath against himself. 
 
 Iach. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Posthumus. 
 Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women 
 Must be half-workers 1 We are bastards all; 
 And that most venerable man, which I 
 Did call my father, was I know not where 
 • The badge ; the token. 
 
742 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act III 
 
 When I was stamp'd ; come coiner with his tools 
 
 Made me a counterfeit. Yet my mother seem'd 
 
 The Dian of that time : so doth my wife 
 
 The nonpareil of this. — vengeance, vengeance ! 
 
 Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd, 
 
 \nd pray'd me, oft, forbearance: did it with 
 
 A. pudency 9 so rosy, the sweet view on't 
 
 Might well have warm'd old Saturn ; that I thought i 
 
 her 
 As chaste as unsunn'd snow : — O, all the devils !— 
 This yellow lachimo, in an hour, — was't not? — 
 Or less, — at first: Perchance he spoke not; but 
 Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one, 
 Cry'd oh! and mounted : found no opposition 
 But what he look'd for should oppose, and she 
 Should from encounter guard. Could I find out 
 The woman's part in me ! For there's no motion 
 
 That tends to vice in man, but I affirm 
 
 It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it, 
 
 The woman's; flattering, hers ; deceiving, tier's: 
 
 Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, 
 
 Nice longing, slanders, mutability, 
 
 All faults that may be named, nay that hell 
 
 knows, 
 Why, her's, in part, or all ; but, rather, all : 
 For even to vice 
 
 They are not constant, but are changing still 
 One vice, but of a minute old, for one 
 Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, 
 Detest them, curse them : — Yet 'tis greatei 
 
 skill 
 In a true hate, to pray they have their will : 
 The very devils cannot plague them better. 
 
 [Extt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Britain. A Room of State in Cym- 
 beline's Palace. 
 
 Enter Cymbelixe, Queex, Cloteu, and Lords, 
 at one Door,- and at another, Caius Lucius, 
 arid Attendants. 
 
 Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar 
 
 with us? 
 Luc. When Julius Csesar (whose remembrance 
 
 . y et 
 
 Jjives in men's eyes ; and will to ears, and tongues, 
 Be theme, and hearing ever) was in this Britain, 
 And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, 
 (Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less 
 Than in his feats deserving it,) for him, 
 And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, 
 Yearly three thousand pounds ; which by thee lately 
 Is left untender'd. 
 
 Queen. And, to kill the marvel, 
 
 Shall be so ever. 
 
 Clo. There be many Caesars, 
 
 Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
 A world by itself; and we will nothing pay, 
 For wearing our own noses. 
 
 Queen. That opportunity, 
 
 Which then they had to take from us, to resume 
 We have again. — Remember, sir, my liege, 
 The kings your ancestors ; together with 
 The natural bravery of your isle ; which stands 
 As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 
 With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters; 
 With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats, 
 But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con- 
 quest 
 Caesar made here; but made not here his brag 
 Of came, and saw, and overcame.- with shame, 
 (The fTrst that ever touch'd him,) he was carried 
 From off our coast, twice beaten : and his shipping 
 (Poor ignorant baubles !) on our terrible seas, 
 Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd 
 As easily 'gainst our rocks; for joy whereof, 
 The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point 
 (O, giglot fortune !) to master Caesar's sword, 
 MaJe Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, 
 And Britons strut with courage. 
 
 Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: 
 Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time ; 
 and, as I said, there is no more such Caesars : other 
 of them may have crooked wO««s ; but to owe * such 
 nruight arms, none. 
 
 • Modesty « own 
 
 Cum. Son, let your mother end. 
 
 Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as 
 hard as Cassibelan : I do not say, I am one ; but I 
 have a hand. — Why tribute? why should we pay 
 tribute? If Caesar can hide the sun from us with 
 a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will 
 pay him tribute for light ; else, sir, no more tribute, 
 pray you now. 
 
 Cym. You must know, 
 Till the injurious Romans did extort 
 This tribute from us, we were free: Caesar's ambition, 
 (Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch 
 The sides o' the world,) against all color, here 
 Did put the yoke upon us ; which to shake off, 
 Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
 Ourselves to be. We do say then to Caesar, 
 Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which 
 Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Coesa. 
 Hath too much mangled; whose repair, and fran 
 
 chise, 
 Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, 
 Though Rome be therefore angry ;) Mulmutius, 
 Who was the first of Britain, which did put 
 His brows within a golden crown, and call'd 
 Himself a king. 
 
 Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, 
 
 That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar, 
 (Caesar, that hath more kings his servants, than 
 Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy : 
 Receive it from me, then : — War, and confusion. 
 In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look 
 For fury not to be resisted : — Thus defied, 
 I thank thee for myself. 
 
 Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 
 
 Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent 
 Much under him; of him I gather'd honor; 
 Which lie, to seek of me again, perforce, 
 Behoves me keep at utterance; 3 I am perfect, 5 
 That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for 
 Their liberties, are now in arms : a precedent 
 Which, not to read, would show the Britons cold 
 So Caesar shall not find them. 
 
 Luc. Let proof speaK. 
 
 Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pas- 
 time with us a day, or two, longer: If you seek urn 
 afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our 
 salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours, 
 if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare th< 
 better for you ; and there's an end. 
 Luc. So, sir. 
 » At the extreraity'of defiance. « Well informed. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 748 
 
 Gym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: 
 All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not 
 What monster's her accuser? — Leonatus! 
 O, master ! what a strange infection 
 Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian 
 (As poisonous tongued, as handed) hath prevail'd 
 On thy too ready hearing ? — Disloyal ? No : 
 She's punish'd for her truth ; and undergoes, 
 More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults 
 As would take in 4 some virtue. — O, my master! 
 Thy mind to her is now as low, as were 
 Thy fortunes. — How ! that I should murder her ? 
 Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I 
 Have made to thy command ? — I, her ? — her 
 
 blood? 
 If it he so to do good service, never 
 L«t me be counted serviceable. How look I 
 That I should seem to lack humanity 
 So much as this fact comes to ? Dot: The letter 
 
 [Reading. 
 That I have sent her, by her own command, 
 Shall give thee opportunity: — O damn'd paper ! 
 Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble, 
 Art thou a feodary 5 for this act, and look'st 
 So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 T am ignorant in what I am commanded. 
 Imo. How now, Pisanio? 
 Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 
 Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus? 
 O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer, 
 That, knew the stars, as I his characters ; 
 He'd lay the future open. — You good gods, 
 Let what is here contain'd relish of love, 
 Of my lord's health, of his content, — yet not, 
 That we two are asunder, let that grieve him, — 
 (Some griefs are med'cinable;) that is one of them, 
 For it doth physic love ; — of his content, 
 All but in that ! — Good wax, thy leave : — Bless'd 
 
 be, 
 You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers, 
 And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike ; 
 Though forfeiters } r ou cast in prison, yet 
 You clasp young Cupid's tables: — Good news, 
 gods ! [Reads. 
 
 Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me 
 in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, 
 O the dearest of creatures, wouldnot even renew me 
 with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, 
 at Milford-Haven. What your own love will, out of 
 this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all hap- 
 piness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, in- 
 creasing in love, Leonatus Posthumus. 
 0, for a horse with wings ! — Hear'st thou, Pisanio? 
 He is at Milford Haven : Read, and tell me 
 How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs 
 May plod it in a week, why may not I 
 Glide thither in a day? — Then, true Pisanio, 
 ( Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord ; who 
 
 long'st, — 
 O, let me 'bate, — but not like me: — yet long'st, — 
 But in.a fainter kind; — O, not like me; 
 For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick, 6 
 (Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing, 
 To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is 
 Vo this same blessed Milford : And by the way 
 
 « To take in a town, is to conquer it. « Confederate. 
 
 « Crowd one word on another, as fast as possible. 
 
 Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as 
 To inherit such a haven : But, first of all, 
 How we may steal from hence ; and, for the gap 
 That we shall make in time, from our hence going 
 And our return, to excuse: — but first, how get 
 
 hence: 
 Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? 
 We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak, 
 How many score of miles may we well ride 
 'Twixt hour and hour? 
 
 Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and sun. 
 
 Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too. 
 
 Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, 
 Could never go so slow : I have heard of riding 
 
 wagers, 
 Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 
 That run i'the clock's behalf: — But this is foolery : 
 Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say 
 She'll home to her father: and provide me, pre- 
 sently, 
 A riding suit; no costlier than would fit 
 A franklin's' housewife. 
 
 Pis. Madam, you're best consider 
 
 Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here, 
 Nor what ensues ; but have a fog in them, 
 That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee ; 
 Do as I bid thee : There's no more to say ; 
 Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— Wales. A Mountainous Country 
 
 with a Cave. 
 
 Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Ahvihagus. 
 
 Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 
 
 Whose roofs as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This gate 
 
 Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows 
 
 you 
 To morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs 
 Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet 8 through, 
 And keep their impious turbans on, without 
 Good morrow to the sun. — Hail, thou fair heaven! 
 We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
 As prouder livers do. 
 
 Gilt. Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Arv. Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Uptoyonhill, 
 Your legs are young ; I'll tread these flats. Con- 
 sider, 
 When you above perceive me like a crow. 
 That it is place which lessens, and sets off, 
 And you may then revolve what tales I have told 
 
 you, 
 Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war: 
 This service is not service, so being done, 
 But being so allowed : To apprehend thus, 
 Draws us a profit from all things we see : 
 And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
 The sharded 9 beetle in a safer hold 
 Than is the full-wing'd eagle. 0, this life 
 Is nobler, than attending for a check; 
 Richer, than doing nothing for a babe ; 
 Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk : 
 Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine, 
 Yet keeps his book uncross'd : no life to ours.' 
 Gui. Out of your proof you speak : we, poor un 
 fledg'd, 
 Have never wing'd from viewo' the nest; nor know 
 
 not 
 What air's from home. Haply, this life is best, 
 If quiet life be best; sweeter to you, 
 That have a sharper known ; well corresponding 
 With your stiff age; but, unto us, it is 
 
 1 A freeholder. » Strut, walk proudly. 
 
 » Scaly-winged. » i. e. Compared with ours 
 
fte 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act ili 
 
 A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed; 
 \ prison for a debtor, th:. not dares 
 To 6tridc a limit.' 
 
 Arv. What should we speak cf, 
 
 Wrhen we are old as you ? when we shall hear 
 The rain and wind beat dark December, how 
 In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
 The freezing hours away 1 We have seen nothing: 
 We are beastly ; subtle as the fox, for prey ; 
 Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat : 
 Our valor is, to chase what flies; our cage 
 We make a quire, as doth the prison bird, 
 And sing our bondage freely. 
 
 Bel. How you speak ! 
 
 Did you but know the city's usuries, 
 And felt them knowingly: the art o' the court, 
 As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb 
 Is certain falling, or so slippery, that 
 The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of the war, 
 A pain that only seems to seek out danger 
 I' the name of fame and honor; which dies i' the 
 
 search ; 
 And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph, 
 As record of fair act; nay, many times, 
 Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what's worse, 
 Must court'sy at the censure : — 0, boys, this story 
 The world may read in me : My body's mark'd 
 With Roman swords: and my report was once 
 First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me; 
 And when a soldier was the theme, my name 
 Was not far off: Then was I as a tree, 
 Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night, 
 A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, 
 Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, 
 And left me bare to weather. 
 
 Gui. Uncertain favor ! 
 
 Bel. My fault being nothing, (as I have told you 
 oft,) 
 But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd 
 Before my perfect honor, swore to Cymbeline, 
 I was confederate with the Romans : so 
 Follow'd my banishment ; and, this twenty years, 
 This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world ; 
 Whej-e I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid 
 More pious debts to heaven, than in all 
 The fore-end of my time. — But, up to the moun- 
 tains; 
 This is not hunters' language : — He that strikes 
 The venison first, shall be the lord o' the feast; 
 To him the other two shall minister; 
 And we will fear no poison, which attends 
 In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the val- 
 leys. [Exeunt Gui. and Arv. 
 How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! 
 These boys know little, they are sons to the king; 
 Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. 
 They think, they are mine : and, though train'd up 
 
 thus meanly 
 I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
 The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them, 
 In simple and low things to prince it, much 
 Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, — 
 The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom 
 The king his father call'd Guiderius, — Jove ! 
 When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
 The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
 Into my story: say, — Thus ?nine enemy fell; 
 And thus I set my foot on his neck; even then 
 The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, 
 Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture 
 That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwa!, 
 (Once, Arvirugus,) in as like a figure, 
 1 To overpays his bound. 
 
 Strikes life into my speech, and shows much mor* 
 
 His own conceiving. Hark ! the game is rous'd ! — 
 
 O Cymbeline ! heaven, and my conscience, knows 
 
 Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon, 
 
 At three, and two years old, I stole these babes; 
 
 Thinking to bar thee of succession, as 
 
 Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
 
 Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for theit 
 
 mother, 
 And every day do honor to her grave : 
 Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, 
 They take for natural father. The game is up. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ISear Milford-Kaven. 
 Enter Pisjnio and Imogen. 
 Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, 
 
 the place 
 Was near at hand: — Ne'er long'd my mother so 
 To see me first, as I have now : — Pisanio ! Man ! 
 Where is Posthiimus? What is in thy mind. 
 That makes thee stare thus ? Wherefo r e breaks thai 
 
 sigh 
 From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus, 
 Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
 Beyond self-explication : Put thyself 
 Into a havior 3 of less fear, ere wildness 
 Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? 
 Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 
 A look untender? If it be summer news, 
 Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st 
 But keep that countenance still. — My husband's 
 
 hand! 
 That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-crafticd him, 
 And he's at some hard point. — Speak, man ; thy 
 
 tongue 
 May take off* some extremity, which to read 
 Would be even mortal to me. 
 
 Pis. Please you, read; 
 
 And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 
 The most disdain'd of fortune. 
 
 Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd 
 the strumpet in my bed: the testimonies whereof lie 
 bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surtn ises, 
 but from proof as stro?ig as my grief, and as certain 
 as I expect my revenge. Thai part, thou, Pisanio, 
 must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the 
 breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her 
 life. I shall give thee opportunities at Milford- 
 Haven : she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, 
 if thou fear to strike, and to make me certainit i.\ 
 done, thou art the pander to her dishonm; and 
 etpially to me disloyal. 
 
 Pis. What, shall I need to draw my sword ? the 
 
 paper 
 Hath cut her throat already. — No, 'tis slander; 
 Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue 
 Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath 
 Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
 All corners of the world ; kings, queens, and states, 
 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
 This viperous slander enters. — What cheer, ma- 
 dam? 
 Imo. False to his bed! What is it to be false? 
 To lie in watch there, and to think on him? 
 To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge 
 
 nature, 
 To break it with a fearful dream of him, 
 And cry myself awake? That's false to his bed? 
 Is it? 
 
 Pis. Alas, good lady! 
 
 Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness : — Iachimo, 
 » For behavior. 
 
Scene I"V 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 746 
 
 Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ; 
 Thou then look'ds* like a villain ; now, methinks, 
 Thy favor's good cncvgh. — Some jay of Italv. 
 Whose mother was her painting, 4 hath betrayed nun: 
 Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ; 
 And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
 I must be ripp'd : — To pieces with me ! — O, 
 Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, 
 By thy revolt, husband, shall be thought 
 Put on for villany ; not born, where't grows; 
 But worn, a bait for ladies. 
 
 Pis. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 7/?jo. True honest men being heard, like false 
 ^Eneas, 
 Wore, in his time, thought false : and Sinon's weep- 
 ing 
 Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity 
 From most true wretchedness: So, thou, Post- 
 humus, 
 Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; 
 Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd 
 Prom thy great fail. — Come, fellow, be thou honest: 
 Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st 
 
 him, 
 A little witness my obedience : Look ! 
 I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit 
 The innocent mansion of my love, my heart: 
 Fear not ; 'tis empty of all things, but grief: 
 Thy master is not there; who was, indeed, 
 The riches of it: Do his bidding; strike. 
 Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause; 
 But now thou seem'st a coward. 
 
 Pis. Hence, vile instrument! 
 
 Thou shalt not damn my hand. 
 
 lino. Why, I must die ; 
 
 And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
 No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter 
 There is a prohibition so divine, 
 That cravens 4 my weak hand. Come, here's my 
 
 heart ; 
 Something's afore't: — Soft; soft; we'll no defence; 
 Obedient as the scabbard. — What is here? 
 The scriptures 6 of the loyal Leonatus, 
 All turn'd to heresy 1 Away, away, 
 Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more 
 Be stomachers to my heart ! Thus may poor fools 
 Believe false teachers : Though those that are be- 
 
 tray'd 
 Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
 Stands in worse case of woe. 
 And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up 
 My disobedience 'gainst the king my father, 
 And make me put into contempt the suits 
 Of princely fellows, shalt thereafter find 
 It is no act of common passage, but 
 A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself, 
 To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
 That now thou tir'st' on, how thy memory 
 Will then be pang'd by me. — Pr'ythee, despatch: 
 The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife? 
 Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
 When I desire it too. 
 
 Pis. gracious lady, 
 
 Since I receiv'd command to do this business, 
 I have not slept one wink. 
 
 Imo. Do't, and to bed then. 
 
 Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. 
 
 Imo. Wherefore then 
 
 Did'st undertake it? Why hast thou abused 
 So many miles with a pretence? this place? 
 Mint action, and thine own? our horses' labor? 
 
 4 Likeness. 
 * Xhe writings. 
 
 « Cowards. 
 
 ' Feedest or preyest »n. 
 
 The time inviting thee ? the perturb'd court, 
 For my being absent: whereunto I never 
 Purpose return ? Why hast thou gone so far, 
 To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand. 
 The elected deer before thee ? 
 
 Pis. But to win time 
 
 To lose so bad employment : in the which 
 I have considered of a course ; Good lady, 
 Hear me with patience. 
 
 Imo. Talk thy tongue weary; speak: 
 
 I have heard, I am a strumpet ; and mine ear, 
 Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, 
 Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 
 
 Pis. Then, madam, 
 
 I thought you would not back again. 
 
 Imo. Most like ; 
 
 Bringing me here to kill me. 
 
 Pis. Not so, neither : 
 
 But if I were as wise as honest, then 
 My purpose would prove well. It cannot be, 
 But that my master is abused : 
 Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, 
 Hath done you both this cursed injury. 
 
 Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 
 
 Pis. No, on my life. 
 
 I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him 
 Some bloody sign of it ; for 'tis commanded 
 I should do so : You shall be miss'd at court, 
 And that will will confirm it. 
 
 Imo. Why, good fellow, 
 
 What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live! 
 Or in my life what comfort, when I am 
 Dead to my husband ? 
 
 Pis. If you'll back to the court, — 
 
 Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado 
 With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing : 
 That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 
 As fearful as a siege. 
 
 Pis. If not at court, 
 
 Then not in Britain must you bide. 
 
 Imo. Where, then! 
 
 Hath Britain all the sun that shines ? Day, night, 
 Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume 
 Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; 
 In a great pool, a swan's nest ; Pr'ythee, think 
 There's livers out of Britain. 
 
 Pis. I am most glad 
 
 You think of other place. The ambassador, 
 Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven 
 To-morrow: Now, if you could wear a mind 
 Dark as your fortune is; and but disguise 
 That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be, 
 But by self-danger; you should tread a course 
 Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near 
 The residence of Posthumus: so nigh, at least, 
 That though his actions were not visible, yet 
 Report should render him hourly to your ear, 
 As truly as he moves 
 
 Imo. 0, for such means ! 
 
 Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, 
 I would adventure. 
 
 Pis. Well then, here's the poiiM 
 
 You must forget to be a woman ; change 
 Command into obedience ; fear, and niceness, 
 (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly. 
 Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage 
 Ready in gibes, quick-answered, saucy, and 
 As quarrelous as the weasel: nay, you mus* 
 Forget that rarest treasure of your check. 
 Exposing .\. ( li ut. O. the harder heart ! 
 Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch 
 Of common-kissing Titan f and forget 
 » The sun. 
 2 Z 
 
746 
 
 CYMBEL1NE. 
 
 Act £11. 
 
 Ysur laborsomc and dainty trims, wherein 
 You made great Juno angry. 
 
 Imo. Nay, be brief: 
 
 I see into thy end, and am almost 
 A man already. 
 
 Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 
 
 Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, 
 (Tis in my cloak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all 
 That answer to them : Would you, in their serving, 
 And with what imitation you can borrow 
 From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius 
 Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 
 Wherein you are happy, (which you'll make him 
 
 know, 
 If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless. 
 With joy he will embrace you ; for he's honorable, 
 And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad 
 You have me,' rich ; and I will never fail 
 Beginning, nor supplyment. 
 
 Imo. Thou art all the comfort 
 
 The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away : 
 There's more to be considered; but we'll even 
 All that good time will give us: This attempt 
 I'm soldier to, and will abide it with 
 A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell: 
 Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
 Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, 
 Here is a box ; I had it from the queen ; 
 What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea, 
 Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
 Will drive away distemper. — To some shade, 
 And fit you to your manhood : — May the gods 
 Direct you to the best ! 
 
 Imo. Amen : I thank thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 
 7?«/er Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lvzivs, and 
 
 Lords. 
 
 Cym. Thus far ; and so farewell. 
 
 Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 
 
 My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence; 
 And am right sorry that I must report ye 
 My master's enemy. 
 
 Cym. Our subjects, sir, 
 
 Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself 
 To shew less sovereignty than they, must needs 
 \ppear unkingly. 
 
 Luc. So, sir, I desire of you 
 
 A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven. — 
 Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you ! 
 
 Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office: 
 The due of honor in no point omit; — 
 So, farewell, noble Lucius. 
 
 Liu. Your hand, my lord. 
 
 Clo. Receive it friendly : but from this time forth 
 I wear it as your enemy. 
 
 Luc. Sir, the event 
 
 lB yet to name the winner ; Fare you well. 
 
 Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my 
 lords, 
 Till he have cross'd the Severn. — Happiness ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lucius and Lords. 
 
 Queen. He ?oes hence frowning: but it honors 
 us, 
 That we have given him cause. 
 
 do. 'Tis all the better ; 
 
 Your "aliant Britons have their wishes in it. 
 
 Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
 How it goes here. It fits us, therefore, ripely, 
 Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness: 
 
 * As for your subsistence abread, you may rely on me. 
 
 The powers that he already hath in Gallia 
 
 Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he ruovta 
 
 His war for Britain. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business; 
 
 But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. 
 
 Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus, 
 Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, 
 Where is our daughter? She hath not appeai'd 
 Before the Roman, nor to us hath tendered 
 The duty of the day : She looks us like 
 A thing more made of malice, than of duty: 
 We have noted it. — Call her before us; for 
 We have been too slight in sufferance. 
 
 [Exit a?i Attendant 
 
 Queen. Royal sir, 
 
 Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd 
 Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord, 
 'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty, 
 Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady 
 So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes, 
 And strokes death to her. 
 
 Re-enter an Attendant. 
 
 Cym. Where is she, sir? How 
 
 Can her contempt be answer'd ? 
 
 Atten. Please you, sir, 
 
 Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there's no answer 
 That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make. 
 
 Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her, 
 She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close ; 
 Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity, 
 She should that duty leave unpaid to you, 
 Which daily she was bound to proffer : this 
 She wish'd me to make known; but our great court 
 Made me to blame in memory. 
 
 Cym. Her doors lock'd ! 
 
 Not seen of late ? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear, 
 Prove false ! [Exit. 
 
 Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. 
 
 Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
 I have not seen these two days. 
 
 Queen. Go, look after. — 
 
 [Exit Cloten. 
 Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!— 
 He hath a drug of mine : I pray, his absence 
 Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes 
 It is a thing most precious. But for her, 
 Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; 
 Or, winged with fervor of her love, she's flown 
 To her desir'd Posthumus : Gone she is 
 To death, or to dishonor; and my end 
 Can make good use of either: She being down, 
 I have the placing of the British crown. 
 Re-enter Cloten. 
 
 How now, my son? 
 
 Clo. 'Tis certain she is fled 
 
 Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none 
 Dare come about him. 
 
 Queen. All the better: May 
 
 This night forestall him of the coming day ! 
 
 [Exit Quels 
 
 Clo. I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal. 
 And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite 
 Than lady, ladies, woman;' from every one 
 The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, 
 Outsells them all : I love her therefore ; But, 
 Disdaining me, and throwing favors on 
 The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment, 
 That what's else rare, is choked; and, in tha 
 
 point, 
 I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, 
 To be revenged upon her. For, when fools 
 
 i Than any lady, than all ladies, than all womankind 
 
SCKNK V. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 747 
 
 Entf~ Pisanio. 
 Shall — Who is here? What! are you packing, 
 
 sirrah 1 
 Come hither : Ah, you precious pandar ! Villain, 
 Where is thy lady ! In a word ; or else 
 Thou art straightway with the fiends. 
 
 Pis. O, good my lord! 
 
 Clo. Where is thy lady T or, by Jupiter 
 I will not ask again. Close villain, 
 I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip 
 Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus '.' 
 From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
 A dram of worth be drawn. 
 
 Pis. Alas, my lord, 
 
 How can she be with him] When was she missed ] 
 He is in Rome. 
 
 Clo. Where is she, sir ] Come nearer ; 
 
 No further halting: satisfy me home, 
 What is become of her"! 
 
 Pis. 0, my all-worthy lord ! 
 
 Clo. All-worthy villain! 
 
 Discover where thy mistress is, at once, 
 At the next word, — No more of worthy lord, — 
 Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
 Thy condemnation and thy death. 
 
 Pis. Then, sir, 
 
 This paper is the history of my knowledge 
 Touching her flight. [Presenting a Letter. 
 
 Clo. Let's see't: — I will pursue her 
 
 Even to Augustus' throne. 
 
 Pis. Or this, or perish. 1 
 
 She's far enough; and what he learns bythis, > Aside. 
 Mav prove his travel, not her danger. ) 
 
 Clo. Humph ! 
 
 Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. Imogen, 
 Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again ! [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true ] 
 
 Pis; Sir, as I think. 
 
 Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. — Sirrah, 
 if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true 
 service; undergo those employments, wherein I 
 should have cause to use thee, with a serious in- 
 dustry, — that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, 
 to perform it, directly and truly, — I would think 
 thee an honest man : thou shouldst neither want 
 my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy pre- 
 ferment. 
 
 Pis. Well, my good lord. 
 
 Clo. Wilt thou serve me] For since patiently and 
 constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of 
 that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the 
 course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of 
 mine. Wilt thou serve me] 
 
 Pis. Sir, I will. 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast 
 anj' of thy late master's garments in thy possession] 
 
 Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodgings, the same 
 suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and 
 mistress. 
 
 Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that 
 suit hither : let it be thy first service : go. 
 
 Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven : — I forgot to 
 ask him one thing: I'll remember't anon: — Even 
 there, thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee. — I 
 would these garments were come. She said upon 
 a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my 
 heart,) that she held the very garment of Post- 
 humus in more respect thx^' my noble and natural 
 person, together with the aujrnment of my quali- 
 ties. With that suit upon my back will I ravish 
 her: First kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she 
 see my valor, which will then be a tormpnt to her 
 
 contempt. He on the ground, my speech of in- 
 sultment ended on his dead body, — and when my 
 lust hath dined (which, as I say. to vex her, I will 
 execute in the clothes that she so praised,) *.c the 
 court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. — 
 She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry 
 in my revenge. 
 
 Re-enter Pisanio, with the Clotlws. 
 Be those the garments] 
 
 Pis. Ay, my noble lord. 
 
 Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford» 
 Haven ] 
 
 Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 
 
 Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is 
 the second thing that I have commanded thee: the 
 third is, that thou shalt be a voluntary mute to my 
 design. Be but duteous, and true perferment shall 
 tender itself to thee. — My revenge is now at Mil- 
 ford; 'Would I had wings to follow it! — Come, 
 and be true. [Exit. 
 
 Pis. Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee, 
 Were to prove false, which I will never be, 
 To him that is most true. — To Milford go, 
 And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, 
 You heavenly blessings, on her ! This fool's speed 
 Be cross'd with slowness; labor be his meed! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Before the Cave of Belarius. 
 Enter Imogen, in Boy's Clothes. 
 
 Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one : 
 I have tired myself; and for two nights together 
 Have made the ground my bed I shouid be sick, 
 But that my resolution helps me. — Milford, 
 When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, 
 Thou wast within a ken : O Jove ! I think, 
 Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean, 
 Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told axe, 
 I could not miss my way : Will poor folks lie, 
 That have afflictions on them ; knowing 'tis 
 A punishment, or trial] Yes; no wonder, 
 When rich ones scarce tell true : To lapse in fulness 
 Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood 
 Is worse in kings than beggars. — My dear lord! 
 Thou art one o'the false ones: Now I think on thee, 
 My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was 
 At point to sink for food. — But what is this] 
 Here is a path to it : 'Tis some savage hold: 
 I were best not call: I dare not call: yet famine, 
 Ere clean it o'erthrovv nature, makes it valiant. 
 Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever 
 Of hardiness is mother. — Ho ! who's here ? 
 If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage, 
 Take, or lend. — Ho .' — No answer] then I'll enter. 
 Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy 
 But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't. 
 Such a foe, good heavens ! [She goes into the Cave. 
 
 Enter Belaiiius, Guideiuus, and Arvihagus. 
 Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman, 1 
 and 
 Are master of the feast: Cadwal, and I, 
 Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:* 
 The sweat of industry would dry, and die, 
 But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs 
 Will make what's homely, savory : Weariness 
 Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth 
 Finds the down pillow hard. — Now, peace be here, 
 Poor house, that keep'st thyself! 
 
 Gui. I am thoroughly wean* 
 
 Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetirn 
 ' Best hunter. * Agree ment 
 
748 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 1 
 
 Gui. There's cold meat i'the. cave ; we'll browze 
 on that, 
 Whilst what we have kill'd be c jok'd. 
 
 Bel. Stay ; come not in : 
 
 [Looking in. 
 But that it eats our victuals, I should think 
 Heie were a fairy. 
 
 Gui. What's the matter, sir? 
 
 Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not, 
 \n earthly paragon ! — Behold divineness 
 No elder than a boy ! 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 Imo. Good masters, harm me not : 
 Before I enter'd here, I call'd ; and thought 
 To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: Good 
 
 troth, 
 I have stolen nought; nor would not, though I had 
 
 found 
 Gold strew'd o'the floor. Here's money for my 
 
 meat: 
 I would have left it on the board, so soon 
 As I had made my meal ; and parted 
 With prayers for the provider. 
 
 Gui. " Money, youth ? 
 
 Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt ! 
 As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those 
 Who worship dirty gods. 
 
 Imo. I see you are angry: 
 
 Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
 Have died, had I not made it. 
 
 Bel. Whither bound 1 
 
 Imo. To Milford-Haven, sir. 
 
 Bel. What is your name ? 
 
 Imo. Fidele, sir: I have a kinsman, who 
 Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at Milford : 
 To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, 
 I am fallen in 4 this offence. 
 
 Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, 
 
 Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds 
 By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd ! 
 'Tis almost night : you shall have better cheer 
 Ere you depart : and thanks, to stay and eat it. — 
 Boys, bid him welcome. 
 
 Gui. Were you a woman, youth, 
 
 I should woo hard, but be your groom. — In hon- 
 esty, 
 I bid for you, as I'd buy. 
 
 Arv. I'll make't my comfort, 
 
 He is a man ; I'll love him as my brother : — 
 And such a welcome as I'd give to him, 
 After long absence, such is yours: — Most wel- 
 come! 
 Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 
 
 'Mongst friends ) 
 -Would it had been so, that 
 
 Imo. 
 If brothers 1 - 
 they 
 Had been my father's sons ! then had my )■ Aside 
 
 prize 
 Been less; and so more equal ballasting 
 To thee, Posthumus. 
 
 Bel. He wrings at some distress- 
 
 Gui. Would I could free't! 
 
 Arv. Or I ; whate'er it be, 
 
 What pain it cost, what danger! Gods ! 
 
 Bel. Hark, boys. 
 
 [ Whispering. 
 
 Imo. Great men, 
 That had a court no bigger than this cave, 
 That did attend themselves, that had the virtue 
 Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by 
 That nothing gift of differing multitudes,) 
 Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! 
 I'd change my sex to be companion with them, 
 Since Leonatus' false. 
 
 Bel. It shall be so : 
 
 Boys, we'll go dress our hunt.— Fair youth, come in: 
 Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd, 
 We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story, 
 So far as thou wilt speak it. 
 
 Gui. Pray? draw near. 
 
 Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark, 
 less welcome. 
 
 Imo. Thanks, sir. 
 
 Arv. I pray, draw near. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Rome. 
 
 Enter two Senators and Tribunes. 
 
 1 Sen. This is the tenor of the emperor's writ : 
 That since the common men are now in action 
 'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians : 
 
 And that the legions now in Gallia are 
 Full weak to undertake our wars against 
 The fallen-off Britons ; that we do incite 
 The gentry to this business : He creates 
 Lucius pro-consul : and to you the tribunes, 
 For this immediate levy, he commands 
 His absolute commission. Long live Caesar ! 
 Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces 1 
 
 2 Sen. Ay. 
 Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ? 
 
 1 Sen. With those legions 
 
 Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
 Must be supplyant: The words of your commission 
 Will tie you to the numbers, and the time 
 Of their despatch. 
 
 Tri. We will discharge our duty. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT IY. 
 
 SCENE I.— Wales. The Forest, near the Cave. 
 
 Enter Cloten. 
 
 Clo. I am near to the place where they should 
 meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his 
 garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who 
 ■vas made by him that made the tailor, not be fit 
 loo 1 the rather (saving reverence of the word) for 
 'tis said, a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein 
 I must play the workman. 1 dare speak it to my- 
 self, (for it is not vain-glory, for a man and his glass 
 to confer, — in his own chamber, I mean,) the lines 
 of my V'ldy sre as well drawn as his ; no less young, 
 * In, for into. 
 
 more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond 
 him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, 
 alike conversant in general services, and more re- 
 markable in single oppositions:' yet this impersev- 
 erant thing loves him in my despite. What mor- 
 tality is ! Posthumus, thy head, which now is grow- 
 ing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be 
 off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to 
 pieces before thy face : and all this done, spurn her 
 home to her father: who may, haply, be a little 
 angry for my so rough usage ; but my mother, hav- 
 ing power of his testiness, shall turn all into m^ 
 commendations My horse is tied up safe : Ou- 
 » In single combat 
 
Scene II. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 74*) 
 
 sword, and to a sore purpose! Fortune ! put them 
 into my hand ! This is the very description of their 
 meeting-place ; and the fellow dares not deceive 
 mo. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IL— Before the Cave. 
 
 Enter, from the Cave, Belarius* Guiderius, 
 Arviragus, and Imogen. 
 
 Bel. You are not well: [To Imogen.] remain 
 here in the cave ; 
 We'll come to you after hunting. 
 
 Arv. Brother, stay here: 
 
 [To Imogen. 
 Are we not brothers ? 
 
 Imo. So man and man should be ; 
 
 But clay and clay differs in dignity, 
 Whose dust is both alike. — I am very sick. 
 
 Gui. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him. 
 
 lino. So sick I am not, yet I am not well : 
 But not so citizen a wanton, as 
 To seem to die, ere sick : So please you leave me ; 
 Stick to your journal 6 course: the breach of custom 
 Is breach of all. I am ill ; but your being by me 
 Cannot amend me: Society is no comfort 
 To one not sociable : I'm not very sick, 
 Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here : 
 I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, 
 Stealing so poorly. 
 
 Gui. I love thee; I have spoke it: 
 
 How much the quantity, the weight as much, 
 As I do love my father. 
 
 Bel. What? how? howl 
 
 Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me 
 !n my good brother's fault: I know not why 
 I love this youth ; and I have heard you say, 
 Love's reason's without reason ; the bier at door, 
 \nd a demand, who is't shall die, I'd say, 
 My father, not this youth. 
 
 Bel. O noble strain ! [Aside. 
 
 worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness ! 
 Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base : 
 Nature hath meal, and bran; contempt, and grace. 
 
 1 am not their father; yet who this should be, 
 Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. — 
 
 'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn. 
 
 Arv. Brother, farewell. 
 
 Imo. I wish ye sport. 
 
 Arv. You health. — So please you, sir. 
 
 Imo. [Aside.] These are kind creatures. Gods, 
 what lies I have heard ! 
 Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court: 
 Experience, O, thou disprov'st report! 
 The imperious 1 seas breed monsters; for the dish, 
 Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. 
 I am sick still; heart-sick: — Pisanio, 
 I'll now taste of thy drug. 
 
 Gui. I could not stir him: 
 
 He said, he was gentle, 8 but unfortunate ; 
 Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. 
 
 Arv. Thus did he answer me : yet said, hereafter 
 I might know more. 
 
 Bel. To the field, to the field:— 
 
 We'll leave you for this time: go in, and rest. 
 
 Arv. We'll not be long away. 
 
 Bel. Pray, be not sick, 
 
 For you mast be our housewife. 
 
 Imo. Well, or ill, 
 
 I am bound to you. 
 
 Bel. And so shalt be ever. 
 
 [Exit Imogen. 
 This youth, howe'erdistce.ss'd, appears, he hath had 
 Good ancestors. 
 • Kser. your daily courfe ' Imperial. • Well-born. 
 
 Arv. How angel-like he sings ' 
 
 Gui. But his neat cookery ! he cut our 100U in 
 characters ; 
 And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick 
 And he her dieter. 
 
 Arv. Nobly he yokes 
 
 A smiling with a sigh : as if the sigh 
 Was that it was, for not being such a smile ; 
 The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly 
 From so divine a temple, to commix 
 With winds that sailors rail at. 
 
 Gui. I do note, 
 
 That grief and patience, rooted in him both, 
 Mingle their spurs' together. 
 
 Arv. Grow, patience ! 
 
 And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine 
 His perishing root, with the increasing vine ! 
 
 Bel. It is great morning. Come away. — Who's 
 there ? 
 
 Enter Cloten. 
 
 Clo. I cannot find those runagates; that villain 
 Hath mock'd me: — I am faint. 
 
 Bel. Those runagates! 
 
 Means he not us ? I partly know him ; 'tis 
 Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some araoush 
 I saw him not these many years, and yet 
 I know 'tis he : — We are held as outlaws : — Hence. 
 
 Gui. He is but one : you and my brother, search 
 What companies are near: pray you, away; 
 Let me alone with him. 
 
 [Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus 
 
 Clo. Soft! What are ycu 
 
 That fly me thus ? some villain mountaineers ? 
 I have heard of such. — What slave art thou ? 
 
 Gui. A thing 
 
 More slavish did I ne'er, than answering 
 A slave, without a knock. 
 
 Clo. Thou art a robber, 
 
 A law-breaker, a villain : Yield thee, thief. 
 
 Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Have 
 not I 
 An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? 
 Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not 
 My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art; 
 Why I should yield to thee? 
 
 Clo. Thou villain base, 
 
 Know'st me not by my clothes? 
 
 Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal 
 
 Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, 
 Which, as it seems, make thee. 
 
 Clo. Thou precious varlet, 
 
 My tailor made them not. 
 
 Gui. Hence then, and thank 
 
 The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool 
 I am loath to beat thee. 
 
 Clo. Thou injurious thief, 
 
 Hear but my name, and tremble. 
 
 Gui. What's thy name? 
 
 Clo. Cloten, thou villain. 
 
 Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, 
 I cannot tremble at it; were't toad, or adder, spider 
 'Twould move me sooner. 
 
 Clo. To thy further fear, 
 
 Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know 
 I'm son to the queen. 
 
 Gui. I'm sorry for't; not seeming 
 
 So worthy as thy birth. 
 
 Clo. Art not afeard ? 
 
 Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear; the \\\%t 
 At fools I laugh, not fear them. 
 
 Clo. Die the dealt) 
 
 9 Spurs are tl e roots of trees 
 
*50 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 When I have slain thee with my proper hand, 
 I'll follow those that even now fled hence, 
 And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads : 
 Yield, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt, fighting. 
 
 Enter Belaritjs and Arviuagus. 
 
 Bel. No company's abroad. 
 
 Arv. None in the world : You did mistake him, 
 sure. 
 
 Bel. I cannot tell : Long is it since I saw him, 
 But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favor' 
 Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, 
 And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute, 
 'Twas very Cloten 
 
 Arv. In this place we left them ; 
 
 I wish my brother make good time with him, 
 You say he is so fell. 
 
 Bel. Being scarce made up, 
 
 I mean, to man, he had not apprehension 
 Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment 
 Is oft the cause of fear: But see, thy brother. 
 Re-enter Guiderics with Cloten's Head. 
 
 Qui. This Cloten was a fool ; an empty purse, 
 There was no money in't: not Hercules 
 Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none : 
 Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne 
 My head, as I do his. 
 
 Bel. What hast thou done ? 
 
 Gui. I am perfect, what : cut oil" one Cloten's head, 
 Son to the queen, after his own report; 
 Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer ; and swore, 
 With his own single hand he'd take us in, 3 
 Displace our heads, where (thank the gods !) they 
 
 grow, 
 And set them on Lud's town. 
 
 Bel. . We are all undone. 
 
 Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, 
 But, that he swore to take, our lives'! The law 
 Protects not us: Then why should we be tender, 
 To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us; 
 Play judge, and executioner, all himself; 
 For we do fear the law 1 What company 
 Discover you abroad] 
 
 Bel. No single soul 
 
 Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason, 
 He must have some attendants. Though his humor 
 Was nothing but mutation ; ay, and that 
 From one bad thing to worse'; not frenzy, not 
 Absolute madness could so far have raved, 
 To bring him here alone : Although, perhaps, 
 It may be heard at court, that such as we 
 Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time 
 May make some stronger head: the which he hearing, 
 (As it is like him,) might break out and swear 
 He'd fetch us in ; yet is't not probable 
 To come alone, either he so undertaking, 
 Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, 
 If we do fear this body hath a tail 
 More perilous than the head. 
 
 Arv. Let ordinance 
 
 Corne as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er, 
 My brother hath done well. 
 
 Bel. I had no mind 
 
 To hunt this day : the boy Fidele's sickness 
 Did make my way long forth. 
 
 Gui. With his own sword, 
 
 Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en 
 His head from him : I'll throw't into the creek 
 Behind our rock; and let it to the sea, 
 And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten: 
 That's all I reck. 5 [Exit. 
 
 Bel. I fear 'twill be revenged : 
 
 • Countenance a Conquer, subdue ' Care. 
 
 'Would, Polydore. thou nadst not done't ! though 
 
 valor 
 Becomes thee well enough. 
 
 Arv. 'Would I had done't, 
 
 So the revenge alone pursued me! — Polydore, 
 I love thee brotherly ; but envy much, 
 Thou hast robb'd me of this deed : I would, revenges, 
 That possible strength might meet, would seek us 
 
 through, 
 And put us to our answer. 
 
 Bel. Well, 'tis done :- 
 
 We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
 Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock , 
 You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay 
 Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 
 To dinner presently. 
 
 Arv. Poor sick Fidele ! 
 
 I'll willingly to him : To gain his color, 
 I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood, 
 And praise myself for charity. [Ezit. 
 
 Bel. thou goddess 
 
 Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
 In these two princely boys ! They are as gentlf) 
 As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, 
 Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough, 
 Their royal blood enchafed, as the rud'st wind, 
 That by the top doth take the mountain pine, 
 And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 To royalty unlearned ; honor untaught ; 
 Civility not seen from other; valor, 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
 As if it had been sow'd ! Yet still it s strange 
 What Cloten's being here to us portends; 
 Or what his death will bring us. 
 
 Re-enter Guiderius. 
 
 Gui. Where's my brother ! 
 
 I have sent Cloten's clot-poll down the stream, 
 In embassy to his mother ; his body's hostage 
 For his return. [Solemn music 
 
 Bel. Mv ingenious instrument! 
 
 Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion 
 Hath Cadwal now to give it motion 1 Hark ! 
 
 Gui. Is he at home? 
 
 Bel. He went hence even now 
 
 Gui. What does he mean? since death of my 
 dear'st mother 
 It did not speak before. All solemn things 
 Should answer solemn accidents. The matter I 
 Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,' 
 Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys. 
 Is Cadwal mad 1 
 
 Re-enter Arviragtts, bearing Imogen, as dead, in 
 his arms. 
 
 Bel. Look, here he comes, 
 
 And brings the dire occasion in his arms, 
 Of what we blame him for! 
 
 Arv. The bird is dead, 
 
 That we have made so much on. I had rather 
 Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age, to sixty, 
 To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch, 
 Than have seen this. 
 
 Gui. sweetest, fairest lily; 
 
 My brother wears not thee one-half so well, 
 As when thou grew'st thyself. 
 
 Bel. 0, melancholy ! 
 
 Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find 
 The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare' 
 Might easiliest harbor in 1 — Thou blessed thing! 
 Jove knows what man thou mightst have mad* 
 but I, 
 
 « Trifles. « A slow-sail : «g, ur wieldly vessel 
 
Scene II. 
 
 CYMBELINK. 
 
 761 
 
 Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy ! — 
 How found you him ? 
 
 Arv. Stark, 8 as you see : 
 
 Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, 
 Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right 
 
 cheek 
 Reposing; on a cushion. 
 
 Gui. Where? 
 
 Arv. O' the floor; 
 
 His arms thus leagu'd : I thought, he slept; and put 
 My clouted brogues ' from off my feet, whose rude- 
 ness 
 Answer'd my steps too loud. 
 
 Gui. Why, he but sleeps: 
 
 If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; 
 With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, 
 And worms will not come to thee. 
 
 Arv. With fairest flowers, 
 
 Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack 
 The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor 
 The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
 The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
 Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the rudduck 8 would, 
 With charitable bill, (0 bill, sore-shaming 
 Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie 
 Without a monument!) bring thee all this; 
 Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are 
 
 none, 
 To winter-ground s thy corse. 
 
 Gui. Pr'ythee, have done, 
 
 And do not play in wench-like words, with that 
 Which is so serious. Let us bury him, 
 And not protract with admiration what 
 Is now due debt. — To the grave. 
 
 Arv. Say, where shall's lay him? 
 
 Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 
 
 Arv. Be't so : 
 
 And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 
 Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the 
 
 ground, 
 As once our mother; use like note, and words, 
 Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 
 
 Gui. Cadwal, 
 I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee: 
 For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse 
 Than priests and fanes that lie. 
 
 Arv. We'll speak it then. 
 
 Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for 
 Cloten 
 Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys : 
 And, though he came our enemy, remember, 
 He was paid for that : Though mean and mighty, 
 
 rotting 
 Together, have one dust ; yet reverence 
 (Thai angel of the world) doth make distinction 
 Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; 
 And though you took his life, as being our foe, 
 Yet bury him as a prince. 
 
 Gui. 'Pray you, fetch him hither. 
 
 Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, 
 When neither are alive. 
 
 Arv. If you'll go fetch him, 
 
 We'll say out song the whilst. — Brother, begin. 
 
 [Exit Belarius. 
 
 Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the 
 east ; 
 My father hath a reason for't. 
 
 Arv. 'Tis true. 
 
 Cut. Come on then, and remove him. 
 
 Arv. So, — begin. 
 
 • Stiff. * Shoes plated with iron. » The red-breast. 
 
 • I'robahly a corrupt reading for wither round thy corse. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
 Nor the furious winter's rages; 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages 
 Golden lads and girls all must, 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke,- 
 Care no more to clothe, and eat,- 
 To thee the reed is as the oak: 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. Fear tw more the lightning flash, 
 Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone,- 
 Gui. Fear not slander, censure' rash,- 
 Arv. Thou hast finish 'd joy and moan.- 
 Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign* to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. No exorciser harm thee! 
 Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee. 1 
 Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
 Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! 
 Both. Quiet consummation have; 
 And renowned be thy grave! 
 
 Re-enter Belarius, with the Body of Cloten 
 Gui. We have done our obsequies : Come, lay 
 
 him down. 
 Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight. 
 
 more: 
 The herbs, that have on them cold dew o' the night, 
 Are strewings fitt'st for graves.— Upon their 
 
 faces : — 
 You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so 
 These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow. — 
 Come on, away : apart, upon our knees. 
 The ground, that gave them first, has them again; 
 Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 
 
 [Exeunt Belarius, Guii>ERius,awc? 
 Arviragus. 
 Imo. [Awaking.'] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven, 
 
 which is the way ? — 
 I thank you. — By yon bush? — Pray, how far 
 
 thither? 
 'Ods pittikins ! ' — can it be six miles yet 
 I have gone all night: — 'Faith, I'll lie down and 
 
 sleep. 
 But, soft, no bedfellow: — 0, gods and goddesses! 
 [Seeing the Body 
 These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; 
 This bloody man, the care on'l. — I hope, I dream ; 
 For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper, 
 And cook to honest-creatures; But 'tis not so; 
 'Twas but a bolt' of nothing, shot at nothing. 
 Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes 
 Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good 
 
 faith, 
 I tremble still with fear: But if there be 
 Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
 As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it ! 
 The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is 
 Without me, as within me : not imagin'd, felt. 
 A headless man ! — The garments of Posthumus ' 
 I know the shape of his leg : this is his hand; 
 His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh: 
 The brawns of Hercules : but his Jovial* face — 
 Murder in heaven? — How? — 'Tis gone. — 1'isa- 
 
 nio, 
 
 1 Judgment. ' Seal the same contract 
 
 3 This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's wf 
 pily * An arrow » A fr<e like Jove'*. 
 
752 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
 And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, 
 Oonspir'd with that irregulous 6 devil, Cloten, 
 Hast he:e cut off my lord. — To write, and read, 
 Be henceforth treacherous. Damn'd Pisanio, 
 Hath with his forged letters, — damn'd Pisanio — 
 From this most bravest vessel of the world 
 Struck the main-top ! — O, Posthumus ! alas, 
 Where is thy head ? where's that ? Ah me ! where's 
 
 that? 
 Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, 
 And left this head on. — How should this be ? Pi- 
 sanio ? 
 Tis he, and Cloten : malice and lucre in them 
 Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, preg- 
 nant! 1 
 The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious 
 And cordial to me, have I not found it 
 Murd'rous to the senses'? That confirms it home : 
 This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O! — 
 Give color to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
 That we the horrider may seem to those 
 Which chance to find us: 0, my lord, my lord! 
 
 Enter Lucius, a Captain, and other Officers, and 
 a Soothsayer. 
 
 Cap. To them the legions garrison 'd in Gallia, 
 After your will, have cross'd the sea: attending 
 You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships : 
 They are here in readiness. 
 
 Luc. But what from Rome ? 
 
 Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners, 
 And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits 
 That promise noble service: and they come 
 Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, 
 Sienna's brother. 
 
 Luc. When expect you them ? 
 
 Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. 
 
 Luc. This forwardness 
 
 Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present 
 
 numbers 
 Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to't. — Now, sir, 
 What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur- 
 pose? 
 Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision: 
 1 1 fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence:) Thus: — 
 I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd 
 From the spongy south to this part of the west, 
 There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends 
 (Unless my sins abuse my divination) 
 Success to the Roman host. 
 
 Luc. Dream often so, 
 
 \nd never false. — Soft, ho ! what trunk is here, 
 Without his topi The ruin speaks, that sometime 
 It was a worthy building. — How ! a page ! — 
 Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather: 
 For nature doth abhor to make his bed 
 With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. — 
 Let's see the boy's face. 
 
 Cap. He is alive, my lord. 
 
 Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. — 
 Young one, 
 Inform us of thy fortunes ; for, it seems, 
 They crave to be demanded : Who is this, 
 Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he, 
 That, otherwise than noble nature did, 
 Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest 
 In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? 
 What art thou ? 
 
 Imo. I am nothing: or, if not, 
 
 Nothing to be were better. This was my master, 
 
 • Lawless, licentious. 
 
 " i. e. 'Tis a ready, apposite conclusion. 
 
 A very valiant Briton, and a good, 
 
 That here by mountaineers lies slain: — Alas' 
 
 There are no more such masters. I msy wande* 
 
 From east to Occident, cry out for service, 
 
 Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
 
 Find such another master. 
 
 Luc. 'Lack, good youth ! 
 
 Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than 
 Thy master in bleeding : Say his name, good friend 
 
 Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do 
 No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope 
 
 [Aside. 
 They'll pardon it. — Say you, sir? 
 
 Luc. Thy name? 
 
 Imo. Fidele 
 
 Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same 
 Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name 
 Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say, 
 Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure, 
 No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, 
 Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner 
 Than thine own worth, prefer thee : Go with me. 
 
 Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please ths 
 gods, 
 I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep 
 As these poor pickaxes 8 can dig : and when 
 With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd 
 
 his grave, 
 And on it said a century of prayers, 
 Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh; 
 And, leaving so his service, follow you, 
 So please you entertain me. 
 
 Luc. Ay, good youth ; 
 
 And rather father thee, than master thee. — 
 My friends, 
 
 The boy hath taught us manly duties : Let us 
 Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, 
 And make him with our pikes and partizans 
 A grave: Come, arm him. — Boy, he is preferr'd 
 By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd, 
 As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes: 
 Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in Cymbeline*s Palace. 
 Enter CrsiBEi.iiirE, Lords, and Ptsanio. 
 
 Cym. Again; and bring me word hew 'tis with 
 her. 
 A fever with the absence of her son ; 
 A madness, of which her life's in danger- 
 Heavens, 
 Hov,' deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen, 
 The great part of my comfort, gone : my qut>en 
 Upon a desperate bed ; and in a time 
 When fearful wars point at me ; her son gone, 
 So needful for this present: It strikes me, p.'-st 
 The hope of comfort. — But for thee, fellow, 
 Who needs must know of her departure, and 
 Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee 
 By a sharp torture. 
 
 Pis. Sir, my life is yours: 
 
 I humbly set it at your will: But, for my mistrcss, 
 I nothing know where she remains, why gone, 
 Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech youi 
 
 highness, 
 Hold me your loyal servant. 
 
 1 L'ird. Good my lieg#. 
 
 The day that she was missing, he was here : 
 I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform 
 All parts of his subjection loyally. 
 For Cloten, — 
 
 There wants no diligence in seeking him, 
 And will, no doubt, be found. 
 • Her fingera 
 
A.ct V. Scene I. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 753 
 
 Cym. The time's troublesome : 
 
 We'll slip you for a season : but our jealousy 
 
 [To Pisanio. 
 Hnes yet depend. 
 
 1 Lord. So please your majesty, 
 
 The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, 
 Are landed on your coast ; with a supply 
 Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 
 
 Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and queen! — 
 I am amaz'd with matter. 9 
 
 1 Lord. Good my liege, 
 
 Your preparation can affront' no less 
 Than what you hear of: come more, for more 
 
 you're ready: 
 The want is, but to put those powers in motion, 
 That long to move. 
 
 Cym. I thank you : Let's withdraw: 
 
 And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not 
 What can from Italy annoy us ; but 
 We grieve at chances here.— Away. [Exeunt. 
 
 Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since 
 I wrote him, Imogen was slain : 'Tis strange: 
 Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise 
 To yield me often tidings; Neither know I 
 What is betid to Cloten ; but remain 
 Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work: 
 Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true. 
 These present wars shall find I love my country, 
 Even to the note 2 o' the king, or I'll fall in them. 
 All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd : 
 Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Before the Cave. 
 Enter Belartus, Guiderius, and Arviuagus. 
 
 Gui. The noise is round about us. 
 
 Bel. Let us from it. 
 
 Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it 
 From action and adventure] 
 
 Gui. Nay, what hope 
 
 Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans 
 Must or for Britons slay us; or receive us 
 For barbarous and unnatural revolts 3 
 During their use, and slay us after. 
 
 Bel. Sons, 
 
 We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us. 
 To the king's party there's no going: newness 
 Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd 
 Among the bands) may drive us to a render' 
 Where we have liv'd; and so extort from us 
 That which we've done, whose answer would be 
 
 death 
 Drawn on with torture. 
 
 Gui. This is, sir, a doubt, 
 
 In such a time, nothing becoming you, 
 Nor satisfying us. 
 
 Arv. It is not likely, 
 
 That when they hear the Roman horses neigh. 
 Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes 
 And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, 
 That they will waste their time upon our note, 6 
 To know from whence we are. 
 
 Bel. O, I am known 
 
 Of many in the army: many years, 
 Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore 
 
 him 
 From my remembrance. And, besides, the king 
 Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves; 
 Who find in my exile the want of breeding, 
 The certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless 
 To have the courtesy your cradle prcmis'd, 
 But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and 
 The shrinking slaves of winter. 
 
 Gui. Than be so, 
 
 Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army : 
 I and my brother are not known; yourself, 
 So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, 
 Cannot be question'd. 
 
 A?-v. By this sun that shine*, 
 
 I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never 
 Did see man die] scarce ever look'd on blood, 
 But that of coward hares, hot goats, and veni- 
 son] 
 Never bestrid a horse, save one, that had 
 A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
 Nor iron on his heel] I am ashamed 
 To look upon the holy sun, to have 
 The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining 
 So long a poor unknown. 
 
 Gui. By heavens, I'll go: 
 
 If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
 I'll take the better care ; but if you will not, 
 The hazard therefore due fall on me, by 
 The hands of Romans! 
 
 Arv. So say I; Amen. 
 
 Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set 
 So slight a valuation, should reserve 
 My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, 
 
 boys: 
 If in your country wars you chance to die, 
 That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie: 
 Lead, lead. — The time seems long ; their blood 
 thinks scorn, [Aside. 
 
 Till it fly out, and show them princes born. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— 4 Field between the British and Ro- 
 man Camps. 
 
 Enter Posthcmcs, with a bloody Handkerchief. 
 
 Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I 
 wish'd 
 Thou shouldst be color'd thus. You married ones, 
 If each of you would take this course, how many 
 Must murder wives much better than themselves, 
 For wrying' but a little — 0, Pisanio! 
 Ev^ry good servant does not all commands: 
 \ j bond, but to do just ones. — Gods! if yuu 
 
 » Confounded by a variety of business. ' Euco' inter. 
 » Notice. " Revolters. « An account. 
 
 • Deviating from the right way. 
 
 Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I nevei 
 Had liv'd to put on' this: so had you saved 
 The noble Imogen to repent ; and struck 
 Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, 
 
 alack, , 
 
 You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love. 
 To have them fall no more: you soma permit 
 To second ills with ills, each elder worse; 
 And make them dread it to the doer's thrift. 
 But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills 
 And make me bless'd to obey! — I am brou^ft' 
 
 hither 
 Among the Italian gentry, am/ to fight 
 Against my lady's kingdom: 'Tis °noush 
 « Noticing us. .ncite, instiaav 
 
754 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 l*hat, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! 
 » 11 give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, 
 »Iear patiently my purpose : I'll disrobe me 
 )f these Italian weeds, and suit myself 
 As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight 
 Against the part I come with ; so I'll die 
 For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life 
 Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown, 
 Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
 Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know 
 More valor in me, than my habits show 
 Gods put the strength o' the Leonati in me ! 
 To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin 
 The fashion, less without, and more within ! [Exit, 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 Enter, at one side, Lucius, Iachimo, and the Ro- 
 man Army,- at the other side, the British Army,- 
 
 Leon atus Posthumus following it, like a poor 
 
 Soldier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. 
 
 Then enter again in skirmish, Iachimo and 
 
 Posthumus; he vanquisheth and disarmeth 
 
 Iachimo, and then leaves him. 
 
 Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom 
 Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady, 
 The princess of this country, and the air on't 
 Revengingly enfeebles me ; Or could this carl, s 
 A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me, 
 In my profession ? Knighthoods and honors, borne 
 As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
 If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
 This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
 Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit. 
 The Battle continues, the Britons fly ,■ Cymbeline 
 
 is taken: then enter to his rescue, Belarius, 
 
 Guidehius, and Arviragus. 
 
 Bel. Stand, stand ! We have the advantage of 
 the ground; 
 The lane is guarded : nothing routs us, but 
 The villany of our fears. 
 
 Gut. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight! 
 
 Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons. They 
 
 rescue Ctmbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter 
 
 Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen. 
 
 Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy- 
 self: 
 For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such 
 As war were hood-wink'd. 
 
 Iach. 'Tis their fresh supplies. 
 
 Luc. It is a da^ turn'd strangely : or betimes 
 Let's reinforce, or fly. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Enter Posthumus and a British Lord. 
 Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the 
 
 stand ? 
 Post. I did : 
 
 Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. 
 
 Lard. I did. 
 
 Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, 
 But that the heavens fought: The king himself 
 Of his wings destitute, the army broken, 
 And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 
 Through a strait lane ; the enemy full-hearted, 
 Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work 
 More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down 
 Sorrt mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
 Merely through fear; that the strait path was 
 
 damm'd 9 
 Wiih dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living 
 To lie with lengthen'd shame. 
 
 Clown 'Block'ti up. 
 
 Lord. Where was ihis lane ? 
 
 Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd and wsll'a 
 with turf, 
 Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, — 
 An honest one, I warrant; who.deserv'd 
 So long a breeding, as his white beaid came to, 
 In doing this for his country ; — athwart the lane, 
 He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run 
 The country base,' than to commit such slaughter; 
 With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer 
 Than those for preservation cased, or shame,) 
 Made good the passage ; cry'd to those that fled, 
 Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men: 
 To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards/ Stand; 
 Or we are Romans, and will give you that 
 Like beasts, which you shun beastly,- and may save, 
 But to look back in frown: stand, stand. — These 
 
 three, 
 Three thousand confident, in act as many, 
 (For three performers are the file, when all 
 The rest do nothing,) with this word, Stand, stand. 
 Accommodated by the place, more charming, 
 With their own nobleness, (which could have turn' 2 
 A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks, 
 Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, turn' S 
 
 coward 
 But by example, (O, a sin in war 
 Damn'd in the first beginners !) 'gan to look 
 The way that they did, and to grin like lions 
 Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 
 A stop i' the chaser, a retire ; anon, 
 A rout, confusion thick : Forthwith they fly 
 Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves 
 The strides they victors made: and now ourcowariU 
 (Like fragments in hard voyages) became 
 The life o' the need; having found the back-door open 
 Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound 
 Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends 
 O'erborne i' the former wave : ten, chased by one. 
 Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty : 
 Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown 
 The mortal bugs 2 o' the field. 
 
 Lord. This was strange chance 
 
 A narrow lane ! an old man, and two boys ! 
 
 Post. Nay, do not wonder at it : You are made 
 Rather to wonder at the things you hear, 
 Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't. 
 And vent it for a mockery! Here is one: 
 Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, 
 Preserv d the Britons, was the Romans' bane. 
 
 Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 
 
 Post. 'Lack, to what en.. " 
 
 Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend : 
 For if he'll do, as he is made to do, 
 I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. 
 You have put me into rhyme. 
 
 Lord. Farewell, you are angry 
 
 [Exii 
 
 Post. Still going? — This is a lord ! noble mi- 
 sery ! 
 To be i' the field, and ask, what news of me ! 
 To-day, how many would have given their honors 
 To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to do't, 
 And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charm'd, 
 Could not find death, where I did hear him groan . 
 Nor feel him where he struck: Being an ugly 
 
 monster, 
 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
 Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we 
 That draw his knives i' the war. — Well, I will find 
 him ; 
 
 1 A coun 
 base. 
 
 try game called prison-bars, vulgarly prison 
 a Bug-bears, t<"-'rs. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 755 
 
 For being how a favorer to the Roman 
 No more a Briton, I have resumed again 
 The part I came in% Fight I will no more, 
 But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall 
 Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is 
 Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be 
 Britons must take; For me, my ransom's death 
 On either side I come to spend my breath ; 
 Which neither here FJ keep, nor bear again, 
 But end it by some means for Imogen. 
 
 Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers. 
 
 1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd ! Lucius is taken: 
 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. 
 
 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, 
 That gave the affront 3 with them. 
 
 1 Cap. So 'tis reported : 
 But none of them can be found. — Stand ! who is 
 
 there ? 
 Post. A Roman; 
 Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds 
 Had answered him. 
 
 2 Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog ! 
 A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 
 
 What crows have peck'd them here : He brags his 
 
 service 
 As if he were of note ; bring him to the king. 
 
 Enter Ctmbeline, attended,- Beearius, Guide- 
 Rius, Arviragus, Pisanio, and Roman Cap- 
 tives. The Captains present Posthumus to 
 Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler; 
 after which, all go out. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Prison. 
 Enter Posthumus, and two Gaolers. 
 
 1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have 
 
 locks upon you ; 
 So, graze, as you finrJ pasture. 
 
 2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. 
 
 [Exeunt Gaolers. 
 Post. Most welcome bondage ! for thou art a 
 
 way, 
 I think, to liberty : Yet I am better 
 Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather 
 Groan so in perpetuity, than be cured 
 By the sure physician, death ; who is the key 
 Fo unbar these locks. My conscience! thou art 
 
 fetter'd 
 More than my shanks, and wrists : You good gods, 
 
 give me 
 1 he penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, 
 Then free for ever ! Is't enough, I am sorry ? 
 So children temporal fathers do appease; 
 Gods are more Sail of mercy. Must I repent? 
 I cannot do it better than in gyves, 4 
 Desir'd, more than constrain'd : to satisfy, 
 If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 
 No stricter render of me than my all. 
 I know, you are more clement than vile men, 
 Who of their broken debtors take a third, 
 A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again 
 On their abatement; that's not my desire: 
 For Imogen's dear life, take mine ; and though 
 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life ; you coin'd it : * 
 'Tween man and man, they weigh not every 
 
 stamp; 
 'Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake: 
 You rather mine, being yours: And so, great powers, 
 If you will take this audit, take this life, 
 And cancel these cold bonds O Imogen ! 
 Fll speak to thee in silence [He sleeps. 
 
 «■ Kmovuter. • Fetters. 
 
 Solemn Music. Enter, as an Apparition, Sicv- 
 lius Leonatus, Father to Posthumus, an old 
 Man, attired like a Warrior ,• leading in hit 
 Hand an ancient Matron, his Wife, and Mother 
 to Posthumus, with Music before them. Then 
 after other Music, follow the two young Leonati, 
 Brothers to Posthumus, with wounds, as they 
 died in the Wars. They circle Posthumus 
 round, as he lies sleeping. 
 Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show, 
 
 Thy spite on mortal flies: 
 With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, 
 
 That thy adulteries 
 
 Rates and revenges. 
 Hath my poor boy done aught but well, 
 
 Whose face I never saw? 
 I died whilst in the womb he stay'd, 
 
 Attending Nature's law. 
 Whose father then (as men report, 
 
 Thou orphans' father art) 
 Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him 
 
 From this earth-vexing smart. 
 Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid, 
 
 But took me in my throes: 
 That from me was Posthumus ript, 
 
 Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
 A thing of pity ! 
 Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, 
 
 Moulded the stuff so fair, 
 That he deserv'd the praise o' the world, 
 
 As great Sicilius' heir. 
 
 1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, 
 
 In Britain where was he 
 That could stand up his parallel ; 
 
 Or fruitful object be 
 In eye of Imogen, that best 
 
 Could deem his dignity? 
 Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock 'd 
 
 To be exiled and thrown 
 From Leonati' seat, and cast 
 
 From her his dearest one, 
 Sweet Imogen ? 
 Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo, 
 
 Slight thing of Italy, 
 To taint his nobler heart and brain, 
 
 With needless jealousy ; 
 And to become the geek • and scorn 
 
 0' the other's villany ? 
 
 2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came, 
 
 Our parents, and us twain, 
 That, striking in our country's cause, 
 
 Fell bravely, and were slain ; 
 Our fealty, and Tenantius' right, 
 
 With honor to maintain. 
 
 1 Bro. Like hardiment, Posthumus hath 
 
 To Cymbeline perform'd: 
 Then Jupiter, thou king of gods, 
 
 Why hast thou thus adjourn'd 
 The graces for his merits due ; 
 
 Being all to dolors turn'd? 
 Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out; 
 
 No longer exercise, 
 Upon a valiant race, thy harsh 
 
 And potent injuries. 
 Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good. 
 
 Take off his miseries. 
 Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion , helj 
 
 Or we poor ghosts will cry 
 To the shining synod of the rest, 
 
 Against thy deity. 
 
 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, 
 
 And from thy juslice fly. 
 'The fool. 
 
756 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 AcrV. 
 
 Jupiter descends in Thunder and Lightning, 
 sitting upon an Eagle ,• he throws a Thunder- 
 bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. 
 Tup. No more, you petty spiri'ls of region low, 
 Offend our hearing: hush! — How dare you, 
 ghosts, 
 Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know, 
 
 Sky -planted, batters all rebelling coasts'! 
 Poor shadows of Elysium, hence ; and rest 
 
 Upon your never-withering banks of flowers: 
 Be not with mortal accidents opprest ; 
 
 No care of yours it is, you know 'tis ours. 
 Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift, 
 The more delayed, delighted. Be content; 
 5Tour low-laid son our godhead will uplift: 
 
 His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. 
 Our jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in 
 
 Our temple was he married. — Rise, and fade ! — 
 He shall be lord of lady Imogen, 
 
 And happier much by his affliction made. 
 This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein 
 
 Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; 
 And so, away : no further with your din 
 
 Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. — 
 Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends. 
 Sici. He came in thunder : his celestial breath 
 Was sulphurous to smell : the holy eagle 
 Stoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is 
 More sweet than our bless'd fields: his royal bird 
 Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, 
 As when his god is pleas'd. 
 All. Thanks, Jupiter! 
 
 Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd 
 His radiant roof: — Away ! and to be blest, 
 Let us with care perform his great behest. 
 
 [Ghosts vanish. 
 Post. [ Waking.'] Sleep, thou hast been a grand- 
 sire, and begot 
 A father to me : and thou hast created 
 A mother and two brothers: But (O scorn!) 
 Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were born. 
 And so I am awake. — Poor wretches that depend 
 On greatness' favor, dream, as I have done ; 
 Wake, and find nothing. — But, alas, I swerve : 
 Many dream not to find, neither deserve, 
 And yet are steep'd in favors; so am I, 
 That have this golden chance, and know not why. — 
 What fairies haunt this ground] A book? O, rare 
 
 one! 
 Be not, as in our fangled world, a garment 
 Nobler than that it covers : let thy effects 
 So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, 
 As good as promise. 
 
 [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself 
 unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced 
 by a piece of tender air,- and when from a stately 
 cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being 
 dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed 
 to the old stock, and freshly grow,- then shall 
 Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, 
 and flourish in peace and plenty. 
 Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen 
 Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing; 
 Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such 
 As sense cannot untie. Be what it is. 
 The action of my life is like it, which 
 I'll keep, if but for sympathy. 
 
 Re-enter Gaolers. 
 Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? 
 Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. 
 Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready 
 V>r that, you are well cooked. 
 
 Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spec 
 tators, the dish pays the shot. 
 
 Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir: But the 
 comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments 
 fear no more tavern bills; which are often the sad 
 ness of parting, as the procuring of mirth : yov 
 come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with 
 too much drink ; sorry that you have paid too much, 
 and sorry that you are paid too much ; purse and 
 brain both empty : the brain the heavier for being 
 too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heavi- 
 ness: O! of this contradiction you shall now be 
 quit.— O the charity of a penny coid! it sums up 
 thousands in a trice : you have no true debitor and 
 creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the 
 discharge: — Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and coun- 
 ters, so the acquittance follows. 
 
 Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. 
 
 Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the 
 tooth-ache. But a man that were to sleep your 
 sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think, 
 he would change places with his officer: for, look 
 you, sir, you know not which way you shall go. 
 
 Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow. 
 
 Gaol. Your death has eyes in 's head then ; I 
 have not seen him so pictured : you must either oe 
 directed by some that take upon them to know; oj 
 take upon yourself that which I am sure you do 
 not know; or jump 6 the after-inquiry on your own 
 peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's 
 end, I think you'll never return to tell one. 
 
 Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want 
 eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such 
 as wink, and will not use them. 
 
 Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man 
 should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of 
 blindness ! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your pri- 
 soner to the king. 
 
 Post. Thou bringest good news ; — I am called 
 to be made free. 
 
 Gaol. I'll be hanged then. 
 
 Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler ; no 
 bolts for the dead. 
 
 [Exeunt Posthumcs and Messenger. 
 
 Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and 
 beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. 1 
 Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves de- 
 sire to live, for all he be a Roman : and there be 
 some of them too, that die against their wills ; so 
 should I, if I were one. I would we were all of 
 one mind, and one mind good ; O, there were de- 
 solation of gaolers, and gallowses ! I speak against 
 my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment 
 in't. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Cymbeline's Tent. 
 
 Enter Cyn delink, Belaiuus, Guidlrius, Arvi- 
 ragus, Pis an 10, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. 
 Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the godg 
 have made 
 Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart, 
 That the poor soldier, that so richly fought, 
 Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose nake-i 
 
 breast 
 Stepp'd before targe 8 of proof, cannot be found' 
 He shall be happy that can find him, if 
 Our grace can make him so. 
 
 Bel. I never saw 
 
 Such noble fury in so poor a thing ; 
 
 • Hazard. T Forward. • Target, sriield 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 75^ 
 
 Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought 
 But beggary and poor looks. 
 
 Cym. No tidings of him ? 
 
 Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and 
 living, 
 But no trace of him. 
 
 Cym. To my grief I am 
 
 The heir of his reward ; which I will add 
 To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, 
 
 [To Belaiiius, Guidehius, and Ahviiiagus. 
 By whom, I grant, she lives ; 'Tis now the time 
 To ask of whence you are; — report it. 
 
 Bel. Sir, 
 
 In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen : 
 Further to boast, were neither true nor modest, 
 Unless I add, we are honest. 
 
 Cym. Bow your knees; 
 
 Arise, my knights o' the battle : I create you 
 Companions to our person, and will fit you 
 With dignities becoming your estates. 
 
 Enter Cornelius and Ladies. 
 
 There's business in these faces. — Why so sadly 
 Greet you our victory ? You look like Romans, 
 And not o' the court of Britain. * 
 
 Cor. Hail, great king ! 
 
 To sour your happiness, I must report 
 The queen is dead. 
 
 Cym. Whom worse than a physician 
 
 Would this report become? But I consider, 
 By medicine life may be pvolong'd, yet death 
 Will seize the doctor, too. — How ended she ? 
 
 Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life; 
 Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
 Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd, 
 I will report, so please you : These her women 
 Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks, 
 Were present when she finish'd. 
 
 Cym. Pr'ythee, say. 
 
 Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you: only 
 Affected greatness got by you, not you : 
 Married your royalty, was wife to your place; 
 Abhorr'd your person. 
 
 Cym. She alone knew this: 
 
 And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 
 Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 
 
 Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to 
 love 
 With such integrity, she did confess 
 Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, 
 But that her flight prevented it, she had 
 Ta'en off by poison. 
 
 Cym. most delicate fiend ! 
 
 Who is't can read a woman? — Is there more? 
 
 Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she 
 had 
 For you a mortal mineral; which, being took, 
 Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring, 
 By inches waste you : In which time she purpos'd, 
 By watching, weeping, 'tendance, kissing, to 
 O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time, 
 (When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work 
 Her son into the adoption of the crown. 
 But failing of her end by his strange absence, 
 Grew shameless desperate; open'd, in despite 
 Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repented 
 The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, 
 Despairing, died. 
 
 Cym. Heard you all this, her women 1 
 
 Lady. We did so, please your highness. 
 
 Cym. Mine eyes 
 
 W r ere not in fault, for she was beautiful ; 
 Ifine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart, 
 
 That thought her like her seeming ; it had beet 
 
 vicious, 
 To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! 
 That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, 
 And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all ! 
 
 Enter Lucius, Iackimo, the Soothsayer, and other 
 Roman Pnaoners,guarded; Posthumus, behind, 
 and Imogf.x. 
 
 Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that 
 The Britons have razed out, though with the loss 
 Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made 
 
 suit 
 That their good sou Is may be appeas'd with slaughtei 
 Of you their captives, which ourself have granted'. 
 So, think of your estate. 
 
 Lmc. Consider, sir, the chance of war:the day 
 Was yours by accident ; had it gone with us, 
 We should not, when the blood was cool, have 
 
 threaten'd 
 Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods 
 Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
 May be call'd ransom, let it come : sufficeth, 
 A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer : 
 Augustus lives to think on't : And so much 
 For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
 I will entreat; My boy, a Briton born, * 
 Let him be ransom'd : never master had 
 A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 
 So tender over his occasions, true. 
 So feat," so nurse-like : let his virtue join 
 With my request, which, I'll make bold, your high* 
 
 ness 
 Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm, 
 Though he have serv'd a Roman : save him, sir, 
 And spare no blood beside. 
 
 Cym. I have surely seen him 
 
 His favor ' is familiar to me. — 
 Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, 
 And art mine own. — I know not why, nor where- 
 fore, 
 To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master: live: 
 And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, 
 Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it; 
 Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, 
 The noblest ta'en. 
 
 Imo. I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad ; 
 And yet, I know, thou wilt. 
 
 Imo. No, no : alack 
 
 There's other work in hand ; I see a thing 
 Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, 
 Must shuffle for itself. 
 
 Luc. The boy disdains me. 
 
 He leaves me, scorns me : Briefly die their jo; s, 
 That place them on the truth of girls and boyj. — 
 W T hy stands he so perplex'd ? 
 
 Cym. What wouldst thou, boy ? 
 
 I love thee more and more ; think more and more 
 What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'sl on \ 
 
 speak, 
 Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend • 
 
 Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me, 
 Than I to your highness; who being born ycui 
 
 vassal, 
 Am something nearer. 
 
 Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so 
 
 mo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if y ou plea;* 
 To give me hearing. 
 
 Cym. Ay, with all my heart, 
 
 And lend my best attention. What's thy name. 
 Imo. Fidele, sir. 
 
 • Ready, dexterous 
 
 • Countenance. 
 
?58 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Cym. Thou art, my good youth, my page ; 
 I'll be thy master : Walk with me ; speak freely. 
 [Ctmbeline and Imogen converse apart. 
 
 Lei. Is not this boy revived from death ? 
 
 Arv. One sand another 
 
 Not more resembles : That sweet rosy lad, 
 Who died, and was Fidele : — What think you ? 
 
 Gui. The same dead thing alive. 
 
 Bel. Peace, peace ! see further, he eyes us not ; 
 forbear : 
 Creatures may be alike : were't he, I am sure 
 He would have spoke to us. 
 
 Gui. But we saw him dead. 
 
 Bel. Be silent ; let's see further. 
 
 Pis. It is my mistress : 
 
 [Aside. 
 Since she is living, let the time run on, 
 To good, or bad. 
 
 [Cymbeline and Imogen come forward. 
 
 Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ; 
 
 Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, [7b Iach.] step you 
 
 forth ; 
 Give answer to this boy, and do it freely : 
 Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it, 
 Which is our honor, bitter torture shall 
 Winnow the truth from falsehood. — On, speak to 
 him. 
 
 lmo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render 
 Of whom he had this ring. 
 
 Post. What's that to him ? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, 
 How came it yours? 
 
 Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that 
 Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 
 
 Cym. How ! rhe ? 
 
 lack. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which 
 Torments me to conceal. By villany 
 I got this ring ; 'twas Leonatus' jewel : 
 Whom thou did'st banish ; and (which more may 
 
 grieve thee, 
 As it doth me) a nobler sir ne'er lived 
 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my 
 lord? 
 
 Cym. All that belongs to this. 
 
 lack. That paragon, thy daughter, — 
 
 For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits 
 Quail 3 to remember, — Give me leave ; I faint. 
 
 Cym. My daughter ! what of her ? Renew thy 
 strength : 
 I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will, 
 Than die ere I hear more : strive man, and speak. 
 
 Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock 
 That struck the hour !) it was in Rome, (accurs'd 
 The mansion where !) 'twas at a feast, (0, would 
 Our viands had been poison'd ! or, at least, 
 Those which I heav'd to head !) the good Posthu- 
 
 mus, 
 (What should I say ? he was too good, to be 
 Where ill men were ; and was the best of all 
 Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly, 
 Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 
 For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 
 Of him that best could speak : for feature, laming 
 The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, 
 Postures beyond brief nature ; for condition, 
 A shop of all the qualities that man 
 Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving, 
 Fairness which strikes the eye : 
 
 Cym. I stand on fire : 
 
 Corne to thf matter. 
 
 Trwh. All too soon I shall, 
 
 • Sink int« iejection. 
 
 Unless thou would'st grieve quickly. — This Post 
 
 humus 
 (Most like a noble lord in love, and one 
 That had a royal lover) took his hint 1 
 And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein 
 He was as calm as virtue,) he began 
 His mistress' picture ; which by his tongue oeing 
 
 made, 
 And then a mind put in't, either our brags 
 Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 
 Prcv'd us unspeaking sots. 
 
 Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 
 
 Iach. Your daughter's chastity — there it begins. 
 He spake of 'her as Dian had hot dreams, 
 And she alone were cold : Whereat, I, wretch \ 
 Made scruple of his pr-aise ; and wager'd with him 
 Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore 
 Upon his honor'd finger, to attain 
 In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring 
 By her's and mine adultery : he, true knight, 
 No lesser of her honor confident 
 Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ; 
 And would so, had it been a carbuncle 
 Of Phoebus' wheel ; and might so safely, had it 
 Been aH the worth of his car. Away to Britain 
 Post I in this design : Well may you, sir, 
 Remember me at court, where I was taught 
 Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 
 'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd 
 Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
 'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
 Most vilely ; for my vantage, excellent ; 
 And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd, 
 That I return'd with simular proof enough 
 To make the noble Leonatus mad, 
 By wounding his belief in her renown 
 With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes 
 Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, 
 (0, cunning, how I got it !) nay, some marks 
 Of secret on her person, that he could not 
 But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 
 I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, — 
 Methinks I see him now, 
 
 Post. Ay, so thou doot 
 
 [ Coming forwar d. 
 Italian fiend ! — Ah me, most credulous fool, 
 Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 
 That's due to all the villains past, in being, 
 To come! — O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, 
 Some upright justicer ! Thou, king, send out 
 For torturers ingenious : It is I 
 That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend, 
 By being worse than they. I am Posthumtis, 
 That kill'd thy daughter : — villain-like, I lie ; 
 That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
 A sacrilegious thief, to do't : — the temple 
 Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself. 3 
 Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
 The dogs o' the street to bay me : every villain 
 Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus; and 
 Be villany less than 'twas ! — O Imogen! 
 My queen, my life, my wife ! Imogen, 
 Imogen, Imogen ! 
 
 Imo. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear — 
 
 Post. Shall's have a play of this ? Thou scornful 
 page, 
 There lies thy part. [Striking her : site falls. 
 
 Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help 
 
 Mine and your mistress : — O, my lord Posthumus! 
 You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now : — Help, help ! — 
 Mine honor'd lady ! 
 
 Cym. Does the world go round 
 
 • Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself. 
 
BCENE V 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 759 
 
 Post. How come these staggers on me ? 
 
 Pis. Wake, my mistress ! 
 
 Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 
 To death with mortal joy. 
 
 Pis. How fares my mistress ? 
 
 Imo. O, get thee from my sight; 
 Thou gav'st me poison dangerous fellow, hence ! 
 Breathe not where princes are. 
 
 Cym. The tune of Imogen ! 
 
 Pis. Lady, 
 The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 
 That box I gave you was not thought by me 
 A precious thing ; I had it from the queen. 
 
 Cym. New matter still ? 
 
 Imo. It poison'd me. 
 
 Cor. gods ! — 
 
 I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, 
 Which must approve thee honest : If Pisanio 
 Have, said she, given his mistress that confection 
 Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd 
 As I would serve a rat. 
 
 Cym. What's this, Cornelius ? 
 
 Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me 
 To temper * poisons for her ; still pretending 
 The satisfaction of her knowledge only 
 In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs 
 Or* no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose 
 Was of more danger, did compound for her 
 A certain stuff, which being ta'en, would cease 
 The present power of life ; but, in short time, 
 All offices of nature should again 
 Do their due functions. — Have you ta'en of it ? 
 
 Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. 
 
 Bel. My boys, 
 
 There was our error. 
 
 Gui. This is sure, Fidele. 
 
 Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from 
 you] 
 Think, that you are upon a rock ; and now 
 Throw me ag.ain. [Embracing him. 
 
 Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 
 
 Till the tree die ! 
 
 Cym. How now, my flesh, my child ? 
 
 What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? 
 Wilt thou not speak to me? 
 
 Imo. Your blessing sir. [Kneeling. 
 
 Bel. Though you did love this /outh, I blame 
 you not; 
 You had a motive for't. 
 
 [7b Gciderius and Arvihagus. 
 
 Cym. My tears that fall, 
 
 Prove holy-water on thee ! Imogen, 
 Thy mother's dead. 
 
 Imo. I am sorry for't, my lord. 
 
 Cym. O, she was naught; and 'long of her it was, 
 That we meet here so strangely : But her son 
 Is gone, we know not how nor where. 
 
 Pis. My lord, 
 
 Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, 
 Upon my lady's missing, came to me 
 With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and 
 
 swore, 
 If I discover'd not which way she was gone, 
 It was my instant death: By accident, 
 I had a feigned letter of my master's 
 Then in my pocket; which directed him 
 To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ; 
 Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, 
 Which he enforced from me, away he posts 
 With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate 
 My lady's honor . what became of him, 
 1 further know not. 
 
 4 Mix, compound. 
 
 Gui. Let me end the story : 
 
 I slew him there. 
 
 Cym. Marry, the gods forefend ! * 
 
 I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
 Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ytheb, valiant 7011th, 
 Deny't again. 
 
 Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it. 
 
 Cym. He was a prince. 
 
 Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did me 
 Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me 
 With language that would make me spurn the sea, 
 If it could so roar to me : I cut off 's head ; 
 And am right glad, he is not standing here 
 To tell this tale of mine. 
 
 Cym. I am sorry for thee : 
 
 By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must 
 Endure our law: Thou art dead. 
 
 Imo. That headless man 
 
 I thought had been my lord. 
 
 Cym. Bind the offender, 
 
 And take him from our presence. 
 
 Bel. Stay, sir king: 
 
 This man is better than the man he slew, 
 As well descended as thyself; and hath 
 More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens 
 Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone; 
 
 [To the Guard 
 They were not born for bondage. 
 
 Cym. Why, old soldier, 
 
 Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, 
 By tasting of our wrath? How of descent 
 As good as we? 
 
 Arv. In that he spake too fai. 
 
 Cym. And thou shalt die for't. 
 
 Bel. We will die all three 
 
 But I will prove, that two of us are as good 
 As I have given out him. — My sons, I must, 
 For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, 
 Though, haply, well for you. 
 
 Arv. Your danger is 
 
 Ours. 
 
 Gui. And our good his. 
 
 Bel. Have at it, then. 
 
 By leave; — Thou hadst, great king, a subject, whj 
 Was call'd Belarius. 
 
 Cym. What of -him ? he is 
 
 A bnnish'd traitor. 
 
 Bel. He it is that hath 
 
 Assumed this age: indeed, a banish'd man ; 
 I know not how, a traitor. 
 
 Cym. Take him hence; 
 
 The whole world shall not save him. 
 
 Bel. Not too hotr 
 
 First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; 
 And let it be confiscate all, so soon 
 As I have receiv'd it. 
 
 Cym, Nursing of my sons? 
 
 Bel. I am too blunt and saucy: Here's my knee; 
 Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons ; 
 Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir, 
 These two young gentlemen, that call me father, 
 And think they are my sons, are none of mine; 
 They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 
 And blood of your begetting. 
 
 Cym. How ! my iss-jc ' 
 
 Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan 
 Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd. 
 Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishmeiv 
 Itself, and all my treason : that 1 suffer'd. 
 Whs all the harm I did. These gentle princes 
 (For such, and so they are) these twenty yea» 
 Have I train'd up: those arts they have, a* ' 
 • Forbid. 
 
760 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as 
 
 Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, 
 
 Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 
 
 Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't: 
 
 Having receiv'd the punishment before, 
 
 For that which I did then : Beaten for loyalty 
 
 Excited me to treason; Their dear loss, 
 
 The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped 
 
 Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, 
 
 Here are your sons again; and I must lose 
 
 Two of the sweet'st companions in the world: — 
 
 The benediction of these covering heavens 
 
 Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy 
 
 To inlay heaven with stars. 
 
 Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 
 
 The service, that you three have done, is more 
 Unlike than this thou tell'st: I lost my children; 
 If these be they, I know not how to wish 
 A pair of worthier sons. 
 
 Bel. Be pleas'd a while. — 
 
 This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 
 Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius; 
 This gentleman, my Cadvval, Arviragus, 
 Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was lapp'd 
 In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand 
 Of his queen-mother, which for more probation, 
 I can with ease produce. 
 
 Cym. Guiderius had 
 
 Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; 
 It was a mark of wonder. 
 
 Bel. This is he; 
 
 Who hath upon him still that natural stamp; 
 It was wise nature's end in the donation, 
 To be his evidence now. 
 
 Cym. 0, what am I 
 
 A mother to the birth of three ] Ne'er mother 
 Rejoiced deliverance more: — Bless'd may you be, 
 That, after this strange starting from your orbs, 
 You may reign in them now ! — Imogen, 
 Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. 
 
 Imo. No, my lord; 
 
 I have got two worlds by't. — my gentle brother, 
 Have we thus met] O never say hereafter, 
 But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother, 
 When I was but your sister; I you brothers, 
 When you were so indeed. 
 
 Cym. Did you e'er meet] 
 
 Are. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Gui. And at first meeting lov'd ; 
 
 Continued so, until we thought he died. 
 
 Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. 
 
 Cym. rare instinct ! 
 
 When shall I hear all through ] This fierce abridge- 
 ment 
 Hath to it circum.-tantial branches, which 
 Distinction should be rich in. 6 — Where ] how liv'd 
 
 you] 
 And when came you to serve our Roman captive ] 
 How parted with your brothers] how first met 
 
 them] 
 Why fled you from the court] and whither] These, 
 And youi three motives to the battle, with 
 I know not how much more, should be demanded ; 
 And all the other by-dependencies, 
 From chance to chance ; but nor the time, nor place, 
 Will serve long interrogatories. See, 
 Posthiimus anchors upon Imogen; 
 And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 
 On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting 
 Each object with joy ; the counterchange 
 .s severally in all. Let's quit this ground, 
 
 » t. e. Which ought to bo rendered distinct by an ample 
 iftrrat've. 
 
 And smoke the temple with our sacrihces. — 
 Thou art my brother; So we'll hold thee ever. 
 
 [To Belaiuus. 
 
 Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me, 
 To see this gracious season. 
 
 Cym. AD o erjoy'd, 
 
 Save these in bonds : let them be joyful too, 
 For they shall taste our comfort. 
 
 Imo. My good master, 
 
 I will yet do you service. 
 
 Luc. Happy be you ! 
 
 Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, 
 He would have well becom'd this place, and graced 
 The thankings of a king. 
 
 Post. I am, sir, 
 
 The soldier that did company these three 
 In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for 
 The purpose I then follow'd; — That I was he, 
 Speak, lachimo ; I had you down, and might 
 Have made you finish. 
 
 lack. I am down again: 
 
 [Kneeling 
 But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, 
 As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you, 
 Which I so often owe: but, your ring first; 
 And here the bracelet of the truest princess, 
 That ever swore her faith. 
 
 Post. Kneel not to me ; 
 
 The power that I have on you, is to spare you; 
 The malice towards you, to forgive you : Live, 
 And deal with others better. 
 
 Cym. Nobly doom'd : 
 
 We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; 
 Pardon 's the word to all. 
 
 Arv. You holp us, sir 
 
 As you did mean indeed to be our brother; 
 Joy'd are we, that you are. 
 
 Post. Your servant, princes. — Good my lord of 
 Rome, 
 Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought, 
 Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, 
 Appear'd to me, with other sprightly shows 1 
 Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found 
 This label on my bosom ; whose containing 
 Is so from sense and hardness', that I can 
 Make no collection of it ; let him show 
 His skill in the construction. 
 
 Luc. Philarmonus, 
 
 Sooth. Here, my good lord. 
 
 Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. 
 
 Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, 
 to himself unknown, without seeking find, and 
 be embraced by a piece of tender air,- and when 
 from astutely cedar shall be lopped branches, which, 
 being dead many years, shall after revive, be joint- 
 ed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall 
 Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, 
 and flourish in peace and plenty. 
 
 Thc*u, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; 
 The fit and apt construction of thy name, 
 Being Leo-natus, doth import so much : 
 The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, 
 
 [To Ctmbeline. 
 Which we call mollis air,- and mollis air 
 We term it mulier: which mulier I divine, 
 Is this most constant wife ; who, even now, 
 Answering the letter of the oracle, 
 Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd ' about 
 With this most tender air. 
 
 Cym. This hath some seeming 
 
 Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbelinc, 
 ' Ghostly appearances. • Embraced 
 
RCENK V. 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 761 
 
 Personates thee: and thy lopp'd hranches point 
 Thy two sons firth : who, by Belarius stolen, 
 For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, 
 To the majestic cedar join'd ; whose issue 
 Promises Britain peace and plenty. 
 
 Cym. Well, 
 
 My peace we will begin : — And, Caius Lucius, 
 Although the victor, we submit to Caesar, 
 And to the Roman empire ; promising 
 To pay our wonted tribute, from the which 
 We were dissuaded by our wicked queen; 
 Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her and hers,) 
 'lave laid most heavy hand. 
 
 Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune 
 The harmony of this peace. The vision 
 Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke 
 Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant, 
 Is full accomplish'd : For the Roman eagle, 
 From south to west on wing soaring aloft, 
 Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun 
 So vanish'd : which foreshow'd our princely eagle, 
 The imperial Caesar, should again unite 
 His favor with the radiant Cymbeline, 
 Which shines nere in the west. 
 
 Cym. Laud we the gods ; 
 
 And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 
 From our bless 'd altars! Publish we this peace 
 To all our subjects. Set we forward : Let 
 A Roman and a British ensign wave 
 Friendly together: so through Lud's town march: 
 And in the temple of great Jupiter 
 Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts. — 
 Set on there: — Never was a war did cease, 
 Ere bloody hands were wash'd with such a peace. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 A SONG, 
 
 SUNG BT GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGCS OTE3 FUJI 
 LE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. 
 
 BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS. 
 
 To fair Fidele's grassy tomb, 
 
 Soft maids and village hinds shall brings 
 Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, 
 
 And rifle all the breathing spring. 
 
 No wailing ghost shall dare appear 
 To vex with shrieks his quiet grove,- 
 
 But shepherd lads assemble here, 
 And melting virgins own their love. 
 
 No withered witch shall here be seen, 
 No goblins lead their nightly crew- 
 
 The female fays shall haunt the green, 
 And dress thy grave with pearly deva. 
 
 The red-breast oft at evening hours 
 
 Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
 With hoary 7noss, and gather' d flowers, 
 
 To deck the ground where thou art laid. 
 
 When howling winds, and beating ram, 
 In tempests shake the sylvan cell,- 
 
 Or midst the chase on every plain, 
 
 The tender thought on thee shall dwelt. 
 
 Each lonely scene shall thee restore,- 
 
 For thee the tear be duly shed: 
 Belov'd, till life could charm no vurrtf 
 
 And m'Aim'd, till pity's self be dead, 
 3A 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Saturninus, Son to the late Emperor of Rome, 
 
 and afterwards declared Emperor himself. 
 Bassianus, Brother to Saturninus; in love with 
 
 Lavinia. 
 Titus Anhronicuk, a noble Roman, General 
 
 against the Goths. 
 Marcus Andronicus, Tribune of the People; 
 
 and Brother to Titus. 
 Lucius, "| 
 
 V> ' >Sons to Titus Andronicus. 
 
 Martius, I 
 
 Mutius, J 
 
 Young Lucius, a Boy, Son to Lucius. 
 
 Pubi.ius. So?i to Marcus the Tribune. 
 
 ^Emilius, a noble Roman. 
 
 Alarbus, } 
 
 Chiron, > Sons to Tamora. 
 
 Df.metrius, ) 
 
 Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora. 
 
 A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; Rn 
 
 mans. 
 Goths, and Romans. 
 
 Tamora, Queen of the Goths. 
 Lavinia, Daughter to Titus Andronicus. 
 A Nurse, and a black Child. 
 Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Offietrt 
 Soldiers, and Attendant*. 
 
 SCENE, Rome ; and the Country near it. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. Before the Capitol. 
 
 The 7b//<" of the Andronici appearing: the Tri- 
 bunes and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. — 
 Enter, below, Saturninus and his Followers, 
 on one Side,- and Bassianus and his Follow- 
 ers, on the other,- with Drum and Colors. 
 
 Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
 Defend the justice of my cause with arms ; 
 And, countrymen, my loving followers, 
 Plead mv successive title 1 with your swords; 
 I am his .nst-born son, that was the last 
 That ware the imperial diadem of Rome; 
 Then let my father's honors live in me, 
 Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. 
 
 Bas. Romans, — friends, followers, favorers of 
 my right, — 
 [f ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, 
 Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 
 Keep then this passage to the Capitol ; 
 And suffer not dishonor to approach 
 The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate, 
 To justice, continence, and nobility: 
 But let desert in pure election shine; 
 And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. 
 
 Enter Marcus Andronicus aloft, ivitht he Crown. 
 
 Marc. Princes that strive by factions, and by 
 friends, 
 Ambitiously for rule and empery, — 
 Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand 
 A special party, have by their common voice, 
 In election for the Roman empery, 
 ( hosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, 
 
 1 i. e. My title to the succession. 
 [762] 
 
 For many good and great deserts to Rome; 
 
 A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
 
 Lives not this day within the city walls : 
 
 He by the senate is accited a home, 
 
 From weary wars against the barbarous Goth* 
 
 That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, 
 
 Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms 
 
 Ten years are spent, since first he undertook 
 
 This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms 
 
 Our enemies' pride: Five times he hath retum'd 
 
 Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
 
 In coffins from the field; 
 
 And now at last, laden with honor's spoils, 
 
 Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 
 
 Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. 
 
 Let us entreat, — By honor of his name, 
 
 Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed, 
 
 And in the Capitol and senate's right, 
 
 Whom you pretend to honor and adore, — 
 
 That you withdraw you, and abate your strength 
 
 Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, 
 
 Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 
 
 Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm mj 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so do I afly 
 In thy uprightness and integrity, 
 And so I love and honor thee and thine, 
 Thy nobler brother Titus and his sons, 
 And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all, 
 Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, 
 That I will here dismiss my loving friends ; 
 And to my fortunes, and the people's favor, 
 Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd. 
 
 [Exeunt the Folloioeri 0/ Bassianui. 
 » Summoned. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 763 
 
 Sat. Friends, that have beer thus forward in my 
 right, 
 I thank you ah, and here dismiss you all ; 
 And to the love and favor of my country 
 Commit myself, my person, and the cause. 
 
 [Exeunt the Followers of Satvuxihvs. 
 R*me, be as just and gracious unto me, 
 As I am confident and kind to thee. — 
 Open the gates, and let me in. 
 
 ftrt.9. Tribunes ! and me, a poor competitor. 
 
 [Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitol, and 
 exmnt with Senators, Mabcus. <$r. 
 
 SCENE IL— The same. 
 Enter a Captain, and others. 
 Cap. Romans, make way; the good Andronicus, 
 Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, 
 Successful in the battles that he fights, 
 With honor and with fortune is return 'd, 
 From where he circumscribed with his sword, 
 And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 
 
 Flourish of Trumpets, ti(C. Enter Mutius and 
 Mabtius: after them, two Men bearing a Coffin 
 covered with blwk,- then Quintus and Lucius. 
 After them, Titus As imosicvs; and then Ta- 
 moba, with Alabbus, Chibon, Demktbius, 
 A a bon, and other Goths, prisoners,- Soldiers 
 and People, following. The Bearers set down 
 the Coffin, and Trrus speaks. 
 Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning 
 weeds ! 
 Lo, as the bark that hath discharged her fraught, 
 Returns with precious lading to the bay, 
 From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, 
 Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs. 
 To re-salute his country with his tears; 
 Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. — 
 Thou great defender of this Capitol, 
 Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! 
 Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons, 
 Half of the number that king Priam had, 
 Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead ! 
 These, that survive, let Rome reward with love; 
 These, that I bring unto their latest home, 
 With burial amongst their ancestors : 
 Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my sword. 
 Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own, 
 Why suffer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 
 To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx! — 
 Make way to lay them by their brethren. 
 
 [The Tomb is opened. 
 There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, 
 And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars ! 
 O sacred receptacle of my joys, 
 Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, 
 How many sons of mine hast thou in store, 
 That thou wilt never render to me more ! 
 
 Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, 
 That we may hew his limbs, and, on a pile, 
 Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, 
 Before this earthly prison of their bones ; 
 That so the shadows be not unappeas'd, 
 Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.' 
 
 Tit. I give him you; the noblest that survives, 
 The eldest son of this distressed queen. 
 
 Tarn. Stay, Roman brethren; — Gracious con- 
 queror, 
 Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
 A mother's tears in passion' for her son : 
 And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
 
 * It wm supposed that the ghosts of unburied people ap- 
 oe*nvJ to solicit the rite» of funeral. * Suffering. 
 
 0, think my son to be as dear to me. 
 Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome. 
 To beautify thy triumphs, and return, 
 Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke ; 
 But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets, 
 For valiant doings in their country's cause? 
 
 ! if to fight for king and common-weal 
 Were piety in thine, it is in these. 
 Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood : 
 Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? 
 Draw near them then in being merciful : 
 Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge ; 
 Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 
 
 Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon mc. 
 These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld 
 Alive, and dead; and for their brethren slain, 
 Religiously they ask a sacrifice: 
 To this your son is mark'd ; and die he must, 
 To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. 
 
 Luc. Away with him ! and make a fire straight; 
 And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, 
 Let's hew his limbs, till they be clean consumed. 
 [Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, Mabtius, 
 and Mutius, with Alabbus. 
 
 Tarn. O cruel, irreligious piety ! 
 
 Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous 1 
 
 Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. 
 Alarbus goes to rest; and we survive 
 To tremble under Titus' threatening look. 
 Then, madam, stand resolv'd ; but hope withal, 
 The self-same gods, that arm'd the queen of Troy 
 With opportunity of sharp revenge 
 Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent, 
 May favor Tamora, the queen of Goths, 
 (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,) 
 To quit the bloody wrongs upon her toes. 
 Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Mabtius, and Mu- 
 tius, with their Swords bloody. 
 
 Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform'd 
 Our Roman rites: Alarbus' limbs are lorp'd, 
 And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, 
 Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. 
 Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren. 
 And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome. 
 
 Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus 
 Make thi6 his latest farewell to their souls. 
 
 [Trumpets sounded, and the Coffins 
 laid in the Tomb. 
 In peace and honor rest you here, my sons; 
 Rome's readiest champions, repose you hen 
 Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
 Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells, 
 Here grow no damned grudges ; here are no storms 
 No noise, but silence and eternal sleep : 
 
 Enter Lavinia. 
 In peace and honor rest you here, my sons ! 
 
 Lav. In peace and honor live lord Titus lung* 
 My noble lord and father, live in fame! 
 Lo! at this tomb my tributary tears 
 
 1 render, for my brethren's obsequies; 
 And at thy feet I kneel with tears of joy 
 Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome: 
 O, bless me here with thy victorious hand. 
 Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud. 
 
 Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd 
 The cordial of mine age to glad my heart. — 
 Lavinia, live; outlive thy father's days, 
 And fame's eternal date, tor virtue's praise! 
 
 Enter Mabcus Andbonicus, Satubninus, 
 Bassianus, and others. 
 
 Marc. Long live tord Titus, my beloved brothei. 
 Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome! 
 
764 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother 
 Marcus. 
 
 Marc. And welcome, nephews, from successful 
 wars, 
 you that survive, and you that sleep in fame. 
 Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, 
 That in your country's service drew your swords : 
 But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, 
 That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness,* 
 And triumphs over chance, in honor's bed. — 
 Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
 Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, 
 Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust, 
 This palliament 6 of white and spotless hue; 
 And name thee in election for the empire, 
 With these our late-deceased emperor's sons: 
 Be candidatus then, and put it on, 
 And help to set a head on headless Rome. 
 
 Tit. A better head her glorious body fits, 
 Than his that shakes for age and feebleness : 
 What! should I don' this robe, and trouble you? 
 Be chosen with proclamations to-day: 
 To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life, 
 And set abroad new business for you all ? 
 Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, 
 And led my country's strength successfully, 
 And buried one-and-twenty valiant sons, 
 Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms, 
 In right and service of their noble country : 
 Give me a staff of honor for mine age, 
 But not a sceptre to control the world : 
 Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 
 Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery. 
 
 Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou 
 tell?— 
 
 Tit. Patience, prince Saturnine. 
 
 Sat. Romans, do me right ; — 
 
 Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not 
 Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor : — 
 Andronicus, 'would thou wert shipp'd to hell, 
 Rather than rob me of the people's hearts. 
 
 Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
 That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 
 
 Tit. Content thee, prince; I will restore to thee 
 The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. 
 
 Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee, 
 But honor thee, and will do till I die ; 
 My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 
 I will most thankful be : and thanks, to men 
 Of noble minds, is honorable meed. 
 
 Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, 
 I ask your voices, and your suffrages ; 
 Will you bestow them -friendly on Andronicus? 
 
 Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus, 
 And gratulatc his safe return to Rome, 
 The people will accept whom he admits. 
 
 Tit. Tribunes, I thank you: and this suit I make, 
 That you create your emperor's eldest son, 
 IiOrd Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope, 
 Reflect on Rome, as Titan's* rays on earth, 
 And ripen justice in this common-weal: 
 Then if you will elect by my advice, 
 Crown him and say, — Long live our emperor! 
 
 Marc. With voices and applause of every sort, 
 Patricians, and plebeians, we create 
 Lord Saturninus Rome's great emperor ; 
 And say, — Lung live our emperor Saturnine! 
 
 [A long Flourish. 
 Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favors done 
 To us in our election this day, 
 
 » The maxim alluded to is, that no man can be pro- 
 nounced happy before his death. 
 • A robe. * t. e. Do on, put it on. • The sun. 
 
 I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts, 
 And will with deeds requite thy gentleness . 
 And, for an onset, Titus, to advance 
 Thy name, and honorable family, 
 Lavinia will I make my emperess, 
 Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart 
 And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse: 
 Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion pltttso 
 thee? 
 
 Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and, in this match 
 I hold me highly honor'd of your grace : 
 And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, — 
 King and commander of our common-weal, 
 The wide world's emperor, — do I consecrate 
 My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners ; 
 Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord : 
 Receive them then, the tribute that I owe, 
 Mine honor's ensigns humbled at thy feet. 
 
 Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life ! 
 How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, 
 Rome shall record ; and, when I do forget 
 The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
 Romans, forget your fealty to me. 
 
 Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an em 
 peror; [To Tamora 
 
 To him, that for your honor and your state, 
 Will use you nobly, and your followers. 
 
 Sat. A goodly lady, trust me; of the hue 
 That I would choose, were I to choose anew. — 
 Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance ; 
 Though chance of war hath wrought this change 
 
 of cheer, 
 Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome : 
 Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
 Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
 Daunt all your hopes ; Madam, he comforts you, 
 Can make you greater than the queen of Goths. — 
 Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this ? 
 
 Lav. Not I, my lord : sith 9 true nobility 
 Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 
 
 Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Romans, let us go: 
 Ransomless here we set our prisoners free : 
 Proclaim our honors, lords, with trump and drum. 
 
 Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. 
 [Seizing Latinia. 
 
 Tit. How, sir? Are you in earnest then, my lord? 
 
 Bas. Ay, noble Titus; and resolv'd withal, 
 To do myself this reason and this right. 
 
 [The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb show. 
 
 Marc. Suum cuique is our Roman justice: 
 This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 
 
 Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. 
 
 Tit. Traitors, avaunt! Where is the emperor's 
 guard 1 
 Treason, my lord; Lavinia is surprized. 
 
 Sat. Surprized! by whom? 
 
 Bas. By him that justly may 
 
 Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. 
 
 [Ex. Marcus and Bassianus, with Lavinia, 
 
 Mut. Brothers, help to convey her hence away, 
 And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Mahtius. 
 Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. 
 
 Mut. My lord, you pass not here. 
 Tit. What, villain boy ! 
 
 Barr'stmemy way in Rome? [Titus killsMvTiv* 
 
 Mut. Help, Lucius, help 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 Luc. My lord, you are unjust; and, more than bo 
 In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 
 Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine: 
 
f[. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 7 Oil 
 
 My sons would never so dishonor me : 
 Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 
 
 Uuc. Dead, if you will : but not to be his wife, 
 That is another's lawful promis'd love. [Exit. 
 
 Sat. No, Titus, no; the emperor needs her not, 
 Not her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock: 
 I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once ; 
 Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, 
 Confederates all thus to dishonor me. 
 Was there none else in Rome to make a stale ' of, 
 But Saturnine ? Full well, Andronicus, 
 Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine, 
 That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 
 
 Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words are 
 these ? 
 
 Sat. But, go thy ways; go, give that changing piece 
 To him that flourish'd for her with his sword: 
 A valiant son-in law thou shalt enjoy ; 
 One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons, 
 To ruffle' in the commonwealth of Rome. 
 
 Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart. 
 
 Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of 
 Goths,— 
 That, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, 
 Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, — 
 If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice, 
 Behold I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, 
 And will create thee emperess of Rome. 
 Speak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my 
 
 choice? 
 And here I swear by all the Roman gods, — 
 Sith priest and holy water are so near, 
 And tapers burn so bright, and every thing 
 In readiness for Hymeneus stand, — ■ 
 I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
 Or climb my palace, till from forth this place 
 I lead espous'd my bride along with me. 
 
 Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I 
 swear, 
 If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, 
 She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
 A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 
 
 Sat. Ascend, fair queen, Pantheon : — Lords, ac- 
 company 
 Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride, 
 Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, 
 Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: 
 There shall we consummate our spousal rites. 
 [-Exeunt Saturn inus, and his Followers; Ta- 
 mora., and her Sons; Aaron, and Goths. 
 
 Tit. I am not bid 3 to wait upon this bride ; — 
 Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
 Dishonor'd thus, and challenged of wrongs? 
 
 Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and 
 Martius. 
 
 Marc. 0, Titus, see, O, see, what thou hast done! 
 In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 
 
 Tit. No, foolish tribune, no: no son of mine, — 
 Nor thou, nor these confederates in the deed 
 That hath dishonor'd all our family; 
 Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons ! 
 
 Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes; 
 Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 
 
 Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb. 
 This monument five hundred years hath stood, 
 Which I have sumptuously re-edified: 
 Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors, 
 Repose in fame; none basely slain in brawls: — 
 Bury him where you can, he comes not here. 
 
 Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you: 
 My nephew Mutius ' deeds do plead for him ; 
 « A rtalking horse » A ruffler was a bully. » Invited. 
 
 He must be buried with his brethren. 
 
 Quin. Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany 
 
 Tit. And shall? What villain was it spoke thai 
 word ? 
 
 Quin. He that would vouch't in any place but here, 
 
 Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite* 
 
 Marc. No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee 
 To pardon Mutius, and to bury him. 
 
 Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest, 
 And, with these boys, mine honor thou hast 
 
 wounded : 
 My foes I do repute you every one ; 
 So trouble me no more, but get you gone. 
 
 Marc. He is not with himself; let us withdraw 
 
 Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried. 
 
 [Marcus and the Sons of Titus kneel. 
 
 Marc. Brother, for in that name doth nature 
 plead. 
 
 Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature 
 speak. 
 
 Tit. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed. 
 
 Marc. Renowned Titus, more than half my 
 soul, — 
 
 Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all,— 
 
 Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 
 His noble nephew here in virtue's nest, 
 That died in honor and Lavinia's cause. 
 Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous. 
 The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajax 
 That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son 
 Did graciously plead for his funerals. 
 Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy, 
 Be barr'd his entrance here. 
 
 Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise : — 
 
 The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw, 
 To be dishonor'd by my sons in Rome ! — 
 Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 
 
 [Mutius is put. into the Tomb 
 
 Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy 
 friends, 
 Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb ! 
 
 All. No man shed tears for noble Mutius : 
 He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. 
 
 Marc. My lord, — to step out of these dreary 
 dumps, — 
 How comes it, that the subtle queen of Goths 
 Is of a sudden thus advanced in Rome? 
 
 Tit. I know not, Marcus; but, I know, it is; 
 Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell: 
 Is she not then beholden to the man 
 That brought her for this high good turn so far? 
 Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. 
 
 Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, Saturninus, 
 attended; Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, arid 
 Aaron : at the other, Bassianus, Lavinia, 
 and others. 
 
 Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize; 
 God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride. 
 
 Bas. And you of yours, my lord: I say no more. 
 Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave. 
 
 Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have powei. 
 Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 
 
 Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own 
 My true-betrothed love, and now my wife ! 
 But let the laws of Rome determine all ; 
 Mean while I am possess'd of that is mine. 
 
 Sat. 'Tis good, sir : You are very short with us 
 But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you. 
 
 Bus. My lord, what I have done, as best I rntv 
 Answer I must, and shall do with my life. 
 Only thus much I give your grace to know, 
 By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
 
766 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act U. 
 
 This liv/jle gentleman, lord Titus here, 
 Is in opinion, and in honor, wrong'd ; 
 That, in the rescue of Lavinia, 
 With his own hand did slay his youngest son, 
 In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath 
 To be controll'd in that he frankly gave : 
 Receive him then to favor, Saturnine; 
 That haih express'd himself, in all his deeds, 
 A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome. 
 
 Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds; 
 Tis thou, and those, that have dishonor'd me : 
 Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge, 
 How I have lov'd and honor'd Saturnine ! 
 
 Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora 
 Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine, 
 Then hear me speak indifferently for all ; 
 And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. 
 
 Sat. What ! madam ! be dishonor'd openly, 
 And basely put it up without revenge 1 
 
 Tarn. Not so, my lord : The gods of Rome fore- 
 fend, 4 
 I should be author to dishonor you ! 
 But, on mine honor, dare I undertake 
 For good lord Titus' innocence in all, 
 Whose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs: 
 Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ; 
 Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose, 
 Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. — 
 My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last, 
 Dissemble all your griefs and discontents : 
 You are but newly planted in your throne ; 
 Lest then the people and patricians too, 
 Upon a just survey, take Titus' part, 
 And so supplant us for ingratitude, 
 (Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,) 
 Yield at entreats, and then let me alone: y Aside. 
 I'll find a day to massacre them all, 
 And raze their faction, and their family, 
 The cruel father, and his traitorous sons, 
 To whom I sued for my dear son's life; 
 And make them know, what 'tis to let a 
 
 queen 
 Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in 
 vain. — 
 
 Come, come, sweet emperor, — come, Andronicusi 
 Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart 
 That dies in tempest of thy angry frown. 
 
 Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath prevail'd 
 
 Tit. I thank your majesty, and her, my lord : 
 These words, these looks, infuse new life in me. 
 
 Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome, 
 A Roman now adopted happily, 
 And must advise the emperor for his good. 
 This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; — 
 And let it be mine honor, good my lord, 
 That I have reconciled your friends and you. — 
 For you, prince Bassianus, I have pass'd 
 My word and promise to the emperor, 
 That you will be more mild and tractable. — 
 And fear not, lords, — and you, Lavinia ; — 
 By my advice, all humbled on your knees, 
 You shall ask pardon of his majesty. 
 
 Luc. We do, and vow to heaven and to his high- 
 ness, 
 That, what we did, was mildly, as we might, 
 Tend'ring our sister's honor, and our own. 
 
 Marc. That on mine honor here I do protest. 
 
 Sat. Away, and talk not; trouble us no more. — 
 
 Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be 
 friends : 
 The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ; 
 I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back. 
 
 Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother' 
 here, 
 And at my lovely Tarnora's entreats, 
 I do remit these young men's heinous faults. 
 Stand up. 
 
 Lavinia, though you left me like a churl, 
 I found a friend; and sure as death I swore, 
 I would not part a bachelor from the priest. 
 Come, if the emperor's court can feast two bride^ 
 You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends ; 
 This day shall be a love-day, Tamora. 
 
 Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty, 
 To hunt the panther and the hart with me, 
 Wilhhorn and hound, we'll give your grace bonjour 
 
 Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before the Palace. 
 
 Enter Aahou. 
 
 Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top, 
 Safe out of fortune's shot: and sits aloft, 
 Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning's flash; 
 Advanced above pale envy's threat'ning reach. 
 As when the golden sun salutes the morn, 
 And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, 
 Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, 
 And overlooks the highest-peering hills; 
 
 So Tamora. 
 
 Upon her wit doth earthly honor wait, 
 And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown. 
 Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts 
 To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress, 
 And mount her pitch; whom thou in triumph long 
 Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chain, 
 And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes, 
 Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus. 
 Away with slavish weeds, and idle thoughts! - 
 I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, 
 To wait upon this new-made emperess. 
 ' Forbid. 
 
 To wait, said 1 1 to wanton with this queen, 
 This goddess, this Semiramis ; — this queen, 
 This syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine, 
 And see his shipwreck, and his common-weal's. 
 Holla! what storm is this? 
 
 Enter Chiron and Demetrius, braving. 
 
 Dent. Chiron, thy years want wit, thy wit want* 
 edge, 
 And manners, to intrude where I am graced ; 
 And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be. 
 
 CM. Demetrius, thou dostoverween in all; 
 And so in this to bear me down with braves. 
 'Tis not the difference of a year, or two, 
 Makes me less gracious, thee more fortunate : 
 I am as able, and as fit as thou, 
 To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace ; 
 And that my sword upon thee shall approve, 
 And plead my passions for Lavinia's love. 
 
 Aar. Clubs ! clubs ! s these lovers will not keep 
 the peace. 
 
 Bern. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd, 
 
 ' This was the usual outcry for assistance, when vuf 
 riot in the street happened 
 
St'KNE II 
 
 TITUS ANDR0N1CUS. 
 
 7ff7 
 
 Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side, 
 \rayou so desperate grown, to threat your friends 1 
 Go to; have your lath glued within your sheath, 
 Till you know better how to handle it. 
 
 Chi. Mean while, sir, with the little skill I have, 
 Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare. 
 
 T^tm. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw. 
 
 Aar. Why, how now, lords ? 
 
 So near the emperor's palace dare you draw, 
 And maintain such a quarrel openly ? 
 Full well I wot 6 the ground of all this grudge; 
 I would not for a million of gold, 
 The case were known to them it most concerns : 
 Nor would your noble mother, for much more, 
 Be so dishonor'd in the court of Rome. 
 For shame, put up. 
 
 Bern. Not I ; till I have sheath'd 
 
 My rapier in his bosom, and withal, 
 Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat, 
 That he hath breathed in my dishonor here. 
 
 Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd. — 
 Foul-spoken coward that thunder'st with thy 
 
 tongue, 
 And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform. 
 
 Aar. Away, I say. — 
 Now by the gods, that warlike Goths adore, 
 This petty brabble will undo us all. — 
 Why, lords, — and think you not how dangerous 
 It is to jut upon a prince's right ? 
 What, is Lavinia then become so loose, 
 Or Bassianus so degenerate, 
 That for her love such quarrels may be broach'd, 
 Without controlment, justice, or revenge ? 
 Y oung lords, beware! — an should the empress know 
 This discord's ground, the music would not please. 
 
 Chi. I care not, I, knew she and all the world ; 
 I love Lavinia more than all the world. 
 
 Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some 
 meaner choice : 
 Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope. 
 
 Aar. Why, are ye mad ? or know ye not, in Rome 
 How furious and impatient they be, 
 And cannot brook competitors in love? 
 I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths 
 By this device 
 
 Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths 
 
 Would I propose, to achieve her whom I love. 
 
 Aar. To achieve her! — How? 
 
 Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange? 
 
 She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ; 
 She is a woman, therefore may be won; 
 She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd. 
 What, man! more water glideth by the mill 
 Than wots the miller of; and easy it is 
 Of a cut loaf to steal a shive, 1 we know: 
 Though Bassianus be the emperor's brother, 
 Better than he have yet worn Vulcan's badge. 
 
 Aar. Ay, and as good as Saturninus may. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dem. Then why should he despair, that knows 
 to court it 
 With words, fair looks, and liberality 7 
 What, hast thou not full often struck a doe, 
 And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose ? 
 
 Aar. Why then, it seems, some certain snatch 
 or so 
 Would serve your turns. 
 
 Chi. Ay, so the turn were serv'd. 
 
 Dem. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 
 
 Aar. 'Would you had hit it too; 
 
 Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. 
 Why, hark ye, hark ye, — And are you such fools, 
 » Kur> w * Slice. 
 
 To square 8 for this? Would it offend you then 
 That both should speed ? 
 
 Chi. I'faith, not me. 
 
 Dem. Nor me, 
 
 So I were one. 
 
 Aar. For shame, be friends; and join for thai 
 you jar. 
 'Tis policy and stratagem must do 
 That you affect; and so must you resolve; 
 That what you cannot, as you would, achievo, 
 You must perforce accomplish as you may. 
 Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaste 
 Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love. 
 A speedier course than lingering languishment 
 Must we pursue, and I have found the path. 
 My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ; 
 There will the lovely Roman ladies troop: 
 The forest walks are wide and spacious ; 
 And many unfrequented plots there are, 
 Fitted by kind "for rape and villany : 
 Single you thither then this dainty doe, 
 And strike her home by force, if not bywords: 
 This way, or not at all, stand you in hope. 
 Come, come, our empress, with her sacred' wit, 
 To villany and vengeance consecrate, 
 Will we acquaint with all that we intend; 
 And she shall file our engines with advice, 
 That will not suffer you to square yourselves, 
 But to your wishes' height advance you both. 
 The emperor's court is like the house of fame, 
 The palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears: 
 The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull ; 
 There speak, and strike, brave boys, and take youi 
 
 turns : 
 There serve your lust, shadow'd from heaven's eye, 
 And revel in Lavinia's treasury. 
 
 Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. 
 
 Dem. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find the stream 
 To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, 
 Per Styga, per manes vehor. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Forest near Rome. A Lodge seen 
 at a distance. Horns, and Cry of Hounds heard. 
 
 Enter Titus Aniirothcus, with Hunters, <5{C. 
 Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius. 
 
 Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey, 
 The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green : 
 Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, 
 And wake the emperor and his lovely bride, 
 And rouse the prince ; and ring a hunter's peal. 
 That all the court may echo with the noise. 
 Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours. 
 To tend the emperor's person carefully : 
 I have been troubled in my sleep this night, 
 But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd. 
 Horns wind a Peal. EnterSxrvuxixus, Tamora, 
 
 Bassianus, Lavinia, Chiron, Demetxius, 
 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Tit. Many good-morrows to your majesty ; — 
 Madam, to you as many and as good ! — 
 I promised your grace a hunter's peal. 
 
 Sat. And you have rung it lustily, my lords, 
 Somewhat too early for new-married ladies. 
 
 Bas. Lavinia, how say you? 
 
 Lav. I say, no ; 
 
 I have been broad awake two hours and more. 
 
 Sat. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have 
 And to our sport: — Madam, now shall ye see 
 Our Roman hunting. [To Tamora 
 
 Marc. I have dogs, my lord, 
 
 » Quarrel. » By nature. 
 
 1 Sacred here signifies accursed; a Latinism 
 
768 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act IL 
 
 Yvill rouse the proudest panther in the chase, 
 And climb the highest promontory top. 
 
 Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game 
 Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 
 
 Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse, nor 
 hound, 
 But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — A desert Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Aaron, with a Bag of Gold. 
 Aar. He that had wit,would think that I had none, 
 To bury so much gold under a tree, 
 And never after to inherit 5 it. 
 Let him, that thinks of me so abjectly, 
 Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem ; 
 Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
 A very excellent piece of villany ; 
 And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest, 3 
 
 [Hides the Gold. 
 That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 
 Enter Tamora. 
 Tarn. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou 
 sad, 
 When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? 
 The birds chaunt melody on every bush ; 
 The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; 
 The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, 
 And make a checquer'd shadow on the ground : 
 Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, 
 And — whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, 
 Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, 
 As if a double hunt were heard at once, — 
 Let us sit down, and mark their yeiiing noise: 
 And— after conflict, such as was suppos'd 
 The wandering prince of Dido once enjoy'd, 
 When with a happy storm they were surpris'd, 
 And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave, — 
 We may, each wreathed in the other's arms, 
 ■Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; 
 Whiles hounds and horns, and sweet melodious 
 
 birds, 
 Be unto us, as is a nurse's song: 
 Of lullaby, to bring her babe aisleep. 
 
 Aar. Madam, though Venus gorem your desires, 
 Saturn is dominator over mine; 
 What signifies my deadly-standing eye. 
 My silence, and my cloudy melancholy'? 
 My fleece of woolly hai- that now uncurls, 
 Even as an adder, when she doth unroll 
 To do some fatal execution"! 
 No, madam, these are no venereal signs; 
 Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, 
 Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 
 Hark, Tamora, — the empress of my soul, 
 Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, 
 This is the day of doom for Bassianus; 
 His Philomel* must lose her tongue to-day: 
 Thy sons make pillage of her chastity, 
 And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood. 
 Seest thou this letter ? take it up, I pray thee, 
 And give the king this fetal- plotted scroll : — 
 Now question me no more, we are espied ; 
 Here comes a parcel ' of our hopeful booty, 
 Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 
 Turn. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life! 
 Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes: 
 Be cross with him : and I'll go fetch thy sons 
 To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Bassianus and Lavinia. 
 Bas. Who have we here ? Rome's royal empress, 
 » Possess. '* Disquicj 
 
 * See Ovid'« Metamorphoses, book vi * Part. 
 
 Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop ? 
 Oris it Dian, habited like her; 
 Who hath abandoned her holy groves, 
 To see the general hunting in this forest ? 
 
 Tarn. Saucy controller of our private steps ? 
 Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had, 
 Thy temples should be planted presently 
 With horns, as was Actaeon's ; and the hounds 
 Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, 
 Unmannerly intruder as thou art! 
 
 Lav. Under your patience, gentle emperess, 
 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning; 
 And to be doubted, that your Moor and you 
 Are singled forth to try experiments: 
 Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day ' 
 'Tis pity they should take him for a stag. 
 
 Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian 
 Doth make your honor of his body's hue, 
 Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
 Why are you sequester'd from all your train! 
 Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed, 
 And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, 
 Accompanied with a barbarous Moor, 
 If foul desire had not conducted you? 
 
 Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport, 
 Great reason that my noble lord be rated 
 For sauciness. — I pray you let us hence, 
 And let her 'joy her raven-colored love; 
 This valley fits the purpose passing well. 
 
 Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note of 
 this. 
 
 Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted 
 long: 
 Gocdking! to be so mightily abused! 
 
 Tarn. Why have I patience to endure all this? 
 
 Enter Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gra- 
 cious mother, 
 Why doth your highness look so pale and wan? 
 
 Tarn. Have I not reason, think you, to look pa'le ? 
 These two have 'ticed me hither to this place, 
 A barren detested vale, you see, it is : 
 The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, 
 O'ercome with moss, and baneful mistletoe. 
 Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, 
 Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. 
 And when they show'd me this abhorred pit, 
 They told me here, at dead time of the night, 
 A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, 
 Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, 6 
 Would make such fearful and confused cries, 
 As any mortal body, hearing it, 
 Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. 
 No sooner had they told this hellish tale, 
 But straight they told me they would bind me here 
 Unto the body of a dismal yew ; 
 And leave me to this miserable death. 
 And then they call'd me foul adulteress, 
 Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 
 That ever ear did hear to such effect. 
 And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, 
 This vengeance on me had they executed : 
 Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, 
 Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. 
 
 Dem. This is a witness that I am thy son. 
 
 [Stabs Bassianus. 
 
 Chi. And this for me, struck home to show my 
 strength. [Stabbing him likewise. 
 
 Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, — nay, barbarous 
 Tamora ! 
 For no name fits thy nature but thy < wn 
 « Hedge-hogs. 
 
Scene IV 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 769 
 
 Tarn. Give rae thy poniard ; you shall know, my 
 boy&, 
 Vour mother's hand shall right your mother's 
 wrong. 
 Dem. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her; 
 First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw : 
 This minion stood upon her chastity, 
 Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, 
 And with that painted hope braves your mightiness : 
 And shall she carry this unto her grave ! 
 
 Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 
 Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, 
 4nd make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 
 
 Tarn. But when you have the honey you desire, 
 Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. 
 
 Chi. I warrant you, madam ; we will make that 
 sure. — 
 Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy 
 That nice-preserved honesty of yours. 
 
 Lav. O Tamora ! Thou bear'st a woman's face, — 
 Tarn. I will not hear her speak ; away with her. 
 Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. 
 Dem. Listen, fair madam : Let it be your glory 
 To see her tears : but be your heart to them, 
 As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. 
 
 Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the 
 dam 1 
 O, do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee : 
 The milk thou suck'dst from her, did turn to 
 
 marble ; 
 Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. — 
 Yet every mother breeds not sons alike ; 
 Jo thou entreat her shew a woman pity. 
 
 [To Chiron. 
 Chi. What ! wouldst thou have me prove myself 
 
 a bastard 1 
 Lav. 'Tis true ; the raven doth not hatch a lark ; 
 Yet I have heard, (0 could I find it now !) 
 The lion mov'd with pity, did endure 
 To have his princely paws pared all away. 
 Some say, that ravens foster forlorn children, 
 The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: 
 O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, 
 Nothing so kind, but something pitiful! 
 
 Tarn. I know not what it means ; away with 
 
 her. 
 Lav. O, let me teach thee : for my father's sake, 
 That gave thee life, when well he might have slain 
 
 thee, 
 Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. 
 
 Turn. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me, 
 Even for his sake am I pitiless : — 
 Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, 
 To save your brother from the sacrifice; 
 But fierce Andronicus would not relent. 
 Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will : 
 The worse to her, the better lov'd of me. 
 
 Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, 
 And with thine own hands kill me in this place ; 
 For 'tis not life, that I have begg'd so long ; 
 Poor I was slain, when Bassianus died. 
 
 Tarn. What begg'st thou then 1 fond woman, let 
 
 me go. 
 Lav. 'Tis present death I beg: and one thing 
 more, 
 That womanhood denies my tongue to tell : 
 0, keep me from their worse than killing lust, 
 And tumble me into some loathsome pit; 
 Where never man's eye may behold my body: 
 Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 
 
 Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: 
 No, let them satisfy their lust on thee. 
 
 Tim. Away, for thou hast staid us here too long. 
 
 Lav. No grace 1 No womanhood ! Ah, beastiy 
 creature ! 
 The blot and enemy to our general namt 
 
 Confusion fall-: 
 
 Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth : — Bring 
 thou her husband ; 
 
 [Dragging off Lavinu 
 This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 Tarn. Farewell, my sons; see that you make 
 her sure : 
 Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, 
 Till all the Andronici be made away. — 
 Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 
 And let my spleenful sons this trull defiour. [Exit 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 Enter Aaron with Quintus and Martius. 
 
 Aar. Come on, my lords ; the better foot before : 
 Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit, 
 Where I espy'd the panther fast asleep. 
 
 Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodfoj. 
 
 Mart. And mine, I promise you: were't not for 
 shame, 
 Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile. 
 
 [Martius falls into the Pit. 
 
 Quin. What, art thou fallen 1 What subtle hole 
 is this, 
 Whose mouth iscover'd with rude-growing briers; 
 Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood, 
 As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers 1 
 A very fatal place it seems to me : — 
 Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall ? 
 
 Mart. O, brother, with the dismallest object 
 That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament. 
 
 Aar. [Aside.'] Now will I fetch the king to find 
 them here; 
 That he thereby may give a likely guess, 
 How these were they that made away his brother. 
 
 [Exit A a mov. 
 
 Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out 
 From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole? 
 
 Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear : 
 A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints; 
 My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. 
 
 Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, 
 Aaron and thou look down into this den, 
 And see a fearful sight of blood'and death. 
 
 Quin. Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart 
 Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
 The thing whereat it trembles by surmise 
 O, tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now 
 Was I a child, to fear I know not what. 
 
 Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrued here. 
 All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb, 
 In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 
 
 Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he ' 
 
 Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
 A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, 
 Which, like a taper in some monument, 
 Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks 
 And shows the ragged entrails of this pit : 
 So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, 
 When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. 
 
 brother, help me with thy fainting hand, — 
 If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, — 
 Out of this fell devouring receptacle. 
 
 As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 
 
 Quin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help t-M 
 out; 
 Or, wanting strength to do thee so much goo-i. 
 
 1 may be piuck'd into the swa'lowing womb 
 
770 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act 
 
 ^n 
 
 Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 
 
 I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 
 
 Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. 
 
 Quin. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, 
 Till thou art here aloft, or I below; 
 Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee. 
 
 [Falls in. 
 
 Enter Saturninus and Aaron. 
 
 Sat. Along with me: — I'll see what hole is here; 
 And what he is, that now is leap'd into it. 
 Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend 
 Into this gaping hollow of the earth ? 
 
 Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus ; 
 Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, 
 To find thy brother Bassianus dead. 
 
 Sat. My brother dead ? 1 know thou dost but jest; 
 He and his lady both are at the lodge, 
 Upon the north side of this pleasant chase ; 
 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. 
 
 Mart. We know not where you left him all alive, 
 But, out alas! here have we found him dead. 
 
 Enter Tamora, with Attendants; Titus Andro- 
 nicus, and Lucius. 
 
 Tarn. Where is my lord the king? 
 
 Sat. Here, Tamora; though griev'd with killing 
 
 grief. 
 Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus 1 
 Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my 
 wound; 
 Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 
 
 Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, 
 [Giving a Letter. 
 The complot of this timeless 1 tragedy ; 
 • And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold 
 In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. 
 Sat. [Reads.] A?i if we miss to meet him hand- 
 somely, — 
 Sweet huntsmen, Bassianus 'tis, v;e mean, — 
 Do thou, so much as dig the grace for him,- 
 Thou know'st our meaning: Lock for thy reward 
 Among the nettles at the elder tree, 
 Which overshades the mouth of that same pit, 
 Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. 
 Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends. 
 O, Tamora ! was ever heard the like? 
 This is the pit, and this the elder tree : 
 Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out, 
 Thr.t should have murder'd Bassianus here. 
 Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold. 
 
 [Showing it. 
 Sat. Two of thy whelps, [To Tit.] fell curs of 
 bloody kind, 
 Have here bereft my brother of his life: — 
 Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison ; 
 There let them bide, until we have devis'd 
 Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 
 Tarn. What, are they in this pit. 1 O wondrous 
 thing ! 
 How easily murder is discovered ! 
 
 Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee 
 I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, 
 That this fell fault of my accursed sons, 
 
 Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them, 
 
 Sat. If it be prov'd ! you see it is apparent, — 
 Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you? 
 Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up. 
 Tit. I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail: 
 For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow, 
 They shall be ready at your highness' will, 
 To answer their suspicioxi with their lives. 
 • (Jntimely, 
 
 Sat. Thou shalt not bail them: see, thou follow 
 me. 
 Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers 
 Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain : 
 For, by my soul, were there worse end than death 
 That end upon them should be executed. 
 
 Tarn. Andronicus, I will entreat the king; 
 Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough. 
 
 Tit. Come, Lucius, come ; stay not to talk with 
 them. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE V.— The same. 
 
 Enter Demetrius, and Chiron, with Layinia; 
 her Hands cut off, and her Tongue cut out. 
 Dem. So now, go tell, an if thy tongue can speak, 
 Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee. 
 Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy mean- 
 ing so; 
 And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe. 
 Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can 
 
 scowl. 
 Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy 
 
 hands. 
 Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to 
 wash ; 
 And so let's leave her to her silent walks. 
 
 Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself. 
 Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the 
 cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron. 
 Enter Marcus. 
 Marc. Who's this, — my niece, that flies away so 
 fast? 
 Cousin, a word; Where is your husband? — 
 If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me ! 
 If I do wake, some planet strike me down, 
 That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! — 
 Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands 
 Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare 
 Of her two branches? those sweet ornaments, 
 Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep 
 
 in; 
 And might not gain so great a happiness, 
 As half thy love ? Why dost not speak to me 1 — 
 Alas, a crimson river of warm blood, 
 Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind, 
 Doth rise and fall between thy rased lips, 
 Coming and going with thy honey breath. 
 But, sure, some Tereus hath defloured thee ; 
 And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue. 
 Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame' 
 And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, — 
 As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, — 
 Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face, 
 Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud. 
 Shall I speak for thee? shall I say, 'tis so? 
 0, that I knew thy heart; and knew the beast, 
 That I might rail at him to ease my mind ! 
 Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd, 
 Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. 
 Fair Philomela, she but lost her tongue, 
 And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind : 
 But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; 
 A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal, 
 And he hath cut those pretty fingers off, 
 That could have better sew'd than Philomel. 
 0, had the monster seen those lily hands 
 Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute, 
 And make the silken strings delight to kiss them, 
 He would not then have touch'd them for his lite ■ 
 Or, had he heard the heavenly harmony, 
 Which that sweet tongue nath made, 
 He would have dropp'd his knife, and feil asieep 
 
Act III Scene I. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS 
 
 771 
 
 As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's s feet, 
 ''orae, let us go, and make thy father blind: 
 for such a sight will blind a father's eye : 
 One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads ; 
 
 What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes 1 
 Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee , 
 O, could our mourning ease thy misery ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
 Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice, 
 with Martius and Quintus, bound, passing on 
 to the Place of Execution : Titus going before, 
 pleading. 
 
 Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble tribunes, stay ! 
 For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
 In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept ; 
 For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed ; 
 For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ; 
 And for these bitter tears, which now you see 
 Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks; 
 Be pitiful to my condemned sons, 
 Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought ! 
 For two and twenty sons I never wept, 
 Because they died in honor's lofty bed. 
 For these, these, tribunes, in the dust I write 
 
 [Throwing himself on the Ground. 
 My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears. 
 Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ; 
 My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush. 
 [Exeunt Senators, Tribunes, <SfC. with 
 the Prisoners. 
 O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain, 
 That shall distil from these two ancient urns, 
 Than youthful April shall with all his showers: 
 In summer's drought I'll drop upon thee still; 
 In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow, 
 And keep eternal spring-time on thy face, 
 So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood. 
 Enter Lucius, with his Sword drawn. 
 O, reverend tribunes! gentle aged men ! 
 Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death; 
 And let me say, that never wept before, 
 My tears are now prevailing orators. 
 
 Luc. 0, noble father, you lament in vain ; 
 The tribunes hear you not, no man is by, 
 And you recount your sorrows to a stone. 
 
 Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead : 
 Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you. 
 
 Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you 
 speak. 
 
 Tit. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did hear, 
 They would not mark me; or, if they did mark, 
 All bootless to them, they'd not pity me. 
 Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ; 
 Who, though they cannot answer my distress, 
 Yet in some sort they're better than the tribunes, 
 For that they will not intercept my tale : 
 When I do weep, they humbly at my feet 
 Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me , 
 And, were they but attired in grave weeds, 
 Rome could afford no tribune like to these. 
 A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than 
 
 stones : 
 \. stone is silent, and offendeth not; 
 And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death. 
 But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn] 
 
 Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death : 
 For which attempt, the judges have pronounced 
 My everlasting doom of banishment. 
 
 Tit O happy man ! they have befriended thee. 
 • Orpheus 
 
 Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive, 
 That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers? 
 Tigers must prey ; and Rome affords no prey, 
 But me and mine: How happy art thou then, 
 From these devourers to be banished ! 
 But who comes with our brother Marcus here! 
 
 Enter Marcus and Lavinia. 
 
 Marc. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep; 
 Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break ; 
 I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. 
 
 Tit. Will it consume me ? let me see it then. 
 
 Marc. This was thy daughter. 
 
 Tit. Why, Marcus, so she is. 
 
 Luc. Ah me ! this object kills me ! 
 
 Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon 
 her : — 
 Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand 
 Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight? 
 What fool hath added water to the sea ? 
 Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy ? 
 My grief was at the height before thou cam'st, 
 And now, like Nilus, 9 it disdaineth bounds. — 
 Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too ; 
 For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain, 
 And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life; 
 In bootless prayer have they been held up, 
 And they have serv'd me to effectless use: 
 Now, all the service I require of them 
 Is, that the one will help to cut the other. — 
 'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands; 
 For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain. 
 
 Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee 1 
 
 Marc. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, 
 That blabb'd them with such pleasing eloquence, 
 Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage ; 
 Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung 
 Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! 
 
 Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath done this 
 deed? 
 
 Marc. 0, thus I found her, straying in the park. 
 Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer. 
 That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound. 
 
 Tit. It was my deer, and he that wounded her, 
 Hath hurt me more, than had he killed me dead: 
 For now I stand as one upon a rock. 
 Environ 'd with a wilderness of sea, 
 Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, 
 Expecting ever when some envious surge 
 Will in his brinish bowels swallow him. 
 This way to death my wretched sons are gone : 
 Here stands my.other son, a banish'd man; 
 And here my brother, weeping at my woes; 
 But that, which give3 my soul the greatest spurn 
 Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. — 
 Had I but seen thy picture in this plight, 
 It would have madded me ; What shall I dc 
 Now I behold thy lovely body so ? 
 Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears; 
 Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee • 
 Thy husband he is dead ; and, for his death, 
 Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this: 
 Look. Marcus! ah, son Lucius, look on her! 
 •The rivnr Nile. 
 
772 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act 111. 
 
 When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears 
 Stood on her cheeks ; as doth the honey dew 
 Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd. 
 
 Marc. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd 
 her husband : 
 Perchance, because she knows them innocent. 
 
 Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful, 
 Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. — 
 No, no, they would not do so foul a deed; 
 Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. — 
 Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ; 
 Or make some sign how I may do thee case: 
 Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius, 
 And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain ; 
 Looking all downwards, to behold our cheeks 
 How they are stain'd? like meadows, yet not dry 
 With miry slime left on them by a flood ? 
 And in the fountain shall we gaze so long, 
 Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness, 
 And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears'? 
 Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine ? 
 Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows 
 Pass the remainder of our hateful days? 
 What shall we do ? let us that have our tongues, 
 Plot some device of further misery, 
 T,o make us wonder'd at in time to come. 
 
 Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears; for at your 
 grief, 
 See how my wretched sister sobs and weeps. 
 
 Marc. Patience, dear niece: — good Titus, dry 
 thine eyes. 
 
 Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot, 1 
 Thy napkin 2 cannot drink a tear of mine, 
 For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own. 
 
 Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks. 
 
 Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark ! I understand her signs: 
 H-ad she a tongue to speak, now would she say 
 Tnat to her brother which I said io theo-; 
 His napkin, with his true tea:rs all bewet, 
 Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks: 
 O, what a sympathy of woe is this ? 
 As far from help as limbo is from bliss ! 
 
 Enter Aahox. 
 
 Aar. Titus Andronicus, ray lord the emperor 
 Sends thee this word, — That, if thou love thy sons, 
 Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, 
 Or any one of you, chop off your hand, 
 And send it to the king: he for the same, 
 Will send thee hither both thy sons alive ; 
 And that shall be the ransom for their fault. 
 
 Tit. O, gracious emperor! 0, gentle Aaron! 
 Did ever raven sing so like a lark, 
 That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise? 
 With all my heart, I'll send the emperor 
 My hand: 
 Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off? 
 
 Luc. Stay, father ; for that noble hand of thine, 
 That hath thrown down so many enemies, 
 Shall not be sent: my hand will serve the turn : 
 My youth can better s,pare my bl»od than you ; 
 And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. 
 
 Marc. Which of your hands hath not defended 
 Rome, 
 And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe, 
 Writing destruction on the enemy's castle? 
 O, none of both but are of high desert : 
 My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve 
 To ransom my two nephews from their death ; 
 Then have I kept it to a worthy end. 
 
 Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along, 
 For fear they d ; e before- their pardon come. 
 'Know. •Handkerchief 
 
 Marc. My hand shall go. 
 Luc. By heaven, it shall not gc 
 
 Tit. Sirs, strive no more ; such wither'd herbs a* 
 these 
 Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine. 
 Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought th} 
 son, 
 Let me redeem my brothers both from death. 
 Marc. And, for our father's sake, and mother's 
 care, 
 Now let me show a brother's love to thee. 
 
 Tit. Agree between you ; I will spare my hand. 
 Luc. Then I'll go fetch an axe. 
 Marc. But I will use the axe. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucius and Marcus. 
 Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I'll deceive them both ; 
 Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine. 
 
 Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest, 
 And never, whilst I live, deceive men so: — 
 But I'll deceive you in another sort, 
 And that you'll say, ere half an hour can pass. 
 
 [Aside, 
 [He cuts off Titus's Hand. 
 
 Enter Lucius and Mahcus. 
 
 Tit. Now, stay your strife; what shall be, is dea- 
 patch'd. — 
 Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand : 
 Tell him, it was a hand that warded him 
 From thousand dangers: bid him bury it; 
 More hath it merited, that let it have. 
 As for my sons, say, I account of them 
 As jewels purchas'd at an easy price; 
 And yet dear too, because I bought mine own. 
 
 Aar. I go, Andronicus : and for thy hand, 
 Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : — 
 Their heads, I mean. — O, how this villany 
 
 [Aside. 
 Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it! 
 Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace, 
 Aaron will have his s;oul black like his face. [Exit. 
 
 Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven, 
 And bow this feeble ruin to the earth : 
 If any power pities wretched tears. 
 To that I call ; — What, wilt thou kneel with me? 
 
 [To Lavinia. 
 Do then, dear heart; for heaven shall hear oui 
 
 prayers ; 
 Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin 3 dim, 
 And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, 
 When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. 
 
 Marc. O ! brother, speak with possibilities, 
 And do not break into these deep extremes. 
 
 Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no boltom ' 
 Then be my passions 4 bottomless with them. 
 
 Marc. But yet let reason govern thy lament. 
 
 Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, 
 Then into limits could I bind my woes : 
 When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'er 
 
 flow? 
 If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad 
 Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face? 
 And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? t 
 I am the sea ; hark, how her sighs do blow ! 
 She is the weeping welkin, I the earth : 
 Then must my sea be moved with her sighs ; 
 Then must my earth with her continual tears 
 Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd : 
 For why? my bowels cannot hide her woes, 
 But, like a drunkard, must I vomit them. 
 Then give me leave ; for losers will have lea re 
 To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongue* 
 3 The sky. * Sufferings. • Stir, bustle. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 773 
 
 bnter a Messenger, with two Heads and a Hand. 
 
 Mess Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
 For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor. 
 Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
 A nd here's thy nand, in scorn to thee sent back ; 
 Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd : 
 That woe is me to think upon thy woes, 
 More than remembrance cf my father's death. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Marc. Now let hot ^Etna cool in Sicily, 
 And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
 These miseries are more than may be borne ! 
 To weep with them that weep, doth ease some deal, 
 But sorrow flouted at is double death. 
 
 Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a 
 wound, 
 And yet detested life not shrink thereat ! 
 That ever death should let life bear his name, 
 Where life hath no more interest but to breathe ! 
 [Lavinia kisses him. 
 
 Marc. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless, 
 As frozen water to a starved snake. 
 
 Til. When will this fearful slumber have an end 1 
 
 Marc. Now, farewell, flattery : Die, Andronicus : 
 Thou dost not slumber: see, thy two sons' heads; 
 Thy warlike hand ; thy mangled daughter here ; 
 Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight 
 Struck pale and bloodless; and thy brother, I, 
 Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
 Ah ! now no more wiri I control thy griefs : 
 Rend off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
 Gnawing with thy teeth ; acd be this dismal sight 
 The closing up of cur most wretched eyes ! 
 Now is a time to storm ; why art thou still 1 
 
 Tit. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Marc. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not with this 
 hour. 
 
 Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : 
 Besides this sorrow is an enemy, 
 And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes, 
 And make them blind with tributary tears ; 
 Then which way shall I find revenge's cave? 
 For these two heads do seem to speak to me ; 
 And threat me, I shall never come to bliss, 
 Till all these mischiefs be return'd again, 
 Even in their throats that have committed them. 
 Come, let me see what ta*ok I have to do. — 
 You heavy people, circle me about ; 
 That I may turn me to each one of you, 
 And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
 The vow is made. — Come, brother, take a head ; 
 And in this hand the other will I bear : 
 Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things ; 
 Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth. 
 As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight : 
 Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay : 
 Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there : 
 And, if you love me, as I think you do, 
 Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do. 
 
 [Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia. 
 
 Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father ; 
 The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome ! 
 Farewell, proud Rome ! till Lucius come again, 
 He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. 
 Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ; 
 O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been ! 
 But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives, 
 But in oblivion, and hateful griefs. 
 If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ; 
 And make proud Saturninus and his empress 
 Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 
 Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 
 To be revenged on Rome and Saturnine. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — ^1 Room in Titus's House. 
 A Banquet set out. 
 
 Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and young 
 Lucius, a Boy. 
 
 Tit. So, so ; now sit : and look you eat no more 
 Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
 As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
 Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot ; 
 Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands 
 And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
 With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine 
 Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; 
 And when my heart, all mad with misery, 
 Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh, 
 Then thus I thump it down. — 
 Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs ! 
 
 [To Lavinia. 
 When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating, 
 Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
 Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans ; 
 Or get some little knife between thy teeth, 
 And just against thy heart make thou a hole ; 
 That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall, 
 May run into that sink, and soaking in, 
 Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 
 
 Marc. Fye, brother, fye ! teach her not thus to lay 
 Such violent hands upon her tender life. 
 
 Tit. How now ! has sorrow made thee dote 
 already 1 
 Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
 What violent hands can she lay on her life 1 
 Ah, wherefore dost thou urge the name of hands; — 
 To bid ^Eneas tell the tale twice o'er, 
 How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ] 
 O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands ; 
 Lest we remember still, that we have none. — 
 Fye, fye, how franticiy I square my talk ! 
 As if we should forget we had no hands, 
 If Marcus did not name the word of hands ! 
 Come, let's fall to ; and, gentle girl, eat this : — 
 Here is no drink ! Hark, Marcus, what she says ; 
 I can interpret all her martyr'd signs; — 
 She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, 
 Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks:* 
 Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought; 
 In thy dumb action will I be as perfect. 
 As begging hermits in their holy prayers : 
 Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, 
 Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign, 
 But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet, 
 And, by still 1 practice, learn to know thy meaning. 
 
 Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep 
 laments : 
 Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 
 
 Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, 
 Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. 
 
 Tit. Peace, tender sapling ; thou art made of tears, 
 And tears will quickly melt thy life away. — 
 
 [Marcus strikes the Dish with a Knife. 
 What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife ' 
 
 Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; a fly 
 
 Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kill'st my heart , 
 Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: 
 A deed of death, done on the innocent, 
 Becomes not Titus' brother : Get thee gone ; 
 I see thou art not for my company. 
 
 Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. 
 
 Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother! 
 How would he hang his slender gilded wing», 
 And buz lamenting doings in ihe air 1 
 Poor harmless fly ! 
 • An allusion to brewing. ' Constant or continual Dractir* 
 
774 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act IT 
 
 That with his pretty buzzing melody, 
 Came here to make us merry ; and thou hast kill'd 
 him. 
 
 Marc. Pardon me, sir; 'twas a black ill-favor'd fly, 
 Like to the empress' Moor ; therefore I kill'd him. 
 
 Tit. 0, 0, O, 
 Then pardon me for reprehending thee, 
 For thou hast done a charitable deed. 
 Give me thy knife, I will insult on him ; 
 Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, 
 Come hither purposely to poison me. — 
 There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. — 
 Ah, sirrah ! e — 
 
 Yet I do think we are not brought so low, 
 But that, between us, we can kill a fly, 
 That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 
 
 Marc. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrought o» 
 him, 
 He takes false shadows for true substances. 
 
 Tit. Come, take away. — Lavinia, go with me : 
 I'll to thy closet ; and go read with thee 
 Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. — 
 Come, boy, and go with me, thy sight is young, 
 And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle. 
 
 {Exeunt 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Titus's House. 
 
 Enter Titus and Marcus. Then enter young 
 Lucius, Lavinia running after him. 
 
 Boy. Help, grandsire, help! my aunt Lavinia 
 Follows me every where,. I know not why: — 
 Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! 
 Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 
 Marc. Stand by me, Lucius ; do not fear thine 
 
 aunt. 
 Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. 
 Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did. 
 Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by these 
 
 signs ? 
 Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : — Somewhat doth she 
 mean : 
 See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee : 
 Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
 Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
 Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee, 
 Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator. 5 
 Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee 
 thus? 
 Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor caa I guess, 
 Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her : 
 For I have heard my grandsire say full oft, 
 Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
 And I have read that Hecuba of Troy 
 Ran mad through sorrow : That made me to fear: 
 Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt 
 Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did, 
 And would not, but in fury, fright my youth : 
 Which made me down to throw my books, and fly; 
 Causeless, perhaps ; But pardon me, sweet aunt : 
 And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
 i will most willingly attend your ladyship. 
 Marc. Lucius, I will. 
 
 [Lavinia turns over the Books which 
 Lucius has let fall. 
 Tit. How now, Lavinia ? — Marcus, what means 
 this? 
 Some book there is that she desires to see : — 
 Which is it, girl, of these? — Open them, boy. — 
 But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd ; 
 Come, and take choice of all my library, 
 And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens 
 Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. — 
 Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus? 
 Marc. I think, she means, that there was more 
 than one 
 Confederate in the fact: — Ay, more there was:-- 
 Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 
 Tit. Lucius, what uook is that she tosseth so? 
 
 • This wao formerly not a disrespectful expression. 
 •TuUy'g Treatise on Eloquence, entitled Orator. 
 
 Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses; 
 My mother gave't me. 
 
 Marc. For love of her that's gone, 
 
 Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 
 
 Tit. Soft ! see, how busily she turns the leaves! 
 Help her: — 
 
 What would she find; — Lavinia, shall I read? 
 This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
 And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape ; 
 And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy. 
 
 Marc. See, brother, see ; note, how she quotes ' 
 the leaves. 
 
 Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl 
 Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was, 
 Forced in the ruthless, 9 vast, and gloomy woods ? — 
 
 See, see ! 
 
 Ay, such a place there is, wnere we did hunt, 
 (0, had we never, never, hunted there !) 
 Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, 
 By nature made for murders, and for rapes. 
 
 Marc. why should nature build so foul a den, 
 Unless the gods delight in tragedies ! 
 
 Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, — for here are none 
 but friends, — 
 What Roman lord it was durst do the deed: 
 Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
 That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ? 
 
 Marc. Sit down, sweet niece ; — brother, sit down 
 by me. — 
 Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury, 
 Inspire me, that I may this treason find ! — 
 My lord, look here; — Look here, Lavinia: 
 This sandy plot is plain; guide, if thou canst. 
 This after me, when I have writ my name 
 Without the help of any hand at all. 
 
 [He writes his Name with his Staff, and 
 guides it with his Feet and Mouth. 
 Curs'd be that heart, that forced us to this shift ! — 
 Write thou, good niece; and here display, at last 
 What God will have discover'd for revenge: 
 Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain, 
 That we may know the traitors, and the truth! 
 [She takes the Staff in her Mouth, and guides 
 it with her Stumps, and w'riles. 
 
 Tit. O, do you read my lord, what she hath writ* 
 Stuprum — Chiron — Demetrius. 
 
 Marc. What, what ! — the lustful sons of Tamora 
 Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? 
 
 Tit. Magne Dominator poli, 
 Tam lentus audis scelera? tarn lentus vides? 
 
 Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord ! although I 
 know, 
 There is enough written upon this eartL 
 To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, 
 » Observes. » PitilMS. 
 
Scenic II. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 776 
 
 And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
 My lord, kneel down with ine ; Lavinia, kneel ; 
 And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope; 
 And swear with me, — as with the woeful feere, a 
 And father, of that chaste dishonor'd dame, 
 Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,— 
 That we will prosecute, by good advice, 
 Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
 And see their blood, or die with this reproach. 
 
 Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how, 
 But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware: 
 The dam will wake ; and, if she wind you once, 
 She's with the lion deeply still in league, 
 And lulls him while she playeth on her back, 
 And, when he sleeps, will she do w'.iat she list. 
 You're a young huntsman, Marcus; let it alone; 
 And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass, 
 And with a gad 4 of steel will write these words, 
 Arid lay it by : the angry northern wind 
 Will blow these sands, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad, 
 And where's your lesson then] — Boy, what say you? 
 
 Boy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man, 
 Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe 
 For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 
 
 Marc. Ay, that's my boy! thy father hath full oft 
 For this ungrateful country done the like. 
 
 Boy. And uncle, so will I, an if I live. 
 
 Tit. Come, go with me into mine armory; 
 Lucius, I'll fit thee ; and withal, my boy 
 Shall carry from me to the empress' sons 
 Presents, that I intend to send them both : 
 Come, come; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not? 
 
 Boy. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grand- 
 sire. 
 
 Tit. No, boy, not so; I'll teach thee another 
 course. 
 Lavinia, come: — Marcus, look to my house; 
 Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court; 
 Ay, marry, will we, sir: and we'll be waited on. 
 [Exeunt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy. 
 
 Marc. heavens, can you hear a good man groan, 
 And not relent, or not compassion him ] 
 Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy ; 
 That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart, 
 Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd shield : 
 But yet so just, that he will not revenge: 
 Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Aaron, Chirox, and Demetrius, at one 
 
 Door,- at another Door, young Lucius, and an 
 
 Attendant, with a bundle of Weapons, and 
 
 Verses writ upon them. 
 
 Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; 
 Jc hath some message to deliver us. 
 
 Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand- 
 father. 
 
 Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may, 
 I greet your honors from Andronicus; — 
 And pray the Roman gods confound you both. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dem. Gramercy,' lovely Lucius: What's the news] 
 
 Boy. That you are both decipher'd, that's the news, 
 For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside.] May it 
 
 please you, 
 My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me 
 The goodliest weapons of his armory, 
 To gratify your honorable youth, 
 The hope of Rome : for so he bade me say ; 
 \nd so I do, and with his gifts present 
 Vour lordships, that whenever you have need, 
 
 • Huiband. 'The point of a spcal 
 
 »Lc. Grantlmerci; great thanks. 
 
 > Aside. 
 
 You may be armed and appointed well : 
 And so I leave you both, [Aside.] like bloody vil 
 lains. [Exeunt Boy and Attendant 
 
 Dem. What'fl*here ] A scroll; and written round 
 about ] 
 Let's see. 
 
 Integer vitse, scelcrisque purus, 
 Non eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu. 
 
 Chi. O, 'tis a verse in Horace ; I know it well . 
 I read it in the grammar long ago. 
 
 Aar. Ay, just ! — a verse in Horace : — right, >( u 
 have it. 
 Now, what a thing it is to be an ass . ^ 
 Here's no sound jest ! the old man hath 
 
 found their guilt; 
 And sends the weapons wrapp'd about 
 
 with lines, 
 That wound, beyond their feeling, to the 
 
 quick. 
 But were our witty empress well a-foot. 
 She would applaud Andronicus' conceit. 
 But let her rest in her unrest awhile. — 
 And now, young lords, was't not a happy star 
 Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so, 
 Captives, to be advanced to this height] 
 It did me good, before the palace gate, 
 To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 
 
 Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord 
 Basely insinuate, and send us gifts. 
 
 Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius] 
 Did you not use his daughter very friendly ] 
 
 Dem. I would we had a thousand Roman dames 
 At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 
 
 Chi. A charitable Wish, and full of love. 
 
 Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amen. 
 
 Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand 
 more. 
 
 Dem. Come, let us go ; and pray to all the gods 
 For our beloved mother in her pains. 
 
 Aar. Pray to the devils ; the gods have given us 
 o'er. [Aside. Flourish. 
 
 Dem. Why do the empevor's trumpets flourish 
 thus] 
 
 Chi. Belike for joy the emperor hath a son 
 
 Dem. Soft ; who comes here ] 
 
 Enter a Nurse, with a Black-a-moor Child in ha 
 Arms. 
 
 Nur. Good-morrow, lords 
 
 0, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor] 
 
 Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all 
 Here Aaron is : and what with Aaron now] 
 
 Nur. O, gentle Aaron, we are all undone! 
 New help, or woe betide thee evermore! 
 
 Aar. Why, what 9 caterwauling dost thou keep ! 
 What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms 1 
 
 Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's 
 eye, 
 Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace; 
 She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd. 
 
 Aar. To whom ] 
 
 Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed. 
 
 Aar. Well, Cod 
 
 Give hei good rest ! What hath he sent hei ] 
 
 Nur. A devil, 
 
 Aar. Why then she's the devil's dam ; a joyful 
 issue. 
 
 Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful 
 issue : 
 Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
 Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. 
 The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal. 
 And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's pcm«. 
 
r?<5 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Aar. Out, out, you whore ! is black so base a hue? 
 Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. 
 
 Bern. Villain, what hast thou done ? 
 
 Aar. Done ! that which thou 
 
 Canst not undo. 
 
 Chi. Thou hast undone our mother. 
 
 Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. 
 
 Bern. And therein, kellish dog, thou hast undone. 
 Noe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice ! 
 Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a fiend! 
 
 Chi. It shall not live. 
 
 Aai. It shall not die. 
 
 Nur. Aaron, it must: the mother wills it so. 
 
 Aar. What, must it, nurse ] then let no man but I, 
 Do execution on my flesh and blood. 
 
 Dem. I'll broach 'the tadpole on my rapier's point; 
 Nurse, give it me; my sword shall soon despatch it. 
 
 Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up. 
 [Takes the Child from (he Nurse, and draws. 
 Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your brother] 
 Now, by the burning tapers of the sky, 
 That shone so brightly when this boy was got, 
 He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point, 
 That touches this my first-born son and heir! 
 I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus, 
 With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood. 
 Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, 
 Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 
 What, what; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! 
 Ye white-limed walls ! ye ale-house painted signs ! 
 Coal black is better than another hue, 
 In that it scorns to bear another hue : 
 For all the water in the ocean 
 Can never turn a swan's black legs »o white, 
 Although she lave them hourly in the rlood. 
 Tell the empress from me, I am of age 
 To keep mi'he own; excuse it how she can. 
 
 Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mispress thus 1 
 
 Aar. My mistress is my mistress ; this, myself; 
 The vigor and the picture of my youth: 
 This, before all the world, do I prefer; 
 This, maugre 1 all the world, will I keep safe 
 Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome 
 
 Dem. By this our mother is for ever shamed. 
 
 Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. 
 
 Nur. The emperor, in his rage,will doom her death. 
 
 Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. 8 
 
 Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears: 
 Fye, treacherous hue ! that will betray with blushing 
 The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! 
 Here's a young lad framed of another leer : 9 
 Look how the black slave smiles upon the father; 
 As who should say, Old lad, I am thine own. 
 He is your brother, lords; sensibly fed 
 Of that self-blood that first gave life to you ; 
 And, from that womb, where you imprison'd were, 
 He is enfranchised and come to light: 
 Nay, he's your brother by the surer side, 
 Although my seal be stamped in his face. 
 
 Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress] 
 
 Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done. 
 And we will all subscribe to thy advice ; 
 Save thou the child, so we may all be safe. 
 
 Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. 
 My son and I will have the wind of you : 
 Keep there; Now talk at pleasure of your safety. 
 [They sit on the Ground. 
 Dem. How many women saw this child of his 1 
 Aar. Why, so, brave lords ! when we all join in 
 league, 
 I am a lamb: but if you brave the Moor, 
 The chafed boar, the mountain lioness. 
 
 • Spit. 'In spite of. 'Ignominy. » Complexion. 
 
 The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms.- • 
 But, say again, how many saw the child '. 
 
 Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself: 
 And no one else but the deliver'd empress. 
 
 Aar. The emperess, the midwife, and yourself 
 Two may keep counsel when the third's away 
 Go to the empress; tell her, this I said: — 
 
 [Stabbi?ig he?. 
 Weke,weke! — so cries a pig prepared to the spit 
 
 Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron ! Whercforr 
 didst thou this 1 
 
 Aar. O, lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy : 
 Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours] 
 A long-tongued babbling gossip] no, lords, no. 
 And now be it known to you my full intent. 
 Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman; 
 His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ; 
 His child is like to her, fair as you are : 
 Go pack ' with him, and give the mother gold, 
 And tell them both the circumstance of all; 
 And how by this their child shall be advanced 
 And be received for the emperor's heir, 
 And substituted in the place of mine, 
 To calm this tempest whirling in the court; 
 And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
 Hark ye, lords; ye see, that I have given her phy- 
 sic, [Pointing to the Nurse. 
 And you must needs bestow her funeral; 
 The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms: 
 This done, see that you take no longer days, 
 But send the midwife presently to me. 
 The midwife, and the nurse well made away, 
 Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 
 
 Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air 
 With secrets. 
 
 Dem. For this care of Tamora, 
 
 Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Df.mf.tkujs and Chihok bearing 
 off the Nurse. 
 
 Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies; 
 There to dispose this treasure in mine arms, 
 And secretly to greet the empress' friends. — 
 C-oine on, you thick-lipped slave, I'll bear you hence; 
 For it is you that puts us to our shifts : 
 I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots, 
 And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, 
 And cabin in a cave ; and bring you up 
 To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Public Place. 
 Enter Titus, bearing Arrows, luith Letters at the 
 Ends of them,- with him Maiicus, young Lu- 
 cius, and other Gentlemen, with Bows. 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, come ; — Kinsman, this is 
 the way : — 
 Sir boy, now let me see your archery ; 
 Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight : 
 Terras Astrsea reliouit: 
 
 Be you remembered, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled. 
 Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall 
 Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets; 
 Happily you may find her in the sea ; 
 Yet there's as little justice as at land: — 
 No; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it; 
 'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade. 
 And pierce the inmost centre of the earth : 
 Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
 I pray you, deliver him this petition : 
 Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid : 
 And that it comes from old Andronicus, 
 Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. — 
 Ah, Rome ! — Well, well ; I made thee miserable, 
 « Contrive, bargain with. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 777 
 
 What time I threw the people's suffrages 
 On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. — 
 Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all, 
 And leave, you not a man of war unsearch'd; 
 This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence, 
 And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 
 
 Marc. 0, Publius, is not this a heavy case, 
 To see thy noble uncle thus distract! 
 
 Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, 
 By day and night to attend him carefully ; 
 And feed his humor kindly as we may, 
 Till time beget some careful remedy. 
 
 Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
 Join with the Goths; and with revengeful war. 
 Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude, 
 And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. 
 
 Tit. Pufclius, how now ? how now, my masters ? 
 What, 
 Have you met with her ? 
 
 Pub. No, my good lord : but Pluto sends you 
 word, 
 If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall : 
 Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd, 
 He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else, 
 So that perforce you must needs stay a time. 
 
 Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays. 
 I'll dive into the burning lake below, 
 And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. — 
 Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we ; 
 No big-bon'd men, framed of the Cyclops' size : 
 But, metal, Marcus, steel to the very back; 
 Yet wrung 2 with wrongs, more than our backs can 
 
 bear : 
 And sith 3 there is no justice in earth nor hell, 
 We will solicit heaven ; and move the gods, 
 To send down justice for to wreak' our wrongs : 
 Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus. 
 [He gives them the A~rows. 
 Ad Jovem, that's for you: — Here, ac? Apollinem: — 
 Ad Martem, that's for myself: — 
 Here, boy, to Pallas : — Here, to Mercury : 
 To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine, — 
 You were as good to shoot against the wind. — 
 To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid : 
 O' my word I have written to effect; 
 There's not a god left unsolicited. 
 
 Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the 
 court ; 
 We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 
 
 Tit. Now, masters, draw. [They shoot.'] 0, well 
 said, Lucius! 
 Good boy, in Virgo's lap; give it Pallas. 
 
 Marc. My lord, I am a mile beyond the moon ; 
 Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 
 
 Tit. Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? 
 See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 
 
 Mar. This was the sport, my lord : when Pub- 
 lius shot, 
 The bull being gall'd, gave Aries such a knock 
 That down fell both the ram's horns in the court ; 
 And who should find them but the empress' villain? 
 She laugh'd and told the Moor, he should not 
 
 choose 
 But give them to his master for a present. 
 
 Tit. Why, there it goes : God give your lordship 
 
 j°y- 
 
 Enter a Clown, with a Basket and two Pigeons. 
 
 News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is 
 
 come. 
 Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters? 
 Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter? 
 » Strained. ' Since. * Revenge. 
 
 Clo. Ho ! the gibbet-maker ? he says, that he 
 hath taken them down again, for the man must not 
 be hanged till the next week. 
 
 Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee? 
 Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter, I never 
 drank with him in all my life. 
 
 Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier? 
 Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else. 
 Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven 7 
 Clo. From heaven ? alas, sir, I never came there, 
 God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven 
 in my young days. Why, I am going with my 
 pigeons to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter 
 of brawl betwixt my uncle and one of the empe- 
 rial's men. 
 
 Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve 
 for your oration; and let him deliver the pigeons 
 to the emperor from you. 
 
 Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to th« 
 emperor with a grace ? 
 
 Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in 
 all my life. 
 
 Tit. Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado, 
 But give your pigeons to the emperor: 
 By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
 Hold, hold ; — mean while, here's money for thy 
 
 charges. 
 Give me a pen and ink. — 
 
 Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication ' 
 Clo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And 
 when you come to him, at the first approach, you 
 must kneel ; then kiss his foot ; then deliver up your 
 pigeons ; and then look for your rewacd. I'll be at 
 hand, sir: see you do it bravely. 
 
 Clo. I warrant you, sir; let me alone. 
 Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let m« 
 see it. 
 Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; 
 For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant- 
 And when thou hast given it to the emperor, 
 Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 
 Clo. God be with you, sir ; I will. 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go : — Publius, follow 
 me. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— Before the Palace. 
 Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Chirox, Deme« 
 tritjs, Lords, and. others ,- Saturninus with 
 the Arrows in his Hand, that Titus shot. 
 Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these ? Wat 
 ever seen 
 An emperor of Rome thus overborne, 
 Troubled, confronted thus : and, for the extent 
 Of egal* justice, used in such contempt? 
 My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods, 
 However these disturbers of our peace 
 Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pasa'd 
 But even with law, against the wilful sons 
 Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
 His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits, 
 Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks, 
 His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ? 
 And now he writes to heaven for his redress : 
 See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury ; 
 This to Apollo; this to the god of war: 
 Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome ' 
 What's this, but libelling against the senate, 
 And blazoning our injustice every where? 
 A goodly humor, is it not, my lords? 
 As who would say, in Rome nc justice were. 
 But, if I live, his feigned ecstacies 
 • Equal. 
 3B 
 
778 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Act V, 
 
 Shall be no shelter to these outrages : 
 
 But he and his shall know, that justice lives 
 
 In Saturninus' health; whom, if she sleep, 
 
 He'll so awake, as she in fury shall 
 
 Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. 
 
 Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
 Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts, 
 Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age, 
 The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons, 
 Whose loss hath pierced him deep, and scarr'd his 
 
 heart ; 
 And rather comfort his distressed plight, 
 Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, 
 For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become 
 High-witted Tamora to gloze 6 with all : [Aside. 
 But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick, 
 Thy life-blood out : If Aaron now be wise, 
 Then all is safe, the anchor's in the port. — 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 How now, good fellow? would'st thou speak with us? 
 
 Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be im- 
 perial. 
 
 Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. 
 
 Clo. 'Tis he. God, and Saint Stephen, give 
 you good den: — I have brought you a letter, and 
 a couple of pigeons here. 
 
 [Saturjunus reads the Letter. 
 
 Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. 
 
 Clo. How much money must I have? 
 
 Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. 
 
 Clo. Hang'd! By'r lady, then I have brought 
 up a neck to a fair end. [Exit, guarded. 
 
 Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 
 Shall I endure this monstrous villany ? 
 I know from whence this same device proceeds ; 
 May this be borne? — as if his traitorous sons, 
 That died by law for murder of our brother, 
 Have by my means been butchered wrongfully. — 
 Go drag the villain hither by the hair ; 
 Nor age, nor honor, shall shape privilege: — 
 For this proud mock, I'll be thy slaughter-man; 
 Sly, frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, 
 In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 
 
 Enter ^Emi libs. 
 What news with thee, ^Emilius? 
 
 JF.mii Arm, arm, my lords; Rome never had 
 more cause! 
 The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a power 
 Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil, 
 They hither march amain, under conduct 
 Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus; 
 
 Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
 As much as ever Coriolanus did. 
 
 Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ? 
 These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head 
 As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storm? 
 Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : 
 'Tis he the common people love so much - 
 Myself hath often over-heard them say, 
 (When I have walked like a private man,) 
 That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully, 
 And they have wish'd that Lucius were their em 
 peror. 
 
 Tarn. Why should you fear? is not your city 
 strong ? 
 
 Sat. Ay, but the citizens favor Lucius; 
 And will revolt from me, to succor him. 
 
 Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious 9 like thy 
 name. 
 Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in if 
 The eagle suffers little birds to sing, 
 And is not careful what they mean thereby ; 
 Knowing that with the shadow of his wings, 
 He can at pleasure stint 3 their melody: 
 Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome. 
 Then cheer thy spirit: for know, thou emperor, 
 I will enchant the old Andronicus, 
 With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, 
 Than baits to fish, or honey stalks to sheep; 
 When as the one is wounded with the bait, 
 The other rotted with delicious feed. 
 
 Sat. But he will not entreat his son 'or us. 
 
 7am. If Tamora entreat him, then he will: 
 For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear 
 With golden promises; that were his heart 
 Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf, 
 Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. — 
 Go thou before, be our ambassador. [To ^Emilius. 
 Say, that the emperor requests a parley 
 Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting, 
 Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 
 
 Sat. ^Emilius, do this message honorably : 
 And if he stand on hostage for his safety, 
 Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. 
 
 Mmil. Your bidding shall I do effectually. 
 
 [Exit JS, mi lids 
 
 Turn. Now will I to that old Andronicus; 
 And temper him with all the art I have, 
 To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
 And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, 
 And bury all thy fear in my devices. 
 
 Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Plains near Rome. 
 Enter Lucius, and Goths, with Drum and Colors. 
 
 Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, 
 I have received letters from great Rome, 
 Which signify what hate they bear their emperor, 
 And how desirous of our sight they are. 
 Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, 
 imperious, and impatient of your wrongs; 
 And, W lerein Rome hath done you any scath, 1 
 Let him make treble satisfaction. 
 
 '. Goth. Brave slip, sprung from the great An- 
 dronicus, 
 Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort ; 
 Whose high exploits, and honorable deeds, 
 « Flatter. ' Earm. 
 
 Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, 
 Be bold in us : we'll follow where thou lead'st. — 
 Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, 
 Led by their master to the flower'd fields, — 
 And be avenged on cursed Tamora. 
 
 Goths. And, as he saith, so say we all with him 
 Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you alL 
 But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth .' 
 
 Enter a Goth, leading Aaron, with his Child in 
 his Arms. 
 
 2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I 
 stray'd. 
 To gaze upon a ruinous monastery; 
 And as I earnestly did fix mine eye 
 
 • Imperial. ' Stop 
 
SCENK I. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 77ft 
 
 Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
 
 I heard a child cry underneath a wall: 
 
 I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard 
 
 The crying babe controll'd with this discourse : 
 
 Peace, tawny slave,- half me, and half thy dam! 
 
 Did nut thy hue bewray whose brat thou art, 
 
 Had nature lent thee but thy mother s look, 
 
 Villain, thou might st have been an emperor: 
 
 But where the bull and cow are both milk-white, 
 
 They never do beget a coal-black calf 
 
 Peace, villain, peace.' — even thus he rates the babe,— 
 
 For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth; 
 
 Who, when he knoivs thou art the empress' babe, 
 
 Will hold thee dearly for thy mot Iter's sake. 
 
 With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him, 
 
 Surpriz'd him suddenly ; and brought him hither, 
 
 To use as you think needful of the man. 
 
 Luc. worthy Goth ! this is the incarnate devil 
 That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand: 
 This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye; 1 
 And here's the base fruit of his burning lust. — 
 Say, vvall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey 
 This growing image of thy fiend-like face 1 
 Why dost not speak 1 ? What! deaf? No; not a 
 
 word 1 
 A halter, soldiers; hang him on this tree, 
 And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 
 
 Aar. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. 
 Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. — 
 First, hang the child, that he may see it sprawl; 
 A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
 Get me a ladder. 
 
 [A Ladder brought, which Aaron is 
 obliged to ascend. 
 Aar. Lucius, save the child; 
 
 And bear it from me to the emperess. 
 If thou do this, I'll show thee wond'rous things, 
 That highly may advantage thee to hear: 
 If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
 I'll speak no more ; But vengeance rot you all ! 
 Luc. Say on; and, if it please me which thou 
 speak'st, 
 Thy child shall live, and I will see it nourish'd. 
 Aar. An if it please thee? why, assure thee, 
 Lucius, 
 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak; 
 For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, 
 Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
 Complots of mischief, treason ; villanies 
 Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perform'd : 
 And this shall all be buried by my death, 
 Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live. 
 Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say, thy child shall 
 
 live. 
 Aar. Swear, that he shall, and then I will begin. 
 Luc. Who should I swear by ? thou believ'st no 
 god; 
 That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 
 Aar. What if I do not 1 as, indeed, I do not : 
 Vet, — for I know thou art religious, 
 And hast a thing within thee, called conscience ; 
 With twenty popish tricks and ceremonies, 
 Which I have seen thee careful to observe, — 
 .Therefore I urge thy oath; — For that, I know, 
 An idiot holds his bauble for a god, 
 And keeps the oath, which by that god he swears ; 
 To that I'll urge him : — Therefore, thou shalt vow 
 Oy that same god, what god soe'er it be, 
 That thou ador'st and hast in reverence, — 
 To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up; 
 Or else I will discover nought to thee. 
 
 ' Alluding to the proved " A. black man ig a pearl in 
 ■ Cur woman's eye •" 
 
 Luc. Even by my god, I swear to thee, I will 
 
 Aar. First, know thou, I begot him on the em- 
 press. 
 
 Luc. most insatiate, luxurious woman ! 
 
 Aar. Tut, Lucius! this was but a deed of charity, 
 To that which thou shalt hear of me anon; 
 'Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus,. 
 They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, 
 And cut her hands; and trimm'd her as thou 
 saw'st. 
 
 Luc. O, detestable villain ! call'st thou that trim- 
 ming 1 
 
 Aar. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimiu'd; 
 and 'twas 
 Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 
 
 Luc. O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself! 
 
 Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them; 
 That codding spirit had they from their mother, 
 As sure a card as ever won the set : 
 That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, 
 As true a dog as ever fought at head. — 
 Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. 
 I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole, 
 Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay: 
 I wrote the letter that thy father found, 
 And hid the gold within the letter mention'd, 
 Confederate with the queen, and her two sons: 
 And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue, 
 Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it ? 
 I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand; 
 And when I had it, drew myself apart, 
 And almost broke my heart with extwrne laughter 
 I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall, 
 When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads , 
 Beheld his tears, and laugh'd so heartily, 
 That both mine eyes were rainy like to his; 
 And when I told the empress of this sport, 
 She swounded almost at my pleasing tale, 
 And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses. 
 
 Goth. What ! canst thou say all this and never 
 blush? 
 
 Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 
 
 Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinoui 
 deeds 1 
 
 Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more 
 Even now I curse the day, (and yet, I think, 
 Few come within the compass of rny curse,) 
 Wherein I did not some notorious ill: 
 As kill a man, or else devise his death ; 
 Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; 
 Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself: 
 Set deadly enmity between two friends; 
 Make poor men's cattle break their necks ; 
 Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, 
 And bid the owners quench them with their tears 
 Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their grave.?, 
 And set them upright at their dear friends' doors. 
 Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; 
 And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, 
 Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 
 Let not your sorrow die, though 1 am dead. 
 Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things, 
 As willingly as one would kill a fly: 
 And nothing grieves me heartily indeed, 
 But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 
 
 Luc. Bring down the devil; for he must notdw 
 So sweet a death, as hanging presently. 
 
 Aar. If there be devils, 'would I were a devil. 
 J"o live and burn in everlasting fire; 
 So I might have your company in hell, 
 But to torment you with my bitter tongue ! 
 
 Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak ao 
 more. 
 
780 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 act V. 
 
 Enter a Gofh. 
 Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome, 
 Desires to be admitted to your presence. 
 Luc. Let him come near. — 
 
 Enter .t^milius. 
 Welcome, ^Emilius, what's the news from Rome] 
 
 JErnil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths, 
 The Roman emperor greets you all by me : 
 And, for he understands you are in arms, 
 He craves a parley at your father's house, 
 Willing you to demand your hostages, 
 Anc they shall be immediately deliver'd. 
 
 1 Goth. What says our general? 
 
 Lmc. ^Emilius, let the emperor give his pledges 
 Unto my father and my uncle Marcus, 
 And we will come. — March away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Rome. Before Titus's House. 
 
 Enter Tamora, Chiron, and Demetrius, 
 disguised. 
 
 Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, 
 will encounter with Andronicus ; 
 And say, I am Revenge, sent from below, 
 To join with him, and right his heinous wrongs. 
 Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps, 
 To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge; 
 Tell him, Revenge is come to join with him, 
 And work confusion on his enemies. [They knock. 
 Enter Titus, above. 
 
 Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation ? 
 Is it your trick, to make me ope the door; 
 That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
 And all my study be to no effect? 
 You are deceiv'd ; for what I mean to do, 
 See here, in bloody lines I have set down ; 
 And what is written shall be executed. 
 
 Tain. Titus, I am come to talk with thee. 
 
 Tit. No ; not a word : How can I grace my talk, 
 Wanting a hand to give it action ? 
 1 Thou hast the odds of mn, therefore no more. 
 
 Tarn. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk 
 with me. 
 
 Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough : 
 Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines; 
 Witness these trenches, made by grief and care; 
 Witness the tiring day, and heavy night; 
 Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
 For our proud empress, mighty Tamora: 
 Ts not thy coming for my other hand? 
 
 Tarn. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora ; 
 She is thy enemy, and I thy friend: 
 I am Revenge; sent from the infernal kingdom, 
 To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind, 
 By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. 
 Come down, and welcome me to this world's light; 
 Confer with me of murder and of death : 
 There's not a hollow cave, or lurking-place, 
 No vast obscurity, or misty vale, 
 Where bloody murder, or detested rape, 
 Can couch for fear, but I will find them out; 
 And in their ears tell them my dreadful name, 
 Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. 
 
 Tit. Art thou Revenge ? and art thou sent to me, 
 To be a torment to mine enemies? 
 
 Tarn. T am ; therefore come down, and welcome 
 me. 
 
 Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee. 
 Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stand ; 
 Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge, 
 Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels ; 
 And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner. 
 
 And whirl along with thee about the gl >Lcs. 
 Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet, 
 To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 
 And find out murderers in their guilty caves. 
 And, when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
 I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel 
 Trot, like a servile footman all day long ; 
 Even from Hyperion's rising in the east, 
 Until his very downfall in the sea. 
 And day by day I'll do this heavy task, 
 So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 
 
 Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. 
 
 Tit. Are they thy ministers ? what are they call'd? 
 
 Tarn. Rapine, and Murder; therefore called so, 
 'Cause they take vengeance on such kind of men. 
 
 Tit. Good lord, how like the empress' sons the* 
 are ! 
 And you, the empress! But we worldly men 
 Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes. 
 
 sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee: 
 
 And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, 
 
 1 will embrace thee in it by and by. 
 
 [Exit Titus, from above. 
 Tarn. This closing with him fits his lunacy: 
 Whate'er I forge, to feed his brain-sick fits, 
 Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches, 
 For now he firmly takes me for Revenge ; 
 And, being credulous in this mad thought, 
 I'll make him send for Lucius, his son; 
 And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
 I'll find some cunning practice out of hand, 
 To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
 Or at the least, make them his enemies. 
 See, here he comes, and I must ply my therae. 
 
 Enter Titus. 
 
 Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee 
 Welcome, dread fury, to my woeful house; — 
 Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too: 
 How like the empress and her sons you are ! 
 Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor: — 
 Could not all hell afford you such a devil ? — 
 For, well I wot, the empress never wags, 
 But in her company there is a Moor; 
 And would you represent our queen aright. 
 It were convenient you had such a devil : — 
 But weloome, as you are. What shall we do ? 
 
 7am. What wouldst thou have us do, A ndronicus? 
 
 Dem. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him. 
 
 Chi. Show me a villain, that hath done a rape, 
 And I am sent to be rtvenged on him. 
 
 Tarn. Show me a thousand, that have done thee 
 wrong, 
 And I will be revenged on them all. 
 
 Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of 
 Rome; 
 And when thou find'st a man that's iike thyself, 
 Good Murder, stab him ; he's a murderer. — 
 Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap, 
 To find another that is like to thee, 
 Good Rapine, stab him; he's a ravisher. — 
 Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's court 
 There is a queen, attended by a Moor ; 
 Well mayst thou know her by thy own proportion, 
 For up and down she doth resemble thee ; 
 I pray thee, do on them some violent death, 
 They have been violent to me and mine. 
 
 Tarn. Well hast thou lesson'dus; this shall we do 
 But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
 To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son, 
 Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Gotlia 
 And bid him come and banquet at thy house • 
 When he is here, even at thy solera*. f?ist. 
 
;ene III. 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 781 
 
 I will bring in the empress and her sons, 
 The emperor himself, and all thy foes; 
 \nd at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, 
 And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
 What says Andronicus to this device ? 
 
 fit. Marcus, my brother ! — 'tis sad Titus calls. 
 Enter Mahcus. 
 Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius; 
 Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths : 
 Bid him repair to me, and bring with him 
 ."<ome of the chiefest princes of the Goths; 
 Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are : 
 Tell him, the emperor and the empress too 
 Feast at my house : and he shall feast with them. 
 This do thou for my love ; and so let him, 
 As he regards his aged father's life. 
 
 Marc. This will I do, and soon return again. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Turn. Now will I hence about thy business, 
 And take my ministers along with me. 
 
 Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with 
 me; 
 Or else I'll call my brother back again, 
 And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 
 
 Tarn. [To her Sons.] What say you. boys 7 will 
 you abide with him, 
 Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor, 
 How I have govern'd our determin'd jest ? 
 Yield to his humor, smooth and speak him fair, 
 And tarry with him, till I come again. 
 
 Tit. I know them all, though they suppose me 
 mad; 
 And will o'er-reach them in their own devices, 
 A pair of cursed hell-hounds, and their dam. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure, leave us here. 
 
 Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus : Revenge now goes 
 To lay a complot to betray thy foes. 
 
 [Exit Tamora. 
 
 Tit. I know, thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, 
 farewell. 
 
 Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd? 
 
 Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. — 
 Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine ! 
 
 Enter Publius, and others. 
 Pub. What's your will ? 
 Tit. Know you these two ? 
 
 Pub. Th' empress' sons, 
 
 I take them, Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 Tit. Fye, Publius. fve ! thou art too much de- 
 ceiv'd ; 
 The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name : 
 And therefore bind them, gentle Publius; 
 Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them 
 Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour, 
 And now I find it : therefore bind them sure ; 
 And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry. 
 
 [Exit Titus. — Publius, Sfc. lay hold on 
 Chiron and Demetrius. 
 Chi. Villains, forbear: we are the empress' sons. 
 Pub. And therefore do we what we are com- 
 manded. — 
 Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word : 
 Is he sure bound? look, that you bind them fast. 
 
 Re-enter Titus Andronicus, with Lavinia; she 
 bearing a Bason, and he a Knife. 
 Tit. Come, come, Lavinia; look, thy foes are 
 bound ; — 
 Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me: 
 But l«t them hear what fearful words I utter. — 
 f) villains, Chirac and Demetrius! 
 
 Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with 
 
 mud; 
 This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. 
 You kill'd her husband ; and, for that vile fault. 
 Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death : 
 My hand cut off, and made a merry jest: 
 Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, mora 
 
 dear 
 Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastitv, 
 Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forced. 
 What would you say, if I should let you speak 1 
 Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
 Hark, wsetches, how I mean to martyr you. 
 This one hand yet is left to cut your throats, 
 Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold 
 The bason, that receives your guilty blood. 
 You know, your mother means to feast with me, 
 And calls herself, Revenge, and thinks me mad — 
 Hark, villains ; I will grind your bones to dust, 
 And with your blood and it, I'll make a paste ; 
 And of the paste a coffin 2 I will rear 
 And make two pasties of your shameful heads; 
 And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam, 
 Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. 
 This is the feast that I have bid her to, 
 And this the banquet she shall surfeit on; 
 For worse than Philomel you used my daughter, 
 And worse than Progne I will be revenged : 
 And now prepare your throats, — Lavinia, come, 
 
 [He cuts their Throats 
 Receive the blood : and, when that they are dead, 
 Let me go grind their bones to powder small, 
 And with this hateful liquor temper it; 
 And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. 
 Come, come, be every one officious 
 To make this banquet ; which I wish may prove 
 More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
 So, now bring them in. for I will play the cook, 
 And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 
 [Exeunt, bearing the dead Bodies. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Pavilion, with Tables, <S,c 
 
 Enter Lucius, Marcus, and Goths, with Aaron, 
 Prisoner. 
 Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind. 
 That I repair to Rome, I am content. 
 
 1 Goth. And ours, with thine, befall what fortune 
 
 will. 
 Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous 
 Moor, 
 This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
 Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, 
 Till he be brought unto the empress' face, 
 For testimony of her foul proceedings: 
 And see the ambush of our friends be strong : 
 I fear, the emperor means no good to us. 
 
 Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear, 
 And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth 
 The venomous malice of my swelling heart! 
 
 Luc. Away, inhuman dog, unhallow'd slave! — 
 Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. — 
 
 [Exeunt Goths with Aaron. Flourish. 
 The trumpets show the emperor is at hand. 
 Enter Saturninus and Tamora, with Tribunes, 
 Senators, and others. 
 Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than 
 
 one? 
 Luc. What boots it 3 thee, to call thyself a &un? 
 Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the 
 parle ; 
 These quarrels must be quietly debated. 
 » Crust of a raised pie. » Of what advantage id itT 
 
782 
 
 TITUS ANDR0N1CUS. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 The feast is ready which the careful Titus. 
 Hath ordain'd to an honorable end. 
 For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome : 
 Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your 
 places. 
 Sai. Marcus, we will. 
 [Hautboys sound. The Company sit down 
 at fable. 
 
 Enter Titus dressed like a Cook, Layinia, veiled, 
 Young Lucius, and others. Titus places the 
 Dishes on the Table. 
 
 Til. Welcome, my gracious lord : welcome, dread 
 queen ; 
 Welcome, ye warlike Goths; welcome, Lucius; 
 And welcome all : although the cheer be poor, 
 'Twill fill your stomachs ; please you eat of it. 
 Sat. Why art thou thus attired, Andronicus ? 
 Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well, 
 To entertain your highness, and your empress. 
 Tarn. We are beholden to you, good Andronicus. 
 Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you 
 were. 
 My lord the emperor, resolve me this; 
 Was it well done of rash Virginius, 
 To slay his daughter with his own right hand, 
 Because she was enforced, stain'd, and deflour'd 7 
 Sat. It was, Andronicus. 
 Tit. Your reason, mighty lord 7 
 Sat. Because the girl should not survive her 
 shame, 
 And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 
 
 Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual; 
 A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant, 
 For me, most wretched, to perform the like: — 
 Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ; 
 
 [He kills Lavinia. 
 And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die ! 
 Sat: What hast thou done, unnatural, and un- 
 kind? 
 Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made 
 me blind. 
 I am as woeful as Virginius was: 
 And have a thousand times more cause than he 
 To do this outrage ; — and it is now done. 
 
 Sat. What, was she ravish'd 7 tell, who did the 
 
 deed. 
 Tit. Will't please you eat 7 will't please your 
 
 highness feed? 
 Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter 
 
 thus? 
 Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius : 
 They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue, 
 And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. 
 Sal. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. 
 Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pie ; 
 Whereof their mother daintily hath fed, 
 Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred: 
 'Tis true, 'tis true : witness my knife's sharp point. 
 [Killing Tamora. 
 Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. 
 [Killing Titus. 
 Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed ? 
 There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. 
 [Kills Satuhninus. A great Tumult. The 
 People in confusion disperse. Marcus, 
 Lucius, and their Partisans, ascend the 
 Steps before Titus's House. 
 Marc. You sad-faced men, people and sons of 
 Rome, 
 By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl 
 Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
 0, let me teach you how to knit again 
 
 This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf, 
 These broken limbs again into one body. 
 
 Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto hersei. 
 And she, whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to, 
 Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away. 
 Do shameful execution on herself 
 But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, 
 Grave witnesses of true experience, 
 Cannot induce you to attend my word-s, — 
 Speak, Rome's dear friend; [7b Lucius.] as erst 
 
 our ancestor, 
 When with his solemn tongue he did discourse, 
 To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear, 
 The story of that baleful burning night, 
 When subtle Greeks surpris'd king Priam's Troy 
 Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, 
 Or who hath brought the fatal engine in, 
 That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound 
 My heart is not compact of flint, nor steel ; 
 Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, 
 But floods of tears will drown my oratory, 
 And break my very utterance ; even i' the time 
 When it should move you to attend me n.»ost, 
 Lending your kind commiseration : 
 Here is a captain, let him tell the tale ; 
 Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him spetV.c 
 
 Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you 
 That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
 Were they that murdered our emperor's brother ; 
 And they it were that ravished our sister: 
 For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ; 
 Our father's tears despised ; and basely cozen'd 
 Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out 
 And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
 Lastly, myself unkindly banished, 
 The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out, 
 To beg relief among Rome's enemies , 
 Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears, 
 And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend ; 
 And I am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you, 
 That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood ; 
 And from her bosom took the enemy's point, 
 Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. 
 Alas ! you know, I am no vaunter, I ; 
 My scars can witness, dumb although they are. 
 That my report is just, and full of truth. 
 But, soft ; methinks, I do digress too much, 
 Citing my worthless praise : O, pardon me ; 
 For when no friends are by, men praise themselves. 
 
 Marc. Now is my turn to speak ; behold this child, 
 [Pointing to the Childin the arms of an Attendan* . 
 Of this was Tamora delivered ; 
 The issue of an irreligious Moor, 
 Chief architect and plotter of these woes • 
 The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
 Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. 
 Now judge, what cause had Titus to revenge 
 These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience, 
 Or more than any living man could bear 
 Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Ro 
 
 mans? 
 Have we done aught amiss 7 Snow ue wherein, 
 And, from the place where you behold us now, 
 The poor remainder of Andronici 
 Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down, 
 And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains, 
 And make a mutual closure of our house. 
 Speak, Romans, speak; and, if you say, we shall, 
 Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. 
 
 JEmil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome 
 And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
 Lucius our emperor ; for well I know, 
 The common voice do cry, it shall be so. 
 
ScENJ HI 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 783 
 
 Rom. [Several speak.'] Lucius, all hail ; Rome's 
 royal emperor ! 
 
 Lucius, <£c. descend. 
 
 Marc. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house ; 
 [To an Attendant. 
 And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
 To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death, 
 As punishment for his most wicked life. 
 
 Rom. [Several speak.] Lucius, all hail ; Rome's 
 gracious governor ! 
 
 Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans, may I govern so, 
 To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe ! 
 But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, — 
 For nature puts me to a heavy task; — 
 Stand all aloof: — but, uncle, draw you near, 
 To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk : 
 O take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, 
 
 [Kisses Titus. 
 These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, 
 The last true duties of thy noble son ! 
 
 Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, 
 Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips : 
 O, were the sum of these that 1 should pay 
 Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them. 
 
 Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and learn 
 of us 
 To melt in showers: Thy grandsiro lov'd thee 
 
 well: 
 Many a time he danced thee on his knee, 
 Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ; 
 Many a matter hath he told to thee, 
 Meet, and agreeing with thine infancy ; 
 In that respect then, like a loving child, 
 Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, 
 Because kind nature doth require it so : 
 Friends should associate friends in grief and woe : 
 Bid him farewell; commit him to the grave; 
 Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 
 
 Boy. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with all my 
 heart 
 Would I were dead so you did live again ! — 
 
 lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping ; 
 My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. 
 
 Enter Attendants, with Aaron. 
 1 Rom. You sad Andronici, have done with woes 
 Give sentence on thfc execrable wretch, 
 That hath been breeder of these dire events. 
 Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish 
 him. 
 There let him stand, and rave and cry for food ■ 
 If any one relieves or pities him, 
 For the offence he dies. This is our doom : 
 Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth. 
 Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fury 
 'dumb 1 
 
 1 am no baby, I, that, with base prayers, 
 I should repent the evils I have done ; 
 Ten thousand, worse than ever yet I did, 
 Would I perform, if I might have my will ; 
 If one good deed in all my life I did, 
 
 I do repent it from my very soul. 
 
 Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor 
 hence, 
 And give him burial in his father's grave: 
 My father, and Lavinia, shall forthwith 
 Be closed in our household's monument. 
 As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
 No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, 
 No mournful bell shall ring her burial; 
 But throw her forth to beasts, and birds of prey . 
 Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity ; 
 And, being so, shall have like want of pity. 
 See justice done to Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 
 By whom our heavy haps had their beginning : 
 Then, afterwards, to order well the state ; 
 That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Bxeura 
 
PERICLES, 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Antiochus, King of Antioch. 
 Pericles, Prince of Tyre. 
 
 HeLICANCS, ) rrt t J f rn 
 
 c ' > 1 wo Lords of Tyre. 
 
 Lscanes, y j j 
 
 Simonides, King of Pentapolis. 
 Cleon, Governor of Tharsus. 
 Lysimachtjs, Governor of Mitylene. 
 Cerimon, a Lord of Ephesus. 
 Thaliard, a Lord of Antioch. 
 Philemon, Servant to Cerimon. 
 Leonine, Servant to Dionyza. 
 Marshal. 
 
 A Pandar, and his Wife. 
 Boclt, their Servant. 
 Gower, as Chorus. 
 
 The Daughter o/" Antiochus. 
 
 Dionyza, Wife to Cleon. 
 
 Thaisa, Daughter to Simonides. 
 
 Marina, Daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. 
 
 Ltchorida, Nurse to Marina. 
 
 Diana. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pi 
 rates, Fishermen, and Messengers, i(C. 
 
 SCENE, dispersedly in various countries. 
 
 That the reader may know through how many regions the scene of this drama is dispersed, it it 
 necessary to observe, that Antioch was the metropolis of Syria ; Tyre a city of Phoenicia, in Asia ; 
 Tharsus, the metropolis of Cilicia, a country of Asia Minor ; Mitylene, the capital of Lesbos, an island 
 in the ,<Egean sea ; and Ephesus, the capital of Ionia, a country of the Lesser Asia. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Enter Gower. 1 Before tne taloxe of Antioch. 
 
 To sing a song of old' was sung, 
 
 From ashes ancient Gower is come: 
 
 Assuming man's infirmities, 
 
 To glad your ear, and please your eyes. 
 
 It hath been sung at festivals, 
 
 On ember-eyes, and holy ales; 3 
 
 And lords and ladies of their lives 
 
 Have read it for restoratives : 
 
 'Purpose to make men glorious; 
 
 Et quo antiquius, eo melius. 
 
 If you, born in these latter times, 
 
 "When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes ; 
 
 And that to hear an old man sing, 
 
 May to your wishes pleasure bring, 
 
 I life would wish, and that I might 
 
 Waste it for you, like taper-light. — 
 
 This city then, Antioch the great 
 
 Built up for his chiefest seat; 
 
 The fairest in all Syria; 
 
 (I tell you what mine authors say :) 
 
 This king unto him took a pheere, 4 
 
 Who died and left a female heir, 
 
 So buxom, blithe, and full of face, 
 
 As heaven had lent her all his grace; 
 
 < Chorus, in the character of Gower, an ancient English 
 poet, who has related the story of this play in his Confes- 
 rio Amantis. 
 
 a t. e. That of old. » Whitsun-ales, &c. 
 
 4 Wife, the word signifies a mate or companion. 
 [784] 
 
 With whom the father liking took, 
 And her to incest did provoke : 
 Bad father ! to entice his own 
 To evil, should be done by none. 
 By custom, what they did begin, 
 Was, with long use, account 4 no sin. 
 The beauty of this sinful dame 
 Made many princes thither frame; 
 To seek her as a bed-fellow, 
 In marriage-pleasures play-fellow: 
 Which to prevent, he made a law, 
 (To keep her still, and men in awe,) 
 That whoso ask'd her for his wife, 
 His riddle told not, lost his life : 
 So for her many a wight did die, 
 As yon grim looks do testify. 6 
 What now ensues, to the judgment of your ey« 
 I give, my cause who best can justify. [Exit 
 
 SCENE I. — Antioch. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants 
 Ant. Young prince of Tyre, you have at large 
 receiv'd 
 The danger of the task you undertake. 
 
 Per. I have, Antiochus, and with a soul 
 Embolden'd with the glory of her praise, 
 Think death no hazard, in this enterpnze. [Music 
 
 • Accounted. 
 
 • Pointing to the scene of the palace gate at Antioch, on 
 which the heads of those unfortunate wights were fixed 
 
Scene 1 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 1 
 
 785 ! 
 
 Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, 
 For the embracemeuts even of Jove himself; 
 At whose conception, (till Lucina reign'' J,) 
 Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence, 
 The senace-nouse of planets all did sit, 
 To knit in her their best perfections. 
 
 Enter the Daughter of Antiochus. 
 
 Per. See, where she comes, apparell'd. like the 
 spring, 
 Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
 Of every virtue gives renown to men ! 
 Her face, the book of praises, where is read 
 Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
 Sorrow were ever ras'd, and testy wrath 
 Could never be her mild companion. 
 Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love, 
 That have inflam'd desire in my breast, 
 To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree, 
 Or die in the adventure, be my helps, 
 As I am son and servant to your will, 
 To compass such a boundless happiness ! 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles,' 
 
 Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. 
 
 Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, 
 With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd ; 
 For death-like dragons here affright thee hard : 
 Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view 
 A countless glory, which desert must gain : 
 And which, without desert, because thine eye 
 Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. 
 Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself, 
 Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire, 
 Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance 
 
 pale, 
 That, without covering, save yon field of stars, 
 They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars; 
 And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist, 
 For going on death's net, whom none resist. 
 
 Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught 
 My frail mortality to know itself, 
 And by those fearful objects to prepare 
 This body, like to them, to what I must: 
 For death remember'd, should be like a mirror, 
 Who tells us, life's but breath; to trust it, error. 
 I'll make my will then ; and as sick men do, 
 Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling wo, 
 Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did ; 
 So I bequeath a happy peace to you, 
 And all good men, as every prince should do; 
 My riches to the earth, from whence they came; 
 But my unspotted fire of love to you. 
 
 [To the Daughter of Antiochus. 
 Thus ready for the way of life or death, 
 I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus, 
 Scorning advice. 
 
 Ant. Read the conclusion then ; 
 
 Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed, 
 As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed. 
 
 Datigh. In all, save that, may'st thou prove pros- 
 perous! 
 In all, save that, I wish thee happiness ! 
 
 Per Like a bold champion, I assume the lists, 
 Nor ask advice of any other thought 
 But faithfulness, and courage. 
 
 [He reads the Riddle.] 
 
 J am no viper, yet I feed 
 On mother's flesh, which did me breed: 
 I sought a husband, in which labor, 
 I found that kindness in a father. 
 IV s father, son, and husband mild, 
 J mother, wife, and yet his child. 
 
 Hoiv they may be, and yet in two, 
 As you will live, resolve it you. 
 Sharp physic is the last: but O you powers 
 That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts, 
 Why cloud they not their sights perpetually, 
 If this be true, which makes me pale to read it! 
 Fair glass of light, I lov'd you, and could still, 
 
 [Takes hold of the Hand of the Princess. 
 Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill : 
 But I must tell you, — now, my thoughts revolt; 
 For he's no man on whom perfections wait, 
 That knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
 You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings: 
 Who, finger'd to make man his lawful music, 
 Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to 
 
 hearken ; 
 But, being play'd upon before your time, 
 Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime : 
 Good sooth, I care not for you. 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life, 
 For that's an article within our law, 
 As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expir'd; 
 Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 
 
 Per. Great king, 
 Few love to hear the sins they love to act; 
 'Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it. 
 Who has a book of all that monarchs do, 
 He's more secure to keep it shut, than shown; 
 For vice repeated, is like the wand'ring wind, 
 Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself; 
 And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, 
 The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear: 
 To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole 
 
 casts 
 Cop'd' hills towards heaven, to tell, the earth is 
 
 wrong'd 
 By man's oppression; and the poor worm doth die 
 
 for't. 
 Kings are earth's gods : in vice their law's their will ; 
 And if Jove stray, who dares say, Jove doth ill? 
 It is enough you know ; and it is fit, 
 What being more known grows worse, to smother it 
 All love the womb that their first beings bred, 
 Then give my tongue like leave to love my head. 
 Ant. Heaven, that I had thy head ! he has found 
 
 the meaning; — ■ 
 But I will gloze" with him. [Aside.'] Young prince 
 
 of Tyre, 
 Though by the tenor of our strict edict, 
 Your exposition misinterpreting, 
 We might proceed to cancel of your days;' 
 Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree 
 As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise: 
 Forty days longer we do respite you ; 
 If by which time our secret be undone, 
 This mercy shows, we'll joy in such a son : 
 And until then, your entertain shall be, 
 As doth befit our honor, and your worth. 
 
 [Exeunt Antiochus, his Daughter, and 
 Attendants. 
 Per. How courtesy would seem to cover sin! 
 When what is done is like a hypocrite, 
 The which is good in nothing but in sight. 
 If it be true that I interpret false, 
 Then were it certain, you were not so bad. 
 As with foul incest to abuse your soul; 
 Where' now )ou're both a father and a son. 
 By your untimely claspings with your child ; 
 (Which pleasure fits a husband, not a father;) 
 And she an eater of her mother's flesh, 
 By the defiling of her parent's bed ; 
 
 1 Rising to a top or head. • Flatter, insinuate 
 
 • To the destruction of your life. » Whereas 
 
786 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 A:rr 1 
 
 And both like serpents are, who though they feed 
 On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
 Antioch, farewell ! for wisdom sees, those men 
 Blush not in actions blacker than the night, 
 Will shun no course to keep them from the light. 
 One sin, I know, another doth provoke; 
 Murder's as near to lust, as flame to smoke. 
 Poison and treason are the hands of sin, 
 Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame: 
 Then, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear, _ 
 By flight I'll shun the danger which I fear. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Antiochus. 
 Ant. He hath found the meaning, for the which 
 we mean 
 To have his head. 
 
 He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, 
 Nor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin 
 In such a loathed manner : 
 And therefore instantly this prince must die ; 
 For by his fall my honor must keep high. 
 Who attends on us there 1 
 
 Enter Thaliard. 
 Thai. Doth your highness call 1 
 
 Ant. Thaliard, you're of our chamber, and our 
 mind 
 Partakes her private actions to your secresy ; 
 And for your faithfulness we will advance you. 
 Thaliard, behold, here's poison, and here's gold ; 
 We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou must kill 
 
 him; 
 It fits thee not to ask the reason why, 
 Because we bid it. Say, is it done 1 
 
 Thai. My lord, 
 
 'Tis done. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Ant. Enough; 
 Lest yjur breath cool yourself, telling your haste. 
 
 Mess. My lord, prince Pericles is fled. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. As thou 
 
 Wilt live, fly after : and, as an arrow, shot 
 From a well-experienced archer, hits the mark 
 His eye doth level at, so ne'er return, 
 Unless thou say, prince Pericles is dead. 
 
 Thai. My lord, if I 
 Can get him once within my pistol's length, 
 I'll make him sure : so farewell to your highness. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Thaliard, adieu ! till Pericles be dead, 
 My heart can lend no succor to my head. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Tyre. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Pericles, Helicanvs, and other Lords. 
 Per. Let none disturb us : Why this change of 
 
 thoughts 1 
 The sad companion, dull-ey'd melancholy, 
 By me so used a guest is, not an hour, 
 In the day's glorious walk, or peaceful night 
 (The tomb where grief should sleep,) can breed me 
 
 quiet ! 
 Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes 
 
 shun them, 
 And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch, 
 Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here . 
 Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, 
 Nor yet the other's distance comfort me. 
 Then it is thus : the passions of the mind, 
 That have their first conception by mis-dread, 
 Have after-rtourishment and life by care ; 
 And what was first but fear what might be done, 
 Grows elder now, and cares it be not done, 
 \nd so with mc ; — the great Antiochus 
 
 ('Gainst whom I am too little to contend, 
 Since he's so great, can make his will his act) 
 Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence ; 
 Nor boots it me to say, I honor him, 
 If he suspect I may dishonor him : 
 And what may make him blush in being known, 
 He'll stop the course by which it might be known , 
 With hostile forces he'll o'erspread the land, 
 And with the ostent of war will look so huge, 
 Amazement shall drive courage from the state, 
 Our men be vanquish'd, ere they do resist, 
 And subjects punish'd, that ne'er thought offence 
 Which care of them, not pity of myself, 
 (Who am no more but as the tops of trees, 
 Which fence the roots they grow by, and defend 
 
 them,) 
 Makes both my body pine, and soul to languisb 
 And punish that before, that he would punish. 
 
 1 Lord. Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast . 
 
 2 Lord. And keep your mind, till you return to us. 
 Peaceful and comfortable ! 
 
 Hel. Peace, peace, my lords, and give experience 
 tongue. 
 They do abuse the king that flatter him : 
 For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; 
 The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark, 
 To which that breath gives heat and stronger glow- 
 ing; 
 Whereas reproof, obedient, and in order, 
 Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err. 
 When signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace, 
 He flatters you, makes war upon your life : 
 Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please; 
 I cannot be much lower than my knees. 
 
 Per. All leave us else ; but let your cares o'erlook 
 What shipping, and what lading's in our haven. 
 And then return to us. [Exeunt Lords.] Helicanus, 
 
 thou 
 Hast moved us : what see'st thou in our looks 1 
 
 Hel. An angry brow, dread lord. 
 
 Per. If there be such a dart in princes' frowns, 
 How durst thy tongue move anger to our face 1 
 
 Hel. How dare the plants look up to heaven, 
 from whence 
 They have their nourishment 1 
 
 Per. Thou know'st I have power 
 
 To take thy life. 
 
 Hel. [Kneeling.'] I have ground the axe myself; 
 Do you but strike the blow. 
 
 Per. Rise, pr'ythee, rise ; 
 
 Sit down, sit down ; thou art no flatterer : 
 I thank thee for it ; and high heaven forbid, 
 That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid 1 
 Fit counsellor, and servant for a prince, 
 Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant, 
 What wouldst thou have me do ? 
 
 Hel. With patience bear 
 
 Such griefs as you do lay upon yourself. 
 
 Per. Thou speak'st like a physician, Helicanus; 
 Who minister'st a potion unto me, 
 That thou would'st tremble to receive thyself. 
 Attend me then : I went to Antioch, 
 Where, as thou know'st, against the face of leath 
 I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty, 
 From whence an issue I might propagate, 
 Bring arms to princes, and to subjects joys. 
 Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ; 
 The rest, (hark in thine ear,) as black as incest ; 
 Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father 
 Seem'd not to strike, but smooth: but thou 
 
 know'st this, 
 'Tis time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss. 
 Whicn fear so grew In me, I hither fled ; 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 7W 
 
 fjmlei the covering of a careful night, 
 Who seem'd my good protector; and heing here, 
 Bethought me what was past, what might succeed. 
 I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrants' fears 
 Decrease not, but grow faster than their years: 
 And should he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth,) 
 That I should open to the iistening air, 
 How many worthy princes' bloods were shed, 
 To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, — 
 To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms, 
 And make pretence of wrong that I have done him, 
 When all, for mine, if I may call't offence, 
 Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence: 
 Which love to all (of which thyself art one, 
 Who now reprov'st me for it) 
 
 Hel. Alas, sir ! 
 
 Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from 
 my cheeks, 
 Musings into my mind, a thousand doubts 
 How I might stop this tempest, ere it came; 
 And finding little comfort to relieve them, 
 [ thought it princely charity to grieve them. 
 
 Hel. Well, my lord, since you have given me 
 leave to speak, 
 Freely I'll speak. Antiochus you fear, 
 And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant, 
 Who either by public war, or private treason, 
 Will take away your life. 
 Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while, 
 Till that his rage and anger be forgot, 
 Or destinies do cut his thread of life. 
 Your rule direct to any ; if to me, 
 Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be. 
 
 Per. I do not doubt thy faith ; 
 But should he wrong my liberties in absence — 
 
 Hel. We'll mingle bloods together in the earth, 
 From whence we had our being and our birth. 
 
 Per. Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to 
 Tharsus 
 Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee ; 
 And by whose letters I'll dispose myself. 
 The care I had and have of subjects' good, 
 On thee I lay, whose wisdom's strength can bear it. 
 I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath; 
 Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both: 
 But in our orbs 3 we'll live so round and safe, 
 That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince,' 
 Thou show'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Tyre. An Ante-chamber in the 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Thaliard. 
 
 Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. 
 Here must I kill king Pericles; and, if I do not, I 
 am sure to be hanged at home: 'tis dangerous. — 
 Well, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had 
 good discretion, that being bid to ask what he would 
 of the king, desired he might know none of his 
 secrets. Now do I see he had some reason for it: 
 for if a king bid a man be a villain, he is bound by 
 he indenture of his oath to be one. — Hush, here 
 come the lords of Tyre. 
 Enter Hklicanus, Escanes, and other Lords. 
 
 Hel. You shall net need, my fellow peers of Tyre, 
 Further to question of yoi.r king's departure. 
 His seal'd commission, left in trust with me, 
 Doth speak sufficiently, he's gone to travel. 
 
 Thai How ! the king gone ? [Aside. 
 
 Hel. If further yet you will be satisfied, 
 A'hy, us it wer« unli.censY of your loves. 
 
 * Tn our different SDheres. * Overcome. 
 
 He would depart, I'll give some light unto you. 
 Being at Antioch 
 
 Thai. What from Antioch? [Asidt. 
 
 Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause I know 
 not) 
 Took some displeasure at him ; at least he judg'd so. 
 And doubting lest that he had err'd or sinn'd, 
 To show his sorrow, would correct himself; 
 So puts himself unto the shipman's toil, 
 With whom each minute threatens life or death. 
 
 Thai. Well, I perceive [Aside. 
 
 I shall not be hang'd now, although I would ; 
 But since he's gone, the king it sure must please, 
 He 'scap'd the land, to perish on the seas. — 
 But I'll present me. Peace to the lords of Tyre ! 
 
 Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome. 
 
 Thai. From him I come 
 With message unto princely Pericles: 
 But, since my landing, as I have understood 
 Your lord has took himself to unknown travels, 
 My message must return from whence it came. 
 
 Hel. We have no reason to desire it, since 
 Commended to our master, not to us: 
 Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire, — 
 As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE I V.— Tharsus. A Room in the Governor's 
 
 House. 
 Enter Cleon, Dionyza, and Attendants. 
 
 Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, 
 And by relating tales of others' griefs, 
 See if 'twill teach us to forget our own? 
 
 Dio. That were to blow at fire, in hope to 
 quench it; 
 For who digs hills because they do aspire, 
 Throws down one mountain, to cast up a higher. 
 O my distressed lord, even such our griefs; 
 Here they're but felt, and seen with mistful eyes, 
 But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, 
 Who wanteth food, and will not say he wants it, 
 Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish? 
 Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes 
 Into the air: our eyes do weep, till lungs 
 Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder; that, 
 If heaven slumber, while their creatures want, 
 They may awake their helps to comfort them. 
 I'll then discourse our woes, felt several years, 
 And wanting breath to speak, help me r vith tears. 
 
 Dio. I'll do my best, sir. 
 
 Cle. This Tharsus, o'er which I have government, 
 (A city, on whom plenty held full hand,) 
 For riches, strew'd herself even in the streets; 
 Whose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the 
 
 clouds, 
 And strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at; 
 Whose men and dames so jetted' and adorn'd, 
 Like one another's glass to trim them by: 
 Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight, 
 And not so much to feed on, as delight; 
 All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, 
 The name of help grew odious to repeat. 
 
 Dio. O, 'tis too true. 
 
 Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this oui 
 change, 
 These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air, 
 Were all too little to content and please. 
 Although they gave their creatures in abundance. 
 As houses are defil'd for want of use, 
 They are now starv'd for want ?f exercise: 
 Those palates, who, not yet two summers younger 
 4 To jet is to strut, to walk prcudly 
 

 PERICLES. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Must have inventions to delight the taste, 
 Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it ; 
 Those mothers who, to nousle ' up their babes, 
 Thought nought too curious, are ready now, 
 To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd. 
 So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
 Draw lots, who first shall die to lengthen life: 
 Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping; 
 Here many sink, yet those which see them fall, 
 Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
 Is not this true? 
 
 Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. 
 
 Cle. O, let those cities, that of plenty's cup 
 And her prosperities so largely taste, 
 With their superfluous riots, hear these tears ! 
 The misery of Tharsus may be theirs. 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. Where's the lord governor ! 
 
 C/e. Here. 
 Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st, in haste, 
 For comfort is too far for us to expect. 
 
 Lord. We have descried, upon our neighboring 
 shore, 
 A portly sail of ships make hitherward. 
 
 Cle. I thought as much. 
 One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir, 
 That may succeed as his inheritor; 
 And so in ours: some neighboring nation, 
 Taking advantage of our misery, 
 Hath stuff'd these hollow vessels with their power, 
 To beat us down, the which are down already; 
 And make a conquest of unhappy me, 
 Whereas no glory's got to overcome. 
 
 Lord. That's the least fear : for, by the semblance 
 Of their white flags display 'd, they bring us peace, 
 And come to us as favorers, not as foes. 
 
 Cle. Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repeat, 
 
 Who makes the fairest show, means most dccit. 
 But bring they what they will, what need we fear! 
 The ground's the low'st, and we are half way there 
 Go tell their general, we attend him here, 
 To know for what he comes, and whence he comes. 
 And what he craves. 
 
 Lord. I go, my lord. [Exit* 
 
 Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist • 
 If wars, we are unable to resist. 
 
 Enter Pericles, with Attendants. 
 
 Per. Lord governor, for so we hear you are, 
 Let not our ships and number of our men, 
 Be, like a beacon fired, to amaze your eyes. 
 We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 
 And seen the desolation of your streets: 
 Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, 
 But to relieve them of their heavy load ; 
 And these our ships you happily may think 
 Are, like the Trojan horse, war-stuff 'd within, 
 With bloody views, expecting overthrow, 
 Are stored with corn, to make your needy bread, 
 And give them life, who are hunger-starv'd, half 
 dead. 
 
 All. The gods of Greece protect you ! 
 And we'll pray lor you. 
 
 Per. Rise, I pray you, rise: 
 
 We do not look for reverence, but for love, 
 And harborage for ourself, our ships, and men. 
 
 Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, 
 Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, 
 Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, 
 The curse of heaven and men succeed their evila ! 
 Till when (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen) 
 Your grace is welcome to our town and us. 
 
 Per. Which welcome we'll accept; feast hem 
 a while, 
 Until our stars that frown, lend us a smile. [Ext. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Gow. Heie have you seen a mighty king 
 His child, I wis, 6 to incest bring; 
 A better prince, and benign lord, 
 Prove awful both in deed and word. 
 Be quiet then, as men should be, 
 Till he hath pass'd necessity. 
 I'll show you those in trouble's reign, 
 Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 
 The good in conversation 1 
 (To whom I give my benizon) 
 Is still at Tharsus, where each man 
 Thinks all is writ he spoken can: 
 And, to remember what he does, 
 Gild his statue glorious: 
 But tidings to the contrary 
 Are brought your eyes; what need speak I? 
 Dumb Show. Enter at one Door, Pericles, 
 talking with Cleon; all the Train with them. 
 Enter at another Door, a Gentleman, with a 
 Letter to Pericles; Pericles shows tltKLetfer 
 to Cleox ; then gives the Messenger a reward, 
 and kriights him. Exeunt Pericles, Cleon, 
 <fc., severally. 
 
 Gow. Good Helicane hath staid at home, 
 Not to eat honey, like a drone, 
 From others' labors; forth he strive 
 To killen bad, keep good alive ; 
 And, to fulfil his prince' desire, 
 Nurse fondly. • Know. ' t. e. Conduct, behavior. 
 
 Sends word of all that haps in Tyre: 
 
 How Thaliard came full bent with sin, 
 
 And hid intent, to murder him; 
 
 And that in Tharsus was not best 
 
 Longer for him to make his rest : 
 
 He knowing so, put forth to seas, 
 
 Where when men been, there's seldom ease; 
 
 For now the wind begins to Mow; 
 
 Thunder above, and deeps below, 
 
 Make such unquiet, that the ship 
 
 Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split; 
 
 And he, good prince, having all lost, 
 
 By waves from coast to coast is tost : 
 
 All perishen of man, of pelf, 
 
 Ne aught escapen but himself; 
 
 Till fortune, tired with doing bad, 
 
 Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 
 
 And here he comes: what shall be next, 
 
 Pardon old Gower: this long's the text. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. — Pentapolis An open Place by tht 
 Sea-side. 
 Enter Pekicles, wet. 
 Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven! 
 Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man 
 Is but a substance that must yield to you; 
 'And I, as fits my nature, do obey you; 
 Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 
 Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath 
 Nothing to think on, but ensuing death 
 • If he stands on pei«ce. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 PRfNCE OF TYRE. 
 
 780 
 
 Let it suffice the greatness of your powers, 
 To have oereft a prince of all his fortunes; 
 And having thrown him from your wat'ry grave, 
 Here to have death in peace, is all he'll crave. 
 
 Enter three Fishermen. 
 
 1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche ! 
 
 2 Fish. Ho ! come, and bring away the nets. 
 1 Fish. What, Patch-breech, I say ! 
 
 3 Fish. What say you, master 1 ? 
 
 1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now ! come away, 
 or I'll fetch thee with a wannion. 
 
 3 Fish. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor 
 men that were cast away before us, even now. 
 
 1 Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to 
 hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to help them, 
 when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves. 
 
 3 Fish. Nay, master, said not I as much, when 
 I saw the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled ? 
 they say, they are half fish, half flesh; a plague on 
 them, they ne'er come, but I look to be washed. 
 Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, as men do a-land : the great ones 
 eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich mi- 
 sers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; 'a plays and 
 tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at 
 last devours them all at a mouthful. Such whales 
 have I heard on a'the land, who never leave gaping, 
 till they've swallow'd the whole parish, church, 
 steeple, bells, and all. 
 
 Per. A pretty moral. 
 
 3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I 
 vould have been that day in the belfry. 
 
 2 Fish. Why, man? 
 
 3 Fish. Because he should have swallowed me 
 too: and when I had been in his belly, I would 
 have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he 
 should never have left, till he east bells, steeple, 
 church, and parish, up again. But if the good 
 king Simonides were of my mind 
 
 Per. Simonides! 
 
 3 Fish. We would purge the land of these drones, 
 that rob the bee of her honey. 
 
 Per. How from the finny subject of the sea 
 These fishers tell the infirmities of men; 
 And from their wat'ry empire recollect 
 All that may men approve, or men detect ! 
 Peace be to your labor, honest fishermen. 
 
 2 Fish. Honest! good fellow, what's that? if it 
 be a day fits you, scratch it out of the calendar, 
 and nobody will look after it. 
 
 Per. Nay. see, the sea hath cast upon your coast — 
 
 2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to 
 2ast thee in our way ! 
 
 Per. A man whom both the waters and the wind, 
 In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball 
 For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; 
 He asks of you, that never used to beg. 
 
 1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here's them 
 in our country of Greece, gets more with begging, 
 than we can do with working. 
 
 2 Fish. Canst thou catch any fishes then ? 
 Per. I never practised it. 
 
 2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve sure ; for 
 here's nothing to be got now-a-days, unless thou 
 canst fish for't. 
 
 Per. What I have been, I have forgot to know; 
 But what I am, want teaches me to think on ; 
 \ man shrunk up with cold: my veins are chill, 
 And have no more of life, than may suffice 
 To give my tongue that heat, to ask your help; 
 Which if you shall refuse, when 1 am dead, 
 For I am a man, prav see me buried. 
 
 1 Fish. Die, quoth-a? Now gods forbid ! I have 
 a gown here; come, put it on; keep f hee warm. 
 Now, afore me, a handsome fellow ! Conie, thou 
 shalt go home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, 
 fish for fasting days, and moreo'er, puddings and 
 flap-jacks, 9 and thou shalt be welcome. 
 
 Per. I thank you, sir. 
 
 2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you coull 
 not beg. 
 
 Per. I did but crave. 
 
 2 Fish. But crave ? Then I'll turn crave* too, 
 and so I shall 'scape whipping. 
 
 Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped, then ? 
 
 2 Fish. O, not all, my friend, not all ; for if all 
 your beggars were whipped, I would wifh no bet- 
 ter office, than to be beadle. But, master, I'll go 
 draw up the net. [Exeunt two of the Fishermen. 
 
 Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their 
 labor ! 
 
 1 Fish. Hark you, sir; do you know where you 
 are? 
 
 Per. Not well. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, I'll tell you : this is called Penta 
 polis, and our king, the good Simonides. 
 
 Per. The good king Simonides, do you call him' 
 
 1 Fish. Ay, sir; and he deserves to be so called 
 for his peaceable reign, and good government. 
 
 Per. He is a happy kipg, since from his subject! 
 He gains the name of good, by his government. 
 How far is his court distant from this shore? 
 
 1 Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey ; and I'll 
 tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is 
 her birth-day ; and there are princes and knights 
 come from all parts of the world, to just and tour- 
 ney for her love. 
 
 Per. Did but my fortunes equal my desires. 
 I'd wish to make one there. 
 
 1 Fish. 0, sir, things must be as they may ; and 
 what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for — 
 his wife's soul. 
 
 Re-enter the two Fishermen, drawing up a Net. 
 
 2 Fish Help, master, help; here's a fish hangs 
 in the net, like a poor man's right in the law ; 'twill 
 hardly come out. Ha ! bots on't, 'tis come at last, 
 and 'tis turned to a rusty armor. 
 
 Per. An armor, friends ! I pray you, let me see it. 
 Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crosses, 
 Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself; 
 And, though it was mine own, part of mine heritage, 
 Which my dead father did bequeath to me, 
 With this strict charge, (even as he left his life,) 
 Keep if, my Pericles, it hath been a shield 
 ' Twixt me and death, (and pointed to this brace : ') 
 For that it sav'd me. keep it; in like necessity, 
 Which gods protect thee from.' it may defejid thee, 
 It kept wnere I kept, I so dearly lov'd it; 
 Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, 
 Took it in rage, though, calm'd, they give't again : 
 I thank thee for't; my shipwreck's now no ill, 
 Since I have here my father's gift by will. 
 
 1 Fish. What mean you, sir? 
 
 Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of 
 worth, 
 For it was sometime target to a king; 
 I know it by this mark. He lov'd me dearly, 
 Ami for his sake, I wish the having of it; 
 And that you'd guide me to your sovereign's court, 
 Where with't I may appear a gentleman; 
 And if that ever my low fortunes better, 
 I'll pay your bounties; till then, rest ynur debtor 
 
 1 Fish. Why wilt thou tourney for the lady? 
 » Pan-cakes » Armor for the arti. 
 
790 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act 1 1 
 
 Per. I'll show the virtue I have borne in arms. 
 
 1 Fisn. Why, do ye take it, and the gods give 
 thee good on't! 
 
 2 Fish. Ay, but hark you, my friend: 'twas we 
 that made up this garment through the rough seams 
 of the waters: there are certain condolements, cer- 
 tain vails. I hope, sir, if you thrive, you'll remem- 
 ber from whence you had it. 
 
 Per. Believe't, I will. 
 Now, by your furtherance, I am cloth'd in steel ; 
 And spite of all the rupture of the sea, 
 This jewel holds his bidding on my arm ; 
 Unto thy value will I mount myself 
 Upon a courser, whose delightful steps 
 Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. — 
 Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
 Of a pai of bases. 3 
 
 2 Fish. We'll sure provide: thoushalt have my 
 best gown to make thee a pair; and I'll bring thee 
 to the court myself. 
 
 Per. Then honor be but a goal to my will ; 
 This day I'll rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. -The same. A Public Way, or 
 Platform, leading fo the Lists. A Pavilion by 
 the side of it, for the reception of the King, 
 Princess, Lords, fyc. 
 Z?77/erSiM0-\iuEs,TiiAiSA, Lords, and Attendants. 
 Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph? 
 1 Lord. They are, my liege; 
 And stay your coining to present themselves. 
 Sim. Return them, 4 we are ready; and our 
 daughtei, 
 In honor of whose birth these triumphs are, 
 Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat 
 For me to see, and seeing, wonder at. 
 
 [Exit a Lord. 
 Thai, it pleaseth you, my father, to express 
 My commendations great, whose merit's less. 
 
 Sim. 'Tis fit it should be so ; for princes are 
 A model, which heaven makes like to itself: 
 As jewels lose their glory, if neglected, 
 So princes their renown, if not respected. 
 'Tis now your honor, daughter, to explain 
 The labor of each knight, in his device. 
 
 Thai. Which, to preserve mine honor, I'll per- 
 form. 
 filter a Knight ; he passes over the Stage, and his 
 Squire presents his Shield to the Princess. 
 Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? 
 Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield, 
 Is a black iEthiop, reaching at the sun ; 
 The word, Lux tua vita mild. 
 
 Sim. He loves you well, that holds his life of you. 
 [The second Knight passes. 
 Who is the second, that presents himself? 
 
 Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield 
 Is an arm'd knight, that's conquer'd by a lady : 
 The motto thus, in Spanish, Piu per dulqura que 
 per fuerca* [The third Knight passes. 
 Sim. And what's the third ? 
 Thai. ■ The third, of Antioch ; 
 
 And his device, a wreath of chivalry: 
 The word, Me pompse provexit afAX. 
 
 [The fourth Knight passes. 
 Sim. What is the fourth? 
 Tha>. A burning torch, that's turned upside down: 
 Tie word, Quod me a/it, me extinguit. 
 
 9 Seeping. 3 A kind of loose breeches, 
 
 t. e. Return them notice. 
 » i. e More by 8Kee*n»ss than by force. 
 
 Sim. Which shows that Leauty hath his powei 
 and will, 
 Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. 
 
 [The fifth Knight passes 
 Thai. The fifth, a hand environed with clouds 
 Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried ■ 
 The motto thus, Sic spectanda fides. 
 
 [The sixth Knight passes, 
 Sim. And what's the sixth and last, which th« 
 knight himself 
 With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd ? 
 
 Thai. He seems a stranger; but his present is 
 A wither'd branch, that's only green at top; 
 The motto, In hac spe vivo. 
 
 Sim. A pretty moral; 
 From the dejected state wherein he is, 
 He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 
 
 1 Lord. He had need mean better than his out 
 
 ward show 
 Can any way speak in his just commend : 
 For, by his rusty outside, he appears 
 To have practis'd more the whipstock, than the 
 
 lance. 
 
 2 Lord. He well may be a stranger, for he comes 
 To an honor'd triumph, strangely furnished. 
 
 3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armor rust, 
 Until this day, to scour it in the dust. 
 
 Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan 
 The outward habit by the inward man. 
 But stay, the knights are coming; we'll withdraw 
 Into the gallery. [Exeunt. 
 
 [Great shouts,- and all cry, The mean knight! 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. A Hall of State.— A 
 
 Banquet prepared. 
 
 Enter Simoxides, Thatsa, Lords, Knights, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Knights, 
 To say you are welcome, were superfluous. 
 To place upon the volume of your deeds, 
 As in a title-page, your worth in arms, 
 Were more than you expect, or more than's fit, 
 Since every worth in show commends itself. 
 Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast: 
 You are my guests. 
 
 Thai. But you, my knight and guest, 
 
 To whom this wreath of victory I give, 
 And crown you king of this day's happiness. 
 
 Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than by merit. 
 
 Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours 
 And here, I hope, is none that envies it. 
 In framing artists, art hath thus decreed, 
 To make some good, but others to exceed ; 
 And you're her labor'd scholar. Come, queen o' 
 
 the feast, 
 (For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place . 
 Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 
 
 Knights. We are honor'd much by good Simo- 
 nides. 
 
 Sim. Your presence glads our days; honor we 
 love, 
 For who hates honor, hates the gods above. 
 
 Marsh. Sir, yond's your place. 
 
 Per. Some other is more fit 
 
 1 Knight. Contend not, sir; for we are gentle- 
 men, 
 That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes, 
 Envy the great, nor do the low despise. 
 
 Per. You are right courteous knights. 
 
 Sirri. Sit, sit, sir ; sit 
 
 Per. By Jove, I wonder, that rs king of thought 
 These cates resist me," she not thought upon. 
 «i e. These delicacies go against my stomach. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 7»J 
 
 Thai. By Juno, that is queen 
 Of marriage, all the viands that I eat 
 Do seem unsavory, wishing him my meat; 
 Sure he's a gallant gentleman. 
 
 .Sim. He's but 
 
 \ country gentleman; 
 
 He has done no more than other knights have done, 
 Bnken a staff, or so; so let it pass. 
 
 rhai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 
 
 Per. Yon king's to me, like to my father's pic- 
 ture, 
 Which tells me, in that glory once he was; 
 Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, 
 And he the sun, for them to reverence. 
 None that beheld him, but, like lesser lights, 
 Did vail their crowns to his supremacy ; 
 Where now his son's a glow-worm in the night, 
 The which hath fire in darkness, none in light; 
 Whereby I see that time's the king of men, 
 For he's their parent, and he is their grave, 
 And gives them what he will, not what they crave. 
 
 Sim. What, are you merry, knights? 
 
 1 Knight. Who can be other, in this royal pre- 
 sence ? 
 
 Sim. Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto the brim, 
 (As you do love, fill to your mistress' lips,) 
 We drink this health to you. 
 
 Knights. We thank your grace. 
 
 Sim. Yet pause a while; 
 Yon knight, methinks, doth sit too melancholy, 
 As if the entertainment in our court 
 Had not a show might countervail his worth. 
 Note it not you, Thaisa ? 
 
 Thai. What is it 
 
 To me, my father] 
 
 Sim. 0, attend, my daughter; 
 
 Princes, in this, should live like gods above, 
 Who freely give to every one that comes 
 To honor them : and princes, not doing so, 
 Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd 
 Are wonder'd at. 
 
 Therefore to make's entrance more sweet, here say, 
 We drink this standing bowl of wine to him. 
 
 Thai. Alas, my father, it befits not me 
 Unto a stranger knight to be so bold; 
 He may my proffer take for an offence, 
 Since men ta'ke women's gifts for impudence. 
 
 Sim. How! 
 Do as I bid you, or you'll move me else. 
 
 Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please 
 me better. [Aside. 
 
 Sim. And further tell him we desire to know, 
 3 If whence he is, his name and parentage. 
 
 Thai. The king, my father, sir, has drunk to you. 
 
 Per. I thank him. 
 
 Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. 
 
 Per. I thank both him and you, and pledge him 
 freely. 
 
 rhai. And further he desires to know of you, 
 Of whence you are, your name and parentage. 
 
 Per. A gentleman of Tyre; — (my name. Pericles; 
 My education being in arts and arms:) — 
 Who, looking for adventures in the world, 
 Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men. 
 A.nd, after shipwreck, driven upon this shore. 
 
 Thai. He thanks your grace; names himself 
 Pericles, 
 A gentleman of Tyre, who only by 
 Misfortune of the seas has been bereft 
 Of ships and men, and cast upon this shore. 
 
 Sim. Now by the gods, I pity his misfortune, 
 And will awake him from his melancholy. 
 Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles. 
 
 And waste the time, which looks for other revels. 
 Even in your armors, as you are address'd, 
 Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
 I will not have excuse, with saying, this 
 Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads; 
 Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. 
 
 [The Knights danu. 
 So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perform'd. 
 Come, sir; 
 
 Here is a lady that wants breathing too: 
 And I have often heard, you knights of Tyie 
 Are excellent in making ladies trip; 
 And that their measures are as excellent. 
 
 Per. In those that practise them, they are, my 
 lord. 
 
 Sim. O, that's as much as you would be deny'd 
 [The Knights and Ladies dance. 
 Of your fair courtesy. — Unclasp, unclasp; 
 Thanks, gentlemen, to all; all have done well, 
 But you the best. [7b Pericles.] Pages and lights, 
 
 conduct 
 These knights unto their »everal lodgings: Yours, 
 
 sir, 
 We have given orders to be next our own. 
 
 Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 
 
 Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love. 
 For that's the mark I know you level at: 
 Therefore each one betake him to his rest ; 
 To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. [Exe. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Tyre. A Room in the Governor's 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Helicanus and Escanes. 
 
 Hel. No, no, my Escanes; know this of me, — 
 Antiochus from incest liv'd not free; 
 For which, the most high gods not minding longer 
 To withhold the vengeance that they had in store, 
 Due to this heinous capital offence, 
 Even in the height and pride of all his glory, 
 When he was seated, and his daughter with him, 
 In a chariot of inestimable value, 
 A fire from heaven came, and shrivell'd up 
 Their bodies even to loathing ; for they so stunk, 
 That all those eyes ador'd them, ere their fall, 
 Scorn now their hand should give them bursal. 
 
 Esca. 'Twas very strange. 
 
 Hel. And yet but just ; for though 
 
 This king was great, his greatness was no guard 
 To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. 
 
 Esca. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Enter three Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference, 
 Or council, has respect with him but he. 
 
 2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve without reprooi. 
 
 3 Lord, Follow me then: Lord Helicane, a word. 
 Hel. With me ? and welcome .■ Happy day, my 
 
 lords. 
 1 Lord. Know that our griefs are risen to the top. 
 And now at length they overflow their banks. 
 Hel. Your griefs, for what? wrong not the princ< 
 you love. 
 
 1 Lord. Wrong not yourself then, noble Helicane 
 But if the prince do live, let us salute him, 
 
 Or know what ground's made happy by his breath 
 
 If in the world he live, we'll seek him out; 
 
 If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there; 
 
 And be resolv'd he lives to govern us, 
 
 Or dead, gives cause 'o mourn his funeral, 
 
 And le;i% es us to our free election. 
 
 2 Lord. Whose death's, indeed, the strongest io 
 
 our censure: 
 And knowing this kingdom, if without a hcaJ 
 
792 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act II 
 
 (Like goodly buildings left without a roof,) 
 Will soon to ruin fall, yorr noble self 
 That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign, 
 Ti'e thus submit unto, — our sovereign. 
 
 All. Live, Lord Helicane ! 
 
 Hel. Try honor's cause, forbear your suffrages, 
 If that you love prince Pericles, forbear. 
 Take I your wish, I leap into the seas, 
 Where's hourly trouble for a minute's ease. 
 A twelvemonth longer let me then entreat you 
 To forbear choice i' the absence o' the king ; 
 If in which time expir'd, he not return, 
 I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. 
 But if I cannot win you to his love ; 
 Go search like noblemen, like noble subjects, 
 And in your search spend your adventurous worth: 
 Whom if you find, and win unto return, 
 You shall like diamonds sit about his crown. 
 
 1 Lord. To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield; 
 And, since lord Helicane enjoineth us, 
 We with our travels will endeavor it. 
 
 Hel. Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp 
 hands ; 
 When peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Pentapolis. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Simonides, reading a Letter, the Knights 
 meet him. 
 
 1 Knight. Good-morrow to the good Simonides. 
 Sim. Knights, from my daughter this I let you 
 
 know, 
 That for this twelvemonth, she'll not undertake 
 A married life. 
 
 Her reason to herself is only known, 
 Which from herself by no means can I get. 
 
 2 Knight. May we not get access to her, my lord? 
 Sim. Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly 
 
 tied her 
 To her chamber, that it is impossible. 
 One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery ; 
 This by the eye of Cynthia hath she vow'd, 
 And on her virgin honor will not break it. 
 
 3 Knight. Though loath to bid farewell, we take 
 
 *our leaves. [Exeunt. 
 
 Sim. So 
 They're well despatch'd ; «iow to my daughter's 
 
 letter : 
 She tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight, 
 Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
 Mistress, 'tis well, your choice agrees with mine ; 
 I like that well : — nay, how absolute she's in't, 
 Not minding whether I dislike or no ! 
 Well, I commend her choice ; 
 And will no longer have it be delay'd. 
 Soft, here he comes : — I must dissemble it. 
 Enter Pericles. 
 
 Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! 
 
 Sim. To you as much, sir! I am beholden to you, 
 For your sweet music this last night: my ears, 
 I do protest, were never better fed 
 With such delightful pleasing harmony. 
 
 Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend; 
 Not my desert. 
 
 Sim. Sir, you are music's master. 
 
 Per. The WArst of all her scholars, my good lord. 
 
 Sim. Let me ask one thing. What do you think, 
 sir, of 
 Mly daughter'' 
 
 Per. As of a most virtuous princess. 
 
 Sim. And she is fair too, is she not? 
 
 Per. As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair. 
 
 Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well ol 
 you; 
 Ay, so well, sir, that you must be her master, 
 And she'll your scholar be ; therefore, look to it. 
 
 Per. Unworthy I to be her schoolmaster. 
 
 Sim. She thinks not' so; peruse this writing 
 else. 
 
 Per. What's here? 
 A letter that she loves the knight of Tyre ' 
 'Tis the king's subtilty, to have my life. [Aside. 
 0, seek not to intrap, my gracious lord, 
 A stranger and distressed gentleman, 
 That never aim'd so high to love your daughter, 
 But bent all offices to honor her. 
 
 Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and them 
 art 
 A villain. 
 
 Per. By the gods, I have not, sir : 
 Never did thought of mine levy offence ; 
 Nor never did my actions yet commence 
 A deed might gain he-r l<.v e , or your displeasure. 
 
 Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 
 
 Per. Traitor ! 
 
 Sim. Ay, traitor, sir. 
 
 Per. Even in his throat (unless it be the king) 
 That calls me traitor, I return the lie. 
 
 Sim. Now, by the gods, I do applaud his cou 
 rage. [Aside 
 
 Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts 
 That never relish'd of a base descent. 
 I came unto your court, for honor's cause, 
 And not to be a rebel to her state; 
 And he that otherwise accounts of me, 
 This sword shall prove he's honor's enemy. 
 
 Sim. No !— 
 Here comes my daughter, she can witness it 
 
 Enter Thaisa. 
 
 Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, 
 Resolve your angry father, if my tongue 
 Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
 To any reliable that made love to you? 
 
 Thai. Why, sir, say if you had, 
 Who takes offence at that would make me glad ? 
 
 Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory ? — 
 I am glad of it with all my heart. [Aside.] I'll tarns 
 
 you; 
 I'll bring you in subjection. — 
 Will you, not having my consent, bestow 
 Your love and your affections on a stranger? 
 (Who, for aught I know to the contrary, 
 Or think, may be as great in blood as 1.) [Aside 
 Hear, therefore, mistress : frame your will to mine, — 
 And you, sir, hear you. — Either be rul'd by me, 
 Or I will make you — man and wife. — 
 Nay, come; your hands and lips must seal it too. — 
 And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy ;— 
 And for a further grief, — God give you joy ! 
 What, are you both pleas'd ? 
 
 Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir. 
 
 Per. Even as my life, my blood that fosters it 
 
 Sim. What, are you both agreed ? 
 
 Both. Yes, 'please your majesty 
 
 Sim. It pleaseth me so well, I'll see you wed; 
 Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
\ct TIT Scene I. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 793 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Enter Goweii. 
 
 Gow. Now sleepy slaked 1 hath the rout, 
 No din but snores, the hohse about, 
 Made louder by the o'er-fed breast, 
 Of this most pompous marriage-feast. 
 The cat, with eyne of burning coal, 
 Now couches 'fore the mouse's hole; 
 And crickets sing at the oven's mouth, 
 As the blither for their drouth. 
 Hymen hath brought the bride to bed, 
 Where, by the loss of maidenhead, 
 A babe is moulded; — Be attent, 
 And time that is so briefly spent, 
 With your fine fancies quaintly eche;* 
 What's dumb in show, I'll plain with speech. 
 
 Dumb Show. Enter Pehict.es and Simoxides 
 at one Door, with Attendants; a Messenger 
 meets him, kneels, and gives PEiiicLEsa Letter. 
 Peii i c les shows it to Simonides; the Lords 
 kneel to the former. Then enter Thaisa with 
 child, and Ltchohida. Simovides shows his 
 Daughter the Letter,- she rejoices: she and Pe- 
 nicLF.s take leave of her Father, and depart. 
 Then Simoniiies, <$-c. retire. 
 
 Gow. By many a.dearn" and painful perch, 1 
 Of Pericles the careful search, 
 By the four opposing coignes, 
 Which the world together joins, 
 Is made with all due diligence, 
 That horse, and sail, and high expense, 
 Can stead the quest. 3 At last from Tyre, 
 (Fame answering the most strong inquire,) 
 To the court of king Simonides 
 Are letters brought; the tenor these: 
 Antiochus and his daughter's dead ; 
 The men of Tyrus, on the head 
 Of Helicanus would set on 
 The crown of Tyre, but he will none : 
 The mutiny there he hastes t'appease: 
 Says to them, if king Pericles 
 Come not, in twice six moons, home, 
 He obedient to their doom, 
 Will take the crown. The sum of this, 
 Brought hither to Pentapolis, 
 Y-ravished the regions round, 
 And every one with claps 'gan sound, 
 Our heir apparent is a king,- 
 Who dream d, wno t nought of such a thing? 
 Brief, ne must hence depart to Tyre : 
 His queen, with child, makes her desire 
 (Which who shall cross?) along to go; 
 (Omit we all their dole and wo;"j 
 Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, 
 And so to sea. Their vessel shakes 
 On Neptune's billow ; half the flood 
 Hath their keel cut ; but fortune's mood 
 Varies again; the grizzled north 
 Disgorges such a tempest forth, 
 That, as a duck for life that dives, 
 So up and down the poor ship drives. 
 The lady shrieks, and, well-a-near !' 
 Doth fall in travail with her fear: 
 And what ensues in this fell storm, 
 Shall, for itself, itself perform. 
 
 '■ Quenched. 8 Eke out. 9 Lonely. ' A. measure. 
 » Corners. ' Help, or assist the search 
 
 « An exclamation equivalent to well-a-<lay 
 
 I nill s relate ; action may 
 
 Conveniently the rest convey : 
 
 Which might not what by me is told. 
 
 In your imagination hold 
 
 This stage, the ship, upon whose deck 
 
 The sea-tost prince appears to speak. [Extt. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Pericles, on a Ship at Sea. 
 
 Per. Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these 
 surges, 
 Which wash both heaven and hell ; and thou, thai 
 
 hast 
 Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, 
 Having call'd them from the deep ! O still thy 
 
 deaf'ning, 
 Thy dreadful thunders; gently quench thy nimble, 
 Sulphureous flasher- ! — how, Lychorida., 
 How does my queen ? — Thou storm, thou ! venom- 
 ously 
 Wilt thou spit all thyself?- The seaman's whistle 
 Is as a whisper in the ears c f death, 
 Unheard. — Lychorida ! — Lucina, 6 O 
 Divinest patroness, and midwife, gentle 
 To those that cry by night, convey thy deity 
 Aboard our dancing boat ; make swift the pangs 
 Of my queen's travails! — Now, Lychorida 
 
 Enter Lychorida, with an Infant. 
 
 Lye. Here is a thing 
 Too young for such a place, who if it had 
 Conceit would die as I am like to do. 
 Take in your arms this piece of your dead queen. 
 
 Per. How ! how, Lychorida ! 
 
 Lye. Patience, good sir; do not assist the storm. 
 Here's all that is left living of your queen, — 
 A little daughter ; for the sake of it, 
 Be manly, and take comfort. 
 
 Per. O you gods! 
 
 Why do you make us love your goodly gifts, 
 And snatch them straight away ? We, here below 
 Recall not what we give, and therein may 
 Vie honor 1 with yourselves. 
 
 Lye. Patience, good sir. 
 
 Even for this charge. 
 
 Per. Now, mild may be thy life \ 
 
 For a more blust'rous birth had never babe: 
 Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! 
 For thou'rt the rudeliest welcom'd to this world, 
 That e'er was prince's child . Happy what follows ' 
 Thou hast as chiding a nativity, 
 As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make, 
 To herald thee from the womb ! even at the first, 
 Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit,* 
 With all thou canst find here. — Now the good god* 
 Throw their best eyes upon it ! 
 
 Enter two Sailors. 
 
 1 Sail. What courage, sir? God save you. 
 
 Per. Courage enough : I do not fear the flaw ; 
 It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for .ne lo^e 
 Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer, 
 I would, it would be q&et. 
 
 1 Sail. Siack the boiins 9 there; thou wilt nof, 
 wilt thou ? Blow, and split thyself. 
 
 ' I snaii not. " The gnddosa ot child -hearing 
 
 , Contend with you in honor. 
 * Than thy entrance into life can requite. 
 » Bowlines, ropes of the sails. 
 3C 
 
704 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act 111. 
 
 2 Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy 
 billow kiss the moon, I care not. 
 
 1 Sail. Sir, youi queen must overboard ; the sea 
 works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie, till 
 the ship be cleared of the dead. 
 
 Per. That's your superstition. 
 
 1 Sail. Pardon us, sir; with us at sea it still hath 
 been observed ; and we are strong in earnest. 
 Therefore briefly yield her ; for she must overboard 
 straight. 
 
 Per. Be it as you think meet. — Most wretched 
 queen ! 
 
 Lye. Here she lies, sir. 
 
 Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear, 
 No light, no fire: the unfriendly elements 
 Forgot thee utterly; nor have. I time 
 To give thee hallowed to thy grave, but straight 
 Must cast thee, scarcely coffin'd, in the ooze; 
 Where, for a monument upon thy bones, 
 And ay«-remaining lamps, the belching whale, 
 And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse, 
 Lying with simple shells. Lychorida, 
 Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink, and paper; 
 My casket, and my jewels; and bid Nicander 
 Bring me the satin coffer; lay the babe 
 Upon the pillow ; hie thee, whiles I say 
 A priestly farewell to her: suddenly, woman. 
 
 [Exit Lychorida. 
 
 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, 
 caulk'd and bitumed ready. 
 
 Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say, what coast is this] 
 
 2 Sail. We are near Tharsus. 
 
 Per. Thither, gentle mariner, 
 Alter thy course for Tyre. When canst thou reach if? 
 
 2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 
 
 Per. O make for Tharsus. 
 There will I visit Cleon, for the babe 
 Cannot hold out to Tyrus ; there I'll leave it 
 At careful nursing. Go thy ways, good mariner; 
 ['11 bring the body presently. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's 
 
 House. 
 Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some Persons who 
 have been Shipwrecked. 
 Cer. Philemon, ho! 
 
 Enter Philemon. 
 
 Phil. Doth my lord call ] 
 Cer. Get fire and meat for these poor men ; 
 It has been a turbulent and stormy night. 
 
 Sei-v. I have been in many ; but such a night as 
 this, 
 Till now I ne'er endur'd. 
 
 Cer. Your master will be dead e'er you return ; 
 There's nothing can be minister'd to nature, 
 That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary, 
 And tell me how it works, [To Philemon. 
 
 [Exeunt Philemon, Servant, and Those who 
 had been Shipwrecked. 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. , Good-morrow, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. Good-morrow to your lordship. 
 
 Cer. Gentlemen, 
 
 Why d( you stir so early] 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, 
 Our lodgings, standing bleak upon the sea, 
 Shook, as the earth did quake; 
 The very principals 1 did seem to rend, 
 And all to topple; pure surprise and fear 
 Made me to quit the house. 
 
 1 The principals are the strongest rafters in the roof of 
 
 » building 
 
 2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so 
 early ; 
 'Tis not our husbandry. 5 
 
 Cer. O, you say well. 
 
 1 Gent. But I much marvel that your lordship, 
 
 having 
 Rich 'tire about you, should at these early hour* 
 Shake off the golden slumber of repose. 
 It is most strange, 
 
 Nature should be so conversant with pain, 
 Being thereto not compell'd. 
 
 Cer. I held it ever, 
 
 Virtue and cunning' were endowments greater 
 Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs 
 May the two latter darken and expend ; 
 But immortality attends the former, 
 Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever 
 Have studied physic, through which secret art, 
 By turning o'er authorities, I have 
 (Together with my practice) made familiar 
 To me and to my aid, the blest infusions 
 That dwell in vegetives, in metals, stones; 
 And I can speak of the disturbances 
 That nature works, and of her cures; which give 
 
 me 
 A more content in course of true delight 
 Than to be thirsty after tottering honor, 
 Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
 To please the fool and death. 
 
 2 Gent. Your honor has through Ephesu* 
 
 pour'd forth 
 Your charity, and hundreds call themselves 
 Your creatures, who by you have been restor'd ; 
 And not your knowledge, personal pain, but even 
 Your purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon, 
 Such strong renown as time shall never 
 
 Enter two Servants with a Chest. 
 
 Serv. So; lift there. 
 
 Cer. What is that] 
 
 Serv. Sir, even now 
 
 Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest; 
 'Tis of some wreck. 
 
 Cer. Set 't down, let's look on it 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. 
 
 Cer. Whate'er it be, 
 
 'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight; 
 If the sea's stomach be o'ercharged with gold. 
 It is a good constraint of fortune, that 
 It belches upon us. 
 
 2 Gent. 'Tis so, my lord. 
 
 Cer. How close 'tis caulk'd and bitumed ! — 
 Did the sea cast it up] 
 
 Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, 
 As toss'd it upon shore. 
 
 Cer. Come, wrench it opei 
 
 Soft, soft ! — it smells most sweetly in my sense 
 
 2 Gent. A delicate odor. 
 
 Cer. As ever hit my nostril ; so, — up with it. 
 O you most potent god! what's here] a corse] 
 
 1 Gent. Most strange ' 
 
 Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state; balm'd and en 
 treasur'd 
 With bags of spices full ! A passport too ! 
 Apollo, perfect me i' the characters ! 
 
 [Unfolds a Scroll 
 
 Here I give to understand. [Readf 
 
 (If e'er this coffin drive a-land,) 
 
 I, king Pericles, have lost 
 
 This queen, worth all our mundane cost. 
 
 Who finds her, give her burying. 
 
 She was the daughter of a king.- 
 
 a Economical prudence, early rising. l Knowledge 
 
Scene TV 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 795 
 
 Besides this treasure for a fee, 
 The gods requite his charity/ 
 If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart 
 That even cracks for wo ! — This chanced to-night. 
 
 2 Gent . Most likely, sir. 
 
 Cer. Nay, certainly to-night, 
 
 For look, how fresh she looks! — They were too 
 
 rough, 
 That threw her in the sea. Make fire within; 
 Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet. 
 Death may usurp on nature many hours, 
 And yet the fire of life kindle again 
 The overpressed spirits. I have heard 
 Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead, 
 By good appliance was recovered. 
 Enter a Servant, with Boxes, Napkms, and Fire. 
 Well said, well said; the fire and the cloths. — 
 The rough and woeful music that we have, 
 Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. 
 The vial once more; — How thou stirr'st, thou 
 
 block !— 
 The music there. — I pray you, give her air: — 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 This queen will live: nature awakes; a warmth 
 Breathes out of her; she hath not been entranced 
 Above five hours. See, how she 'gins to blow 
 Into life's flower again ! 
 
 1 Gent. The heavens, sir, 
 Through you, increase our wonder, and set up 
 Your fame for ever. 
 
 Cer. She is alive; behold, 
 
 Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels 
 Which Pericles hath lost, 
 Begin to part their fringes of bright gold ; 
 The diamonds of a most praised water 
 Appear to make the world twice rich. O live, 
 And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature, 
 Rare as you seem to be ! [She moves. 
 
 Thai. dear Diana, 
 
 Where am I! Where's my lord? What world is this] 
 
 2 Gent. Is not this strange 1 
 
 1 Gent. Most rare. 
 
 Cer. Hush, gentle neighbors ; 
 
 Lend me your hands: to the next chamber bear her. 
 Get linen ; now this matter must be look'd to, 
 For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, come ; 
 And ^Esculapius guide us! 
 
 [Exeunt, carrying Thaisa away. 
 
 SCENE III.— Tharsus. A Room in Ceeon's 
 
 House. 
 
 Enter Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, Ltchorida, 
 
 and Marina. 
 
 Per. Most honor'd Cleon, I must needs be gone; 
 My twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands 
 In a litigious peace. You, and your lady, 
 Take from my heart all thankfulness ! The gods 
 Make up the rest upon you ! 
 
 Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt 
 you mortally, 
 Yet glance full wand'ringly on us. 
 
 Dion. O your sweet queen ! 
 
 That the strict fates had pleas'd you had brought 
 
 her hither, 
 *"o have bless'd mine eyes ! 
 
 Per. We cannot but obey 
 
 The powers above us. fWfld I rage and roar 
 As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
 Must be as 'tis. My babe Marina (whom, 
 For she was born at sea, I have nam'd so) here 
 I charge your charity withal, and leave her 
 The infant of your care; beseeching you 
 To give her princely training, that she may be 
 Manner'd as she is born. 
 
 Cle. Fear not, my lord: 
 
 Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, 
 (For which the people's prayers still fall on you.) 
 Must in your child be thought on. If neglection 
 Should therein make me vile, the common body, 4 
 By you reliev'd, would force me to my duty: 
 But if to that my nature need a spur, 
 The gods revenge it upon me and mine, 
 To the end of generation ! 
 
 Per. I believe you, 
 
 Your honor and your goodness teach me credit, 
 Without your vows. Till she be married, ma- 
 dam, 
 By bright Diana, whom we honor all, 
 Unscissor'd shall this hair of mine remain, 
 Though I show will s in't. So I take my leave. 
 Good madam, make me blessed in your care 
 In bringing up my child. 
 
 Dion. I have one myself, 
 
 Who shall not be more dear to my respect, 
 Than yours, my lord. 
 
 Per. Madam, my thanks and prayers. 
 
 Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edge 
 o' the shore; 
 Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, and 
 The gentlest winds of heaven. 
 
 Per. I will embrace 
 
 Your offer. Come, dear'st madam. — 0, no tears, 
 Lychorida, no tears : 
 
 Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
 You may depend hereafter. — Come, my lord. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Ephesus. A Room in Cerimoh's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Cerimon and Thaisa. 
 
 Cer. Madam, this letter, and some certain jewels, 
 Lay with you in your coffer: which are now 
 At your command. Know you the character 1 
 
 Thai. It is my lord's. 
 That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember, 
 Even on my yearning time; but whether there 
 Delivered or no, by the holy gods, 
 I cannot rightly say: But since king Pericles, 
 My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, 
 A vestal livery will I take me to, 
 And never more have joy. 
 
 Cer. Madam, if this you purpose as you speak, 
 Diana's temple is not distant far, 
 Where you may 'bide until your date expire. 
 Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
 Shall there attend you. 
 
 Thai. My recompense is thai.ks, that's all ; 
 Yet my good will is great, though the gift small 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 1 The common people. 
 
 Appear Tilla' 
 
796 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act IV. Scene 1 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Goweh. 
 (row. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, 
 Welcom'd to his own desire. 
 His woeful queen leave atEphess, 
 To Dian there a votaress. 
 Now to Marina bend your mind, 
 Whom our fast growing scene must find 
 At Tharsus, and by Cleon train'd 
 In music, letters ; who hath gain'd 
 Of education all the grace, 
 Which makes her both the heart and place 
 Of general wonder. But alack! 
 That monster envy, oft the wrack 
 Of earned praise, Marina's life 
 Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 
 And in this kind hath our Cleon 
 One daughter, and a wench full grown. 
 Even ripe for marriage fight; this maid 
 Hight 6 Philoten: and it is said 
 For certain in our story, she 
 Would ever with Marina be: 
 Be't when sheweav'd the sleided'silk 
 With fingers long, small, white as milk; 
 Or when she would with sharp neeld 8 wound 
 The cambric, which she made more sound 
 By hurting it ; or when to the lute 
 She sung, and made the night-bird mute, 
 That still records" with moan; or when 
 She would with rich and constant pen 
 Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 
 This Philoten contends in skill 
 With absolute ' Marina : so 
 With the dove of Paphos might the crow 
 Vie feathers white. Marina gets 
 All praises, which are paid as debts, 
 And not as given. This so darks 
 Tn Philoten all graceful marks, 
 That Clcon's wife, with envy rare, 
 A present murderer does prepare 
 For good Marina, that her daughter 
 Might stand peerless by this slaughter. 
 The sooner her vile thoughts to stead 
 Lychorida, our nurse, is dead ; 
 And cursed Dionyza hath 
 The pregnant 2 instrument of wrath 
 Prest 3 for this blow. The unborn event 
 I do commend to your content: 
 Only I carry winged time 
 Post on the lame feet of my rhyme; 
 Which never could I so convey, 
 Unless your thoughts went on my way. — 
 Dionyza does appear, 
 With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. — Tharsus. An open Place near the 
 Sea-shore. 
 Enter Dionyza and Leonine. 
 Dion. Thy oath remember ; thou hast sworn to 
 do it : 
 'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. 
 Thou canst not do a thing i' the world so soon 
 To yield inee so much profit. Let not conscience, 
 Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom, 
 rnflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which 
 Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be 
 A soldier to thy purpose. 
 
 Leon I'll do't; but yet she is a goodly creature. 
 
 • Called. ■'Untwisted. 'Needle. 9 Sings. 
 
 * AMomplished. perfect. a Prepared 3 Ready. 
 
 Dion. The fitter then the gods should have net 
 Here 
 Weeping she comes for her old nurse's death. 
 Thou art resolv'd 1 
 
 Leon. I am resolv'd. 
 
 Enter Marina, with a Basket of Ftowern. 
 
 Mar. No, no, I will rob Tellus ' of her weed, 
 To strew thy green with flowers : the yellows, blues. 
 The purple violets, and marigolds, 
 Shall, as a chaplet, hang upon thy grave, 
 While summer days do last. Ah me! poor maiii 
 Born in a tempest, when my mother died, 
 This world to me is like a lasting storm, 
 Whirring me from my friends. 
 
 Dion. How now, Marina ! why do you keep 
 alone 1 
 How chance my daughter is not with you 1 Do not 
 Consume your blood with sorrowing : you have 
 A nurse of me. Lord ! how your favor's changed 
 With this unprofitable woe ! Come, comee ; 
 Give me your wreath of flowers. Ere the sea mar it, 
 Walk forth with Leonine; the air is quick there, 
 Piercing, and sharpens well the stomach. Come ;— 
 Leonine, take her by the arm, walk with her. 
 
 Mar. No, I pray you; 
 I'll not bereave you of your servant. 
 
 Dion. Come, come 
 
 I love the king your father, and yourself, 
 With more than foreign heart. We every day 
 Expect him here : when he shall come and find 
 Our paragon to all reports, thus blasted, 
 He will repent the breadth of his great voyage ; 
 Blame both my lord and me, that we have ta'en 
 No care to your best courses. Go, I pray you, 
 Walk, and be cheerful once again ; reserve 
 That excellent complexion, which did steal 
 The eyes of young and old. Care not for me ; 
 I can go home alone. 
 
 Mar. Well, I will go; 
 
 But yet I have no desire to it. 
 
 Dion. Come, come, I know 'tis good for you. 
 Walk half an hour, Leonine, at the least; 
 Remember what I have said. 
 
 Leon. I warrant you, madam. 
 
 Dion. I'll leave you, my sweet lady, for a while , 
 Pray you walk softly, do not heat your blood : 
 What! I must have a care of you. 
 
 Mar. Thanks, sweet madam. — [Exit Dion. 
 Is this wind westerly that blows'? 
 
 Leon. South-west. 
 
 Mar. When I was born, the wind was north. 
 
 Leon. Was't sol 
 
 Mar. My father, as nurse said, did never fear, 
 But cry'd, good seamen.' to the sailors, galling 
 His kingly hands with hauling of the ropes ; 
 And, clasping to the mast, endur'd a sea 
 That almost burst the deck, and from the Iaddei 
 
 tackle 
 Wash'd off a canvass-climber : Ha! says one, 
 Wilt out? and, with a dropping industry, 
 They skip from stem to stern: the boatswain whistles, 
 The master calls, and trebles their confusion. 
 
 Leon. And when was this 1 
 
 Mar. It was when I was born 
 
 Never was waves nor wind more violent. 
 
 Leon. Come, say your prayers speedily. 
 
 Mar. What mean you 1 
 
 ♦The earth 
 
Scene III. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 797 
 
 Leon. If you require a little ipace for prayer, 
 I grant it: Pray; but be not tedious, 
 For the gods are quick of ear, and I am sworn 
 To do my work with haste. 
 
 Mar. Why will you kill me ? 
 
 Leon. To satisfy my lady. 
 
 Mar. Why would she have me kill'd? 
 Now, as I can remember, by my troth, 
 I never did her hurt in all my life ; 
 I never spake bad word, nor did ill turn 
 To any living creature: believe me, la, 
 I never kill'd a mouse, nor hurt a fly : 
 I trod upon a worm against my will, 
 But I wept for it. How have I offended, 
 Wherein my death might yield her profit, or 
 My life imply her danger 1 
 
 Leon. My commission 
 
 Is not to reason of the deed, but do it. 
 
 Mar. You will not do't for all the world, I hope. 
 You are well favor'd, and your looks foreshow 
 You have a gentle heart. I saw you lately, 
 When you caught hurt in parting two that fought: 
 Good sooth, it show'd well in you; do so now: 
 Your lady seeks my life : come you between, 
 And save poor me, the weaker. 
 
 Leon. I am sworn, 
 
 And will despatch. 
 
 Enter Pirates, whilst Marina is struggling. 
 
 1 Pirate. Hold, villain ! [Leonine runs away. 
 
 2 Pirate. A prize ! a prize ! 
 
 3 Pirate. Half-part, mates, half-part. Come, 
 let's have her aboard suddenly. 
 
 [Exeunt Pirates with Marina. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Re-enter Leonine. 
 
 Leon. These roving thieves serve the great pi- 
 rate Valdes; 
 And they have seiz'd Marina. Let her go 
 There's no hope she'll return. I'll swear she's dead, 
 And thrown into the sea. — But I'll see further ; 
 Perhaps they will but please themselves upon her, 
 Not carry her aboard. If she remain, 
 Whom they have ravish'd, must by me be slain. 
 
 [Exit. 
 SCENE III.— Mitylene. A Room in a Brothel. 
 Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 
 
 Pand. Boult. 
 
 Boult. Sir. 
 
 Pand. Search the market narrowly; Mitylene 
 is full of gallants. We lost too much money this 
 mart, by being too wenchless. 
 
 Bawd. We were never so much out of creatures. 
 We have but poor three, and they can do no more 
 than they can do; and with continual action are 
 even as good as rotten. 
 
 Pand. Therefore let's have fresh ones, whate'er 
 we pay for them. If there be not a conscience to 
 be used in every trade, we shall never prosper. 
 
 Bawd. Thou say'st true: 'tis not the bringing 
 up of poor bastards, as I think I have brought up 
 some eleven 
 
 Boult. Ay, to eleven, and brought them down 
 again. But shall I search the market] 
 
 Bawd. What else, man"! The stuff we have, a 
 strong wind will blow it to pieces, they are so piti- 
 fully sodden. 
 
 Pand. Thou say'st true ; they are too unwhole- 
 some o' conscience. The poor Transylvanian is 
 dead, that lay with the little baggage. 
 
 Boult. S.y, she quickly poop'd him ; she made 
 Lim roast meat for worms : but I'll go search the 
 ma ket. [Exit Be jlt 
 
 Pand. Three or four thousand chequins were as 
 pretty a proportion to live quietly, and so give ovei 
 
 Bawd. Why, to give over, I pray you? is it ■* 
 shame to get when we are old ? 
 
 Pand. O, our credit comes not in like the com- 
 modity; nor the commodity wages not with the 
 danger; therefore, if in our youths we could pick 
 up some pretty estate, 'twere not amiss to keep our 
 door hatched. 5 Besides, the sore terms we stand 
 upon with the gods, will be strong with us for giv 
 ing over. 
 
 Bawd. Come, other sorts offend as well as we. 
 
 Pand. As well as we! ay, and better too; we 
 offend worse. Neither is our profession any trade; 
 it's no calling: — but here comes Boult. 
 
 Enter the Pirates, and Boult, dragging in 
 Marina. 
 
 Boult. Come your ways. [To Marina.] — My 
 masters, you say she's a virgin ? 
 
 1 Pirate. O, sir, we doubt it not. 
 
 Boult. Master, I have gone thorough 8 for this 
 piece, you see: if you like her, so; if not, I have 
 lost my earnest. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, has she any qualities? 
 
 Boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and has 
 excellent good clothes ; there's no further necessity 
 of qualities can make her be refused. 
 
 Bawd. What's her price, Boult? 
 
 Boult. I cannot be baited one doit of a thousand 
 pieces. 
 
 Pand. Well, follow me, my masters; you shall 
 have your money presently. Wife, take her in; 
 instruct her what she has to do, that she may not 
 be raw in her entertainment. 
 
 [Exeunt Pander and Pirates. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take you the marks of her ; the 
 color of her hair, complexion, height, age, with 
 warrant of her virginity ; and cry, He that will 
 give most shall have her first. Such a maiden- 
 head were no cheap thing, if men were as they 
 have been. Get this done as I command you. 
 
 Boult. Performance shall follow. [Exit Boult. 
 
 Mar. Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow ! 
 (He should have struck, not spoke;) or that these 
 
 pirates 
 (Not enough barbarous) had not overboard 
 Thrown me to seek my mother ! 
 
 Bawd. Why lament you, pretty one ? 
 
 Mar. That I am pretty. 
 
 Bawd. Come, the gods have done their part in 
 you. 
 
 Mar. I accuse them not. 
 
 Bawd. You are lit into my hands, where you 
 are like to live. 
 
 Mar. The more my fault, 
 To 'scape his hands, where I was like to die. 
 
 Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 
 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Bawd. Yes, indeed, shall you, and taste genthv. 
 men of all fashions. You shall fare well; you 
 shall have the difference of all complexions. What ! 
 do you stop your ears ? 
 
 Mar. Are you a woman ? 
 
 Bawd. What would you have me be, an I be 
 not a woman? 
 
 Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 
 
 Baivd. Marry, whip thee, goslin: I think I shall 
 have something to do with you. Come, you are h 
 young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as f 
 would have you. 
 
 Mar. The gods defend me! 
 
 » i. e. Half open. « Bid a high price for her. 
 
796 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act TV 
 
 Bawd. If it please the gods to defend you by 
 men, then men must comfort you, men must feed 
 you, men must stir you up. — Boult's return'd. 
 
 Enter Boult. 
 Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market ? 
 
 Boull. I have cried her almost to the number of 
 her hairs ; I have drawn her picture with my voice. 
 
 Bawd. And I pr'ythee tell me, how dost thou 
 find the inclination of the people, especially of the 
 younger sort? 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, they listened to me, as they would 
 have hearkened to their father's testament. There 
 was a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went 
 to bed to her very description. 
 
 Bawd. We shall have him here to-morrow with 
 his best ruff on. 
 
 Boult. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you 
 know the French knight that cowers ' i' the hams'? 
 
 Bawd. Who? monsieur Veroles? 
 
 Boult. Ay ; he offered to cut a caper at the pro- 
 clamation ; but he made a groan at it, and swore 
 he would see her to-morrow. 
 
 Bawd. Well, well ; as for him, he brought his 
 disease hither : here he does but repair it. I know, 
 he will come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns 
 :m the sun. 
 
 Boult. Well, if we had of every nation a travel- 
 ler, we should lodge them with this sign. 
 
 Bawd. Pray you, come hither a while. You have 
 fortunes coming upon you. Mark me; you must 
 seem to do that fearfully, which you commit wil- 
 lingly; to despise profit, where you have most gain. 
 To weep that you live as you do, makes pity in 
 your lovers: Seldom, but that pity begets you a 
 good opinion, and that opinion a mere profit. 
 
 Mar. I understand you not. 
 
 Boult. 0, take her home, mistress, take her 
 home : these blushes of hers must be quenched with 
 some present practice. 
 
 Bawd. Thou sayest true, i' faith, so they must : 
 for your bride goes to that with shame, which is 
 her way to go with warrant. 
 
 Boult. 'Faith some do, and some do not. But, 
 mistress, if I have bargained for the joint, 
 
 Bawd. Thou mayst cut a morsel off the spit. 
 
 Boult. I may so. 
 
 Bawd. Who should deny it ? Come, young one, 
 I like the manner of your garments well. 
 
 Boult. Ay, by my faith, they shall not be changed 
 yet. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, spend thou that in the town: re- 
 port what a sojourner we have ; you'll lose nothing 
 by custom. When nature framed this piece, she 
 meant thee a good turn ; therefore say what a pa- 
 ragon she is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine 
 own report. 
 
 Boult. I warrant you, mistress, thunder shall 
 not so awake the beds of eels, as my giving out 
 tier beauty stir up the lewdly inclined. I'll bring 
 home some to-night. 
 
 Bawd. Come your ways; follow me. 
 
 Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, 
 Untied I still my virgin knot will keep. 
 Diana, aid my purpose ! 
 
 Bawd. What have we to do with Diana? Pray 
 you, will you go with us] [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Tharsus. A Room in Cleon's 
 House. 
 
 Enter Cleojt and Dionyza. 
 Dion Why, are you foolish ? Can it be undone? 
 'Bend*. 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter 
 The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon! 
 
 Dion. I think 
 
 You'll turn a child again. 
 
 Cle. Were I chief lord of all the spacious world. 
 I'd give it to undo the deed. lady, 
 Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
 To equal any single crown i'the earth, 
 I' the justice of compare! O villain Leonine, 
 Whom thou hastpoison'd too! 
 If thou hadst drunk to him, it had been a kindness 
 Becoming well thy feat : " What canst thou say, 
 When noble Pericles shall demand his child? 
 
 Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates, 
 To foster it, nor ever to preserve. 
 She died by night; I'll say so. Who can cross it! 
 Unless you play the impious innocent, 3 
 And for an honest attribute, cry out, 
 She died by foul play. 
 
 Cle. O, go to. Well, well, 
 
 Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 
 Do like this worst. 
 
 Dion. Be one of those that think 
 
 The petty wrens of Tharsus will fly hence, 
 And open this to Pericles. I do shame 
 To think of what a noble strain you are, 
 And of how cow'd a spirit. 
 
 Cle. To such proceeding 
 
 Who ever but his approbation added, 
 Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow 
 From honorable courses. 
 
 Dion. Be it so then : 
 
 Yet none does know, but you, how she came dead; 
 Nor none can know, Leonine being gone. 
 She did disdain my child, and stood between 
 Her and her fortunes: None would look on her, 
 But cast their gazes on Marina's face; 
 Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin, 1 
 Nor worth the time of day. It pierced me thorough ; 
 And though you call my course unnatural, 
 You not your child well loving, yet I find, 
 It greets me, as an enterprize of kindness. 
 Perform'd to your sole daughter. 
 
 Cle. Heavens forgive it! 
 
 Dion. And as for Pericles, 
 What should he say? We wept after her hearse, 
 And even yet we mourn: her monument 
 Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs 
 In glittering golden characters express 
 A general praise to her, and care in us 
 At whose expense 'tis done. 
 
 Cle. Thou art like the harp}, 
 
 Which, to betray, doth wear an angel's face, 
 Seize with an eagle's talons. 
 
 Dion. You are like one, that superstitiously 
 Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies; 
 But yet I know you'll do as I advise. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Gowee, before the Monument of Marina, 
 at Tharsus. 
 Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues 
 make short ; 
 Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but fort ; 
 Making (to take your imagination) 
 From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
 By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
 To use one language in each several clime 
 Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you 
 To learn of me, who stand i' the gap to teach you 
 The stages of our story. Pericles 
 
 » i. e. Of a piece with the rest of thy exploit. 
 » An innocent was formerly a common appellation to 
 an idiot. 
 » A coarse wench, not worth a good-morrow. 
 
Scene VI. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 799 
 
 Is now again thwarting the wayward seas 
 
 (Attended on by many a lord and knight) 
 
 To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
 
 Old Eseanes, whom Helicanus late 
 
 Advanced in time to great and high estate, 
 
 Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, 
 
 Old Helicanus goes along behind. 
 
 Well-sailing ships, and bounteous winds, have 
 
 brought 
 This king to Tharsus, (think his pilot thought; 
 So with his steerage shall your thoughts grow on,) 
 To fetch his daughter home, who first is gone. 
 Ltk„ motes and shadows see them move a while; 
 Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile. 
 Dumb show. Enter at one Door, Pericles, with 
 his Train; Cleon and Dionyza, at the other. 
 Cleon shows Pericles the Tomb of Marina; 
 whereat Pericles makes lamentation, puts on 
 Sackcloth, and in a mighty passion departs. 
 Then Cleon and Dionyza retire. 
 Gow. See how belief may suffer by foul show ! 
 This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe ; 
 And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, 
 With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er- 
 
 shower'd, 
 Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears 
 Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs ; 
 He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
 A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, 
 And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
 The epitaph is for Marina writ 
 By wicked Dionyza. 
 
 [Reads the Inscription on Marina's Monument. 
 The fairest, sweet' st, and best, lies here, 
 Who wither' d in her spring of year. 
 She was of Turns, the king's daughter, 
 On whom foul death hath made this slaughter,- 
 Marina she was call'd; and at her birth, 
 Thetis? being proud, swallow'd some part o' the 
 
 earth; 
 Therefore the earth, fearing to be o'er flow' d, 
 Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd; 
 Wherefore she does (aiid swears she'll never stint 3 ) 
 Make raging battery upon shores of flint. 
 No visor does become black villany, 
 So well as soft and tender flattery. 
 Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead, 
 And bear his courses to be ordered 
 By lady fortune; while our scenes display 
 His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day, 
 In her unholy service. Patience then, 
 And think you now are all in Mitylen. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V.— Mitylene. A Street before the 
 
 Brothel. 
 
 Enter, from the Brothel, two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like 1 ! 
 
 2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place 
 as this, she being once gone. 
 
 1 Gent. But to have divinity preached there ! did 
 you ever dream of such a thing? 
 
 2 Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy- 
 houses: shall we go hear the vestals sing? 
 
 1 Gent. I'll do any thing now that is virtuous; 
 but I am out of the road of rutting, for ever. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — The same. A Room in the Brothel. 
 Enter Pander, Bawd, and Boult. 
 Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth 
 oi her, she had ne'er come here. 
 
 • The sea * Never cease. 
 
 Bawd. Fye, fye upon her; she is able to freeze 
 the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We 
 must either get her ravished, or be rid of her. — 
 When she should do for clients her fitment, and do 
 me the kindness of her profession, she has me hex 
 quirks, her reasons, her master-reasons, her pray 
 ers, her knees; that she would make a puritan of 
 the devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her. 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she'll disfur- 
 nish us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swear- 
 ers priests. 
 
 Pand. Now, the pox upon her green-sicknesa 
 for me! 
 
 Bawd. 'Faith, there's no way to be rid on't, but 
 by the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Ly 
 simachus, disguised. 
 
 Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if 
 the peevish baggage would but give way to cus- 
 tomers. 
 
 Enter Lysimachcs. 
 
 Lys. How now ? How 4 a dozen of virginities ? 
 
 Bawd. Now, the gods to bless your honor! 
 
 Boult. I am glad to see your honor in good 
 health. 
 
 Lys. You may so: 'tis the better for you that 
 your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, 
 wholesome iniquity ? Have you that a man may 
 deal withal, and defy the surgeon? 
 
 Bawd. We have here one, sir, if she would 
 
 but there never came her like in Mitylene. 
 
 Lys. If she'd do the deeds of darkness, thou 
 would'st say. 
 
 Bawd. Your honor knows what 'tis to say, well 
 enough. 
 
 Lys. Well; call forth, call forth. 
 
 Boult. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, 
 you shall see a rose; and she were a rose indeed, 
 if she had but 
 
 Lys. What, pr'ythee? 
 
 Boult. O, sir, I can be modest. 
 
 Ly*. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less 
 than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. 
 Enter Marina. 
 
 Bawd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk ; 
 — never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is she not 
 a fair creature? 
 
 Lys. 'Faith, she would serve after a long voy- 
 age at sea. Well, there's for you ; — leave us. 
 
 Bawd. I beseech your honor, give me leave ; a 
 word, and I'll have done presently 
 
 Lys. I beseech you, do. 
 
 Bawd. First, I would have you note, this is an 
 honorable man. 
 
 [To Marina, whom she takes aside. 
 
 Mar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily 
 note him. 
 
 Bawd. Next, he is the governor of this country, 
 and a man whom I am bound to. 
 
 Mar. If he govern the country, you are bound 
 to him indeed ; but how honorable he is in that, I 
 know net. . 
 
 Bawd. 'Pray you, without any more virginal 
 fencing, will you use him kindly ? He will line you' 
 apron with gold. 
 
 Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thank 
 fully receive. 
 
 Lys. Have you done 7 
 
 Bawd. My lord, she's not paced yet; you must 
 take some pains to work her to your manage. 
 Come, we will leave his honor and her together. 
 [Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and Bouit 
 * How much f what price ? 
 
soo 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 Act IV, 
 
 Lys. Go thy ways. — Now, pretty one, how long 
 have you been at this trade ! 
 
 Mar. What trade, sir? 
 
 Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend. 
 
 Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please 
 X'ou to name it. 
 
 Lys. How long have you been of this profession ? 
 
 Mar. Ever since I can remember. 
 
 Lys. Did you go to it so young] Were you a 
 gamester at five, or at seven? 
 
 Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 
 
 Lys. Why, the house you dwell in, proclaims 
 you to be a creature of sale. 
 
 Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of 
 such resort, and will come into it? I hear say, you 
 are of honorable parts, and are the governor of 
 this place. 
 
 Lys. Why, hath your principal made known 
 unto you, who I am? 
 
 Mar. Who is my principal ? 
 
 Lys. W hy, your herb-woman ; she that sets seeds 
 and roots of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard 
 something of my power, and so stand aloof for 
 more serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty 
 one, my authority shall not see thee, or else look 
 friendly upon thee. Come, bring me to some pri- 
 vate place. Come, come. 
 
 Mar. If ye were born to honor, show it now ; 
 If put upon you, make the judgment good 
 That thought you worthy of it. 
 
 Lys. How's this? how's this? — Some more? — 
 be sage. 
 
 Mar. For me, 
 That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
 Hath placed me here within this loathsome sty, 
 Where, since I came, diseases have been sold 
 Dearer than physic, — that the good gods 
 Would set me free from this unhallow'd place, 
 Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
 That flies i'the purer air! 
 
 Lys. I did not think 
 
 Thou could'st have spoke so well; ne'er dream'd 
 
 thou could'st. 
 Had I brought hither a corrupted mind, 
 Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here's gold for 
 
 thee: 
 Persever still in that clear way thou goest, 
 And the gods strengthen thee ! 
 
 Mar. The gods preserve you ! 
 
 Lys. For me, be you thoughten 
 
 That I came with no ill intent; for to me 
 The very doors and windows savor vilely. 
 Farewell. Thou art a piece of virtue, and 
 I doubt not but thy training hath been noble. — 
 Hold; here's more gold for thee. — 
 A curse upon him, die he like a thief, 
 That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou hear'st 
 
 from me, 
 It shall be for thy good. 
 
 [As Ltsimachus is putting up his Purse, 
 Boult enters. 
 
 Boult. I beseech your honor, one piece for me. 
 
 Lys. Avaant, thou damned door-keeper! Your 
 house, 
 But for this virgin that dolh prop it up, 
 Would sink, and overwhelm you all. Away ! 
 
 [Exit Ltsimachus. 
 
 Boult. How's this ? We must take another course 
 with you. If your peevish chastity, which is not 
 worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under 
 the cope,' shall undo a whole household, let me be 
 <e)deu like a spaniel. Come your ways. 
 » Cope or canopy of heaven. 
 
 Mar. Whither would you have me? 
 
 Boult. I. must have your maidenhead taken off, 
 or the common hangman shall execute it. Come 
 your way. We'll have no more gentlemen driven 
 away. Come your ways, I say. 
 
 Re-enter Bawd. 
 
 Bawd. . How now ! what's the matter ? 
 
 Boult. Worse and worse, mistress; she has here 
 spoken holy words to the lord Lysimachus. 
 
 Bawd. O abominable! 
 
 Boult. She makes our profession, as it were, to 
 stink afore the face of the gods. 
 
 Bawd. Marry, hang her up forever! 
 
 Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with her 
 like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as 
 a snowball; saying his prrycrs too. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take her away; use her at thy 
 pleasure : crack the glass of her virginity, and make 
 the rest malleable. 
 
 Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground 
 than she is, she shall be ploughed. 
 
 Mar. Hark, hark, you gods! 
 
 Bawd. She conjures: away with her. Would 
 she had never come within my doors ! Marry hang 
 you ! She's born to undo us. Will you not go the 
 way of woman-kind ? Marry come up, my dish of 
 chastity with rosemary and bays! [Exit Bawd. 
 
 Boult. Come, mistress; come your way with me 
 
 Mar. Whither would you have me? 
 
 Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so 
 dear. 
 
 Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first. 
 
 Boult. Come now, your one thing? 
 
 Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? 
 
 Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master, 
 or rather, my mistress. 
 
 Mar. Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art, 
 Since they do better thee in their command. 
 Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend 
 Of hell would not in reputation change: 
 Thou'rt the damn'd door-keeper to every coystrel* 
 That hither comes inquiring for his tib; 
 To the choleric fisting of each rogue thy ear 
 Is liable; thy very food is such 
 As hath been belch'd on by infected lungs. 
 
 Boult. What would you have me? go to the 
 wars, would you? where a man may serve seven 
 years for the loss of a leg, and have not money 
 enough in the end to buy him a wooden one ? 
 
 Mar. Do any thing but this thou doest. Empty 
 Old receptacles, common sewers, of filth ; 
 Serve by indenture to the common hangman; 
 Any of these ways are better yet than this : 
 For that which thou professest, a baboon, 
 Could he but speak, would own a name too dear: 
 
 that the gods would safely from this place 
 Deliver me! Here, here is gold for thee. 
 
 If that thy master would gain aught by me, 
 Proclaim that I can sing, weave, sew, and dance. 
 With other virtues, which I'll keep from boast; 
 And I will undertake all these to teach. 
 
 1 doubt not but this populous city will 
 Yield many scholars. 
 
 Boult. But can you teach all this you speak of? 
 
 Mar. Prove that I cannot, take me home again, 
 And prostitute me to the basest groom 
 That doth frequent your house. 
 
 Boult. Well, I will see what I can do for thee* 
 if I can place thee, I will. 
 
 Mar. But, amongst honest women? 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, my acquaintance \ies little among*! 
 • Paltry feUow 
 
A.ct V. Scene I. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 80 1 
 
 them. But since my master and mistress have 
 bought y )u, there's no going but by their consent; 
 therefore I will make them acquainted with your 
 
 purpose, and I doubt not but I shall find them tra„ 
 table enough. Come, I'll do for thee what I can , 
 come your ways. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 Enter Goweh. 
 
 Gow. Mari na thus the brothel 'scapes, and chances 
 Into an honc-st house, our story says. 
 She sings like one immortal, and she dances 
 As goddess-like to her admired lays : 
 Deep clerks 1 she dumbs; and with her neeld 8 com- 
 poses 
 Nature's own shape, of bud, bird, branch, or berry; 
 That even her art sisters the natural roses : 
 Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied cherry : 
 That pupils lacks she none of noble race, 
 Who pour their bounty on her; and her gain 
 She gives the cursed bawd. Here we her place; 
 And to her father turn our thoughts again, 
 Where we left him, on the sea. We there him lost; 
 Whence, driven before the winds, he is arriv'd 
 Here where his daughter dwells ; and on this coast 
 Suppose him now at anchor. The city striv'd 
 God Neptune's annual feast to keep; from whence 
 Lysiinachus our Tyrian ship espies, 
 His banners sable, trimm'd with rich expense; 
 And to him in his barge with fervor hies. 
 In your supposing once more put your sight; 
 Of heavy Pericles think this the bark: 
 Where, what is done in action, more, if might, 
 Shall be discover'd; please you, sit, and hark. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I.— On board Pericles' Ship, off Mity lene. 
 A close Pavilion on Deck with a Curtain before 
 it; Pericles within it, reclined on a Couch. A 
 Barge lying beside the Tyrian Vessel. 
 
 Enter two Sailors, one belonging to the Tyrian 
 
 Vessel,the other to the Barge,- to them Helicanus. 
 
 Tyr. Sail. Where's the lord Helicanus ] He can 
 
 resolve you. [7b the Sailor of Mitylene. 
 
 O, here he is. 
 
 Sir, there's a barge put off from Mitylene; 
 And in it is Lysimachus the governor, 
 Who craves to come aboard. What is your will? 
 Hel. That he have his. Call up some gentle- 
 men. 
 Tyr. Sail. Ho, gentlemen ! my lord calls. 
 
 Enter two Gentlemen. 
 1 Gent. Doth your lordship call ] 
 Hel. Gentlemen, 
 There is some of worth would come aboard ; I pray 
 
 you 
 To greet them fairly. 
 
 [ The Gentlemen and the two Sailors descend, 
 and go on board the Barge. 
 
 Sinter from thence Lysimachus and Lords; the 
 Tyrian Gentlemen and the huo Sailors. 
 
 Tyr. Sail. Sir, 
 This is the man that can, in aught you would, 
 Resolve you. 
 
 Lys. Hail, reverend sir ! The gods preserve you ! 
 
 Hd. And you, sir, to out-live the age I am, 
 And die as I would do. 
 
 Lys. You wish me well. 
 
 Being on shore, honoring of Neptune's triumphs, 
 Seeing this goodly vessel ride before us, 
 I made to it, to know of whence you are. 
 
 ' Lparned men. • Needle 
 
 Hel. First, sir, what is your place ? 
 
 Lys. I am governor of this place you lie befbie- 
 
 Hel. Sir, 
 Our vessel is of Tyre, in it the king ; 
 A man, who for this three months hath not spoken 
 To any one, nor taken sustenance, 
 But to prorogue 9 his grief. 
 
 Lys. Upon what ground is his distemperature 1 
 
 Hel. Sir, it would be too tedious to repeat; 
 But the main grief of all springs from the loss 
 Of a beloved daughter and a wife. 
 
 Lys. May we not see him, then 1 
 
 Hel. You may, indeed, sir, 
 
 But bootless is your sight; he will not speak 
 To any. 
 
 Lys. Yet, let me obtain my wish. 
 
 Hel. Behold him, sir: [Pericles distovered.j 
 this was a goodly person, 
 Till the disaster, that, one mortal night, 
 Drove him to this. 
 
 Lys. Sir, king, all hail ! the gods preserve you .' 
 Hail, 
 Hail, royal sir! 
 
 Hel. It is in vain ; he will not speak to you. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, we have a maid in Mitylene, I dunr 
 wager, 
 Would win some words of him. 
 
 Lys. 'Tis well bethought, 
 
 She, questionless, with her sweet harmony 
 And other choice attractions, would allure, 
 And make a battery through his deafen'd partq. 
 Which now are midway stopp'd ; 
 She, all as happy as of all the fairest, 
 Is, with her fellow maidens, now within 
 The leafy shelter that abuts against 
 The island's side. 
 
 [He whispers one of the attendant Lords. 
 Exit Lord, in the Barge of Lysimachus. 
 
 Hel. Sure, all's effec*less;yet nothing we'll omi 
 That bears recovery's name. But, since your kind 
 
 ness 
 We have stretch'd thus far, let us beseech you fur 
 
 ther, 
 That for our gold we may provision have, 
 Wherein we are not destitute for want, 
 But weary for the staleness. 
 
 Lys. O, sir, a courtesy, 
 
 Which if we should deny, the most just God 
 For every graff would send a caterpillar, 
 And so inflict our province. — Yet once more 
 Let me entreat to know at large the cause 
 Of your king's sorrw?. 
 
 Hel. Sit, sir, I will recount if, 
 
 But see, I am prevented. 
 
 Enter, from the Barge, Lord, Marina, and a 
 young Lady. 
 
 Lys. O, here is 
 
 The lady that I sent ror. Welcome, fair one ' 
 Is't not a goodly presence ? 
 
 Hel. A gallant lady. 
 
 Lys. She's such, that were I well assur'd she cam' 
 Of gentle kind, and noble stock, I'd wish 
 No better choice, and think me rarely wed. 
 Fair one, all goodness that consists in bounty 
 
 » TV, 'cngthen or prolong his grief. » Ear* 
 
802 
 
 PERICLES, 
 
 AcrV 
 
 Expect even here, where is a kingly patient : 
 If that thy prosperous artificial feat 
 Can draw him but to answer thee in aught, 
 ^hy sacred physic shall receive such pay 
 As thy desires can wish. 
 
 Mar. Sir, I will use 
 
 My utmost skill in his recovery, 
 Provided none but I and my companion 
 Be suffer'd to come near hin 
 
 Lys. Come, let us leave her, 
 
 And the gods make her prosperous ! [Mar. sings. 
 
 Lys. Mark'd he your music] 
 
 Mar. No, nor looked on us. 
 
 Lys. See, she will speak to him. 
 
 Mar. Hail, sir ! my lord, lend ear : — 
 
 Per. Hum! ha! 
 
 Mar. I am a maid, 
 
 My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes, 
 But have been gazed on comet-like : she speaks, 
 My lord, that, may be, hath endur'd a grief 
 Might equal yours, if both were justly weigh'd. 
 Though wayward fortune did malign my state, 
 My derivation was from ancestors 
 Who stood equivalent with mighty kings : 
 But time hath rooted out my parentage, 
 And to the world and awkward casualties 
 Bound me in servitude. — I will desist; 
 But there is something glows upon my cheek, 
 And whispers in mine ear, Go not till he speak. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Per. My fortunes — parentage — good parentage — 
 To equal mine; — was it not thus] what say you] 
 
 Mar. I said, my lord, if you did know my parent- 
 age, 
 You would not do me violence. 
 
 Per. I do think so. 
 
 [ pray you turn your eyes again upon me. — 
 You are like something that— What countrywoman] 
 Here of these shores] 
 
 Mar. No, nor of any shores : 
 Yet I was mortally brought forth, and am 
 No other than I appear. 
 
 Per. I am great with wo, and shall deliver 
 weeping. 
 My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one 
 My daughter might have been : my queen's square 
 
 brows ; 
 Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight ; 
 As silver-voiced ; her eyes as jewel-like, 
 And cased as richly : in pace another Juno ; 
 Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them 
 
 hungry, 
 The more she gives them speech. — Where do you 
 live] 
 
 Mar. Where I am but a stranger ; from the deck 
 You may discern the place. 
 
 Per. Where were you bred ] 
 
 And how achiev'd you these endowments, which 
 You make more rich to owe] 
 
 Mar. Should I tell my history, 
 
 'Twould seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting. 
 
 Per. Pr'ythee speak; 
 Falseness cannot come from thee, for thou look'st 
 Modest as justice, and thou seem'st a palace 
 For the crown'd truth to dwell in : I'll believe thee, 
 And make my senses credit thy relation, 
 To points that seem impossible , for thou look'st 
 Like one I lov'd indeed. What were thy friends ] 
 Didst thou not say, when I did push thee back, 
 (Which was when I perceiv'd thee,) that thou 
 
 caai'st 
 From good descending ' 
 
 Mar. So indeed I did. 
 
 Per. Report ihy parentage. I think thou said'st 
 Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, 
 And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equa 
 
 mine, 
 If both were open'd. 
 
 Mar. Some such thing indeed 
 
 I said, and said no more but what my thoughts 
 Did warrant me was likely. 
 
 Per. Tell thy story ; 
 
 If thine consider'd prove the thousandth part 
 Of my endurance, thou art a man, and I 
 Have suffer'd like a girl : yet thou dost look 
 Like patience, gazing on king's graves, and smiling 
 Extremity out of act. What were thy friends] 
 How lost thou them ] Thy name, my most kind 
 
 virgin] 
 Recount, I do beseech thee ; come, sit by me. 
 
 Mar. My name, sir, is Marina. 
 
 Per. 0, 1 am mock'd, 
 
 And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
 To make the world laugh at me. 
 
 Mar. Patience, good sir. 
 
 Or here I'll cease. 
 
 Per. Nay, I'll be patient ; 
 
 Thou little know'st how thou dost startle me, 
 To call thyself Marina. 
 
 Mar. The name Marina. 
 
 Was given me by one that had some power ; 
 My father, and a king. 
 
 Per. How ! a king's daughter ! 
 
 And call'd Marina ] 
 
 Mar. You said you would believe me, 
 
 But, not to be a troubler of your peace, 
 I will end here. 
 
 Per. But are you flesh and blood] 
 
 Have you a working pulse] and are no fairy ] 
 No motion !* — Well ; speak on. Where were you 
 
 born] 
 And wherefore call'd Marina ] 
 
 Mar. Call'd Marina, 
 
 For I was born at sea. 
 
 Per. At sea] Thy mother] 
 
 Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king : 
 Who died the very minute I was born, 
 As my good nurse Lychorida hath oft 
 Deliver'd weeping. 
 
 Per. O, stop there a littk ! 
 
 This is the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep 
 Did mock sad fools withal : this cannot be. 
 My daughter's buried. [Aside.'] Well: — where 
 
 were you bred ] 
 I'll hear you more, to the bottom of your story, 
 And never interrupt you. 
 
 Mar. You'll scarce believe me; 'twere best I did 
 give o'er. 
 
 Per. I will believe you by the syllable 
 Of what you shall deliver. Yet, give me leave. — 
 How came you in these parts] where were you bred] 
 
 Mar. The king, my father, did in Tharsus leave 
 me; 
 Till cruel Cleon, with his wicked wife, 
 Did seek to murder me: and having woo'd 
 A villain to attempt it, who having drawn, 
 A crew of pirates came and rescued me; 
 Brought me to Mitylene. But now, good sir, 
 Whither will you have me ] Why do you weep * 
 
 It may be, 
 You think me an impostor ; no, good faith ; 
 I am the daughter to king Pericles, 
 If good king Pericles be. 
 
 Per. Ho, Helicanus ! 
 
 Hel. Calls my gracious lord ! 
 
 »t. e. No puppet dressed up to deceive me 
 
Scene 11. 
 
 PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 8(W 
 
 Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, 
 Most wise in general : Tell me, if thou canst, 
 What this maid is, or what is like to be 
 That thus hatr made me weep? 
 
 Hel. I know not; but 
 
 Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene, 
 Speaks nobly of her. 
 
 Lys. She would never tell 
 
 Her parentage ; being demanded that, 
 She would sit still and weep. 
 
 Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honor'd sir; 
 Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; 
 Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, 
 O'erbear the shores of my mortality, 
 And drown me with their sweetness. O, come 
 
 hither, 
 Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget: 
 Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, 
 And found at sea again ! O Helicanus, 
 Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, as loud 
 As thunder threatens us. This is Marina. — 
 What was thy mother's name ? tell me but that, 
 For truth can never be confirm'd enough, 
 Though doubts did ever sleep. 
 
 Mar. First, sir, I pray, 
 
 What is your title ? 
 
 Per. I am Pericles of Tyre : but tell me now 
 (As in the rest thou hast been godlike perfect) 
 My drown'd queen's name, thou art the heir of 
 
 kingdoms, 
 And another life to Pericles thy father. 
 
 Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than 
 To say, my mother's name was Thaisa? 
 Thaisa was my mother, who did end, 
 Fhe minute I began. 
 
 Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise; thou art my 
 child. 
 Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus, 
 (Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been, 
 By savage Cleon,) she shall tell thee all; 
 When thou shalt kneel and justify in knowledge, 
 She is thy very princess. — Who is this? 
 
 Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene, 
 Who, hearing of your melancholy state, 
 Did come to see you. 
 
 Per. I embrace you, sir. 
 
 Give me my robes ; I am wild in my beholding. 
 O heavens bless my girl! But hark, what music! — 
 Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him 
 O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt, 
 How sure you are my daughter. — But what music? 
 
 Hel. My lord, I hear none. 
 
 Per. None? 
 The music of the spheres: List, my Marina. 
 
 Lys. It is not good to cross him ; give him way. 
 
 Per. Rarest sounds ! 
 Do ye not hear? 
 
 Lys. Music? my lord, I hear — 
 
 Per. Most heavenly music: 
 It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber 
 Hangs on mine eye-lids ; let r-e rest. [He sleeps. 
 
 Lys. A pillow for his heau ; 
 
 [ The Curtain before the Pavilion of Pericles 
 is closed. 
 So leave him all. — Well, my companion-friends, 
 If this but answer to my just belief, 
 I'll well remember you. 
 
 [Exeunt Ltsimachcs, Helicanus, Ma- 
 rina, and Attendant Lady. 
 
 SCENFi II. — The same. Peiiicles on the Deck 
 asleep; Diana appearing to him as in a Vision. 
 
 r )ia. My temple stands in Ephesus; hie thee thither, 
 
 And do upon mine altar sacrifice. 
 
 There, when my maiden priests are met together, 
 
 Before the people all, 
 
 Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
 
 To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call, 
 
 And give them repetition to the life. 
 
 Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe: 
 
 Do't, and be happy, by my silver bow. 
 
 Awake, and tell thy dream. [Diana disappears. 
 
 Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, 3 
 I will obey thee ! — Helicanus ! 
 
 Enter Ltsimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. 
 
 Hel. Sir. 
 
 Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to 
 strike 
 The inhospitable Cleon; but I am 
 For other service first: toward Ephesus 
 Turn our blown sails ; eftsoons' I'll tell ther why. — 
 [To Helicanus. 
 Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore, 
 And give you gold for such provision 
 As our intents will need ? 
 
 Lys. With all my heart, sir; and when you 
 come ashore, 
 I have another suit. 
 
 Per. You shall prevail, 
 
 Were it to woo my daughter; for it seems 
 You have been noble towards her. 
 
 Lys. Sir, lend your arm. 
 
 Per. Come, my Marina. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Gower, before the Temple of Diana at 
 Ephesus. 
 
 Gow. Now our sands are almost run ; 
 More a little, and then done. 
 This, as my last boon, give me 
 (For such kindness must relieve me) 
 That you aptly will suppose 
 What pageantry, what feats, what shows, 
 What minstrelsy, and pretty din, 
 The regent made in Mitylen, 
 To greet the king. So he was thrived, 
 That he is promis'd to be wived 
 To fair Marina ; but in no wise, 
 Till he' had done his sacrifice, 
 As Dian bade: whereto being bound 
 The interim, pray you, all confound." 
 In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd, 
 And wishes fall out as they're will'd 
 At Ephesus, the temple see, 
 Our king, and all his company. 
 That he can hither come so soon. 
 Is by your fancy's thankful boon. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— The Temple of Diana at Ephesus: 
 Thaisa standing near the Altar, as High- 
 Priestess,- a number of Virgins on each side 
 Cerimon and other Inhabitants of Ephesus at- 
 tending. 
 
 Enter Pericles, with his Train; Ltsimachus, 
 Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady. 
 
 Per. Hail, Dian; to perform thy just command 
 I here confess myself the king of Tyre; 
 Who, frighted from my country, did wed 
 The fair Thaisa, at Pentapolis. 
 At sea in child-bed died she; but brought forth 
 A maid-child call'd Marina; who, goddess, 
 Wears yet thy silver livery. 1 She at Tharsus 
 Was nurs'd with Cleon ; whom at fourteen yearf 
 
 >i e. Regent of the silver moon. *Soon. 
 
 »i. e. Pericles. • Confound here signifies to consume 
 
 1 i. e Her white robe of innocence. 
 
804 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 Act V 
 
 He sought to murder: but her better stars 
 Brought her to Mitylene ; against whose shore 
 Riding, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us, 
 Where, by her own most clear remembrance, she 
 Made known herself my daughter. 
 
 Thai. Voice and favor! — 
 
 You are — you are — O royal Pericles ! [She faints. 
 
 Per. What means the woman ! she dies ! help, 
 gentlem< n ! 
 
 Cer Noble sir, 
 If you ha"« told Diana's altar true, 
 This is your wife. 
 
 Per. Reverend appearer, no ; 
 
 I threw her o'erboard with these very arms. 
 
 Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 
 
 Per. 'Tis most certain. 
 
 Cer. Look to the lady; — 0, she's but o'erjoy'd. 
 Early, one blust'ring morn, this lady was 
 Thrown on this shore. I oped the coffin, and 
 Found there rich jewels; recover'd her and placed 
 
 her 
 Here in Diana's temple. 
 
 Per. May we see them? 
 
 Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my 
 house, 
 Whither I invite you. Look ! Thaisa is 
 Recover'd. 
 
 Thai. 0, let me look ! 
 If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
 Will to my sense 8 bend no licentious ear, 
 But curb it spite of seeing. 0, my lord, 
 Are you not Pericles'? Like him you speak, 
 Like him you are: Did you not name a tempest, 
 A birth, and death 1 
 
 Per. The voice of dead Thaisa! 
 
 Thai. That Thaisa am I, supposed dead, 
 Anddrown'd. 
 
 Per. Immortal Dian! 
 
 Thai. Now I know you better. — 
 
 When we with tears parted Pentapolis, 
 The king, my father, gave you such a ring. 
 
 [Shows a ring. 
 
 Per. This, this : no more, you gods ! your pre- 
 sent kindness 
 Makes my past miseries sport: You shall do well, 
 That on the touching of her lips I may 
 Melt, and no more be seen. come, be buried 
 A second time within these arms. 
 
 Mar. My heart 
 
 Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 
 
 [Kneels to Thaisa. 
 
 Per. Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy flesh, 
 Thaisa: 
 Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina, 
 For she was yielded there. 
 
 Thai. Bless'd and mine own! 
 
 Hel. Hail, madam, and my queen ! 
 
 Thai. I know you not. 
 
 Per. You have heard me say, when I did fly 
 from Tyre, 
 
 left behind an ancient substitute. 
 
 • Sensual passion. 
 
 Can you remember what I call'd the man? 
 I have named him oft. 
 
 Thai. 'Twas Helicanus '.hen 
 
 Per. Still confirmation: 
 Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he. 
 Now do I long to hear how you were found ; 
 How possibly preserv'd; and whom to thank, 
 Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man 
 Through whom the gods have shown their power; 
 
 that can 
 From first to last resolve you. 
 
 Per. Reverend sir, 
 
 The gods can have no mortal officer 
 More like a god than you. Will you deliver 
 How this dead queen re-lives 1 
 
 Cer. I will, my lord. 
 
 Beseech you, first go with me to my house, 
 Where shall be shown you all was found with hei • 
 How she came placed here within the temple, 
 No needful thing omitted. 
 
 Per. Pure Dian! 
 
 I bless thee for thy vision, and will offer 
 My night oblations to thee. Thaisa, 
 This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, 
 Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now, 
 This ornament 9 that makes me look so dismal, 
 Will I, my lov'd Marina, clip to form; 
 And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd, 
 To grace thy marriage day, I'll beautify. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit 
 Sir, that my father's dead. 
 
 Per. Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, 
 my queen, 
 We'll celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves 
 Will in that kingdom spend our following days 
 Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. 
 Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay 
 To hear the rest untold. — Sir, lead the way. 
 
 Exeunt. 
 Enter Goweh. 
 
 Gow. In Antioch,' and his daughter, you have 
 heard 
 Of monstrous lust the due and just reward: 
 In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen 
 (Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen) 
 Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast, 
 Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last. 
 In Helicanus may you well descry 
 A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty: 
 In reverend Cerimon there well appears, 
 The worth that learned charity aye wears. 
 For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
 Had spread their cursed deed, and honor'd name 
 Of Pericles, to rage the city turn, 
 That him and his they in his palace burn. 
 The gods for murder seemed so content 
 To punish them; although not done, but meant. 
 So on your patience evermore attending, 
 New joy wait on you! Here our play has ending. 
 
 [Exit Go web 
 *«*. t. His beard. ' » e. The king of Antiocb 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Lear, King of Britain. 
 
 King of France. 
 
 Duke of BunccrrDi. 
 
 Duke of Cornwall. 
 
 Duki. of Albany. 
 
 Earl of Kent. 
 
 Earl of Gloster. 
 
 Edgar, Son to Gloster. 
 
 Edmund, Bastard Son to Gloster. 
 
 Curan, a Courtier. 
 
 Old Man, Tenant to Gloster. 
 
 Physician. 
 
 Fool. 
 
 Oswald, Steward to Goneril. 
 
 An Officer, employed by Edmund. 
 
 Gentleman, Attendant on Cordelia. 
 
 A Herald. 
 
 Servants to Cornwall. 
 
 Gonebil, 
 
 Regan, 
 
 Cordbua, 
 
 • Daughters to Lear. 
 
 Knights attending on the King, Officers, Mestetf 
 gers, Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, Britain. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room of State in King Lear's 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund. 
 
 Kent. I thought, the king had more affected the 
 duke of Albany, than Cornwall. 
 
 Glo. It did always seem so to us ; but now, in 
 the division of the kingdom, it appears not which 
 of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so 
 weigh'd, that curiosity ' in neither can make choice 
 of either's moiet3'. 3 
 
 Kent. Is this your son, my lord T 
 
 Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge : 
 I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that 
 now I am brazed to it. 
 
 Kent. I cannot conceive ycu. 
 
 Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could: 
 whereupon she grew round-wombed; and had, in- 
 deed, sir, a son for her cradle, ere she had a hus- 
 band for her bed. Do you smell a fault ? 
 
 Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue 
 of it being so proper. 
 
 Glo. But I have, sir, a son, by order of law, some 
 year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my 
 account : though this knave came somewhat saucily 
 into the world before he was sent for, yet was his 
 mother fair; there was good sport at his making, 
 and the whoreson must be acknowledged. — Do you 
 know this noble gentleman, Edmund 1 
 
 Edm. No, my lord. 
 
 Glo. My lord of Kent : remember him hereafter 
 as my honorable friend. 
 
 Edm. My services to your lordship. 
 
 Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you 
 better. 
 
 Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 
 
 « Most scrupulous nicety. 
 [805] 
 
 * Part or division. 
 
 Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he 
 shall again : — The king is coming. 
 
 [Trumpets sound within 
 
 Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonexii, 
 Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants. 
 
 Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 
 Gloster. 
 
 Glo. I shall, my liege. 
 
 [Exeunt Gloster and Edaiund. 
 
 Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker 
 purpose. 
 Give me the map there. — Know, that we have 
 
 divided, 
 In three, our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent 
 To shake all cares and business from our age : 
 Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
 Unburden'd crawl toward death. — Our son of 
 
 Cornwall, 
 And you, our no less loving son of Albany, 
 We have this hour a constant will to publish 
 Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
 May be prevented now. The princes, France and 
 
 Burgundy, 
 Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, 
 Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, 
 And here are to be answer'd. — Tell me, my daugh- 
 ters, 
 (Since now we will divest us, both of rule, 
 Interest of territory, cares of state,) 
 Which of you, shall we say, doth love us moet ' 
 That we our largest bounty may extend 
 Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril. 
 Our eldest-born, speak first. 
 
 Gon. Sir, I 
 
 Do love you more than words can wield the maite;, 
 Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty : 
 Beyond what can be valued, rich, or rare: 
 
806 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act I 
 
 \o less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor : 
 As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found. 
 A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
 Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 
 
 Cor. What shall Cordelia do ! love, and be silent. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to 
 this, 
 With shadowy forests and with champains * rich'd, 
 With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 
 We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue 
 Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter, 
 Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall 1 Speak. 
 
 Keg. I am made of that self metal as my sister, 
 And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
 I find, she names my very deed of love; 
 Only she comes too short, — That I profess 
 Myself an enemy to all other joys, 
 Which the most precious square ' of sense possesses; 
 And find, I am alone felicitate 5 
 In your dear highness' love. 
 
 Cor. Then poor Cordelia! 
 
 [Aside. 
 And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's 
 More richer than my tongue. 
 
 Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, 
 Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom : 
 No less in space, validity, 6 and pleasure, 
 Than that confirm'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy, 
 Although the last, not least; to whose young love 
 The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, 
 Strive to be interess'd: what can you say, to draw 
 V third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. 
 
 Cor. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Lear. Nothing] 
 
 Cor. Nothing. 
 
 Lear. Nothing can come of nothing: speak again. 
 
 Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
 My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty 
 According to my bond; nor more nor less. 
 
 Lear. How, how, Cordelia ? mend your speech 
 a little, 
 Lest it may mar your fortunes. 
 
 Cor. Good my lord, 
 
 You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
 Return those duties back as are right fit, 
 Obey you, love you, and most honor you. 
 Why have my sisters husbands, if they say, 
 They love you, alii Haply, when I shall wed, 
 That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall 
 
 carry 
 Half my love with him, half my care, and duty : 
 Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, 
 To love my father all. 
 
 Lear. But goes this with thy heart? 
 
 Cor. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Lear. So young, and so untender ? 
 
 Cor. So young, my lord, and true. 
 
 Lear. Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy dower: 
 For, by the sacred radiance of the sun ; 
 The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; 
 By all the operations of the orbs, 
 From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; 
 Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
 Propinquity," and property of blood, 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me 
 Hold thee, from this' forever. The barbarous 
 
 Scythian, 
 Or he that makes his generation' messes 
 To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 
 
 'Open plains. 'Comprehension. 'Made happy. 
 •Value. 'Kindred. » From this time. 
 
 » Mis children 
 
 Be as well neighbor'd, pitied, and reliev'd, 
 As thou my sometime daughter. 
 
 Kent. Good mv liege,- • 
 
 Lear. Peace, Kent! 
 Come not between the dragon and his wrath: 
 I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest 
 On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid my 
 sight! — [To Cordelia. 
 
 So be my grave my peace, as here I give 
 Her father's heart from her! — Call France; — Who 
 
 stirs ? 
 Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany, 
 With my two daughters' dowers digest this third. 
 Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 
 I do invest you jointly with m'y power, 
 Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 
 That troop with majesty. — Ourself, by monthly 
 
 course, 
 With reservation of an hundred knights, 
 By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
 Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 
 The name, and all the additions 'to a king; 
 The sway, 
 
 Revenue, execution of the rest, 
 Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm, 
 This coronet part between you. [Giving the Crown 
 
 Kent. Royal Lear, 
 
 Whom I have ever honor'd as my king, 
 Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd, 
 As my great patron thought on in my prayers, — 
 
 Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from 
 the shaft. 
 
 Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
 The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, 
 When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man! 
 Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak. 
 When power to flattery bows 1 To plainness ho- 
 nor's bound, 
 When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; 
 And, in thy best consideration, check 
 This hideous rashness: answer my life my judg- 
 ment, 
 Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; 
 Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound 
 Reverbs* no hollowness. 
 
 Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 
 
 Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn 
 To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it. 
 Thy safety being the motive. 
 
 Lear. Out of my sight! 
 
 Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain 
 The true blank 3 of thine eye. 
 
 Lear. Now, by Apollo, — 
 
 Kent. Now, by Apollo, king, 
 
 Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 
 
 Lear. O, vassal, miscreant! 
 
 [Laying his Hand on his &tvord. 
 
 Alb. Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 
 
 Kent. Do; 
 Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
 Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift : 
 Or whilst I can vent clamor from my throat, 
 I'll tell thee, thou dost evil. 
 
 Lear. Hear me, recreant! 
 
 On thine allegiance hear me ! — 
 Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, 
 (Which we durst never yet.) and,with strain'd pride, 
 To come betwixt our sentence and our power; 
 (Which nor our nature, nor our place can bear;) 
 Our potency make good, take thy reward. 
 Five days we do allot thee, for provision 
 To shield thee from diseases of the world 
 1 Titles » Revp-'v.i-iites. * Tho mark to sh jot at 
 
I — 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 807 
 
 And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back 
 Upot. our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following, 
 Thy banish'd trunk be tound in our dominions, 
 The moment is thy death : Away ! By Jupiter, 
 This shall not be revpk'd. 
 
 Kent. Fare thee well, king : since thus thcu wilt 
 appear, 
 Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — 
 The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, 
 
 [7b Cordelia. 
 That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! — 
 And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 
 [To Regan a/2t? Goneril. 
 That good effects may spring from words of love. — 
 Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ; 
 He'll shape his old course in a country new. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Gloster; with France, Burgundy, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 
 
 Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
 We first address towards you, who with this king 
 Hath nvall'd for our daughter; What, in the least, 
 Will you require in present dower with her, 
 Or cease your quest of love 7 
 
 Bur. Most royal majesty, 
 
 I crave no more than hath your highness offei'd, 
 Nor will you tender less. 
 
 Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 
 
 When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 
 But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands; 
 If aught within that little, seeming substance, 
 Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, 
 And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, 
 She's there, and she is yours. 
 
 Bur. I know no answer. 
 
 Lear. Sir, 
 Will you, with those infirmities she owes, 
 Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, 
 Dower'd with our curse,and stranger'd with our oath, 
 Take her, or leave her 1 
 
 Bur. Pardon me, royal sir; 
 
 Election makes not up on such conditions. 
 
 Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power 
 that made me, 
 I tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king, 
 
 [To France. 
 I would not from your love make such a stray, 
 To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you 
 To avert your liking a more worthier way, 
 Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed 
 Almost to acknowledge hers. 
 
 France. This is most strange! 
 
 That she, that even but now was your best object, 
 The argument of your praise, balm of your age, 
 Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time 
 Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
 So many folds of favor ! Sure, her offence 
 Must be of such unnatural degree, 
 That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
 Fall into taint: which to believe of her, 
 Must be a faith, that reason without miracle 
 Could never plant in me. 
 
 Cor. I yet beseech your majesty, 
 
 (If for 5 I want that, glib and oily art, 
 To speak and purpose not ; since what I well intend, 
 I'll do't before I speak,) that you make known 
 It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
 No unchaste action or dishonor'd step, 
 That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favor : 
 But even for want of that, for which I am richer; 
 A etill-soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
 
 « Owns, U possessed o£ » Because. 
 
 That I am glad I have not, though not to have it, 
 Hath lost me in your liking. 
 
 Lear. Better thou 
 
 Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd me 
 better. 
 
 France. Is it but this 1 a tardiness in nature, 
 Which often leaves the history unspoke, 
 That it intends to do 1 — My lord of Burgundy, 
 What say you to the lady 1 Love is not love, 
 When it is mingled with respects, that stand 
 Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her' 
 She is herself a dowry. 
 
 Bur. Royal Lear, 
 
 Give but that portion which yourself propos'd, 
 And here I take Cordelia by the hand, 
 Duchess of Burgundy. 
 
 Lear. Nothing : I have sworn ; I am firm. 
 
 Bur. I am sorry then, you have so lost a father 
 That you must lose a husband. 
 
 Cor. Peace be with Burgundy 
 
 Since that respects of fortune are his love, 
 I shall not be his wife. 
 
 Francs. Fairest Cordelia, thou art most rich, 
 being poor ; 
 Most choice, forsaken : and most lov'd, despis'd ! 
 Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon : 
 Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away. 
 Gods, gods ! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st ne- 
 glect 
 My love should kindle to inflamed respect. — 
 Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, 
 Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
 Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy 
 Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.- 
 Bid them farewell, Cordelia; though unkind - . 
 Thou losest here, a better where to find. 
 
 Lear. Thou hast her., France: let her be thir.o, 
 for we 
 Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see 
 That face of hers again : — Therefore be gor.e, 
 Without our grace, our love, our benizon." — 
 Come, noble Burgundy. 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Corn- 
 wall, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants. 
 
 France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 
 
 Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
 Cordelia leaves you ; I know you what you are : 
 And, like a sister, am most loath to call 
 Your faults, as they are named. Use well ourfather : 
 To your professed bosoms I commit him : 
 But yet, alas ! stood I within his grace, 
 I would prefer him to a better place. 
 So farewell to you both. 
 
 Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. 
 
 Reg. Let your study 
 
 Be, to content your lord ; who hath receiv'd you 
 At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted, 
 And well are worth the want that you hava wanted. 
 
 Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning 
 hides ; 
 Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. 
 Well may you prosper! 
 
 France. Come, my fair Cordelia 
 
 [Exeunt France and Cordelia. 
 
 Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say, of 
 what most nearly appertains to us both. I think, 
 our father will hence to-night. 
 
 Reg. That's most certain, and with you ; next 
 month with us. 
 
 Gon. You see how full of changes his age is : tho 
 observation we have made of it hath not been little: 
 he alwavs lov'd our sister most ; and with wh« 
 * Blessing. 
 
608 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too 
 grossly. 
 
 Reg. Tis the infirmity of his age : yet he hath 
 ever but slenderly known himself. 
 
 Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath 
 been but rash ; then must we look to receive from 
 his age, not alone the imperfections of long-en- 
 grafted condition, 1 but therewithal, the unruly way- 
 wardness that infirm and choleric years bring 
 with them. 
 
 Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have 
 from him, as this of Kent's banishment. 
 
 Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking 
 between France and him. Pray you, let us hit 
 together : If our father carry authority with such 
 dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his 
 will but offend us. 
 
 Reg. We shall further think of it. 
 
 Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Hall in the Earl of Gloster's 
 Castle. 
 
 Enter Edmund with a Letter. 
 
 Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law 
 My services are bound: Wherefore should I 
 Stand in the plague of custom ; and permit 
 The curiosity 8 of nations to deprive me, 
 For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines 
 Lag of a brother ? Why bastard ? wherefore base ? 
 When my dimensions are as well compact, 
 My mind as generous, and my shape as true, 
 As honest madam's issue ? Why brand they us 
 With base ? with baseness ? bastardy ? base, base 1 
 Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 
 More composition and fierce quality, 
 Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, 
 Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, 
 Got 'tween asleep and wake? — Well then, 
 Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: 
 Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund, 
 As to the legitimate : Fine word, — legitimate ! 
 Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, 
 And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 
 Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper: — 
 Now, gods, stand up for bastards! 
 Enter Glostf.r. 
 
 Glo. Kent banish'd thus ! And France in choler 
 parted ! 
 And the king gone to-night! subscribed 9 his power ! 
 Confined to exhibition ! ' All this done 
 
 Upon the "gad! 5 Edmund! How now? what 
 
 news? 
 
 Edm. So please your lordship, none. 
 
 [Putting up the Letter. 
 
 Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that 
 letter ? 
 
 Edm. I know no news, my lord. 
 
 Glo. What paper were you reading ? 
 
 Edm. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Glo. No ? What needed then that terrible des- 
 patch of it into your pocket ? the quality of nothing 
 hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see: Come, 
 if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. 
 
 Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me : it is a letter 
 from my brother, that I have not all o'er read ; for 
 «o much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your 
 over-looking. 
 
 Glo. Give me the letter, sir. 
 
 Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. 
 
 " Qualities of mind. • The nicety of civil institution. 
 •Yielded, surrendered. 'Allowance. 3 Suddenly. 
 
 The contents, as in part I understand them, are t« 
 blame. 
 
 Glo. Let's see, let's see. 
 
 Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, ho 
 wrote this but as an essay 3 or taste of my virtue. 
 
 Glo. [Reads.] This policy, and reverence of age 
 makes the world bitter to the best of our limes,- keeps 
 our fortunes from its, till our o/aness cannot relish 
 them. I begin to find an idle atidfond' bondage in 
 the oppression of aged tyranny ,• who sways, not as 
 it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that 
 of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep 
 till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue 
 for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, Ed- 
 gar. — Humph — Conspiracy ! — Sleep till I ivaked 
 him — you should 'enjoy half his revenue. — My son 
 Edgar ! had he a hand to write this ? a heart and 
 brain to breed it in? — When came this to you? 
 Who brought it ? 
 
 Edm. It was not brought me, my lord, there's 
 the cunning of it ; I found it thrown in at the case- 
 ment of my closet. 
 
 Glo. You know the character to be your brother's? 
 
 Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
 swear it were his; but in respect of that, I would 
 fain think it were not. 
 
 Glo. It is his. 
 
 Edm. It is his hand, my lord ; but, I hope, hia 
 heart is not in the contents. 
 
 Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in 
 this business ? 
 
 Edm. Never, my lord : But I have often heard 
 him maintainfit to be fit, that sons at perfect age, 
 and fathers declining, the father should be as ward 
 to the son, and the son manage his revenue. 
 
 Glo. villain, villain ! — His very opinion in the 
 letter ! — Abhorred villain ! Unnatural, detested, 
 brutish villain ! worse than brutish ! — Go, sirrah, 
 seek him ; I'll apprehend him: — Abominable vil- 
 lain ! — Where is he ? 
 
 Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall 
 please you to suspend your indignation against my 
 brother, till you can derive from him better testi- 
 mony of his intent, you shall run a certain course ; 
 where, 5 if you violently proceed against him, mis- 
 taking his purpose, it would make a great gap in 
 your own honor, and shake in pieces the heart of 
 his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, 
 that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your 
 honor, and to no other pretence of danger. 
 
 Glo. Think you so? 
 
 Edm. If your honor judge it meet, I will place 
 you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by 
 an auricular assurance have your satisfaction ; and 
 that without any further delay than this very 
 evening. 
 
 Glo. He cannot be such a monster. 
 
 Edm. Nor is not, sure. 
 
 Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely 
 loves him. — Heaven and earth! — Edmund, seek 
 him out ; wind me into him, I pray you : frame the 
 business after your own wisdom : I would unstate 
 myself, to be in a due resolution. 
 
 Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey* 
 the business as I shall find means, and acquaint 
 you withal. 
 
 Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon 
 portend no good to us : Though the wisdom of 
 nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds 
 itself scourged by the sequent 1 effects: love cools, 
 friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mu- 
 
 ' Trial. * Weak and foolish. 
 
 • Manage. 
 
 « Whereas. 
 * Following. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 soy 
 
 times , m countries, discord ; in palaces, treason ; 
 and the bono cracked between son and father. 
 This villain of mine comes under the prediction ; 
 there's son against father : the king falls from bias 
 of nature ; there's father against child. We have 
 seen the best of our time : Machinations, hollow- 
 ness, treachery, and all rui ious disorders, follow us 
 disquietly to our graves ! — Find out this villain, 
 Edmund, it shall lose thee nothing ; do it carefully : 
 — And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished ! 
 his offence, honesty ! Strange ! strange ! [Exit. 
 
 Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world ! 
 that when we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeit 
 of our own behavior,) we make guilty of our dis- 
 asters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we 
 were villains by necessity; fools, by heavenly 
 compulsion ; knaves, thieves, and treachers, 8 by 
 spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adul- 
 terers, by an enforced obedience of planetary in- 
 fluence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine 
 thrusting on : An admirable evasion of whoremas- 
 ter man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge 
 of a star ! My father compounded with my mother 
 under the dragon's tail ; and my nativity was un- 
 der ursa major,- so that it follows, I am rough and 
 lecherous. — Tut, I should have been that I am, had 
 the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on 
 my bastardizing. Edgar — 
 
 Enter Edgar. 
 and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old 
 comedy : My cue is villanous melancholy, with a 
 sigh like Tom o'Bedlam. — O, these eclipses do 
 portend these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi. 9 
 
 Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What 
 serious contemplation are you in ] 
 
 Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I 
 read this other day, what should follow these 
 eclipses. 
 
 Edg. Do you busy yourself with that ] 
 
 Edm. I promise you the effects he writes of, 
 succeed unhappily ; as of unnaturalness between 
 the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolu- 
 tions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces 
 and maledictions against king and nobles ; needless 
 diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of 
 cohorts, 1 nuptial breaches, and I know not what. 
 
 Edg. How long have you been a sectary astro- 
 nomical 1 
 
 Edm. Gome, come : when saw you my father 
 last? 
 
 Edg. Why, the night gone by. 
 
 Edm. Spak* _ .u with him 1 
 
 Edg. Ay, two hours together. 
 
 Edm. Parted you in good terms ] Found you 
 no displeasure in him, by word or countenance ] 
 
 Edg. None at all. 
 
 Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein you may have 
 offended him : and, at my entreaty, forbear his pre- 
 sence, till some little time hath qualified the heat 
 of his displeasure ; which at this instant so rageth 
 in him, that with the mischief of your person it 
 would scarcely allay. 
 
 Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. 
 Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a con- 
 tinent 5 forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes 
 slower ; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, 
 from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord 
 speak : Pray you, go ; there's my key : — If you 
 do stir abroad, go armed. 
 Edg. Armed, brother ] 
 
 » Traitors. 
 
 » These sounds are unnatural and offensive in music. 
 
 ' For cohorts some editors read courts * Temperate. 
 
 Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best: go 
 armed ; I am no honest man, if there be any good 
 meaning towards you : I have told you what I have 
 seen and heard, but faintly ; nothing like the image 
 and horror of it : Pray you, away. 
 Edg. Shall I hear from you anon] 
 Edm. I do serve you in this business. — 
 
 [Exit E ogab. 
 A credulous father, and a brother noble, 
 Whose nature is so far from doing harms, 
 That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty 
 My practices ride easy ! — I see the business — 
 Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit: 
 All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit. \Exit 
 
 SCENE IN.— A Room in the Duke of Albany'* 
 Palace. 
 Enter Goneril and Steward. 
 Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman foi 
 
 chiding of his fool ] 
 Stew. Ay, madam. 
 
 Gon. By day and night! he wrongs me; every 
 hour, 
 He flashes into one gross crime or other, 
 That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it: 
 His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
 On every trifle: — When he returns from hunting 
 I will not speak with him ; say, I am sick : — 
 If you come slack of former services, 
 You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. 
 Stew. He's coming, madam ; I hear him. 
 
 [Horns within ■ 
 Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, 
 You and your fellows ; I'd have it come to question: 
 If he dislike it, let him to my sister, 
 Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, 
 Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man, 
 That still would manage those authorities, 
 That he hath given away ! — Now, by my life, 
 Old fools are babes again ; and must be used 
 With checks, as flatteries, — when they are seen 
 
 abused. 
 Remember what I have said. 
 
 Stew. Very well, madam. 
 
 Gon. And let his knights have colder looks 
 among you : 
 What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so: 
 I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, 
 That I may speak. — I'll write straight to my sister, 
 To hold my very course : — Prepare for dinner. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Hall in the same. 
 
 Enter Kent, disguised. 
 
 Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow, 
 
 That can my speech diffuse, 3 my good intent 
 
 May carry through itself to that full issue 
 
 For which I raz'd 4 my likeness.— Now, banish'd 
 
 Kent, 
 If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, 
 (So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st, 
 Shall find thee full of labors. 
 
 Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, ana 
 
 Attendants. 
 Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner: go, gel 
 it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now, what 
 art thou ] 
 
 Kent. A man, sir. 
 
 Lear. What dost thou profess] What would**! 
 thou with us] 
 
 Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; t* 
 » Disorder, disguise. « Effaced. 
 
 3 D 
 
810 
 
 KING LEAR 
 
 Act I 
 
 serve him truly, that will put me in trust; to love 
 him that is honest; to converse with him that is 
 wise, and says little ; to fear judgment ; to fight, 
 when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. 
 
 Lear. What art thou! 
 
 Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor 
 as the king. 
 
 Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is 
 for a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st 
 thou? 
 
 Kent. Service. 
 
 Lear. Who wouldst thou serve ! 
 
 Kent. You. 
 
 Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow] 
 
 Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your coun- 
 tenance, which I would fain call master. 
 
 Lear. What's that! 
 
 Kent. Authority. 
 
 Lear. What services canst thou do] 
 
 Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar 
 a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain mes- 
 sage bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, 
 I am qualified in ; and the best of me is diligence. 
 
 Lear. How old art thou! 
 
 Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for 
 singing; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing: 
 I have years on my back forty-eight. 
 
 Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : if I like 
 thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee 
 yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner! — Where's my knave? 
 my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither: 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 Vou, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? 
 
 Stew. So please you, — [Exit. 
 
 Lear. What says the fellow there ! Call the clot- 
 poll back. — Where's my fool, ho! — I think the 
 world's asleep. — How now, where's that mongrel ! 
 
 Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not 
 well. 
 
 Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, when 
 I call'd him! 
 
 Knight. Sir, he answer'd me in the roundest 
 manner, he would not. 
 
 Lear. He would not! 
 
 Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is ; 
 but, to my judgment, your highness is not enter- 
 tain'd with that ceremonious affection as you were 
 wont; there's a great abatement of kindness ap- 
 pears, as well in the general dependants, as in the 
 duke himself also, and your daughter. 
 
 Lear. Ha! say'st thou so! 
 
 Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if 
 I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent, when 
 I think your highness is wrong'd. 
 
 Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own 
 conception ; I have perceived a most faint neglect 
 of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own 
 jealous curiosity, 6 than as a very pretence 6 and 
 purpose of unkindness : I will look further into't. 
 — But where's my fool! I have not seen him this 
 two days. 
 
 Knight. Since my young lady's going into 
 France, sir, the fool hath much pined away. 
 
 Lear. No more of that ; I have noted it well. — 
 Go, you, and tell my daughter I would speak with 
 her.- -Go you, call hither my fool. — 
 
 Re-enter Steward. 
 l,yousir,you sir, come you hither: Who am I,sir! 
 
 Stew. My lady's father. 
 
 Lear. My lady's father! my lord's knave 1 you 
 whoreson dog! you slave! you cur! 
 
 • Punctilious jealousy • Design 
 
 Stew. I am none of this, my lord ; I beseech you, 
 pardon me. 
 
 Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? 
 
 [Striking him. 
 
 Stew. I'll not be struck, my lord. 
 
 Kent. Nor tripped neither; you base foot-ball 
 
 player. [Tripping up his Heels. 
 
 Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, 
 
 and I'll love thee. 
 
 Kent. Come, sir, arise, away ; I'll teach you 
 differences ; away, away : If you will measure yom 
 lubber's length again, tarry: but away; go to: 
 Have you wisdom ? so. [Pushes the Steward out. 
 Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee . 
 there's earnest of thy service. [Giving Kent Money 
 Enter Fool. 
 Fool. Let me hire him too; — Here's my cox- 
 comb. [Giving Kent his Cap. 
 Lear. How now, my pretty knave ? how dost 
 thou? 
 
 Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 
 Kent. Why, fool? 
 
 Fool. Why, for taking one's part that is out of 
 favor: Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind 
 sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: There, take my 
 coxcomb: Why, this fellow has banish'd two of his 
 daughters, and did the third a blessing against his 
 will ; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my 
 coxcomb. — How now, nuncle? 'Would I had two 
 coxcombs, and two daughters! 
 Lear. Why, my boy ? 
 
 Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my 
 coxcombs myself: There's mine: beg another of 
 thy daughters. 
 
 Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 
 Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel; he 
 must be whipp'd out, when Lady, the brach,' may 
 stand by the fire, and stink. 
 Lear. A pestilent gall to me ! 
 Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. 
 Lear. Do. 
 Fool. Mark it, nuncle: — 
 
 Have more than thou showest, 
 Speak less than thou knowest, 
 Lend less than thou owest' 
 Ride more than thou goest, 
 Learn more than thou trowest' 
 Set less than thou throwest; 
 Leave thy drink and thy whore. 
 And keep in-a-door, 
 And thou shalt have more 
 Than two tens to a score. 
 Lear. This is nothing, fool. 
 Fool. Ther. 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd 
 lawyer; you gave me nothing for't: Can you make 
 no use of nothing, nuncle ? 
 
 Lear. Why, no, boy ; nothing can be made out 
 of nothing. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of 
 his land comes to ; he will not believe a fool. 
 
 [To Kfnt. 
 Lear. A bitter fool ! 
 
 Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, 
 between a bitter fool and a sweet fool ? 
 Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
 Fool. That lord, that counseled thee, 
 To give away thy land, 
 Come place him here by me, — 
 
 Or do thou for him stand: 
 The sweet and bitter fool 
 Will presently appear,- 
 ' Bitch-hound. • Ownest, possessest » BelieTert 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 811 
 
 fke one in motley here, 
 The other found out there. 
 
 Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy ? 
 
 Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away ; 
 that thou wast born with. 
 
 Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
 
 Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let 
 me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part 
 on't : and ladies too, they will not let me have all 
 fool to myself; they'll be snatching. — Give me an 
 egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. 
 
 Lear. What two crowns shall they be? 
 
 Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i'the middle, 
 aid eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. 
 When thou clovest thy crown i'the middle and 
 gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on 
 thy back over the dirt: Thou hadst little wit in thy 
 bold crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. 
 If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipp'd 
 that first finds it so. 
 
 Fools had ne'er less grace l in a year,- [Singing. 
 For wise men are grown foppish; 
 
 And know not how their wits to wear, 
 Their manners are so apish. 
 
 Lear. When were you wont to be so full of 
 songs, sirrah? 
 
 Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou 
 madest thy daughters thy mother: for when thou 
 gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own 
 breeches, 
 
 Then they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing. 
 And I for sorrow sung, 
 
 That such a king should play bo-peep, 
 And go the fools among. 
 t\ 'y thee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach 
 thy fool to lie ; I would fain learn to lie. 
 
 Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have }rou whipp'd. 
 
 Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters 
 are: they'll have me whipp'd for speaking true, 
 thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying; and, sometimes, 
 I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather 
 be any kind of thing, than a fool : and yet I would 
 not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o' both 
 sides, and left nothing in the middle : Here comes 
 one o' the parings. 
 
 Enter Goneb.il. 
 
 Lear. How now, daughter ! what makes that 
 frontlet 2 on? Methinks, you are too much of late 
 i'the frown. 
 
 Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou 
 hadst no need to care for her frowning ; now thou 
 art an O 3 without a figure: I am better than thou 
 art now ; I am a fool, thou art nothing. — Yes, for- 
 sooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face [To Gon.] 
 bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, 
 He that keeps nor crust nor crum, 
 Weary of all, shall want some. — 
 That's a sheal'd peascod. 4 [Pointing to Leah. 
 
 Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool, 
 But other of your insolent retinue, 
 Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth 
 In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
 I had thought, by making this well known unto you, 
 To have found a safe redress ; but now grow fearful, 
 By what yourself too late have spoke and done, 
 That you protect this course, and put it on 
 By your allowance ; 6 which if you should, the fault 
 
 1 Favor. 
 
 * Part of a woman's head-dress, to which Lear compares 
 Der frowning brow. * A cypher. 
 
 * A mere husk which contains nothing. » Approbation. 
 
 Would not 'scape censure, nor the ledresses sleep ; 
 Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,' 
 Might in their working do you that offence, 
 Which else were shame, that then necessity 
 Will call discreet proceeding. 
 
 Fool. For you trow, nuncle, 
 
 The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, 
 
 That it had its head bit off by its young. 
 So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 
 
 Lear. Are you our daughter? 
 
 Gon. Come, sir, I would, you would make use of 
 that good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught ;' 
 and put away these dispositions, which of late trans- 
 form you from what you rightly are. 
 
 Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws 
 the horse ? — Whoop, Jug ! I love thee. 
 
 Lear. Does any here know me? — Why this 
 is not Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? 
 Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, 
 or his discernings are lethargied. — Sleeping or 
 waking? — Ha! sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that 
 can tell me who I am ? — Lear's shadow ? I would 
 learn that ; for by the marks of sovereignty, know- 
 ledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had 
 daughters. 
 
 Fool. Which they will make an obedient father. 
 
 Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman? 
 
 Gon. Come, sir; 
 This admiration is much o'the favor 8 
 Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
 To understand my purposes aright: 
 As you are old and reverend, you should be wise; 
 Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires: 
 Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd, and bold, 
 That this our court, infected with their manners, 
 Shows like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust 
 Make it more like a tavern or a brothel, 
 Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth 
 
 speak 
 For instant remedy : Be then desir'd 
 By her, that else will take the thing she begs, 
 A little to disquantity your train; 
 And the remainder, that shall still depend,' 
 To be such men as may besort your age, 
 And know themselves and you. 
 
 Lear. Darkness and devils ! — 
 
 Saddle my horses ; call my train together. — 
 Degenerate bastard ! I'll not trouble thee ; 
 Yet have I left a daughter. 
 
 Gon. You strike my people; and your disorder'd 
 rabble 
 Make servants of their betters. 
 
 Enter Albany. 
 
 Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — O, sir, are 
 you come ? 
 Is it your will? [7b Alb.] Speak, sir. — Prepare 
 
 my horses. 
 Ingratitude ! thou marble-hearted fiend, 
 More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child. 
 Than the sea-monster ! 
 
 Alb. Pray, sir, be patient. 
 
 Lear. Detested kite! thou liest: [To Gonekii. 
 My train are men of choice and rarest jtt-ts, 
 That all particulars of duty know ; 
 And in the most exact regard support 
 The worships of their name. — O most small fault 
 How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show ! 
 Which, like an engine, 1 wrench'd my frame of na- 
 ture 
 From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all lovo. 
 
 • Well governed state. 
 » Continue in service 
 
 Complexion 
 The ruck 
 
812 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act l 
 
 An 1 added to the gall. Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
 Peat at this gate that let thy folly in, 
 
 [Striking his Head. 
 And thy dear judgment out! — Go, go, my people. 
 
 Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
 Of what hath mov'd you. 
 
 Lear. It may be so, my lord. — Hear, nature, 
 near ! 
 Dear goddess, hear ! Suspend thy purpose, if 
 Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful ! 
 Into her womb convey sterility ! 
 Dry up in her the organs of increase ; 
 And from her derogate 11 body never spring 
 A babe to honor her ! If she must teem, 
 Create hei child of spleen ; that it may live. 
 And be a thwart disnatured torment to her ! 
 Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; 
 With cadent' tears fret channels in her cheeks ; 
 Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits, 
 To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
 How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 To have a thankless child ! — Away, away ! [Exit. 
 Alb. Now, gods, that we adore,whereof comes this? 
 Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause ; 
 But let his disposition have that scope 
 That dotage gives it. 
 
 Re-enter Lkar. 
 Lear. What, fifty of my followers, at a clap ! 
 Within a fortnight ? 
 Alb. What's the matter, sir? 
 
 Lear. I'll tell thee ; — Life and death ! I am 
 ashamed 
 That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus ; 
 
 [To Goneril. 
 That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, 
 Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs 
 
 upon thee ! 
 The untented' woundings of a father's curse 
 Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, 
 Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out ; 
 And cast you, with the waters that you lose, 
 To temper clay. — Ha ! is it come to this ? 
 Let it be so: — Yet have I left a daughter, 
 Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable ; 
 When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
 She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find, 
 That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think 
 I have cast off for ever ; thou shalt, I warrant thee. 
 [Exeunt Leah, Kent, and Attendants. 
 Gun. Do you mark that, my lord? 
 Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 
 To the great love I bear you, — 
 
 Gon. Pray you, content. — What, Oswald, ho! 
 You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master. 
 
 (To the Fool. 
 Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take 
 the fool with thee. 
 
 A fox, when one has caught her, 
 And such a daughter, 
 Should sure to the slaughter, 
 . If my cap would buy a halter ; 
 So the fool follows afar. [Exit. 
 
 Gon. This man hath had good counsel : — A 
 hundred knights ! 
 Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep 
 Kt point,' a hundred knights. Yes, that on every 
 
 dream, 
 Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, 
 rfe may engjard his dotage with their powers, 
 And hold our lives in. mercy. — Oswald, I say ! — 
 
 Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 
 » Degraded. • Falling. « Undressed. » Armed. 
 
 Gon. Safer than trust ; 
 
 Let me still take away the arms I fear, 
 Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart 
 What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister 
 If she sustain him and his hundred knights. 
 When I have show'd the unfitness, — How now 
 Oswald ? 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 What, have you writ that letter to my sister ? 
 
 Stew. Ay, madam. 
 
 Gon. Take you some company, and away te 
 horse : 
 Inform her full of my particular fear; 
 And thereto add such reasons of your own, 
 As may compact it more. Get you gone ; 
 And hasten your return. [Exit Stew.] No, no, 
 
 my lord, 
 This milky gentleness, and course of yours, 
 Though 1 condemn it not, yet, under pardon, 
 You are much more attask'u ' for want of wisdom, 
 Than prais'd for harmful mi'.dncss. 
 
 Alb. How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell * 
 Striving to better, oft we mar vrhat's well. 
 
 Gon. Nay, then — 
 
 Alb. Well, well ; the event. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Court before the same. 
 Enter Leah, Kent, and Fool. 
 Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters : 
 acquaint my daughter no further with any thing 
 you know, than comes from her demand out of the 
 letter : If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be 
 there before you. 
 
 Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have deli- 
 vered your letter. [Exit. 
 Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were : t 
 not in danger of kibes ? 
 Lear. Ay, boy. 
 
 Fool. Then, I pr'ythee, be merry ; thy wit shall 
 not go slip-shod. 
 Lear. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Fool. Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee 
 kindly : for though she's as like this as a crab is like 
 an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 
 
 Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy 1 
 Fool. She will taste as like this, as a crab does 
 to a crab. Thou canst tell, why one's nose stands 
 i' the middle of his face ? 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Why, to keep his eyes on either side his 
 nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may 
 spy into. 
 
 Lear. I did her wrong : — 
 Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell ? 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a snail 
 has a house. 
 Lear. Why? 
 
 Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give it 
 away to his daughters, and leave his horns without 
 a case. 
 
 Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a fa- 
 ther ! — Be my horses ready ? 
 
 Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The rea- 
 son why the seven stars are no more than seven, 
 is a pretty reason. 
 
 Lear. Because they are not eight ? 
 Fool. Yes, indeed : thou wouldst make a good 
 fool. 
 
 Lear. To take it again perforce ! — Monster i*» 
 gratitude ! 
 
 « Liable to reprehev«ipi> 
 
Act II Scene I. 
 
 KING LEAK. 
 
 Fuji If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have 
 thee beaten for being old before thy time. 
 
 Lear. How's that? 
 
 Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old, before 
 (nou hadst been wise. 
 
 Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet 
 heaven ! Keep me in temper ; I would not be 
 mad !- 
 
 818 
 
 Enter Gentleman. 
 How now ! Are the horses ready ? 
 Gent. Ready, my lord. 
 Lear. Come, boy. 
 
 Fool. She that is maid now, and laughs at my 
 departure, 
 Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut 
 shorter. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Court within the Castle of the 
 Earl of Gloster. 
 
 Fnter Edmund and Ouran, meeting. 
 
 Edm. Save thee, Curan. 
 
 Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your 
 father ; and given him notice, that the duke of 
 Cornwall, and Regan his duchess, will be here 
 with him to-night. 
 
 Edm. How comes that'! 
 
 Cur. Nay, I know not : You have heard of the 
 news abroad ; I mean the whispered ones, for they 
 are yet but ear-kissing arguments ? 
 
 Edm. Not I ; 'Pray you, what are they ? 
 
 Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 
 'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany ! 
 
 Edm. Not a word. 
 
 Cur. You may then, in time. Fare you well, sir. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Edm. The duke be here to-night ? The better ! 
 Best! 
 This weaves itself perforce into my business ! 
 My father hath set guard to take my brother ; 
 And I have one thing of a queazy 1 question, 
 Which I must act : — Briefness, and fortune, 
 
 work ! — 
 Brother, a word ; descend : — Brother, I say ; 
 
 Enter Edgar. 
 
 My father watches : — O sir, fly this place ; 
 Intelligence is given where you are hid ; 
 You have now the good advantage of the night: — 
 Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall ? 
 He's coming hither; now i' the night, i' the haste, 
 And Regan with him ; Have you nothing said 
 Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany ? 
 Advise 8 yourself. 
 
 Edg. I am sure on't, not a word. 
 
 Edm. I hear my father coming, — Pardon me: — 
 In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you : — 
 Draw: Seem to defend yourself: Now quit you 
 
 well. 
 Yield : — come before my father ; — Light, ho 
 
 here ! — 
 Fly, brother; — Torches! torches! So farewell. — 
 
 [Exit Edgar. 
 Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 
 
 [Wounds his Arm. 
 Of my more fierce endeavor: I have seen drunkards 
 Do more than this in sport. — Father ! father ! 
 Stop, stop ! No help ? 
 
 Enter Glostkr, and Servants with Torches. 
 
 Glo. Now, Edmund, where's the villain ? 
 
 Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword 
 out, 
 Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon 
 To stand his auspicious mistress : — 
 
 Glo. But where is he ? 
 
 1 Delicate 
 
 Consider, recollect yourself. 
 
 Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 
 
 Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund ' 
 
 Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means 
 he could — 
 
 Glo. Pursue him, ho ! — Go after. — [Exit Serv.j 
 By no means, — what? 
 
 Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; 
 But that 1 told him, the revenging gods 
 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend ; 
 Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
 The child was bound to the father ; — Sir, in fine, 
 Seeing how loathly opposite I stood 
 To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion, 
 With his prepared sword, he charges home 
 My unprovided body, lanced mine arm : 
 But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits, 
 Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter, 
 Or whether gasted 9 by the noise I made, 
 Full suddenly he fled. 
 
 Glo. Let him fly far : 
 
 Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; 
 A rid found — Despatch. — The noble duke my master, 
 My worthy arch 1 and patron, comes to-night: 
 By his authority I will proclaim it, 
 That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks, 
 Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; 
 He, that conceals him, death. 
 
 Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent, 
 And found him pight'to do it, with curst 3 speech 
 I threaten'd to discover him : He replied, 
 Thou unpossessing bastard/ dost thou think, 
 If I would stand against thee, would the reposal 
 Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee 
 Make thy words faifh'd? No: what I should deny, 
 (As this I would,- ay, though thou didst produce 
 My very character,) I'd turn it all 
 To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: 
 And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
 If they not thought the profits of my death 
 Were very pregnant and potential spurs 
 To make thee seek it. 
 
 Glo. Strong and fasten'd villain ! 
 
 Would he deny his letter? — I never got him. 
 
 [Ti-umpets within. 
 Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not why he 
 
 conies :— - 
 All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape; 
 The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture 
 I will send far and near, that all the kingdom 
 May have due note of him ; and of my land, 
 Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means 
 To make thee capable. 4 
 
 Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. 
 
 Corn. How now, my noble friend 7 since I came 
 hither, 
 ( Which I can call but now,) I have heard strange 
 news. 
 
 » Frighted. » Chief. « Pitched, fixed. 
 
 'Severe, harsh. « i. e. Capable of succeed ins: toniv land 
 
814 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Reg If it be true, all vengeance comes too short, 
 Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord] 
 
 Glo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is crack'd! 
 
 lieg. What, did my father's godson seek your life"! 
 He whom my father named ? your Edgar ? 
 
 Glo. O lady, lady, shame would have it hid! 
 
 Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous 
 knights 
 That tend upon my father? 
 
 Glo. I know not, madam . 
 
 It is too bad, too bad. — 
 
 Edm. Yes, madam, he was. 
 
 Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill affected; 
 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, 
 To have the waste and spoil of his revenues. 
 I have this present evening from my sister 
 Been well inform'd of them ; and with such cautions, 
 That, if they come to sojourn at my house, 
 I'll not be there. 
 
 Corn. Nor 1, assure thee, Regan. — 
 
 Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father 
 A child-like office. 
 
 Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. 
 
 Glo. He did bewray his practice ; s and receiv'd 
 This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 
 
 Com. Is he pursued ? 
 
 Glo. Ay, my good lord, he is. 
 
 Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more 
 Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose, 
 How in my strength you please. — For you, Ed- 
 mund, 
 Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
 So much commend itself, you shall be ours; 
 Natures of such deep trust we shall much need ; 
 You we first seize on. 
 
 Edm. I shall serve you, sir, 
 
 Truly, however else. 
 
 Glo. For him, I thank your grace. 
 
 Corn. You know not why we came to visit you, — 
 
 Res. Thus out of season; threading dark-ey'd 
 night. 
 Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poise, 6 
 Wherein we must have use of your advice : — 
 Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, 
 Of differences, which I best thought it fit 
 To answer from our home; the several messengers 
 From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend, 
 Lay comforts to your bosom ; and bestow 
 Your needful counsel to our business, 
 Which craves the instant use. 
 
 Glo. I serve you, madam : 
 
 Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Before Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Kent and Steward, severally. 
 
 Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend : Art of the 
 house ? 
 
 Kent. Ay. 
 
 Stew. Where may we set our horses? 
 
 Kent. V the mire. 
 
 Stew. Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me. 
 
 Kent. I love thee not. 
 
 Stew. Why, then I care not for thee. 
 
 Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would 
 make thee care fo\ me. 
 
 Stew Why dost 'hou use me thus ? I know 
 thee not. 
 
 Kent. Fellow, I ki ow thee. 
 
 Stew. What dost thou know me for? 
 
 Kent. A knave ; a rascal, an eater of broken 
 lot-ats ; a l>ase, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, 
 Wicked purpose. • Weight. 
 
 hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a 
 lily-liver'd, action-taking knave; a who-eson, glas* 
 gazing, superset - vioeable, finical rogue: one-trunk- 
 inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in 
 way of good service, and art nothing but the com- 
 position of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and 
 the son and heir of a mongrel bitch : one whom 1 
 will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deny'st 
 the least syllable of thy addition.' 
 
 Stew. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, 
 thus to rail on one, that is neither known of theo, 
 nor knows thee? 
 
 Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to 
 deny thou know'st me ? Is it two days ago, since I 
 tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king ? 
 Draw, you rogue : for, though it be night, the 
 moon shines ; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of 
 you : Draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-mong- 
 er, draw. [Drawing his Sword. 
 
 Stew. Away ; I have nothing to do with thee. 
 
 Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with letters 
 against the king; and take Vanity 8 the puppet's 
 part, against the royalty of her father: Draw, you 
 rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks : — draw, you 
 rascal ; come your ways. 
 
 Slew. Help, ho! murder! help! 
 
 Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand: 
 you neat slave, strike. [Beating him. 
 
 Slew. Help, ho! murder! murder! 
 
 Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Glosteh, 
 and Servants-. 
 
 Edm. How now ? What's the matter ? Part. 
 
 Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please ; 
 come, I'll flesh you; come on, young master. 
 
 Glo. Weapons ! arms! What's the matter here? 
 
 Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; 
 He dies, that strikes again: What is the matter? 
 
 Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king 
 
 Corn. What is your difference? speak. 
 
 Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 
 
 Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your 
 valor. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims ir. 
 thee ; a tailor made thee. 
 
 Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor mak« 
 a man ? 
 
 Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir ; a stone-cutter, or a pain- 
 ter, could not have made him so ill, though they 
 had been but two hours at the trade. 
 
 Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? 
 
 Slew. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have 
 spared, 
 At suit of iis grey beard, — 
 
 Kent. Thou whoreson zed ! thou unnecessary 
 letter! — My lord, if you will give me leave, I will 
 tread this unbolted 9 villain into mortar, and daub 
 the wall of a jakes ' with him. — Spare my grey 
 beard, you wagtail ! 
 
 Corn. Peace, sirrah ! 
 You beastly knave, know you no reverence ? 
 
 Kent. Yes, sir; but anger has a privilege. 
 
 Corn. Why art thou angry ? 
 
 Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a 
 sword, 
 Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues a» 
 
 these, 
 Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain 
 Which are too intrinse 3 t' unloose: smooth even 
 
 passion 
 That in the natures of their lords rebels ; 
 Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; 
 
 1 Titles. 
 > Unrefined. 
 
 • A character in tht old ruoralitie*. 
 1 Privy. Perplexed. 
 
ICENK II 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 81R 
 
 Renege, 3 affirm, and turn their halcyon ' beaks 
 With every gale and vary of their masters, 
 As knowing nought, like dogs, but following. — 
 A plague upon your epileptic visage! 
 Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool ? 
 Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 
 I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.' 
 Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow? 
 Glo. How fell you out ? 
 
 Say that. 
 
 Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, 
 Than I and such a knave. 
 
 Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What's 
 
 his offence? 
 Kent. His countenance likes me not. 
 Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or 
 
 hers. 
 Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain; 
 I have seen better faces in my time, 
 Than stands on any shoulder that I see 
 Before me at this instant. 
 
 Corn. This is some fellow, 
 
 Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect 
 A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb, 
 Quite from his nature: He cannot flatter, he! — 
 An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth: 
 An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. 
 These kind of knaves I know, which in this plain- 
 ness 
 Harbor more craft, and more corrupter ends, 
 Than twenty silly ducking observants, 
 That stretch their duties nicely. 
 
 Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, 
 Under the allowance of your grand aspect, 
 Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire 
 On flickering Phoebus' front, — 
 
 Corn. What mean'st by this ? 
 
 Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis- 
 commend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: 
 he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain 
 knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I 
 should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. 
 Corn. What was the offence you gave him ? 
 Stew. Never any : 
 
 It pleas'd the king his master, very late, 
 To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ; 
 When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, 
 Tripp'd me behind: being down, insulted, rail'd, 
 And put upon him such a deal of man, 
 That worthy'd him, got praises of the king 
 For him attempting who was self-subdued ; 
 And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 
 Drew on me here. 
 
 Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards, 
 
 But Ajax is their fool. 6 
 
 Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho ! 
 
 You stubborn, ancient knave,you reverend braggart, 
 
 We'll teach you • 
 
 Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn : 
 
 Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; 
 On whose employment I was sent to you ; 
 You shall do small respect, show too bold malice 
 Against the grace and person of my master, 
 Btocking his messenger. 
 
 Corn. Fetch forth the stocks : 
 
 As I've life and honor, there shall he sit till noon. 
 Keg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all 
 night too. 
 
 » Disown. 
 
 ♦ The bird called the king-fisher, which, when dried and 
 hung up by a thread, is supposed to turn his bill to the 
 po<nt from whence the wind blows 
 
 • In Somersetshire, where are bied great quantities of 
 gee. 1 );. ■ l. e. Ajax is a fool to them. 
 
 Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, 
 You should not use me so. 
 
 Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will 
 
 [Stocks brought out. 
 
 Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same color 
 Our sister speaks of: — Come, bring away the stocks. 
 
 Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so . 
 His fault is much, and the good king his master 
 Will check himfor't: yourpurpos'd low correction 
 Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches, 
 For pilferings and most common trespasses, 
 Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill, 
 That he's so slightly valued in his messenger, 
 Should have him thus restrain 'd. 
 
 Corn. I'll answer that. 
 
 Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse, 
 To have her gentleman abused, assaulted, 
 For following her affairs. — Put in his legs. — 
 
 [Kent is put in the Stocks 
 Come, my good lord ; away. 
 
 [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall. 
 
 Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the duke's 
 pleasure, 
 Whose disposition, all the? world well knows, 
 Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd : I'll entreat for 
 thee. 
 
 Kent. Pray, do not, sir; I have watch'd, and 
 travell'd hard ; 
 Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. 
 A good man's fortune may grow out at heels : 
 Give you good-morrow ! . 
 
 Glo. The duke's to blame in this: 'twill be ill 
 taken. [Exit. 
 
 Kent. Good king, that must approve the common 
 saw ! ' 
 Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st 
 To the warm sun ! 
 
 Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 
 That by thy comfortable beams I may 
 Peruse this letter ! — Nothing almost sees miracles, 
 But misery; — I know 'tis from Cordelia; 
 Who hath most fortunately been inform 'd 
 Of my obscured course; and shall find time 
 From this enormous state, — seeking to give 
 Losses their remedies : — All weary and o'erwatch'J, 
 Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
 This shameful lodging. 
 
 Fortune, good night; smile once more; turn thy 
 wheel ! [He sleeps. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Part of the Heath. 
 Enter Edgar. 
 Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd: 
 And, by the happy hollow of a tree, 
 Escaped the hunt. No port is free ; no place, 
 That guard, and most unusual vigilance, 
 Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape, 
 I will preserve myself: and am bethought 
 To take the basest and most poorest shape, 
 That ever penury, in contempt of man, 
 Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth; 
 Blanket my loins: elf all my hair in knots; 
 And with presented nakedness outface 
 The winds, and persecutions of the sky. 
 The country gives me proof and precedent 
 Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, 
 Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms 
 Pins, wooden pricks, 9 nails, sprigs of rosemarv 
 And with this horrible object, from low farms, 
 Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills, 
 
 1 Saying or proverb 
 
 « Hair thus knotted was supposed to De the wor« at 
 elves and fairies in the night. • Skewarn 
 
816 
 
 KING LEAR 
 
 Act II 
 
 Sometime with lunatic bans,* sometime with prayers, 
 Enforce their charity .— Poor Turlygood ! poor Tom! 
 That's something yet ;— Edgar I nothing am. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Before Gloster's Castle. 
 
 Enter Lkah, Fool, and Gentleman. 
 
 Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart 
 from home, 
 And not send back my messenger. 
 
 Gent. As I learn'd, 
 
 The night before there was no purpose in them 
 Of this remove. 
 
 Kent. Hail to thee, noble master! 
 
 Lear. How! 
 Wak'st thou this shame thy pastime 1 
 
 Kent. No, my lord. 
 
 Fool. Ha, ha; look! he wears cruel Q garters! 
 Horses are tied by the heads ; dogs and bears, by 
 the neck • monkies by the loins ; and men by the 
 legs: when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he 
 wears wooden nethefr stocks. 3 
 
 Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place 
 mistook 
 To set thee here ? 
 
 Kent. It is both he and she, 
 
 Four son and daughter. 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Kent. Yes. 
 
 Lear. No, I say. 
 
 Kent. I say, yea. 
 
 Lear. No, no ; they would not. 
 
 Kent. Yes, they have. 
 
 Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 
 
 Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 
 
 Lear. They durst not do't; 
 They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than 
 
 murder, 
 To do upon respect such violent outrage : 
 Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 
 Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage, 
 Coming from us. 
 
 Kent. My lord, when at their home 
 
 I did commend your highness' letters to them, 
 Ere I was risen from the place that show'd 
 My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 
 Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
 From Goneril his mistress, salutations; 
 Deliver 'd letters, spite of intermission, 
 Which presently they read : on whose contents, 
 They summon'd up their meiny,* straight took 
 
 horse ; 
 Commanded me to follow, and attend 
 The leisure of their answer : gave me cold looks : 
 And meeting here the other messenger, 
 Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine, 
 (Being the very fellow that of late 
 Display'd so saucily against your highness,") 
 Having more man than wit about me, drew: 
 He raised the house with loud and coward cries: 
 Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
 The shame which here it suffers. 
 
 Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese 
 fly that way. 
 Fathers, that wear rags, 
 
 Do make their children blind; 
 But fathers, that bear bags, 
 
 Shall see their children kind. 
 Fortune, that arrant whore, 
 Ne'er turns the key to the poor. — 
 
 « Curses. " A quibble on crewel, worsted. 
 
 The old word for stockings. 
 « People, train or retinur 
 
 But, for all this, thou shait have as many dolors* 
 for thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year. 
 Lear. O, how this mother 8 swells up toward my 
 heart ! 
 Hysterica passio.' down, thou climbing sorrow v 
 Thy element's below ! — Where is this daughter' 
 Kent. With the earl, sir, here within. 
 Lear. Follow me not 
 
 Stay here. [Exit. 
 
 Gent. Made you no more offence than what you 
 
 speak of? 
 Kent. None. 
 How chance the king comes with so small a train 1 
 Fool. An thou hadst been set i'the stocks for 
 that question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
 Kent. Why, fool! 
 
 Fool- We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach 
 thee there's no laboring in the winter. All that 
 follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind 
 men ; and there's not a nose among twenty, but 
 can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold, 
 when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it bi<;ak 
 thy neck with following it; but the great one that 
 goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When 
 a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine 
 again : I would have none but knaves follow it, 
 since a fool gives it. 
 
 Tliat, sir, which serves and seeks for gain, 
 
 And follows but for form, 
 Will pack, when it begins to rain, 
 
 And leave thee in the storm. 
 But I will tarry, the fool will stay, 
 
 And let the wise man fly, 
 Tfie knave turns fool, that runs away; 
 The fool 7io knave, perdy. 
 Kent. Where learned you this, fool? 
 Fool. Not i'the stocks, fool. 
 
 Re-enter Leah, with Glosteb. 
 Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick? 
 they are weary? 
 They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetches; 
 The images of revolt and flying off! 
 Fetch me a better answer. 
 
 Glo. My dear lord, 
 
 You know the fiery quality of the duke; 
 How unremoveable and fix'd he is ' 
 In his own course. 
 
 Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion. 
 Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloster, Gloster, 
 I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife. 
 Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so. 
 Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand me, 
 
 man? 
 Glo. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the 
 dear father 
 Would with his daughter speak, commands her 
 service : 
 
 Are they inform'd of this? My breath and 
 
 blood !— 
 Fiery ? the fiery duke ?— Tell the hot duke that— 
 No, but not yet: — may be he is not well: 
 Infirmity doth still neglect all office, 
 Whereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves, 
 When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 
 To suffer with the body: I'll forbear; 
 And am fallen out with my more headier will, 
 To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
 For the sound man. — Death on my state ! wherefow 
 [Looking on Keitt 
 
 • A quibble between dolors and d'f.lari 
 
 • The disease called the milk'* 
 
SCF.NK IV. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 81? 
 
 Should he sit herel This act persuades me, 
 That this remotion 1 of the duke and her 
 Is practice 8 only. Give me my servant forth : 
 Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them, 
 Now, presently : bid them come forth and hear me, 
 Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum, 
 Till it cry — Sleep to death. 
 
 Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. [Exit. 
 
 Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart! — but, 
 down. 
 
 Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the 
 eels, when she put them i'the paste alive ; she rapp'd 
 Yin o'the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, Down, 
 wantons, down: 'Twas her brother, that in pure 
 kindness to his horse, buttered his hay. 
 
 Enter Cornwall, Regan, Glostek, a«c? Servants. 
 
 Lear. Good morrow to you both. 
 
 Corn. Hail to your grace ! 
 
 [Kent is set at liberty. 
 
 Keg. I am glad to see your highness. 
 
 Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what 
 reason 
 I have to think so : if thou shouldst not be glad, 
 I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, 
 Sepulchring an adultress. — O, are you free ? 
 
 [To Kent. 
 Some other time for that. — Beloved Regan, 
 Thy sister's naught: O, Regan, she hath tied 
 Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, hero. — 
 
 [Points to Ids Heart. 
 I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe, 
 Of how depraved a quality. — O, Regan ! 
 
 Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience ; I have hope, 
 You less know how to value her desert, 
 Than she to scant her duty. 
 
 Lear. Say, how is that? 
 
 Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least 
 Would fail her obligation: If, sir, perchance, 
 She have restrain'd the riots of your followers. 
 'Tis on such ground, "and to such wholesome end, 
 As clears her from all blame. 
 
 Lear. My curses on her! 
 
 Reg. O, sir, you are old ; 
 
 Nature in you stands on the very verge 
 Of her confine: you should be ruled, and led 
 By some discretion, that discerns your state 
 Better than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you, 
 That to our sister you do make return ; 
 Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. 
 
 Lear. Ask her forgiveness ? 
 
 Do you but mark how this becomes the house; 9 
 Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; 
 Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg, [Kneeling. 
 That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. 
 
 Reg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightly 
 tricks : 
 Return you to my sister. 
 
 Lear. Never, Regan: 
 
 She hath abated me of half my train; 
 Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue, 
 Most serpent-like, upon the very heart: — 
 All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall 
 On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, 
 You taking airs, with lameness! 
 
 Corn. Fye, fye, fye! 
 
 Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding 
 flames 
 Into her scorrful eyes ! Infect her beauty, 
 Vou fen-suck J fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
 To fall and blast her pride ! 
 
 1 Removing rrcm their own house. 
 
 » Artifice 9 The order of families. 
 
 Reg. the blest gods ! 
 
 So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. 
 
 Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse; 
 Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
 Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thine 
 Do comfort, and not burn: 'Tis not in thee 
 To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, 
 To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, 1 
 And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
 Against my coming in : thou better know'st 
 The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 
 Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; 
 Thy half o'the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
 Wherein I thee endow'd. 
 
 Reg. Good sir, to the purpose 
 
 [Trumpets within. 
 
 Lear. Who put my man i'the stocks? 
 
 Corn. What trumpet's that! 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 
 Reg. I know't, my sister's : this approves her 
 letter, 
 That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come? 
 
 Lear. This is a slave, whose easy borrow'd pride 
 Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows: — 
 Out, varlet, from my sight! 
 
 Corn. What means your grace? 
 
 Lear. Who stock'd my servant ? Regan, I have 
 good hope 
 Thou didst not know oft. — Who comes here . O 
 heavens, 
 
 Enter Gonehil. 
 If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
 Allow 2 obedience, if yourselves are old, 
 Make it your cause ; send down, and take my part 
 Art not ashamed to look upon this beard ! — 
 
 [To Goneril. 
 O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 
 
 Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I 
 offended ? 
 All's not offence, that indiscretion finds, 
 And dotage terms so. 
 
 Lear. 0, sides, you are- too tough! 
 
 Will you yet hold?— How came my man i'the stocks? 
 
 Corn. I set him there, sir : but his own disorders 
 Deserv'd much less advancement. 
 
 Lear. You! did you? 
 
 Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
 If, till the expiration of your month, 
 You will return and sojourn with my sister, 
 Dismissing half your train, come then to me; 
 I am now from home, and out of that provision 
 Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 
 
 Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd ? 
 No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose 
 To wage against the enmity o'the air; 
 To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,- 
 Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her 7 
 Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless tooR 
 Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 
 To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
 To keep base life afoot: — Return with her? 
 Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter* 
 To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward. 
 
 Gon. At your choice, sir. 
 
 Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me md'I. 
 I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
 We'll no more meet, no more see one another :— 
 But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter 
 Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh, 
 Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boi ; 
 
 • Contract my allowances. Approve. 
 
 » A horse that cp.rries necessaries on aj^nrner 
 
8iy 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 A plague-sore, an embossed' carbuncle, 
 
 In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee; 
 
 Let shame come wnen it will, I do not call it : 
 
 1 Jc not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, 
 
 Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove: 
 
 Mend when thou can'st ; be better at thy leisure : 
 
 I can he patient; I can stay with Regan, 
 
 I, and my hundred knights. 
 
 Reg. Not altogether so, sir ; 
 
 I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
 For your fit welcome : Give ear, sir. to my sister ; 
 For those that mingle reason with your passion, 
 Must be content to think you old, and so — 
 Put she knows what she does. 
 
 Lear. Is this well spoken now ? 
 
 Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers? 
 Is it not well ? What should you need of more ? 
 Yea, or so many ? sith 5 that both charge and danger 
 Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one 
 
 house 
 Should many people, under two commands, 
 Hold amity ! 'Tis hard ; almost impossible. 
 
 Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive at- 
 tendance 
 From those that she calls servants, or from mine? 
 
 Reg. Why not, my lord ? If then they chanced 
 to slack you. 
 We could control them : If you will come to me, 
 (For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you 
 To bring but five and twenty ; to no more 
 Will I give place or notice. 
 
 Lear. I gave you all — 
 
 Reg. And in good time you gave it. 
 
 Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries; 
 But kept a reservation to be follow'd 
 With such a number: What, must I come to you 
 With five and twenty, Regan? said you so? 
 
 Reg. A nd speak it again, my lord ; no more with 
 me. 
 
 Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well- 
 fa vor'd, 
 When others are more wicked ; not being the worst, 
 Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ; 
 
 [To Gonerix. 
 Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, 
 And thou art twice her love. 
 
 Gon. Hear me, my lord; 
 
 What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, 
 To follow in a house, where twice so many 
 Have a command to tend you ? 
 
 Reg. What need one? 
 
 Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars 
 Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
 Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
 Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art a lady ; 
 If only to go warm were gorgeous, 
 
 Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st 
 Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — But, for true 
 
 need, — 
 You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need] 
 You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, 
 As full of grief as age; wretched in both ! 
 If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
 Against their father ; fool me not so much 
 To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
 O, let not women's weapons, water-drops, 
 Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural baga 
 I will have such revenges on you both, 
 That all the world shall — I will do such things,— 
 What they are, yet I know not ; but they shall lie 
 The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep ; 
 No, I'll not weep : — 
 
 I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
 Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 
 Or ere I'll weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad ! 
 
 [Exeunt Leah, Gloster, Kent, and Fool. 
 
 Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. 
 
 [Storm heard at a distance. 
 
 Reg. This house 
 
 Is little; the old man and his people cannot 
 Be well bestow'd. 
 
 Gon. 'Tis his own blame ; he hath put 
 
 Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly. 
 
 Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, 
 But not one follower. 
 
 Gon. So am I purpos'd. 
 
 Where is my lord of Gloster ? 
 
 Re-enter Gloster. 
 
 Corn. Follow'd the old man forth ; — he is re- 
 
 turn'd. 
 Glo. The king is in high rage. 
 Corn. Whither is he going ? 
 
 Glo. He calls to horse ; but will I know not 
 
 whither. 
 Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself. 
 Gon. My lord, entreat him" by no means to stay. 
 Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak 
 winds 
 Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about 
 There's scarce a bush. 
 
 Reg. 0, sir, to wilful men, 
 
 The injuries that they themselves procure, 
 Must be their schoolmasters : Shut up your doors 
 He is attended with a desperate train ; 
 And what they may incense s him to, being apt 
 To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear. 
 
 Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'ti? a wild 
 night : 
 My Regan counsels well : come out o'the storm. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Heath. 
 A Storm is heard, with Thunder and Lightning. 
 Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting. 
 Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather ? 
 Gent. One minded like the weather, moBt un- 
 
 quietly. 
 
 Kent. I know you ; Where's the king ? 
 
 Gent. Contending with the fretful element : 
 
 Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, 
 
 Or swell the curlec" waters 'bove the main, 
 
 * Swelling • Since. 
 
 That things might change, or cease: tears m» 
 
 white hair: 
 Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, 
 Catch in their fury, and make nothing of: 
 Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 
 The to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain. 
 This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear * woulc 
 
 couch, 
 The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 
 Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, 
 And bids what will take all. 
 « Instigate. 1 Whose dugs are drawn dry by its young 
 
ScENF II. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 81'J 
 
 Kent. But who is with him ? | 
 
 Gent. None but the fool ; who labors to out-jest 
 His heart-struck injuries. 
 
 Kent. Sir, I do know you ; 
 
 And dare, upon the warrant of my heart, 
 Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, 
 Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 
 Wjth mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; 
 Who have (as who have not, that their great stars 
 Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less; 
 Which are to France the spies and speculations 
 Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen, 
 Either in snuffs anu packings 8 of the dukes; 
 Or the hard rein which both of them have borne 
 Against the old kind king: or something deeper, 
 Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings: 9 — 
 But, true it is, from France there comes a power 
 Into this scatter'd kingdom ; who already, 
 Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 
 In some of our best ports, and are at point 
 To show their open banner. — Now to you : 
 If on my credit you dare build so far 
 To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 
 Some that will thank you, making just report 
 Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 
 The king hath cause to 'plain. 
 I am a gentleman of blood and breeding ; 
 And from some knowledge and assurance, offer 
 This office to you. 
 
 Gent. I will talk further with you. 
 
 Kent. No, do not. 
 
 For confirmation that I am much more 
 Than my out wall, open this purse, and take 
 What it contains : If you shall see Cordelia, 
 (As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring ; 
 And she will tell you who your fellow is 
 That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm ! 
 I will go seek the king. 
 
 Gent. Give me your hand : Have you no more 
 to say ? 
 
 Kent. Few words, but to effect, more than all yet ; 
 That, when we have found the king, (in which 
 
 your pain 
 That way ; I'll this,) he that first lights on him, 
 Holla the other. [Exeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Part of the Heath. 
 Storm continues. 
 
 Enter Lear and Fool. 
 Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage ! 
 
 blow ! 
 You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout 
 Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the 
 
 cocks ! 
 You sulphurous and thought-executing 1 fires, 
 Vaunt couriers 5 to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, 
 Singe my white head And thou, all-shaking 
 
 thunder, 
 Strike flat the thick r ->dity o' the world ! 
 Crack nature's moulds, all germins spill at once, 
 That make ingrateful man ! 
 
 Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water 3 in a dry house 
 is better than this rain-water out o'door. Good 
 nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's 
 a night pities neither wise men nor fools. 
 
 Lear. Rumble thy belly-full ! Spit, fire ! spout, 
 
 rain ! 
 Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters : 
 I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, 
 
 • Snuffs are disnKes, and packings underhand eontri- 
 rances. ' Samples. 
 
 1 Quick as thought. *Avait couriers, French. 
 
 * A proverbial phrase for fair words 
 
 I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, 
 You owe me no subscription ;' why then, let fall 
 Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand your slave. 
 A poor infirm, weak, and despised old man : — 
 But yet I call you servile ministers, 
 That have with two pernicious daughters join'd 
 Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head 
 So old and white as this. O ! ! 'tis foul ! 
 
 Fool. He that has a house to put his head in 
 has. a good head-piece. 
 
 The cod-piece that will house, 
 
 Before the head has any, 
 The head and he shall louse,- — 
 
 So beggars marry many. 
 The man that makes his toe 
 
 What he his heart should make, 
 Shall of a corn cry woe, 
 
 And turn his sleep to wake. 
 — for there was never yet fair woman, but she 
 made mouths in a glass. 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 
 Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I 
 will say nothing. 
 
 Kent. Who's there? 
 
 Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece ; that's 
 a wise man, and a fool. 
 
 Kent. Alas, sir, are you here ? things that love 
 night, 
 Love not such nights as these : the wrathful skies 
 Gallow ' the very wanderers of the dark, 
 And make them keep their caves. Since I was man, 
 Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, 
 Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
 Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry 
 The affliction, nor the fear. 
 
 Lear. Let the great gods, 
 
 That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, 
 Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, 
 That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
 Unwhipp'd of justice : Hide thee, thou bloody hand ; 
 Thou perjur'd, and thou simular 6 man of virtue, 
 That art incestuous : Caitiff, to pieces shake, 
 That under covert and convenient seeming 
 Hast practised on man's life : — Close pent-up guilts, 
 Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
 These dreadful summoners grace. 1 — I am a man, 
 More sinn'd against than sinning. 
 
 Kent. Alack, bare-headed ! 
 
 Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
 Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest ; 
 Repose you there : while I to this hard house 
 (More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd ; 
 Which even but now, demanding after you, 
 Denied me to come in) return, and force 
 Their scanted courtesy. 
 
 Lear. My wits begin to turn, — 
 
 Come on, my boy : How dost, my boy ? Art cold ? 
 I am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow ? 
 The art of our necessities is strange, 
 That can make vile things precious. Come, your 
 
 hovel, 
 Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart 
 That's sorry yet for thee. 
 
 Fool. He that has a little tiny wit, — 
 
 With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, — 
 Must make content with his fortunes fit ,• 
 For the rain it raineth every day? 
 
 Lear. True, m> good boy. — Come, bring us to 
 this hovel. [Exeunt Leah and Kent 
 
 * Obedience. » Scare or frighten. B Counterfeit. 
 i Favor. • Part of the clown's song iu Twelfth Niplit 
 
820 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. 
 —I'll speak a prophecy ere I go : 
 
 When priests are more in word than matter ,- 
 When brewers mar their malt with water ,■ 
 When nobles are their tailors' tutors; 
 No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors; 
 When every case in law is righ. ,■ 
 No squire in debt, nor no poor knight „• 
 When slanders do not live in tongues ,- 
 Nor cutpurses come not to throngs ,• 
 When usurers tell their gold i' the field; 
 And bawds and whores do churches build; — 
 Then shall the realm of Albion 
 Come to great confusion. 
 Then comes the time, who lives to see't, 
 That going shall be used with feet. 
 This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live before 
 his time. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Glosteii and Edmund. 
 
 Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un- 
 natural dealing : When I desired their leave that I 
 might pity him, they took from me the use of mine 
 own house ; charged me on pain of their perpetual 
 displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for 
 him, nor any way sustain him. 
 
 Edm. Most savage, and unnatural ! 
 
 Glo. Go to ; say you nothing : There is division 
 between the dukes ; and a worse matter than that : 
 I have received a letter this night; — 'tis dangerous 
 to be spoken; — I have locked the letter in my 
 closet : these injuries the king now bears will be 
 revenged home ; there is part of a power already 
 footed : we must incline to the king. I will seek 
 him, and privily relieve him : go you, and maintain 
 talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him 
 perceived : If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to 
 bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me, 
 the king my old master must be relieved. There 
 is some strange thing toward, Edmund ; pray you, 
 be careful. [Exit. 
 
 Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke 
 Instantly know ; and of that letter too : — • 
 This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
 That which my father loses ; no less than all : 
 The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Part of the Heath, with a Hovel. 
 Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 
 
 Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord, 
 enter ; 
 The tyranny of the open night's too rough 
 For nature to endure. [Storm still. 
 
 Lear. Let me alone. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Wilt break my heart 7 
 
 Kent. I'd rather break mine own : Good my 
 lord, enter. 
 
 Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this conten- 
 tious storm 
 Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; 
 But where the greater malady is fix'd, 
 The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear : 
 3ut if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 
 Thoi'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the 
 
 mind's free, 
 The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind 
 Doth from my senses take all feeling else, 
 Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude ! 
 Is it n°* <ia this mouth should tear this hand, 
 
 For lifting food to't? — But I will punish home:— 
 No, I will weep no more. — In such a night 
 To shut me out ! — Pour on ; I will endure . 
 In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! — 
 Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,- - 
 0, thai way madness lies ; let me shun that : 
 No more of that. — 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own 
 ease; 
 This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
 On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in: 
 In boy; go first. — [To the Fool.] You houseless 
 
 poverty, — 
 Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. — 
 
 [Fool goes in 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd, and window'd raggedness, defend you 
 From seasons such as these ] O, I have ta'en 
 Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel; 
 That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
 And show the heavens more just. 
 
 Edg. [Within.] Fathom and half, fathom and 
 half! Poor Tom ! 
 
 [The Fool runs out from the. Hovel. 
 
 Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. 
 Help me, help me ! 
 
 Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there 1 
 
 Fool. A spirit, a spirit ; he says his name's poor 
 Tom. 
 
 Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there 
 i' the straw 1 
 Come forth. 
 
 Enter Edcau, disguised as a Madman. 
 
 Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! — 
 Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. — 
 Humph ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 
 
 Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters 1 
 And art thou come to this 1 
 
 Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom 1 whom 
 the foul fiend hath led through fire and through 
 flame, through ford and whirlpool, over bog and 
 quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow, 
 and halters in his pew ; set ratsbane by his por- 
 ridge ; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay 
 trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course 
 his own shadow for a traitor : — Bless thy five wits ! 
 Tom's a-cold, — O, do. de, do de, do de. — Bless 
 thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! 5 
 Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend 
 vexes : There could I have him now, — and there, 
 — and there, — and there again, and there. 
 
 [Stoi-m continues. 
 
 Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to 
 this pass 1 — 
 Couldst thou save nothing 1 Didst thou give them 
 all! 
 
 Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had 
 been all shamed. 
 
 Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendu- 
 lous air 
 Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy "daughters ! 
 
 Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. 
 
 Lear. Death, traitor ! -nothing could have sul>- 
 dued nature 
 To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. — 
 Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers 
 Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ! 
 
 » To take ii« to Wast, or strike with malignant influence 
 
Scene V. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 82) 
 
 Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
 Those pelican daughters. 
 
 Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's hill ; — 
 Halloo, halloo, loo, loo ! 
 
 Fool. This cold night will turn us all to foois 
 and madmen. 
 
 Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : obey thy pa- 
 rents ; keep thy word justly ; swear not ; commit 
 not with man's sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet 
 heart on proud array : Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Lear. What hast thou been ? 
 
 Edg A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; 
 that curled my hair ; wore gloves in my cap ; ' served 
 the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the act of 
 darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake 
 words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven : 
 ore, that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked 
 to do it: Wine loved I deeply ; dice dearly ; and in 
 woman, out-paramoured the Turk: False of heart, 
 light of ear, bloody of hand : Hog in sloth, fox in 
 stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in 
 prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rust- 
 tling of silks, betray thy poor heart to women : Keep 
 thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, 
 thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend. 
 — Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind : 
 Says suum, mun, ha no nonny, dolphin my boy, 
 my boy, sessa ; let him trot by. 
 
 [Storm still continues. 
 
 Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than 
 to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity 
 of the skies. — Is man no more than this? Con- 
 sider him well : Thou owest the worm no silk, the 
 beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no per- 
 fume : — Ha ! here three of us are sophisticated ! — 
 Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man 
 is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as 
 thou art. — Off, off, you lendings : — Come ; unbut- 
 ton here. [Tearing off Ids Clothes. 
 
 Fool. Pry'thee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a 
 naughty night to swim in. — Now a little fire in a 
 wild field were like an old lecher's heart: a small 
 spark, all the rest of his body cold. — Look, here 
 comes a walking fire. 
 
 Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : he 
 begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock ; he 
 gives the web and the pin, 2 squints the eye, and 
 makes the hare-lip : mildews the white wheat, and 
 hurts the poor creature of earth. 
 
 Saint Wit hold 3 footed thrice the wold;' 
 He met the night-7nare, and her nine-fold ; 
 Bid her alight, 
 And her troth plight. 
 And aroint thee, 1 witch, aroint thee ! 
 
 Kent. How fares your grace 7 
 
 Enter Gloster, with a Torch. 
 
 Lear. What's he 7 
 
 Kent. Who's there ? What is't you seek 7 
 
 Glo. What are you there 7 Your names 7 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog, 
 the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water; 6 
 that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend 
 rages, eats cow dung for sallets; swallows the old 
 rat, and the ditch-dog ; drinks the green mantle of 
 the standing-pool ; who is whipped from tything to 
 tything, 1 and stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; 
 
 1 It was the custom to wear gloves in the hat, as the 
 favor of a mistress. 
 
 * Diseases of the eye. 
 
 * A saint said to protect his devotees from the disease 
 sailed the night-mare. 
 
 4 Wild downs, so called in various parts of England. 
 « Avaunt. • i. e. The water-newt. 
 
 1 A tvthing is a division of a county. 
 
 who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts ti 
 his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear,— 
 But mice, and rats, and such small deer, 
 Have been Tom's food for seven long year. 
 Beware my follower: — Peace, Smolkin; 8 peace 
 thou fiend ! 
 Glo. What, hath your grace no better company 7 
 Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman ■ 
 Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. 9 
 
 Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, 
 That it doth hate what gets it. 
 Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. 
 Glo. Go in with me ; my duty cannot suffer 
 To obey in all your daughter's hard commands : 
 Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
 And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you ; 
 Yet have I ventured to come seek you out, 
 And bring you where both fire and food is ready. 
 Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher. — 
 What is the cause of thunder? 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, take his offer; 
 Go into the house. 
 
 Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned 
 Theban.— 
 What is your study 7 
 
 Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill ver- 
 min. 
 Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 
 Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord ; 
 His wits begin to unsettle. 
 
 Glo. Canst thou blame him 7 
 
 His daughters seek his death : — Ah, that good 
 
 Kent!— 
 He said it would be thus: — Poor banish'd man!— 
 Thou say'st, the king grows mad ; I'll tell thet 
 
 friend, 
 I am almost mad myself: I had a son, 
 Now outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought my lifr 
 But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend, — 
 No father his son dearer: true to tell thee, 
 
 [Storm continues 
 The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this: 
 I do beseech your grace, — 
 
 Lear. O, cry you mercy : 
 
 Noble philosopher, your company. 
 Edg. Tom's a-cold. 
 Glo. In, fellow, there, to the hovel: keep thee 
 
 warm. 
 Lear. Come, let's in all. 
 Kent. This way, my lord. 
 
 Lear. With him ; 
 
 I will keep still with my philosopher. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, soothe him ; let him take 
 
 the fellow. 
 Glo. Take him you on. 
 Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 
 Lear. Come, good Athenian. 
 Glo. No words, no words . 
 
 Hush! 
 
 Edg. Child 1 Rowland to the dark tower came, 
 
 His word was still, — Fie, foh, a»d fum, 
 
 I smell the blood of a British man. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE V.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 
 Enter Cornwall and, Edmund, 
 Corn. I will have my revenge, eve T depart his 
 
 house. 
 Edm. How, my lord, I may be censuivJ, that 
 nature thus gives way to loyalty, somet.huig fears 
 me to think of. 
 
 » Name of a spirit. 9 The chief devU. 
 
 1 Child is an old name for knight 
 
822 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your 
 Brother's evil disposition made him seek his death ; 
 but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable 
 badness in himself. 
 
 Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must 
 repent (o be just ! This is the letter he spoke of, 
 which approves him ar. intelligent party to the ad- 
 vantages of France. O heavens ! that this treason 
 were not, or not I the detector! 
 
 Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 
 
 Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you 
 have mighty business in hand. 
 
 Cum. True, or false, it hath made thee earl of 
 Gloster. Seek out where thy father is, that he 
 may be ready for our apprehension. 
 
 Edm. [Aside.'] If I find him comforting the 
 king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I will 
 persevere in my course of loyalty, though the con- 
 flict be sore between that and my blood. 
 
 Corn. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt 
 find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — A Chamber in a Farm-House, 
 adjoining (he Castle. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar. 
 
 Glo. Here is better than the open air; take it 
 thankfully; I will piece out the comfort with what 
 addition I can : I will not be long from you. 
 
 Kent. All the power of his wits has given way 
 to his impatience : — The gods reward your kind- 
 ness ! [Exit Gloster. 
 
 Edg. Frateretto calls me; and tells me, Nero is 
 an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, inno- 
 cent, 3 and beware the foul fiend. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a mad- 
 man be a gentleman, or a yeoman ? 
 
 Lear. A king, a king! 
 
 Fool. No ; he's a yeoman that has a gentleman 
 to his son : for he's a mad yeoman that sees his 
 son a gentleman before him. 
 
 Lea?: To have a thousand with red burning spits 
 Come hissing in upon them: — 
 
 Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 
 
 Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a 
 wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's 
 oath. 
 
 Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them 
 straight : — 
 Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer; — 
 
 [To Edgar. 
 Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [ To the Fool.] — Now, 
 you she-foxes ! — 
 
 Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — 
 vVantest thou eyes at trial, madam ? 
 
 Come o'er the bourn' Bessy, to me: — 
 
 Fool. Her boat hath a leak. 
 And she must not speak 
 Why she dare not come over to thee. 
 
 Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the 
 Toice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's 
 belly for two white herrings. Croak not, black 
 angel ; I have no food for thee. 
 
 Kent. How do you, sir ? Stand you not so 
 amaz'd : 
 Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions ? 
 
 Lear. I'll see their trial first: — Bring in the evi- 
 dence. — 
 ^hou robed man of justice, take thy place ; 
 
 [To Edgar. 
 And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [7WAeFooI. 
 
 'Addressed to th* Fool, who were anciently called In- 
 aocents ' Brook, or rirn'et. 
 
 Bench by his side : — You are of the commission 
 Sit you too. [To Kent. 
 
 Edg. Let us deal justly. 
 
 Steepest, or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? 
 
 Thy sheep be in the corn; 
 And for one blast of thy minikin mouth, 
 Thy sheep will take no harm. 
 Pur ! the cat is grey. 
 
 Lear. Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take 
 my oath before this honorable assembly, she kicked 
 the poor king her father. 
 
 Fool. Come hither, mistress ; Is your name Go- 
 neril ? 
 
 Lear. She cannot deny it. 
 
 Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint- 
 stool. 
 
 Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks 
 proclaim 
 What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there ! 
 Arms, arms, sword, fire ! — Corruption in the place! 
 False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
 
 Edg. Bles'3 thy five wits! 
 
 Kent. pity ! — Sir, where is the patience now, 
 That you so oft have boasted to retain ? 
 
 Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much, 
 They'll mar my counterfeiting. [Aside. 
 
 Lear. The little dogs and all, 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 
 
 Edg. Tom will throw his head at them : — 
 Avaunt, you curs ! 
 
 Be thy mouth or black or white, 
 Tooth that poisons if it bite/ 
 Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, 
 Hound, or spaniel, brach, or tym,- * 
 Or bobtail like, or trundle-tail,- 
 Tom will make them weep and wail: 
 For, with throwing thus my head, 
 Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. 
 Do de, do de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and 
 fairs, and market towns : — Poor Tom, thy horn is 
 dry. 
 
 Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan, see what 
 breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in na- 
 ture that makes these hard hearts? — You, sir, I 
 entertain you for one of my hundred; only, I do 
 not like the fashion of your garments: you will 
 say, they are Persian attire; but let them be changed. 
 
 [To Edgar. 
 
 Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 
 
 Lear. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the 
 
 curtains : So, so, so : We'll go to supper i' the morn* 
 
 ing: So, so, so. 
 
 Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. 
 
 Re-enter Gloster. 
 Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king 
 
 my master? 
 Kent. Here, sir ; but trouble him not, his wits 
 
 are gone. 
 Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy 
 arms; 
 I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him . 
 There is a litter ready; lay him in't, 
 And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt 
 
 meet 
 Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master: 
 If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, 
 With thine, and all that offer to defend him, 
 Stand in assured loss: Take up, take up; 
 And follow me, that will with some provision 
 Give thee quick conduct. 
 
 * A blood-hound. 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 KING LEAK. 
 
 f«3 
 
 Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps: — 
 
 This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses, 
 Wnich, if convenience will not allow, 
 Stand it hard cure. — Cume, help to bear thy master; 
 Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool. 
 
 Glo. Come, come, away. 
 
 [Exeunt Kknt, Glostkr, and the Fool, 
 bearing off the King. 
 
 Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes, 
 We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
 Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind ; 
 Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind: 
 But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip, 
 When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
 How light and portable my pain seems now, 
 When that which makes me bend, makes the king 
 
 bow ; 
 He childed, as I father'd ! — Tom, away : 
 Mark the high noises ; * and thyself bewray, 
 When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles 
 
 thee, 
 In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee. 
 What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king! 
 Lurk, lurk. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 
 Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, 
 
 and Servants. 
 
 Corn. Post speedily to my lord, your husband ; 
 
 show him this letter: — the army of France is landed: 
 
 Seek out the villain Gloster. 
 
 [Exeunt some of the Servants. 
 Reg. Hang him instantly. 
 Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 
 Com. Leave him to my displeasure. — Edmund, 
 Keep you our sister company ; the revenges we are 
 bound to take upon your traitorous father are not 
 fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you 
 are going, to a most festinate preparation : we are 
 bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and 
 intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister; — 
 farewell, my lord of Gloster* 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 How now ? Where's the king ? 
 
 Stew. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him hence : 
 Some five or six and thirty of his knights, 
 Hot questrists 1 after him, met him at gate: 
 Who, with some other of the lord's dependants, 
 Are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast 
 To have well armed friends. 
 
 Corn. Get horses for your mistress. 
 
 Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 
 
 [Exeunt Goneril and Edmund. 
 Corn. Edmund, farewell. — Go, seek the traitor 
 Gloster, 
 Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us : 
 
 [Exeunt other Servants. 
 Though well we may not pass upon his life 
 Without the form of justice ; yet our power 
 Shall do a courtesy F to our wrath, which men 
 May blame, but not control. Who's there ? The 
 traitor. 
 Re-enter Servants with Gloster. 
 
 Reg- Ingrateful fox ! 'tis he. 
 Corn. Bind fast his corky 9 arms. 
 
 Glo. What mean your graces ? Good my 
 
 friends, consider 
 Vou are my guests : do me no foul play, friends. 
 Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him. 
 
 • The great events that are approaching. 
 
 • Meaning Edmund invested with his father's title. 
 i Enquirer*. ■ Bend. * Dry, like cork. 
 
 Reg. Hard, hard : — O filthy traitor ! 
 
 Glo. Ummerciful lady as you are, I am none 
 
 Corn. To this chair bind him: — Villain them 
 shalt find — [Regan plucks his Beard. 
 
 Glo. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done 
 To pluck me by the beard. 
 
 Reg. So white, and such a traitor ! 
 
 Glo. Naughty lady, 
 
 These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin, 
 Will quicken 1 and accuse thee: I am your host; 
 With robbers' hands, my hospitable favors' 
 You should not ruffle thus. What will you do! 
 
 Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from 
 France? 
 
 Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth 
 
 Corn. And what confederacy have you with the 
 traitors 
 Late footed in the kingdom 1 ? 
 
 Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic 
 king? 
 Speak. 
 
 Glo. I have a letter guessingly set down, 
 Which came from one that's of a neutral heart, 
 And not from one oppos'd. 
 
 Corn. Cunning. 
 
 Reg. And false. 
 
 Corn. Where hast thou sent the king? 
 
 Glo. To Dover. 
 
 Reg. Wherefore 
 
 To Dover ? Wast thou not charged at thy peril — 
 
 Com. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer 
 that. 
 
 Glo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the 
 course. 
 
 Reg. Wherefore to Dover? 
 
 Glo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails 
 Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister 
 In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. 
 The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 
 In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up, 
 And quench'd the stelled 1 fires: yet, poor old 
 
 heart, 
 He holp the heavens to rain. 
 If wolves had at thy gate hovrl'd that stern time, 
 Thou should'st have said, Good 'porter, turn the key; 
 All cruels else subscribed: 1 — But I shall see 
 The winged vengeance overtake such children. 
 
 Corn. See it shalt thou never: — Fellows, hold 
 the chair: 
 Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot. 
 
 [Gloster is held down in his Chair, while 
 Cornwall plucks out one of his Eyes, 
 and sets his Foot on it. 
 
 Glo. He, that will think to live till he be old, 
 Give me some help : — cruel ! O ye gods ! 
 
 Reg. One side will mock another; the other too 
 
 Corn. If you see vengeance, — 
 
 Serv. Hold your hand, my lord: 
 
 I have serv'd you ever since I was a child : 
 But better service have I never done you, 
 Than now to bid you hold. 
 
 Reg. How now, you dog ? 
 
 Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your ehir, 
 I'd shake it on this quarrel: What do you mean? 
 
 Corn. My villain ! [Draws, and runs at him. 
 
 Serv. Nay, then come on, and tak° the chance 
 of anger. 
 
 [Draws. They fight. Cornwall is wounded. 
 
 Reg. Give me thy sword. — [To another Serv.] 
 A peasant stand up thus ! 
 
 [Snatches a Sword, comes behind, and stabs him. 
 
 > Live. a Features. 3 Starred. 
 
 * Yielded, submitted to the necessity of the occasion. 
 
sa4 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act l"V 
 
 Serv. 0, I ajn slain! — My lord, you have one 
 eye left 
 To see some mischief on him : — ! [Dies. 
 
 Corn. Lest it see more, prevent it: — Out, vile 
 jelly! 
 Where is thy lustre now? 
 
 [Ttars out Gloster's other Eye, and throws it 
 on tlie Ground. 
 
 Glo. All dark and comfortless. — Where's my 
 son Edmund 1 
 Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature, 
 To quit 6 this horrid act 
 
 Reg. Out, treacherous villain ! 
 
 Thou call'st on him that hates thee : it was he 
 That made the overture" of thy treasons to us; 
 Who is too good to pity thee. 
 
 Glo. O my follies ! 
 
 Th"ii Edgar was abused. — 
 Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 
 
 Reg. Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell 
 His way to Dover. — How is't, my lord ? How look 
 
 Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt :- -Follow me, 
 lady. — 
 Turn out that eyeless villain ; throw this slave 
 Upon the dunghill. — Regan, I bleed apace : 
 Untimely comes this hurt: Give me your arm. 
 [Exit Cornwall, led by Reran ; — ServanU 
 unbind Gloster, and lead him out. 
 
 1 Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do, 
 If this man comes to good. 
 
 2 Serv. If she live long, 
 And, in the end, meet the old course of death, 
 Women will all turn monsters. 
 
 1 Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and gtt th« 
 
 Bedlam * 
 To lead him where he would ; his roguish madness 
 Allows itself to any thing. 
 
 2 Serv. Go thou ; I'll fetch some flax, and whites 
 
 of eggs, 
 To apply to his bleeding face Now, heaven help 
 him ! 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Heath. 
 
 Enter Edgar. 
 
 Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd, 
 Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst, 
 The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, 
 Stands still in esperance, 1 lives not in fear : 
 The lamentable change is from the best ; 
 The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, 
 Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace! 
 The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, 
 Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man. 
 
 My father, poorly led? — World, world, O world! 
 But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, 
 Life would not yield to age. 
 
 Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your te- 
 nant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore years. 
 Glo. Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone: 
 Thy comforts can do me no good at all, 
 Thee they may hurt. 
 
 Old Man. ^.lack, sir, you cannot see your way. 
 Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes ; 
 I stumbled when I saw: Full oft 'tis seen, 
 Our mean secures us; and our mere defects 
 Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son Edgar, 
 The food of thy abused father's wrath! 
 Might I but live to see thee in my touch, 
 I'd say, I had eyes again ! 
 
 Old Man. How now ? Who's there ? 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] gods ! Who is't can say, I am 
 at the worst? 
 I am worse than e'er I was. 
 
 Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] And worse I may be yet: The 
 worst is not, 
 So long as we can say, This is the worst. 
 Old Man. Fellow, where goest? 
 Glo. Is it a beggar-man ? 
 
 Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 
 Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
 I'the last night's storm I such a fellow saw; 
 Which made me think a man a worm : My son 
 Oame then into my mind; and yet my mind 
 « Requite. e Laid open. ' In hope. 
 
 Was then scarce friends with him : 1 have heard 
 
 more since : 
 As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; 
 They kill us for their sport. 
 
 Edg. How should this be? — 
 
 Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, 
 Ang'ring itself and others. [Aside.] — Bless thee 
 master ! 
 Glo. Is that the naked fellow? 
 Old Man. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone: If, for my sak«i 
 Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
 I'the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
 And bring some covering for this naked soul, 
 Whom I'll entreat to lead me. 
 
 Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis the time's plague, when madmen leaa 
 the blind. 
 Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; 
 Above the rest, be gone. 
 
 Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I ha,vn, 
 Come on't what will. [Exit 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow. 
 Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold : I cannot daub 9 it fur- 
 ther. [Asidt. 
 Glo. Come hither, fellow. 
 Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. — Bless thj 
 
 sweet eyes, they bleed. 
 Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover? 
 Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot- 
 path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good 
 wits: Bless the good man from the foul fiend! 
 Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; of lust, 
 as, Obidicut; Hobbididance, prince of dumbness; 
 Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; and Flibber- 
 tigibbet, of mopping and mowing ; who since pos- 
 sesses chamber-maids and waiting-women. So 
 bless thee, master! 
 
 Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the hea- 
 ven's plagues 
 Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched, 
 Makes thee the happier: — Heavens, deal so still! 
 Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man, 
 That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
 Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly 
 • Bedlamite, madman. * Disguise. 
 
Scene II 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 6i» 
 
 So distribution should undo excess, 
 And each man have enough. — Dost thou know 
 Dover? 
 
 Edg. Ay, master. 
 
 Gk There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
 Looks fearfully In the confined deep: 
 Uring me but to the very brim of it, 
 And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear, 
 fVith something rich about me: from that place 
 f shall no leading need. 
 
 Edg. Give me thy arm ; 
 
 Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE H. — Before the Duke of Albany's Palace. 
 
 Enter Gonkril and Edmund; Steward meeting 
 them. 
 Gon. Welcome, my lord: I marvel, our mild 
 husband 
 Not met us on the way: — New, where's your 
 master? 
 Stew. Madam, within; but never man so changed: 
 1 told him of the army that was landed ; 
 He smil'd at it: I told him you were coming; 
 His answer was, The worse: of Gloster's treachery, 
 And of the loyal service of his son, 
 When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot; 
 And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out : — 
 What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him; 
 What like, offensive. 
 
 Gon. Then shall you go no further. 
 
 [To Edmund. 
 It is the cowish terror of his spirit, 
 That dares not undertake : he'll not feel wrongs, 
 Which tie him to an answer; Our wishes, on the way, 
 May prove effects. 1 Back, Edmund, to my brother: 
 Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers: 
 I must change arms at home, and give the distaff 
 Into iny husband's hands. This trusty servant 
 Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear, 
 If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
 A mistress's command. Wear this: spare speech; 
 [Giving a Favor. 
 Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, 
 Would stretch thy spirits up into the air; — 
 Conceive, and fare thee well. 
 
 Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. 
 Gon. My most dear Gloster ! 
 
 [Exit Edmund. 
 O, the difference of man, and man ! To thee 
 A woman's services are due; my fool 
 Usurps my bed. 
 
 Stew. Madam, here comes my lord. 
 
 [Exit Steward. 
 Enter Albany. 
 Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 3 
 Alb. O Goneril, 
 
 You are not worth the dust which the rude wind 
 Blows in your face. — I fear your disposition: 
 That nature, which contemns its origin, 
 Cannot be border' d certain in itself; 
 She that herself will sliver 3 and disbranch 
 From her material sap, perforce must wither, 
 And come to deadly use. 
 
 Gon. No more; the text is foolish. 
 All. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile: 
 Filthti savor but themselves. What have you done? 
 Tigens, not daughters, what have you perform'd? 
 A father, and a gracious aged man, 
 Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, 
 Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded. 
 
 1 1 e. Our wishes on the road may be completed. 
 » Worth calling for » Tear off. 
 
 Could my good brother suffer you to do it? 
 
 A man, a prince, by him so benefited ! 
 
 If that the heavens do not their visible spirts 
 
 Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 
 
 'Twill come, 
 
 Humanity must perforce prey on itself, 
 
 Like monsters of the deep. 
 
 Gon. Milk-liver'd man! 
 
 That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs 
 Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
 Thine honor from thy suffering ; that not know'st 
 Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd 
 Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy 
 
 drum? 
 France spreads his banners in our noiseless land 
 With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats; 
 Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and cry'st, 
 Alack! why does he so? 
 
 Alb. See thyself, devil ! 
 
 Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 
 So horrid, as in woman. 
 
 Gon. O vain fool ! 
 
 Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, foi 
 shame, 
 Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness 
 To let these hands obey my blood, 
 They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
 Thy flesh and bones: — Howe'er thou art a fiend, 
 A woman's shape doth shield thee. 
 
 Gon. Marry, your manhood now ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Alb. What news? 
 
 Mess. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's 
 dead! 
 Slain by his servant, going to put out 
 The other eye of Gloster. 
 
 Alb. Gloster's eyes! 
 
 Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with re« 
 morse, 
 Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword 
 To his great master; who, thereat enraged, 
 Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead 
 But not without that harmful stroke, which since 
 Hath pluck'd him after. 
 
 Alb. This shows you are above, 
 
 tfou justicers, that these our nether crimes 
 So speedily can venge! — But, O poor Gloster! 
 Lost he his other eye? 
 
 Mess. Both, both, my lord. — 
 
 This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; 
 'Tis from your sister. 
 
 Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well; 
 But being widow, and my Gloster with ho. 
 May all the building in my fancy pluck 
 Upon my hateful life: Another way. 
 The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and answei. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his 
 eyes? 
 
 Mess. Come with my lady hither. 
 
 Alb. He is not here. 
 
 Mess. No, my good lord ; I met him back again. 
 
 Alb. Knows he the wickedness? 
 
 Mess. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd 
 against him; 
 And quit the htuse on purpose, that their punish 
 
 ment 
 Might have the freer course. 
 
 Alb. Gloster, I live 
 
 To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the kin 6 
 
 And to revenge thine eyes. — Come hither, friend 
 
 Tell me what more thou knowest. [Exewii 
 
 3 E 
 
826 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act IV. 
 
 SCENE III. — The French Camp near Dover. 
 Enter Kent, and a Gentleman. 
 
 Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly 
 £ jne uack, know you the reason ? 
 
 Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, 
 Which since his coming forth is thought of; which 
 Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, 
 That his persi nal return was most requir'd, 
 And necessary. 
 
 Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? 
 
 Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur leFer. 
 
 Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any 
 demonstration of grief? 
 
 Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my 
 presence ; 
 And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
 Her delicate cheek: it seem'd, she was a queen 
 Over her passion; who, most rebel-like, 
 Sought to be king o'er her. 
 
 Kent. O, then it mov'd her. 
 
 Gent. Not to a rage : patience and sorrow strove 
 Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
 Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears 
 Were like a better day : Those happy smiles, 
 That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know 
 What guests were in her eyes ; which parted thence, 
 As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow 
 Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all 
 Could so become it. 
 
 Kent. Made she no verbal question ? ' 
 
 Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name 
 of Fattier 
 Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; 
 Cried, Sisters! sisters/ — Shame of ladies/ sisters/ 
 Kent! father! sisters/ What? i'the storm? i'the 
 
 night? 
 Let pity not be believed! 1 — There she shook 
 The holy water from her heavenly eyes, 
 And clamor moisten'd: then away she started 
 To deal with grief alone. 
 
 Kent. It is the stars, 
 
 The stars above us, govern our conditions; 6 
 Else one self mate and mate could not beget 
 Suchdifferent issues. You spoke not with her since? 
 
 Gent. No. 
 
 Kent. Was this before the king return'd? 
 
 Gent. No, since. 
 
 Kent. Well, sir ; the poor distress'd Lear is i'the 
 town: 
 Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers 
 What we are come about, and by no means 
 Will yield to see his daughter. 
 
 Gent. Why, good sir ? 
 
 Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his own 
 unkindness, 
 That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her 
 To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
 To his dog-hearted daughters, — these things sting 
 His mind so venomously, that burning shame 
 Detains him from Cordelia. 
 
 Gent. Alack, poor gentleman ! 
 
 Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you 
 heard not? 
 
 Gent. 'Tis so; they are afoot. 
 
 Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear, 
 And leave you to attend him: some dear cause, 
 Will in concealment wrap me up awhile; 
 When I am Known aright, you shall not grieve 
 Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go 
 Mong with me. [Exeunt. 
 
 * Discourse, conversation. 
 
 » ». «. Let not pity he supyowd to exist. 
 
 • Dispositions. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. A Tent. 
 Enter Cohhelia, Physician, and Soldiers. 
 
 Cor. Alack, 'tis he; why, he was met even now 
 As mad as the vex'd sea : singing aloud ; 
 Crown'd with rank fumiter," and furrow weeds, 
 With harlocks, 8 hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, 
 Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
 In our sustaining corn. — A century send forth; 
 Search every acre in the high-grown field, 
 And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] — 
 
 What can man's wisdom do, 
 In the restoring his bereaved sense? 
 He, that helps him, take all my outward worth 
 
 Phy. There is means, madam : 
 Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, 
 The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, 
 Are many simples operative, whose power 
 Will close the eye of anguish. 
 
 Cor. All bless'd secrets. 
 
 All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, 
 Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate. 
 In the good man's distress! — Seek, seek for him. 
 Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
 That wants the means to lead it. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Madam, news; 
 
 The British powers are marching hitherward. 
 
 Cor. 'Tis known before ; our preparation Ftanda 
 In expectation of them. — O dear father, 
 It is thy business that 1 go about; 
 Therefore great France 
 
 My mourning, and important 9 tears, hath pitied. 
 No blown ' ambition doth our arms incite, 
 But love, dear love, and our aged father's right: 
 Soon may I hear, and see him. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE V.— A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Regan and Steward. 
 
 Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth? 
 
 Stew. Ay, madam. 
 
 Reg. Himself 
 
 In person there? 
 
 Slew. Madam, with much ado: 
 
 Your sister is the better soldier. 
 
 Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at 
 home? 
 
 Stew. No, madam. 
 
 Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him? 
 
 Stew. I know not, lady. 
 
 Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. 
 It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out, 
 To let him live; where he arrives, he moves 
 All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone. 
 In pity of his misery, to despatch 
 His nightcd life; moreover, to descry 
 The strength o'the enemy. 
 
 Slew. I must needs after him, madam, with my 
 letter. 
 
 Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow; stay with u#; 
 The ways are dangerous. 
 
 Stew. I may not, madam ; 
 
 My lady charged my duty in this business. 
 
 Reg. Why should she write to Edmund i Might 
 not you 
 Transport her purposes by word ? Belike, 
 Something — I know not what: — I'll love thee 
 
 much, 
 Let me unseal the letter. 
 
 Stew. Madam, I had rather — 
 
 Reg. I know, your lady does not love her husband, 
 
 ' Fumitory. 
 » Importunate 
 
 » Charlocks. 
 
 > Inflated, swelling 
 
i>i;xNE Vi. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 800 
 
 r hiu sire of that: and. at her late being here, 
 She gave strange oeihads, 3 and most speaking looks 
 To nob.'t Edmund : I know, you are of her bosom. 
 Stew- I, madam ? 
 
 Reg. I spxidk in understanding; you are, I know it: 
 Therefore, I do advise you, take this note;' 
 My lord is iVbd; Edmund and I have talk'd; 
 And more convenient is he for my hand, 
 Than for your lady's: — You may gather more, 
 [f you do find him, pray you, give him this: 
 And when your mistress hears thus much from you, 
 I pray, desire her .".all her wisdom to her. 
 So, fare you well. 
 
 [f you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, 
 Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. 
 
 Stew. 'Would I could meet him, madam; I would 
 show 
 What party I do follow. 
 
 Reg. Fare thee well. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— The Country near Dover. 
 Enter Gloster, and Edg ah dressed like a Peasant. 
 Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same 
 
 hill? 
 Edg. You do climb up it now; look, how we 
 
 labor. 
 Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. 
 Edg. Horrible steep; 
 
 Hark, do you hear the sea? 
 
 Glo. No, truly. 
 
 Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect 
 By your eyes' anguish. 
 
 Glo. So may it be, indeed : 
 
 Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak' st 
 In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst. 
 Edg. You are much deceiv'd ; in nothing am I 
 changed, 
 But in my garments. 
 
 Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken. 
 
 Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place: — stand 
 still. — How fearful 
 And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
 The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air, 
 Show scarce so gross as beetles: Halfway down 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire; 4 dreadful trade! 
 Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: 
 The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, 
 Appear like mice ; and yon' tall anchoring bark, 
 Diminish'd to her cock;' her cock, a buoy 
 Almost too small for sight : The murmuring surge, 
 That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes, 
 Cannot be heard so high: — I'll look no more; 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 Topple 6 down headlong. 
 
 Glo. Set me where you stand. 
 
 Edg. Give me your hand : You are now within 
 a foot 
 Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
 Would I not leap upright. 
 
 Glo. Let go my hand, 
 
 Here, friend, is another purse ; in it a jewel 
 Well worth a poor man's taking: Fairies, and gods, 
 Prosper it with thee ! Go thou further off; 
 Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 
 Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. 
 
 [Seems to go. 
 Glo. With all my heart. 
 
 Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair, 
 fa done to cure it. 
 
 Glo. O you mighty gods ! 
 
 » A cast, or significant glance of the eye. 
 
 3 Observe what I am saying. 
 
 4 A vegetable gathpred for pickling. 
 
 > Her cock-boat. Tumble. 
 
 This world I do renounce: and, in your night*, 
 
 Shake patiently my great affliction off": 
 
 If I could bear it longer, and not fall 
 
 To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, 
 
 My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should 
 
 Burn itself cut. If Edgar live, O, bless him ! — 
 
 Now fellow, fare thee well. 
 
 [He leaps, and falls along, 
 
 Edg. Gone, sir ? farewell. — 
 
 And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
 The treasury of life, when life itself 
 Yields to the theft : Had he been where he thought, 
 By this, had thought been past. — Alive, or dead '[ 
 Ho, you sir ! friend ! — Hear you, sir 1 — speak ! 
 Thus might he pass indeed : 7 — Yet he revives : 
 What are you, sir ? 
 
 Glo. Away, and let me die. 
 
 Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, 
 feathers, air, 
 So many fathom down precipitating, 
 Thou hadst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost 
 
 breathe ; 
 Hast heavy substance ; bleed'st not ; speak'st : art 
 
 sound. 
 Ten masts at each make not the altitude, 
 Which thou hast perpend icurarly fell ; 
 Thy life's a miracle : Speak yet again. 
 
 Glo. But have I fallen, or no] 
 
 Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn; 
 Look up a-height; — the shrill-gorged' lark so far 
 Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up. 
 
 Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. — 
 Is wretchedness deprived that benefit, 
 To end itself by death ? 'Twas yet some comfort, 
 When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage, 
 And frustrate his proud will. 
 
 Edg. Give me your arm : 
 
 Up : — So ; — How is't 1 Feel you your legs ? You 
 stand. 
 
 Glo. Too well, too well. 
 
 Edg. This is above all strangeness. 
 
 Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
 Which parted from you ? 
 
 Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. 
 
 Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyea 
 Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, 
 Horns whelk'd, 9 and waved like the enridged sea ; 
 It was some fiend ; Therefore, thou happy father, 
 Think that the clearest' gods, who make them 
 
 honors 
 Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee. 
 
 Glo. I do remember now : henceforth I'll bear 
 Affliction, till it do cry out itself, 
 Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of, 
 I took it for a man ; often 'twould say, 
 The fiend, the fiend .• he led me to that place. 
 
 Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. — But who 
 comes here 1 
 
 EnterLKAn,fantastical/ydressedup loi/h F/oivern. 
 The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
 His master thus. 
 
 Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining ; 
 I am the king himself. 
 
 Edg. thou side-piercing sight ! 
 
 Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — There's 
 your press-money. That fellow handles his bow lik* 
 a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. J — Look, 
 look, a mouse ! Peace, peace ; — this piece of toasted 
 cheese will do't. — There's my gauntlet ; Til prove 
 it on a giant. — Bring up the brown bills.'— O well 
 
 * Thus might he die in calny 
 
 * Twisted, convolved. 
 
 * Ad arrow of a cloth yard long 
 
 • ShriU-throaU*. 
 1 The I'urodt 
 BatUfc-ajrcja 
 
828 
 
 KING LEAR 
 
 Aci IV 
 
 flown bird ! — i' the clout, i' the clout :' hewgh ! — 
 Give the word. 8 
 
 Edg. Sweet marjoram, 
 
 Lear. Pass. 
 
 Glo. I know that voice. 
 
 Lear. Ha ! Goneril ! — with a white beard ! — They 
 flattcr'd me like a dog ; and told me, I had white 
 hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. 
 To say ay, and no, to every thing I said ! — Ay and 
 no loo was no good divinity. When the rain came 
 to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter ; 
 When the thunder would not peace at my bidding; 
 Ihere I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, 
 they are not men o' their words : they told me I was 
 every thing ; 'tis a lie ; I am not ague-proof. 
 
 Glo. The trick 6 of that voice I do well remember: 
 Is't not the king ? 
 
 Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 
 
 When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes. 
 I pardon that man's life ; what was thy cause ? — 
 Adultery. — 
 
 Thou shalt not die; Die for adultery! No: 
 The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly 
 Does lecher in my sight. 
 
 Let copulation thrive, for Gloster's bastard son 
 Was kinder to his father, than my daughters 
 Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
 To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. — 
 Behold yon' simpering dame, 
 Whose iace between her forks presageth snow; 
 That minces virtue, and does shake the head 
 To hear of pleasure's name; 
 The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't 
 With a more riotous appetite. 
 Down from the waist they are centaurs, 
 Though women all above: 
 But to the girdle do the gods inherit, 
 Beneath is all the fiend's; there's hell, there's dark- 
 ness, 
 There is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, 
 stench, consumption; — Fie, fie, fie! pah; pah! 
 Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to 
 sweeten my imagination: there's money for thee. 
 
 Glo. O, let me kiss that hand ! 
 
 Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. 
 
 Glo. ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
 Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me ? 
 
 Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost 
 thou squiny 1 at me 1 No, do thy worst, blind Cupid ; 
 I'll not love — Read thou this challenge ; mark but 
 the penning of it. 
 
 Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not st-e one. 
 
 Edg. I would not take this from report ; — it is, 
 And my heart breaks at it. 
 
 Lear. Read. 
 
 Glo. What, with the case of eyes 1 
 
 Lear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No eyes 
 in vour head, nor no money in your purse 1 Your 
 eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light : 
 Yet you see how this world goes.. 
 
 Glo. I see it feelingly. 
 
 Lear. What, art mad 1 A man may see how this 
 world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears ; 
 see how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief. 
 Hark, in thine ear : change places ; and, handy- 
 dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? — 
 Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar 1 
 
 Glo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Lear. And the creature run from the cur ? There 
 thou might'st behold the great image of authority : 
 a aog's obey'd in office. 
 
 • The white mark for archers to aim at. 
 
 » The watch-word. Likeness, manner ' Look asquint 
 
 Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand . 
 Why dost thou lash that whore ? Strip thine owu 
 
 back ; 
 Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind 
 For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer Lanjj» 
 
 the cozener. 
 Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
 Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin will 
 
 gold, 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks . 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
 None does offend, none, I say, none ; I'll able 'cm ■ 
 Take that of me, my friend, who have the power 
 To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ; 
 Ana, like a scurvy politician, seem 
 To see the things thou dost not. — Now, now, now, 
 
 now : 
 Pull off my boots: — harder, harder; so. 
 
 Edg. 0, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
 Reason in madness ! 
 
 Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes 
 I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloster . 
 Thou must be patient; we came crying hither. 
 Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air 
 We wawl, and cry : — I will preach to thee ; mark me 
 Glo. Alack, alack the day ! 
 Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come 
 To this great stage of fools; This a good 
 
 block ? s 
 It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
 A troop of horse with felt : I'll put it in proof; 
 And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, 
 Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants. 
 
 Gent. 0, here he is, lay hand upon him, — Sii 
 Your most dear daughter 
 
 Lear. No rescue 1 What, a prisoner 1 I am ever 
 The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well; 
 You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon, 
 I am cut to the brains. 
 
 Gent. You shall have any thing. 
 
 Lear. No seconds? All myself 1 
 Why, this would make a man, a man of salt, 9 
 To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 
 Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 
 
 Gent. Good sir, — 
 
 Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom : 
 What? 
 I will be jovial ; come, come ; I am a king, 
 My masters, know you that ! 
 
 Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 
 
 Lear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an you get 
 it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 
 
 [Exit running,- Attendants follow. 
 
 Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch ; 
 Past speaking of in a king i — Thou hast <~*ne 
 
 daughter, 
 Who redeems nature from the general curse 
 Which twain have brought her to. 
 
 Edg. Hail, gentle sir. 
 
 Gent. Sir, speed you : What's your will • 
 
 Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward ! 
 
 Gent. Most sure, and vulgar; every one hears that, 
 Which can distinguish sound. 
 
 Edg. But by your favoi 
 
 How near's the other army ? 
 
 Gent. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry 
 Stands on the hourly thought.' 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir : tha'.'s all 
 
 • Block anciently signified the head pari of a hat. 
 
 » i. e A man of tears. 
 
 « The main body is expected to be descried everT houi 
 
ScE\<E VI* 
 
 KING LEAR 
 
 82H 
 
 Gent. Though that the «,ueen on special cause 
 is here, 
 Her army is moved on. 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. 
 
 Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from 
 me ; 
 Let not my worser spirit" tempt me again 
 To die before you please ! 
 
 Edg. Well pray you, father. 
 
 Glo. Now, good sir, what are you 1 
 
 Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's 
 blows ; 
 Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, 
 Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
 I'll lead you to some biding. 
 
 Glo. Hearty thanks : 
 
 The bounty and the benizon 3 of heaven 
 To boot, and boot ! ' 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 
 Stew. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy ! 
 
 That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh 
 To raise my fortunes. — Thou old unhappy traitor, 
 Briefly thyself remember : — The sword is out 
 That must destroy thee. 
 
 Glo. Now let thy friendly hand 
 
 Put strength enough to it. [Edgar opposes. 
 
 Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant, 
 
 Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor ? Hence ; 
 Lest that the infection of his fortune take 
 Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 
 
 Edg. Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. 
 
 Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest. 
 
 Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, s and let 
 poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out 
 of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by 
 a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man ; 
 keep out, che vor' ye, or ise try whether your cos- 
 tard 8 or my bat 1 be the harder: Ch'ill be plain 
 with you. 
 
 Stew. Out, dunghill ! 
 
 Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no 
 matter vor your foins. 8 
 
 [They fight ,■ and Edgar knocks him down. 
 
 Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me : — Villain, take 
 my purse ; 
 If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; 
 And give the letters, which thou find'st about me, 
 To Edmund earl of Gloster; seek him out 
 
 Upon the British party : O, untimely death ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Edg. I know thee well : a serviceable villain ; 
 As duteous to the vices of thy mistress, 
 As badness would desire. 
 
 Glo. What, is he dead ] 
 
 Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. — 
 Let's see his pockets : these letters, that he speaks of, 
 May be my friends. — He's dead : I am only sorry 
 He had no other death's man. — Let us see : 
 Leave, gentle wax ; and, manners, blame us not : 
 To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip thefr hearts ; 
 Their papers, is more lawful. 
 
 [Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. 
 You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your 
 will want not, time and place will be fruitfully of- 
 fered. There is nothing done, if he return the con- 
 queror : Then avi I the prisoner, and his bed my 
 traol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver 
 me, and supply the place for your labor. 
 
 Your wife, (so I would say,) and your 
 affectionate servant, 
 
 GoNERII.. 
 
 » Evil genius. » Blessing. « Reward, recompence. 
 • Go your way. • Head. ' Club. • Thrusts. 
 
 undistinguish'd space of woman's will ! — 
 
 A plot upon her virtuous husband's life; 
 
 And the exchange, my brother! — Here, in the sands, 
 
 Thee I'll rake up, 9 the post unsanctified 
 
 Of murderous lechers: and, in the mature time, 
 
 With this ungracious paper strike the sight 
 
 Of the death-practis'd duke: For him 'tis well, 
 
 That of thy death and business I can tell. 
 
 [Exit Edgar, dragging out the Body. 
 Glo. The king is mad: How stiff is my vile sense 
 That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
 Of my huge sorrows ! Better I were distract: 
 So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs; 
 And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose 
 The knowledge of themselves. 
 
 Re-enter Edgar. 
 Edg. Give me your hand: 
 
 Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. 
 Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— A Tent in the French Camp. 
 
 Lear on a Bed asleep: Physician,Gentleman, and 
 others, attending. Enter Cordelia and Kent. 
 
 Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, 
 To match thy goodness! My life will be too short, 
 And every measure fail me. 
 
 Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. 
 All my reports go with the modest truth; 
 Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 
 
 Cor. Be better suited : ' 
 
 These weeds are memories of those worser hours; 
 I pr'ythee, put them off. 
 
 Kent. Pardon me, dear madam; 
 
 Yet to be known, shortens my made intent: 
 My boon I make it, that you know me not, 
 Till time and I think meet. 
 
 Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. — How does 
 the king? [To the Physician. 
 
 Phys. Madam, sleeps still. 
 
 Cor. O you kind gods, 
 Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
 Th' untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up, 
 Of this child-changed father! 
 
 Phys. So please your majesty, 
 That we may wake the king I he hath slept long. 
 
 Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
 I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd 1 
 
 Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep, 
 We put fresh garments on him. 
 
 Phys. Be by, geod madam,when we do awake him; 
 I doubt not of his temperance. 
 
 Cor Very well. 
 
 Phys. Please you, draw near. — Louder the mu 
 sic there ! 
 
 Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang 
 Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
 Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
 Have in thy reverence made ! 
 
 Kent. Kind and dear princess! 
 
 Cor. Had you not been their father, these white 
 flakes 
 Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face 
 To be expos'd against the warring winds ? 
 To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunde ' 
 In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
 Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu ! *) 
 With this thin helm? 3 Mine enemy's dog. 
 
 •I'll cover thee (the dead steward) in the sands. 
 
 1 Dressed. 
 
 2 The allusion is to the forlorn hope in an army, calied 
 in French, en/am jx.rd.ui »Thin covering of h«i* 
 
830 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
 Against my fire; And wast 'hou fain, poor father, 
 To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, 
 »n short and musty straw? Alack, alack! 
 Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
 Had not concluded all. — He wakes; speak to him. 
 
 Phys. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest. 
 
 Cor. How does my royal lord 7 How fares your 
 majesty 7 
 
 Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the 
 grave : — 
 Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound 
 Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
 Do scald like molten lead. 
 
 Cor. Sir, do you know me 7 
 
 Lear. You are a spirit, I know ; When did you 
 die? 
 
 Cor. Still, still, far wide ! 
 
 Phys. He's scarce awake ; let him alone awhile. 
 
 Lear. Where have I been? — Where am I?- — 
 Fair day-light? — 
 I am mightily abused. — I should even die with pity, 
 To see another thus. — I know not what to say. — ■ 
 I will not swear, these are my hands: — let's see; 
 I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assured 
 Of my condition. 
 
 Cor. O, look upon me, sir, 
 And hold your hands in benediction o'er me. — 
 No, sir, you must not kneel. 
 
 Lear. Pray, do not mock me ; 
 
 I am a very foolish fond old man, 
 Fourscore, and upwards; and, to deal plainly, 
 I fear, I am not in my perfect mind. 
 Methinks, I should know you, and know this man : 
 Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant 
 What place this is; and all the skill I have 
 Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not 
 Where I did lodge last night : Do not laugh at me ; 
 For, as I am a man, I think this lady 
 To be my child Cordelia. 
 
 Cor. And so I am, I am. 
 
 Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I praj 
 weep not : 
 If you have poison for me, I will drink it. 
 I know, you do not love me; for your sister? 
 Have, as I do remember, done me wrong : 
 You have some cause, they have not. 
 
 Cor. No cause, no caust 
 
 Lear Am I in France? 
 
 Kent. In your own kingdom, sir 
 
 Lear. Do not abuse me. 
 
 Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the grea 
 rage, 
 You see, is cured in him : and yet it is danger 
 To make him even ' o'er the time he has lost. 
 Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more, 
 Till further settling. 
 
 Cor. Will't please your highness walk ? 
 
 Lear. You must bear with me 
 
 Pray now, forget and forgive : I am old, and foolisl. 
 [Exeunt Leah, Cordelia, Physician, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Gent. Holds it true, sir, 
 That the duke of Cornwall was so slain 7 
 
 Kent. Most certain, sir. 
 
 Gent. Who is conductor of his people? 
 
 Kent. As 'tis eaid, 
 
 The bastard son of Gloster. 
 
 Gent. They say, Edgar, 
 
 His banish'd son, is with the earl of Kent 
 In Germany. 
 
 Kent. Report is changeable. 
 
 'Tis time to look about ; the powers o' the kingdom 
 Approach apace. 
 
 Gent. The arbitrament" is like to ba a bleody. 
 Fare you well, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Kent. My point and period will be thoroughly 
 wrought, 
 Or well, or ill, as this day's balc'.d's fought. [Exit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE l.—The Camp of the British Forces, 
 near Dover. 
 
 Enter, with Drums and Colors, Edmund, Regan, 
 Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Edm. Know of the duke, if his last purpose hold .; 
 Or, whether since he is advis'd by aught 
 To change the course : He's full of alteration, 
 And self-approving: — Bring his constant plea- 
 sure. 4 
 
 [To an Officer, who goes out. 
 
 Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 
 
 Earn. 'Tis to be doubted, madam. 
 
 Reg. Now, sweet lord, 
 
 You know the goodness I intend upon you : 
 Tell me, — but truly, — but then speak the truth, 
 Do you not love my sister? 
 
 Edm. In honor'd love. 
 
 Reg. But have you never found my brother's way 
 To the forefended * place 7 
 
 Edm. That thought abuses* you. 
 
 Beg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct 
 And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 
 
 Edm. No, by mine honor, madam. 
 
 Reg. I never shall endure her : Dear my lord, 
 Je not familiar with her. 
 
 ♦ His iettled resolution. 
 
 * Imposes on you. 
 
 « Forbidden 
 
 Edm. Fear me not: — 
 She, and the duke he! husband, 
 
 Enter Albany, Gcneijil, and Soldiers. 
 
 Gon. I had rather lose the battle, than that sistei 
 Should loosen him and me. [Aside. 
 
 Alb. Our very loving sister, well be met. — 
 Sir, this I hear, — The king is come to his daughter, 
 With others, whom the rigor of our state 
 Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest, 
 I never yet was valiant : for this business, 
 It toucheth us as France invades our land, 
 Not holds" the king; with others, whom, I fear, 
 Most just and heavy causes make oppose.' 
 
 Edm x Sir, you speak nobly. 
 
 Reg. Why is this /easc-n'd ? 
 
 Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy: 
 For these domestic and particular broils 
 Are not to question here. 
 
 Alb. Let us then determin* 
 
 With the ancient of war on our proceedings. 
 
 Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent 
 
 Reg. Sister, you'll go with us ? 
 
 Gon. No. 
 
 Reg. 'Tis most convenient ; pray you, go with us 
 
 Gon. 0, ho, I know the riddle : [Aside.'] I will go 
 
 ' To reconcile it to his apprehension. 
 » >'. e. Emboldens him. 
 
 « Decision. 
 1 Or position 
 
Scene III. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 831 
 
 As they are going out, enter Edg ah, disguised. 
 
 Edg. If e'nr your grace had speech with man 
 so jKjor, 
 Hear me one word. 
 
 Alb. I'll overtake you. — Speak. 
 
 [Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Offi- 
 cers, Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter, 
 •f you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
 Por him that brought it: wretched though I seem, 
 I can produce a champion, that will prove 
 What is avouched there : If you miscarry, 
 Vour business of the world hath so an end, 
 And machination ceases. Fortune love you ! 
 
 Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. 
 
 Edg. I was forbid it. 
 
 When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, 
 And I'll appear again. [Exit. 
 
 Alb. Why, fare thee well; I will o'erlook thy 
 paper. 
 
 Re-enter Edmund. 
 
 Edm. The enemy's in view, draw up your powers. 
 Here is the guess of their true strength and forces 
 By diligent discovery ; — but your haste 
 Is now urged on you. 
 
 Alb. We will greet the time. 1 [Exit. 
 
 Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love; 
 Each jealous of the other, as the stung 
 Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take? 
 Both"? one] or neither? neither can be enjoy 'd, 
 If both remain alive : To take the widow, 
 Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril ; 
 And hardly shall I carry out my side, 3 
 Her husband being alive. Now then we'll use 
 Hi6 countenance for the battle : which being done, 
 Let her, who would be rid of him, devise 
 His speedy taking off. As for the mercy 
 Which he intends to Lear, and to Cordelia, — 
 The battle done, and they within our power, 
 Shall never see his pardon : for my state 
 Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Field between the two Camps. 
 
 Alarum within. Enter, ivith Drum and Colors, 
 Leah, Cordelia, and their Forces; and exeunt. 
 
 Enter Edgar and Gloster. 
 Edg. Here, father, take tha shadow of this tree. 
 For your good host; pray that the right may thrive. 
 [f ever I return to you again, 
 I'll bring you comfort. 
 
 Glo. Grace go with you, sir. 
 
 [Exit Edgar. 
 
 Alarums: afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter Edgar. 
 
 Edg. Away, old man, give me thy hand, away ; 
 King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en : 
 Give me thy hand, come on. 
 
 Glo. No further, sir ; a man may rot even here. 
 
 Edg. What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must 
 endure 
 Their going hence, even as their coming hither : 
 Ripeness is all : Come on. 
 
 Glo. And that's true too. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — The British Camp near Dover. 
 Enter, in Conquest, with Drum and Colors, Ed- 
 mund ; Lear and Cordelia, as Prisoners ; 
 Officers, Soldiers, <fc. 
 Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard; 
 
 3 Be ready to meet the occasion. 
 •» t. «. Make iny part good. 
 
 Until their greater pleasures first be known 
 That are to censure ' them. 
 
 Cor. We are not the first, 
 
 Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst 
 For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ; 
 Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown. — 
 Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters ' 
 
 Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away tc 
 prison : 
 We two alone will sing like birds i'the cage : 
 When thou dost ask my blessing, I'll kneel down 
 And ask of thee forgiveness : so we'll live, 
 And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh 
 At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues 
 Talk of court news : and we'll talk with them too— 
 Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out ;— 
 And take upon us the mystery of things, 
 As if we were God's spies : And we'll wear out, 
 In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, 
 That ebb and flow by the moon. 
 
 Edm. Take them away 
 
 Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
 The gods themselves throw incense. Have I 
 
 caught thee ? 
 He, that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven, 
 And fire U3 hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes ; 
 The goujeers 5 shall devour them, flesh and fe>l, 6 
 Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see them starve 
 
 first. 
 Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded. 
 
 Edm. Come hither, captain; hark. 
 Take thou this note ; [Giving a Paper.'] go, follow 
 
 them to prison : 
 One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost 
 As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way 
 To noble fortunes : Know thou this, — that men 
 Are as the time is : to be tender-minded 
 Does not become a sword : — Thy great employment 
 Will not bear question ; either say, thou'lt do't, 
 Or thrive by other means. 
 
 Off. I'll do't, my lord. 
 
 Edm. About it; and write happy, when thou 
 hast done. 
 Mark, — I say, instantly; and carry it so, 
 As I have set it down. 
 
 Off. I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats; 
 If it be man's work, I will do it. [Exit Officer. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonkril, Regan, 
 Officers, and Attendants. 
 
 Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant 
 strain, 
 And fortune led you well : You have the captives, 
 Who were the opposites of this day's strife: 
 We do require them of you ; so to use them, 
 As we shall find their merits and our safety 
 May equally determine. 
 
 Edm. Sir, I thought it fit 
 
 To send the old and miserable king 
 To some retention, and appointed guard ; 
 Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, 
 To pluck the common bosom on his side, 
 And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes 
 Which do command them. With him I sent the 
 
 queen ; 
 My reason all the same; and they are ready 
 To-morrow, or at further space, to appear 
 Where you shall hold your session. At this time 
 We sweat, and bleed ; the friend hath lost his friend 
 And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd 
 By those that feel their sharpness • — 
 
 * Pass judgment on them. 
 
 • The French disease. 
 
 • Skin 
 
332 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act V. 
 
 The question jf Cordelia, and her father, 
 Requires a fitter p'ace. 
 
 Alb. Sir, by your patience, 
 
 [ hold you but a subject of this war, 
 Not as a brother. 
 
 Reg. That's as we list to grace him. 
 
 Methinks, our pleasure might have been demanded, 
 Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers ; 
 Bore the commission of my place and person; 
 The which immediacy 1 m»y well stand up, 
 And call itself your brother. 
 
 Gon. Not so hot : 
 
 In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
 More than in your advancement. 
 
 Reg. In my rights, 
 
 By me invested, he compeers the best. 
 
 Gon. That were the most, if he should husband 
 you. 
 
 Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets. 
 
 Gon. Holloa, holloa ! 
 
 That eye, that told you so, look'd but a-squint. s 
 
 Reg. Lady, I am not well ; else I should answer 
 From a full-flowing stomach. — General, 
 Take thou thy soldiers, prisoners, patrimony ; 
 Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine : 
 Witness the world, that I create thee here 
 My lord and master. 
 
 Gon. Mean you to enjoy him ? 
 
 Alb. The let-alone lits not in your good will. 
 
 Edm. Nor in thini, lord. 
 
 Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 
 
 Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title 
 thine. [To Edmund. 
 
 Alb. Stay yet ; hear reason : — Edmund, I arrest 
 thee 
 On capital treason ; and, in thy arrest, 
 This gilded serpent: [Pointing to Gos.] — for your 
 
 claim, fair sister, 
 I bar it in the interest of my wife ; 
 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord, 
 And I, her husband, contradict your banns. 
 If you will marry, make your love to me, 
 My lady is bespoke. 
 
 Gon. An interlude ! 
 
 Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster: — Let the trumpet 
 sound : 
 If none appear to prove upon thy person, 
 Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, 
 There is my pledge : [ Throwing down a Glove.'] 
 
 I'll prove it on thy heart, 
 Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
 Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 
 
 Reg. Sick, O, sick ! 
 
 Gon. If not, I'll ne'er trust poison. [Aside. 
 
 Edm. There's my exchange: [Throwing down 
 a Glove.] what in the world he is 
 That names me traitor, villain-like he lies : 
 Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach, 
 On him, on you, (who not?) I will maintain 
 My truth and honor firmly. 
 
 Alb. A herald ho ! 
 
 Edm. A herald, ho, a herald ! 
 
 Alb. Trust to thy single virtue ;' for thy soldiers, 
 All levied in my name, have in my name 
 Took their discharge. 
 
 Reg This sickness grows upon me. 
 
 Enter a Herald. 
 
 Alb. She is not well ; convey her to my tent. 
 [Exit Regan, led. 
 
 ' Authority to aot on his own judgment. 
 
 ' llluding to the proverb : "Lore being jealous makes 
 
 t«*xl eye look a-sj uin{." • t. * Valor. 
 
 Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet sound,~- 
 And read out this. 
 
 Off. Sound trumpet. [A Trumpet sounds 
 
 Herald reads. 
 If any man of quality, or degree, within the 
 lists of the army, will maintain upon Edmund, 
 supposed Earl of Gloster, that he is a manifold 
 traitor, let him appear at the third sound of the 
 trumpet : He is bold in his defence. 
 
 Edm. Sound. [1 Trumpet 
 
 Her. Again. [2 Trumpet 
 
 Her. Again. [3 Trumpet 
 
 [Trumpet answers within 
 
 Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a Trumpet. 
 
 Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
 Upon this call o' the trumpet. • 
 
 Her. What are you 1 
 
 Your name, your quality ? and why you answer 
 This present summons ? 
 
 Edg. Know, my name is los* 
 
 By treason's tooth bare-gnawn, and canker-bit : 
 Yet am I noble, as the adversary 
 I come to cope withal. 
 
 Alb. Which is that adversary ' 
 
 Edg. What's he, that speaks for Edmund earl 
 of Gloster ? 
 
 Edm. Himself; — What say'st thou to him? 
 
 Edg. Draw thy sword ! 
 
 That, if my speech offend a noble heart. 
 Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine. 
 Behold, it is the privilege of mine honors, 
 My oath, and my profession : I protest, — 
 Maugre 1 thy strength, youth, place, and eminence, 
 Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune, 
 Thy valor, and thy heart, — thou art a traitor: 
 False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father ; 
 Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince; 
 And, from the extrernest upward of thy head, 
 To the descent and dust beneath thy feet, 
 A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, No, 
 This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are beni 
 To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, 
 Thou liest. 
 
 Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name : 
 But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, 
 And that thy tongue some 'say Q of breeding 
 
 breathes, 
 What safe and nicely I might well delay 
 By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn . 
 Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ; 
 With the hell-hated lie o'erwhclm thy heart; 
 Which, (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,) 
 This sword of mine shall give them instant way, 
 Where they shall rest forever. — Trumpets, speak. 
 [Alarums. They fight. Edmund falls. 
 
 Alb. O save him, save him ! 
 
 Gon. This is mere practice,' Gloster : 
 
 By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer 
 An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd, 
 But cozen'd and beguil'd. 
 
 Alb. Shut your mouth, dame, 
 
 Or with this paper shall I stop it: — Hold, sir: 
 Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil : — 
 No tearing, lady : I perceive you know it. 
 
 [Gives the Letter to Edmund. 
 
 Gon. Say, if I do ; the laws are mine, not thine : 
 Who shall arraign me for't? 
 
 Alb. Most monstrous ! 
 
 Know'st thou this paper? 
 
 Gon. Ask me not what I know. 
 
 [Exit Gonebil. 
 
 » Notwithstanding. » Sample. » Stratagem. 
 
ScENK III. 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 835 
 
 Alb. Go after her : she's desperate ; govern her. 
 [To an Officer, who goes out. 
 
 Edm. What you have charged me with, that 
 have I done ; 
 And more, much more ; the time will bring it out ; 
 Tis past, and so am I : But what art thou, 
 That hast this fortune on me ? If thou art noble, 
 I do forgive thee. 
 
 Edg. Let's exchange charity. 
 
 I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; 
 If more, the more thou hast wronged me. 
 My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
 The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
 Make instruments to scourge us : 
 The dark and vicious place where thee he got, 
 Cost him his eyes. 
 
 Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true ; 
 
 The wheel has come full circle ; I am here. 
 
 Alb. Methought, thy very gait did prophesy 
 A royal nobleness : — I must embrace thee ; 
 jet sorrow split my heart, if ever I 
 Did hate thee, or thy father ! 
 
 Edg. Worthy prince, 
 
 I know it well. 
 
 Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 
 
 How have you known the miseries of your father ? 
 
 Edg. By nursing them, my lord. — List 4 a brief 
 tale ; — 
 And, when 'tis told, 0, that my heart would burst! — 
 The bloody proclamation to escape, 
 That follow'd me so near, (.0, our lives' sweetness ! 
 That with the pain of death we'd hourly die, 
 Rather than die at once !) taught me to shift 
 Into a mad-man's rags ; to assume a semblance 
 That very dogs disdain'd : and in this habit 
 Met I my father with his bleeding rings, 
 Their precious stones new lost; became his guide, 
 Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair ; 
 Never (O fault !) reveal'd myself unto him, 
 Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd, 
 Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, 
 I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
 Told him my pilgrimage : but his flaw'd heart, 
 (Alack, too weak the conflict to support !) 
 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
 Burst smilingly. 
 
 Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me, 
 And shall, perchance, do good : but speak you on ; 
 You look as you had something more to say. 
 
 Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in ; 
 For I am almost ready to dissolve, 
 Hearing of this. 
 
 Edg. This would have seem'd a period 
 
 To such as love not sorrow ; but another, 
 To amplify too much, would make much more, 
 And top extremity. 
 
 Whilst I was big in clamor, came there a man, 
 Who having seen me in my worst estate, 
 Shunn'd my abhorr'd socL-ry ,• but then, finding 
 Who 't was that so endured, with his strong arms 
 He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
 As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father; 
 Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him, 
 That ever ear receiv'd : which in recounting, 
 His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
 Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet sounded, 
 And there I left him tranced. 
 
 Alb. But who was this! 
 
 Edg. Kent, 6ir, the banish'd Kent; who in dis- 
 guise 
 Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service 
 Improper for a slave. 
 
 « Hoar. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody Knife. 
 
 Gent. Help ! help ! O help ! 
 
 Edg. What kind of help ? 
 
 Alb. Speak, man. 
 
 Edg. What means that bloody knife ? 
 
 Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes; 
 
 It came even from the heart of — 
 
 Alb. Who, man? speak. 
 
 Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister 
 By her is poison'd; she confesses it. 
 
 Edm. I was contracted to them both ; all three 
 Now marry in an instant. 
 
 Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or 
 dead ! — 
 This judgment of the heavens, that makes us 
 
 tremble, 
 Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 
 Edg. Here comes Kent, sir 
 
 Alb. O ! it is he. 
 The time will not allow the compliment, 
 Which very manners urges. 
 
 Kent. I am come 
 
 To bid my king and master aye" good night; 
 Is he not here? 
 
 Alb. Great thing of us forgot! — 
 
 Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where'* 
 
 Cordelia ? — 
 See'st thou this object, Kent? 
 
 [The Bodies of Gonerjj. and Regan art 
 brought in. 
 
 Kent. Alack, why thus? 
 
 Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd: 
 
 The one the other poison'd for my sake, 
 And after slew herself. 
 
 Alb. Even so. — Cover their faces. 
 
 Edm. I pant for life :■ — Some good I mean to do, 
 Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, — 
 Be brief in it, — to the castle; for my writ 
 Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: — 
 Nay, send in time. 
 
 Alb. Run, run, 0, run — 
 
 Edg. To whom, my lord ? — Who has the office ' 
 send 
 Thy token of reprieve. 
 
 Edm. Well thought on; take my sword, 
 Give it the captain. 
 
 Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgar. 
 
 Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me 
 To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
 To lay the blame upon her own desuair. 
 That she fordid 6 herself. 
 
 Alb. The gods defend her! B«»r him hence 
 awhile. [Edmund is borne off. 
 
 Enter Leah, with Cordelia dead in his Arms,- 
 Edgar, Officer, and others. 
 
 Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl ! — O, ye are 
 men of stones: 
 Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so 
 That heaven's vault should crack : — O, she is gone 
 
 for ever! — 
 I know when one is dead, and when one lives; 
 She's dead as earth: — Lend me a looking glass; 
 If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
 Why, then she lives. 
 
 Kent. Is this the promis'd end? 
 
 Edg. Or image of that horror? 
 
 Alb. Fall, and cease 
 
 Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, 
 
 » For ever • Destroyed herself 
 
834 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Act \ 
 
 It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows 
 That ever i have felt 
 
 Kent. O my good master ! [Kneeling. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, away. 
 
 Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. 
 
 Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors, all ! 
 I might have saved her; now she's gone forever! — 
 Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha! 
 What is't thou say'st? — Her voice was ever soft, 
 Gentle, and low; an excellent thing in woman: — 
 I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. 
 
 Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. 
 
 Lear. Did I not, fellow ? 
 
 1 have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion 
 I would have made them skip: I am old now, 
 And these same crosses spoil me. — Who are you? 
 Mine eyes are none o'the best : — I'll tell you straight. 
 
 Kent, [f fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, 
 One of them we behold. 
 
 Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent? 
 
 Kent. The same; 
 
 your servant Kent : Where is your servant Caius ? 
 
 Lear. He's a good fellow, I can te'l you that; 
 He'll strike, and quickly too: — He's dead and 
 rotten. 
 
 Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man ; — 
 
 Lear. I'll see that straight. 
 
 Kent. That, from your first of difference and 
 decay, 
 Have follow'd your sad steps. 
 
 Lear. You are welcome hither. 
 
 Kent. Nor no man else; 
 All's cheerless, dark, and deadly. — 
 Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves, 
 And desperately are dead. 
 
 Lear. Ay, so I think. 
 
 Alb. He knows not what he says ; and vain it is 
 That we present us to him. 
 
 Edg. Yery bootless. 1 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 Off Edmund is dead, my lord. 
 • UmIsm 
 
 Alb. That's but a trifle her«. - 
 
 You lords and noble friends, know our intent: 
 What comfort to this great decay may come. 
 Shall be applied : For us, we will resign, 
 During the life of this old majesty, 
 To him our absolute power: — You 'o your right* 
 [To Edgar and Kkst. 
 With boot, and such addition as yc ur honors 
 Have more than merited. — All friends shall taste 
 The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
 The cup of their deservings. — O, see, see! 
 
 Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no 
 life: 
 Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, 
 And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no 
 
 more, 
 Never, never, never, never, never ! — 
 Pray you, undo this button : Thank you, sir. — 
 Do you see this ? Look on her, — look, — her lips- 
 Look there, look there ! — [He dies. 
 
 Edg. He faints ! — My lord, my lord. — 
 
 Kent. Break, heart; I pr'ythee break! 
 
 Edg. Look up, my lord. 
 
 Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he 
 hates him, 
 That would upon the rack of this tough world 
 Stretch him out longer. 
 
 Edg. O, he is gone, indeed. 
 
 Kent. The wonder is, he hath endured so long : 
 He but usurp'd his life. 
 
 Alb. Bear them from hence. — Our present 
 business 
 Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain 
 
 [To Kent and Eubab. 
 Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. 
 
 Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; 
 My master calls, and I must not say, no. 
 
 Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey; 
 Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
 The oldest hath borne most: we, that are young, 
 Shall never see so much, nor Ivs so long. 
 
 f Exeunt, with a dead March. 
 

 ' 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Ebcalus Prince of Verona. 
 
 Pi ris, a young Nobleman, Kinsman to the Prince. 
 
 Montague, ) Heads of two Houses at variance 
 
 Capulet, $ with each other. 
 
 An old Man, Uncle to Capulet. 
 
 Romeo, Son to Montague. 
 
 Mebcutio, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend 
 
 to Romeo. 
 Benvolio, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to 
 
 Romeo. 
 
 Tybalt, Nephew to Lady Capulet. 
 
 Friar Laurence, a Franciscan. 
 
 Friar John, of the same Order. 
 
 Balthazar, Servant to Romeo. 
 
 Sampson, ) & . . ~ , . 
 
 ^. > Servants to Capulet. 
 
 jrREGORT, ) r 
 
 Abram, Servant to Montague. 
 
 An Apothecary. 
 
 Three Musicians. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Boy, Page to Paris. 
 
 Peter, an Officer. 
 
 Ladt Montague, Wife to Montague. 
 Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet. 
 Juliet, Daughter to Capulet. 
 Nurse to Juliet. 
 
 Citizens of Verona ; several Men and Women,reut 
 lions to both Houses; Maskers, Guards, Watch 
 men, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, during the greater part of the Play, in Verona; once, in the fifth Act, at Mantua. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Two households, both alike in dignity, 
 
 In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, 
 From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, 
 
 Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
 From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 
 
 A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life ; 
 Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 
 
 Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. 
 
 The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, 
 And the continuance of their parents' rage, 
 
 Which, but their children's end, nought could re- 
 move, 
 Is now the two-hours traffic of our stage; 
 
 The which, if you with patient ears attend, 
 
 What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Public Place. 
 
 Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with 
 Swords and Bucklers. 
 
 Sam. liregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.' 
 
 Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 
 
 Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. 
 
 Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of 
 the collar. 
 
 Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 
 
 Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 
 
 Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. 
 
 Gre. To move, is — to stir ; and to be valiant, is — 
 to stand to it : therefore, if thou art moved thou 
 mnn'st away. 
 
 Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to 
 stand : I will take tike wall of any man or maid of 
 Montague's 
 
 < *hra8e*ormerly in use, to signify the bearing injuries 
 T835] 
 
 Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weak 
 est goes to the wall. 
 
 Sam. True; and therefore women, being the 
 weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall : — there- 
 fore I will push Montague's men from the wall, 
 and thrust his maids to the wall. 
 
 Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and 
 us their men. 
 
 Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant . 
 when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel 
 with the maids; I will cut off their heads. 
 
 Gre. The heads of the maids? 
 
 Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maid 
 enheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. 
 
 Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. 
 
 Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to 
 stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of 
 flesh. 
 
 Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish if thou Ladsi 
 
836 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act I. 
 
 •hou hadst been poor John." Draw thy tool ; here 
 lornen two of the house of the Montagues. 
 Enter Abham and Balthazar. 
 Sam. My naked weapon is out ; quarrel, I will 
 back thee. 
 
 Gre. How ? turn thy back, and run ? 
 Sam. Fear me not. 
 Gre. No, marry: I fear thee ! 
 Sam. Let us take the law of our sides ; let them 
 begin. 
 
 Gre. I will frown as I pass by; and let them 
 take it as they list. 
 
 Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb 
 at them ; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. 
 Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
 Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 
 Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
 Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say — ay ? 
 Gre. No. 
 
 Sam. No, sir; I do not bite my thumb at you, 
 sir: but I bite my thumb, sir. 
 Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 
 Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir. 
 Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you ; I serve as 
 good a man as you. 
 Abr. No better. 
 Sam. Well, sir. 
 
 Enter Benvolio, at a distance. 
 Gre. Say — better; here come3 .me of my mas- 
 ter's kinsmen. 
 
 Sam. Yes, better, sir. 
 Abr. You lie. 
 
 Sam. Draw, if you be men. — Gregory, remem- 
 ber thy swashing blow. [They fight. 
 Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know 
 not what you do. [Beats down their Swords. 
 Enter Tybalt. 
 Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart- 
 less hinds? 
 Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. 
 
 Ben. I do but keep the peace : put up thy sword, 
 Or manage it to part these men with me. 
 
 Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate 
 the word, 
 As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee; 
 Have at thee, coward. [They fight. 
 
 Enter several Partizans of both Houses, who join 
 the Fray,- then enter Citizens with Clubs. 
 Cit. Clubs, 3 bills, and partizans! strike! beat 
 them down ! 
 Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! 
 Enter Capulet in his Gown,- and Lady Capulet. 
 Cap. What noise is this? — Give me my long 
 
 sword, ho ! 
 ha. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! — Why call you for 
 
 a sword? 
 Cap. My sword, I say ! — Old Montague is come, 
 And nourishes his blade in spite of me. 
 
 Enter Montague, and Lady Montague. 
 Man. Thou villain, Capulet, — Hold me not, let 
 
 me go! 
 La. Mot. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. 
 
 Enter Prince, with Attendants. 
 Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
 Profantrs of this neighbor-stained steel, — 
 Will they not hear? — what, ho! you men, you 
 beasts, — 
 
 » Poor John is lake, dried and salted. 
 > Clubs waH the usual exclamation at an affray in the 
 )tree*R, as we now call Watch ! 
 
 That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 
 
 With purple fountains issuing from your veins 
 
 On pain of torture, from those bloody handt 
 
 Throw your mistemper'd' weapons to the grounC : 
 
 And hear the sentence of your moved prince. — 
 
 Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, 
 
 By thee, old Capulet and Montague, 
 
 Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets; 
 
 And made Verona's ancient citizens 
 
 Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, 
 
 To wield old partizans, 6 in hands as old, 
 
 Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hiw« 
 
 If ever you disturb our streets again, 
 
 Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace 
 
 For this time, all the rest depart away : 
 
 You, Capulet, shall go along with me; 
 
 And, Montague, come you this afternoon, 
 
 To know our further pleasure in this case, 
 
 To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. 
 
 Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; Capul-kt. 
 Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens, and 
 Servants. 
 Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?— 
 Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began ? 
 
 Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary. 
 And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: 
 I drew to part them ; in the instant came 
 The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared; 
 Which, as he brcath'd defiance to my ears, 
 He swung about his head, and cut the winds, 
 Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn: 
 While we were interchanging thrust and blows, 
 Came more and more, and fought on part and part, 
 Till the prince came, who parted either part. 
 
 La. Mon. O, where is Romeo ? — saw you him to 
 day? 
 Right glad I am, he was not at this fray- 
 
 Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun 
 Peer'd 6 forth the golden window of the east, 
 A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; 
 Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore, 
 That westward rooteth from the city's side, — 
 So early walking did I see your son: 
 Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of jat, 
 And stole into the covert of the wood : 
 I measuring his affections by my own, — 
 That most are l^usied when they are most alone, — 
 Pursued my humor, not pursuing his, 
 And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 
 
 Mon. Many a morning hath he there been sten, 
 With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
 Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs: 
 But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 
 Should in the furthest east begin to draw 
 The shady curtains from Aurora's beu, 
 Away from light steals home my heavy son, 
 And private in his chamber pens himself; 
 Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, 
 And makes himself an artificial night : 
 Black and portentous must this humor prove, 
 Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 
 
 Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause 
 
 Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. 
 
 Ben. Have you importuned him by any means? 
 
 Mon. Both by myself and many other friends: 
 But he, his own affections' counsellor. 
 Is to himself — I will not say, hov true — 
 But to himself so secret and so close, 
 So far from sounding and discovery, 
 As is the bud bit with an envious worm, 
 Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
 * Angry. * A kind of pike • Appealed. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 33-, 
 
 Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
 
 Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, 
 
 We would as willingly give cure, as know. 
 
 Enter Roxko, at a distance. 
 
 Ben See, where he comes : So please you, step 
 aside ; 
 I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. 
 
 Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, 
 To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's away. 
 [Exeunt Montague and Lady. 
 
 Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 
 
 Rom. Is the day so young ? 
 
 Ben. But new struck nine. 
 
 Rom. Ah me ! sad hours seem long. 
 
 Was that my father that went hence so fast ? 
 
 Ben. It was: — What sadness lengthens Romeo's 
 hours ? 
 
 Rom. Not having that, which having, makes 
 them short. 
 
 Ben. In love? 
 
 Rom. Out — 
 
 Ben. Of love? 
 
 Rom. Out of her favor, where I am in love. 
 
 Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, 
 Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! 
 
 Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 
 Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 
 Where shall we dine ? — me ! — What fray was 
 
 here ? 
 Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
 Here's much to do with hate, but more with love : — 
 Why then, O brawling love ! loving hate ! 
 O any thing, of nothing first create ! 
 heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 
 Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! 
 Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! 
 Still waking sleep, that is not what it is ! — 
 This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
 Post thou not laugh ? 
 
 Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. 
 
 Rom. Good heart, at what ? 
 
 Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 
 
 Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. — 
 Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; 
 Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
 With more of thine : this love, that thou hast 
 
 shown, 
 Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
 Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; 
 Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ; 
 Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 
 What is it else 1 a madness most discreet, 
 A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. 
 Farewell, my coz. [Going. 
 
 Ben. Soft, I will go along ; 
 
 An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 
 
 Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; 
 This is not Romeo, he's some other where. 
 
 Ben. Tell mc in sadness who she is you love. 
 
 Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee ? 
 
 Ben. Groan ? why no ; 
 
 But sadly tell me, who. 
 
 Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will : — 
 Ah, word ill-urged to one that is so ill ! — 
 In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. 
 
 Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. 
 Rom. A right good marksman ! — And she's fair 
 I love. 
 
 Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 
 
 Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss : she'll not be hit 
 With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit, 
 And, in strorg proof of chastity well arm'd, 
 
 From love's weak childish bow she lives unharin'd 
 
 She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 
 
 Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
 
 Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
 
 O, she is rich in beauty ; only poor, 
 
 That, when she dies, with beauty dies her stop?. 
 
 Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live 
 chaste ? 
 
 Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes hugs 
 waste ; 
 For beauty, starv'd with her severity, 
 Cuts beauty off from all posterity. 
 She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair, 
 To merit bliss by making me despair: 
 She hath forsworn to love ; and in that vow, 
 Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 
 
 Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. 
 
 Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think 
 
 Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; 
 Examine other beauties. 
 
 Rom. 'Tis the way 
 
 To call hers, exquisite, in question more : 
 These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, 
 Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair; 
 He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget 
 The precious treasure of his eyesight lost : 
 Show me a mistress that is passing fair, 
 What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
 Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair ? 
 Farewell ; thou canst not teach me to forget. 
 
 Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE ll.—A Street. 
 Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. 
 
 Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, 
 In penalty alike ; and 'tis not hard, I think, 
 For men so old as we to keep the peace. 
 
 Par. Of honorable reckoning' are you both; 
 And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long. 
 But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? 
 
 Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before ; 
 My child is yet a stranger in the world, 
 She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; 
 Let two more summers wither in their pride, 
 Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 
 
 Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made 
 
 Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early 
 made. 
 The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, 
 She is the hopeful lady of my earth: 
 But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, 
 My will to her consent is but a part ; 
 An she agree, within her scope of choice 
 Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
 This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 
 Whereto I have invited many a guest, 
 Such as I love ; and you, among the store, 
 One more, most welcome, makes my number more 
 At my poor house, look to behold this night 
 Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light: 
 Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel 
 When well-apparell'd April on the heel 
 Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
 Among fresh female birds shall you this night 
 Inherit 8 at my house; hear all, all see, 
 And like her most, whose merit most shall be : 
 Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one, 
 May stand in number, though in reckoning noim 
 Come, go with me: — Go, sirrah, trudge about 
 Through fair Verona ; find those persons out, 
 
 1 Account, estimation. 
 
 • To inherit, in the language of Shatjspeare, is to posttst 
 
S38 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET 
 
 Act \ 
 
 Whose names are written there, [Gives a Paper i] 
 
 and to then, say, 
 My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 
 
 [Exeunt Capulet and Paris. 
 Serr Fim. them out, whose names are written 
 here ) I 4 - is written — that the shoemaker should 
 meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, 
 the fif her with his pencil, and the painter with his 
 nets ; but I am sent to rind those persons, whose 
 names are here writ, and can never find what 
 names the writing person hath here writ I must 
 to the learned : — In good time. 
 
 Enter Benvolto and Romeo. 
 
 Ben. Tut, man ! one fire burns out another's 
 burning, 
 
 One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; 
 Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning: 
 
 One desperate grief cure with another's languish : 
 Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 
 And the rank poison of the old will die. 
 
 Rom Your plantain leaf is excellent for that. 
 
 Ben. For what, I pray thee 1 
 
 Rom. For your broken shin. 
 
 Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ] 
 
 Rom. Not m?.d, but bound more than a mad- 
 man is: 
 Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 
 Whipp'd, and tormented, and — Good e'en, good 
 fellow. 
 
 Serv. God gi' gooi e'en. — I pray, sir, can you 
 read 1 
 
 Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 
 
 Serv. Perhaps you have learn 'd it without book : 
 But I pray, can you read any thing you seel 
 
 Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. 
 
 Serv. Ye say honestly : Rest you merry ! 
 
 Rom. Stay, fellow ; I can read. [Reads. 
 
 Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters ,• 
 County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters ,- The 
 lady widow of Vitruvio ; Signior Placentio, and his 
 lovely nieces ,■ Mercutio, and his brother Valentine ; 
 Mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters,- My 
 fair niece Rosaline ; Livia ; Signior Valentio, and 
 his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. 
 A fair assembly; [Gives back the Note.] Whither 
 should they come 1 
 
 Serv. Up. 
 
 Rom. Whither 1 ? 
 
 Serv. To supper ; to our house. 
 
 Rom. Whose house 1 
 
 Serv. My master's. 
 
 Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that be- 
 fore. 
 
 Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking : My 
 master is the great rich Capulet ; and if you be not 
 of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush 
 a cup of wine.' Rest you merry. [Exit. 
 
 Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 
 Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; 
 With all the admired beauties of Verona. 
 Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, 
 Compare her face with some that I shall show, 
 And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. 
 
 Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 
 Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to 
 fires! 
 And these, who, often drown'd. could never die, — 
 
 Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 
 One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun 
 Ve'er saw her match, since first the world begun. 
 Ben. Tut ! vou saw her fair, none else being by, 
 
 » We still lay in cant language — crack a bottle. 
 
 Herself pois'd ' with herself in either evfc • 
 But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh u 
 Y'our lady's love against some other maid 
 That I will show you, shining at this feast, 
 And she shall scant 3 show well, that now shows best 
 Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, 
 But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— A Room in Capulet's House. 
 Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 
 La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughtei 1 call he! 
 forth to me. 
 
 Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head, at twelve 
 year old, — 
 I bade her come. — What, lamb! what, lady-bird! 
 God forbid! — where's this girl? — what, Juliet! 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Jul. How now, who calls 1 
 
 Nurse. Your mother. 
 
 Jul. Madam, I am here, 
 
 What is your will 1 
 
 La. Cap. This is the matter: — Nurse, give leave 
 awhile, 
 We must talk in secret. — Nurse, come back again ; 
 I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. 
 Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. 
 
 Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 
 
 La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 
 
 Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, 
 And yet, to my teen 3 be it spoken, I have but four,— 
 She is not fourteen : How long is it now 
 To Lammas-tide 1 
 ' La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. 
 
 Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 
 Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. 
 Susan and she, — God rest all Christian souls! — 
 Were of an age. — Well, Susan is with God; 
 She was too good for me : But as I said, 
 On Lammas-eve at night shall 6he be fourteen; 
 That shall she, marry ; I remember it well. 
 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
 And she was wean'd, — I never shall forget it,— 
 Of all the days in the year, upon that day : 
 For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 
 Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, 
 My lord and you were then at Mantua : — 
 Nay, I do bear a brain:' — But, as I said, 
 When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
 Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool ! 
 To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. 
 Shake, quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, I tiow 
 To bid me trudge. 
 
 And since that time it is eleven years : 
 For then she could stand alone ; nay, by the rood,' 
 She could have run and waddled all about, 
 For even the day before, she broke her brow : 
 And then my husband — God be with his soul ! 
 'A was a merry man; — took up the child: 
 Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face ? 
 Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more witi 
 Wilt thou not, Jule? and by my holy-dam,' 
 The pretty wretch left crying, and said — Ay: 
 To see now, how a jest shall come about! 
 I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 
 I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? 
 
 quoth he: 
 And, pretty fool, it stinted, 1 and said — Ay: 
 
 La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thj 
 peace. 
 
 « Weighed. • Scarcely, hardly. 3 To my spnow. 
 4 i. e. I have a perfect remembrance or recollection. 
 ' The cross. « Holy dame, i. t. the blessed Virgin 
 1 It stopped crying. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 S3G 
 
 A'urse. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose but 
 laugh, 
 To think it should leave crying, and say — Ay: 
 And yet I warrant, it had upon its brow 
 A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; 
 A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly. 
 Yea. quoth my husband, faWst upon thy fact? 
 Thou wilt full backward, when thou com fit to age; 
 Will thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said — Ay. 
 
 Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, 
 say I. 
 
 Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to 
 his grace ! 
 Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd : 
 An I might live to see thee married once, 
 I have my wish. 
 
 La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme 
 I came to talk of: — Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
 How stands your disposition to be married 7 
 
 Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of. 
 
 Nurse. An honor! were not I thine only nurse, 
 I'd say, thou had'st suck'd wisdom from thy teat. 
 
 La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now ; younger 
 than you, 
 Here, in Verona, ladies of esteem, 
 Are made already mothers: by my count, 
 I was your mother much upon these years 
 That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief: — 
 The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 
 
 Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man, 
 As all the world — Why, he's a man of wax. 8 
 
 La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a 
 flower. 
 
 Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. 
 
 La. Cap. What say you 7 can you love the 
 gentleman 7 
 This night you shall behold him at our feast : 
 Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, 
 And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; 
 Examine every married lineament, 
 And see how one another lends content: 
 And what obscured in this fair volume lies, 
 Find written in the margin of his eyes. 9 
 This precious book of love, this unbound lover, 
 To beautify him only lacks a cover : 
 The fish lives in the sea ; ' and 'tis much pride, 
 For fair without the fair within to hide : 
 That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, 
 That in gold clasps locks in the golden story ; 
 So shall you share all that he doth possess, 
 By having him, making yourself no less. 
 
 Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by 
 men. 
 
 La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' 
 lovel 
 
 Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move : 
 But no more deep will I endart mine eye, 
 Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served 
 up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse 
 cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. 
 I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow 
 straight. 
 
 La. Cap. We follow thee. — Juliet, the county 
 
 stays. 
 Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy 
 days. [Exeunt. 
 
 « Well mada, as«f he had been modelled in wax. 
 
 •The comments on ancient books were always printed 
 in the margin. 
 
 • »'. e Is nit yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind 
 him 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Street. 
 
 Enter Romeo, Merqutio, Benvolio, with fiveur 
 
 six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others 
 
 Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for ou 
 excuse? 
 Or shall we on without apology 7 
 
 Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: 
 We'll have no Cupid hook-wink'd with a scarf, 
 Bearing a Tartar's painted how of lath, 
 Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper : J 
 Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
 After the prompter, for our entrance : 
 But, let them measure us by what they will, 
 We'll measure them a measure, 3 and be gone. 
 
 Rum. Give me a torch, 4 — I am not for this ambling; 
 Being but heavy, I will bear the light. 
 
 Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance 
 
 Rom. Not I, believe me : you have dancing shoes, 
 With nimble soles : I have a soul of lead, 
 So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. 
 
 Mer. You are a lover : borrow Cupid's wings, 
 And soar with them above a common bound. 
 
 Rom. I am too sore impierced with his shaft 
 To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, 
 I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : 
 Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 
 
 Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; 
 Too great oppression for a tender thing. 
 
 Rom. Is love a tender thing 7 it is too rough, 
 Too rude, too boist'rous ; and it pricks like thorn. 
 
 Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with 
 love; 
 Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down, — 
 Give me a case to put my visage in ; 
 
 [Putting on a Mask. 
 A visor for a visor ! — what care I, 
 What curious eye doth quote' deformities? 
 Here are the beetle brows, shall blush for me. 
 
 Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in, 
 But every man betake him to his legs. 
 
 Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, light of heart 
 Tickle the senseless rushes 6 with their heels; 
 For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, — 
 I'll be a candle-holder, and look on, — 
 The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. 
 
 Mer. Tut ! dun's the mouse, the constable's t>'»n 
 word : 
 If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire 
 Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st 
 Up to the ears. — Come, we burn day-light, ho. 
 
 Rom. Nay, that's not so. 
 
 Mer. I mean, sir, in delay. 
 
 We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. 
 Take our good meaning : for our judgment sits 
 Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. 
 
 Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask; 
 But 'tis no wit to go. 
 
 Mer. Why, may one ask 7 
 
 Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. 
 
 Mer. And so did I. 
 
 Rom. Well, what was yours 7 
 
 Mer. That dreamers often lie. 
 
 Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things 
 true. 
 
 Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with yov 
 She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman, 
 
 « A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crow»- 
 » A dance. 
 
 * A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to every 
 troop of maskers. » Observe. 
 
 • It was anciently the custom to strew rooms with rasbM 
 
340 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act ) 
 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies 1 
 Athwart men's noses as iney lie asleep: 
 Her waggon-spokes made of 4ong spinners' legs ; 
 The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
 The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
 The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams : 
 Her whip, of cricket's bone : the lash, of film : 
 Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, 
 Not half so big as a round little worm 
 Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 
 Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 
 Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
 And in this state she gallops night by night 
 Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: 
 On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight: 
 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 
 Whr*h oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, 
 Because their breath with sweet-meats tainted are. 
 Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
 And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: 8 
 And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
 Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, 
 Then dreams he of another benefice : 
 Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, 
 And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 
 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 
 Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon 
 Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes ; 
 And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, 
 And sleeps again. This is that very Mab, 
 That plats the manes of horses in the night; 
 And bakes the elk-locks' in foul sluttish hairs, 
 Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 
 This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, 
 That presses them, and learns them firat to bear, 
 Making them women of good carriage. 
 This, this is she — 
 
 Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace; 
 
 Thou talk'st of nothing. 
 
 Mer. True, I talk of dreams ; 
 
 Which arc the children of an idle brain, 
 Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
 Which is as thin of substance as the air; 
 And more inconstant than the wind, who woos 
 Even now the frozen bosom of the north, 
 And, being anger'd, puff's away from thence, 
 Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 
 
 Ben. This wind you talk of, blows us from our- 
 selves ; 
 Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 
 
 Rom. I fear, too early : for my mind misgives, 
 Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, 
 Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
 With this night's revels; and expire the term 
 Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, 
 By some vile forfeit of untimely death : 
 But He, that hath the steerage of my course, 
 Direct my sail ! — On, lusty gentlemen. 
 
 Ben. Strike, drum. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 'V.— A Hall in Capulet's House. 
 
 Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 
 
 1. Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take 
 
 ■way ? he shift a trencher ! he scrape a trencher ! 
 
 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one 
 
 or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a 
 
 foul thing. 
 
 1 Serv. Away with the joint stools, remove the 
 
 * Atoms. » A place in court. 
 
 ' i. e. Fairy-locks, lacks of hair clotted and tangled in 
 the nii;ht 
 
 court-cupboard, ' look to the plate : — good thou, 
 save me a piece of march-pane ; Q and, as thou lovesi 
 me, let the porter let in Susan Grind?',one, and 
 Nell. — Antony ! and Potpan ! 
 2 Serv. Ay, boy ; ready. 
 
 1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked 
 for, and sought for, in the great chamber. 
 
 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. — 
 Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer 
 liver take all. [They retire Ithind. 
 
 Enter Capulut, fyc. with the Guests and Maskers. 
 
 Cap. Gentlemen, welcome ! ladies, that have 
 
 their toes 
 Unplagued with corns, will have a bout with you: — 
 Ah ha, my mistresses ! which of you all 
 Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, 
 I'll swear, hath corns ; Am I come near you now 1 
 You are welcome, gentlemen ! I have seen the day, 
 That I have uiprn a visor ; and could tell 
 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, 
 Such as would please ; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone. 
 You are welcome, gentlemen ! — Come, musicians 
 
 play, 
 A hall ! a hall ! 3 give room, and foot it, girls. 
 
 [Music plays, and they dance. 
 More light, ye knaves ; and turn the tables up, 
 And quench the fire, the room is gTOwn too hot, — 
 Ah, sirrah, this unlooked-for sport comes well. 
 Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; 
 For you and I are past our dancing days : 
 How long is't now, since last yourself and I 
 Were in a mask ? 
 
 2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years. 
 
 1 Cap. What man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not se 
 
 much : 
 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, 
 Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, 
 Some five-and-twenty years ; and then we mask'd. 
 
 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir : 
 His son is thirty. 
 
 1 Cap. Will you tell me that ? 
 
 His son was but a ward two years ago. 
 
 Rom. What lady's that which doth enrich the hand 
 Of yonder knight ? 
 
 Serv. I know not, sir. 
 
 Rom.O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! 
 Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear: 
 Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear ! 
 So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 
 As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
 The measure' done, I'll watch her place of stand, 
 And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. 
 Did my heart love till now ? forswear it, sight ! 
 For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 
 
 Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : — 
 Fetch me my rapier, boy : — What ! dares the slave 
 Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, 
 To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
 Now, by the stock and honor of my kin, 
 To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. 
 
 1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore 
 storm you so ? 
 
 Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe ; 
 A villain, that is hither come in spite, 
 To scorn at our solemnity this night. 
 
 1 Cap. Young Romeo is't ? 
 
 Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo 
 
 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alon* 
 He bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
 
 1 A sideboard on which the plate was placed. 
 "Almond cake s i. e. Make room. *The danoa 
 
Act 11. Scene I. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 841 
 
 And, to eay truth, Verona brags of him, 
 To be a virtuous and well-govcrn'd youth : 
 I would not for the wealth of all this town, 
 Here in my house, do him disparagement : 
 Therefore, be patient, take no note of him, 
 It is my will ; the which if thou respect, 
 Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, 
 \n ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 
 
 Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ; 
 I'll not endure him. 
 
 1 Cap. He shall be endured ; 
 
 What, goodman boy ! — I say, he shall ; — Go to; — 
 Am I the master here, or you ? go to. 
 You'll notendure him ! — God shall mend my soul — 
 You'll make a mutiny among my guests ! 
 You will set cock-a-hoop ! you'll be the man ! 
 Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 
 1 Cup. Go to, go to, 
 
 You are a saucy boy : — Is't so indeed 1 — 
 This trick may chance to scath 5 you; — I know what. 
 You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time — 
 Well said, my hearts : — You are a princox ; B go : — 
 Be quiet, or — More light, more light ! — For 
 
 shame ! — 
 I'll make you quiet; What! — Cheerly, my hearts. 
 Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting, 
 Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
 I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, 
 Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit. 
 Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand 
 
 [To Juliet. 
 This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, — 
 My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
 
 To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 
 Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too 
 much, 
 Which mannerly devotion shows in this ; 
 For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, 
 And palm to palm is hoiy palmers' kiss. 
 Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? 
 Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips, that they must use in 
 
 prayer. 
 Rom. O then, dear saf.nt, let lips do what hands 
 do; 
 i'hey pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 
 Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' 
 
 sake. 
 Rom. Then move nol;, while my prayer's effect 
 I take. 
 Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. 
 Rom. Sin from my lips'! trespass sweetly urged ! 
 Give mc my sin again. 
 Jul. You kiss by the book. 
 
 Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with 
 you 
 
 Rom. What is her mother? 
 
 Nurse. Marry, bachelor. 
 
 Her mother is the lady of the house, 
 And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous: 
 I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal; 
 I tell you, — he, that can lay hold of her, 
 Shall have the chinks. 
 
 Rom. Is she 8 Capulet? 
 
 dear account! my life is my foe's debt. 
 Ben. Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. 
 Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 
 
 1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone ; 
 We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. — 
 Is it e'en so ? Why, then I thank you all ; 
 
 1 thank you, honest gentlemen; good night: — 
 More torches here ! — Come on, then let's to bed. 
 Ah, sirrah, [To 2 Cap.] by my fay,' it waxes late 
 I'll to my rest. [Exewit all but Juli et and Nurse. 
 
 Jul. Come hither, nurse : What is yon gentle- 
 man? 
 
 Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 
 
 Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door? 
 
 Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. 
 
 Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would 
 not dance? 
 
 Nurse. I know not. 
 
 Jul. Go, ask his name : — if he be married, 
 My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 
 
 Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; 
 The only son of your great enemy. 
 
 Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate! 
 Too early seen unknown, and known Loo late ! 
 Prodigious birth of love it is to mc, 
 That I must love a loathed enemy. 
 
 Nurse. What's this ? what's this ? 
 
 Jul. A rhyme I lcarn'd even now 
 
 Of one I danced withal. [One calls within. Juliet ! 
 
 Nurse. Anon, anon:- — 
 
 Come, let's away ; the strangers aii are gone. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Now old Desire doth in his death-bed lie, 
 
 And young Affection gapes to be his heir ; 
 That fair, which love groan'd for, and would die, 
 
 With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair. 
 Now Romeo is belov'd and loves again, 
 
 Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; 
 But to his foe suppos'd he must complain, 
 
 And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: 
 Being held a foe, he may not have access 
 
 To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; 
 And she as much in love, her means much less 
 
 To meet her new-beloved any where : 
 But passion lends them power, time means to meet, 
 Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — An open Place, adjoining Capulet's 
 Garden. 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here ? 
 Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. 
 He climbs the Wall, and leaps down within it. 
 
 Enter Bf.nvolio and Mehcutio. 
 Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! 
 • Do you an injury. • A coxcomb. 
 
 Mer. He is wi*e 
 
 And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. 
 
 Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall 
 Call, good Mercutio. 
 
 Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too — 
 
 Romeo ! humors ! madman ! passion ! lover ! 
 Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, 
 Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied ; 
 Cry but — Ah me! couple but — love and dove; 
 Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, 
 « Faith. 
 3 F 
 
842 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act II 
 
 One nick -name for her purblind son and heir, 
 Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, 
 When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid. 8 — 
 He heareth lot, stirreth not, he moveth not; 
 The ape 9 is dead, and I must conjure him. — 
 i conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, 
 By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip, 
 By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, 
 And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, 
 That in thy likeness thou appear to us. 
 
 Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. 
 
 Mer. This cannot anger him : 'twould anger him 
 To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle, 
 Of some strange nature, letting it there stand 
 Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down; 
 That were some spite ; my invocation 
 Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, 
 I conjure only but to raise up him. 
 
 Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees, 
 To be consorted with the humorous 1 night: 
 Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. 
 
 Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. 
 Now will he sit under a medlar-tree, 
 And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit, 
 As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. — 
 Romeo, good night; — I'll to my truckle bed; 
 This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : 
 Come, shall we go? 
 
 Ben. Go, then ; for 'tis in vain 
 
 To seek him here, that means not to be found. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Capulet's Garden. 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — 
 [Juliet appears above, at a Window. 
 But, soft ! what light through yonder window breaks! 
 Tt is the east, and Juliet is the sun ! — 
 Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, 
 Who is already sick and pale with grief, 
 That thou her maid art far more fair than she: 
 Be not her maid, since she is envious; 
 Her vestal livery is but sick and green, 
 And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. — 
 It is my lady; 0, it is my love: 
 0, that she knew she were! — • 
 She speaks, yet she says nothing : What of that ? 
 Her eye discourses, I will answer it. — 
 I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: 
 Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, 
 Having some business, do entreat her eyes 
 To twinkle in their spheres till they return. 
 What if her eyes were there, they in her head? 
 The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, 
 As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven 
 Would through the airy region stream so bright, 
 That birds would sing, and think it were not night. 
 See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand ! 
 0, that I were a glove upon that hand, 
 That I might touch that cheek ! 
 
 Jul. Ah me ! 
 
 Rom. She spenks:- — 
 
 O, speak again, Dright angel ! for thou art 
 \s glorious to this night, being o'er my head, 
 As is a winged messenger of heaven 
 [Into the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
 Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, 
 When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, 
 vnd sails upon the bosom of the air. 
 
 Jut. Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? 
 
 » AUudiuf; to the old ballad of the kiug and the beggar. 
 • Th;'s phrase in Shakppeare's time was used as an ex- 
 l reunion of tenderness Humid, moist. 
 
 Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: 
 Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, 
 And I'll no longer be a Capulet. 
 
 Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this' 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy; — 
 Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. 
 What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, 
 Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
 Belonging to a man. 0, be some other name ! 
 What's in a name ? that which we call a rose, 
 By any other name would smell as sweet; 
 So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, 
 Retain that dear perfection which he owes,' 
 Without that title : — Romeo, doff 3 thy name ; 
 And for that name which is no part of thee, 
 Take all myself. 
 
 Rom. I take thee at thy word : 
 
 Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd ; 
 Henceforth I never will be Romeo. 
 
 Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd 
 in night, 
 So stumblest on my counsel? 
 
 Rom. By a name 
 
 I know not how to tell thee who I am : 
 My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, 
 Because it is an enemy to thee ; 
 Had I it written, I would tear the word. 
 
 Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words 
 Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound; 
 Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ? 
 
 Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. 
 
 Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and where- 
 fore? 
 The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb ; 
 And the place death, considering who thou art, 
 If any of my kinsmen find thee here. 
 
 Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch 
 these walls; 
 For stony limits cannot hold love out: 
 And what love can do, that dares love attempt, 
 Therefore thy kinsmen are no let 4 to me. 
 
 Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. 
 
 Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye. 
 Than twenty of their swords ; look thou but sweet, 
 And I am proof against their enmity. 
 
 Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. 
 
 Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their 
 sight ; 
 And, but 5 thou love me, let them find me here: 
 My life were better ended by their hate, 
 Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 
 
 Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this 
 place ? 
 
 Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; 
 He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. 
 I am no pilot ; yet wert thou as far 
 As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, 
 I would adventure for such merchandise. 
 
 Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face: 
 Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, 
 For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night 
 Fain would I dwell on fcrm, fain, fain, deny 
 What I have spoke : But farewell compliment ! 
 Dost thou iove me ! I know thou wilt say — Ay ; 
 And I will take thy word : yet if thou swear'st, 
 Thou may'st prove false ; at lovers' perjuries, 
 They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, 
 If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully : 
 Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won, 
 I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay. 
 
 - Owns, possesses. 
 ' Hindrance 
 
 J Do off, put on. 
 » Unless. 
 
Scene III 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 848 
 
 So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. 
 In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond ; 
 And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light : 
 But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
 Than those that have more cunning to be strange. 6 
 I should have been more strange, I must confess, 
 i3ut that thou over-heard'st, ere I was 'ware, 
 My true love's passion ; therefore, pardon me ; 
 And not impute this yielding to light love, 
 Which the dark night hath so discovered. 
 
 Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, 
 That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, — 
 
 Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant 
 moon, 
 That monthly changes in her circled orb, 
 Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. 
 
 Rom. What shall I swear by! 
 
 Jul. Do not swear at all ; 
 
 Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, 
 Which is the god of my idolatry. 
 And I'll believe thee. 
 
 Rom. If my heart's dear love — 
 
 Jul. Well, do not swear : although I joy in thee, 
 I have no joy of this contract to-night : 
 It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden ; 
 Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, 
 Ere one can say — It lightens. Sweet, good night! 
 This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, 
 May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. 
 Good night, good night ! as sweet repose and rest 
 Come to thy heart, as that within my breast ! 
 
 Rum. 0, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ? 
 
 Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to- 
 night 1 
 
 Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow 
 for mine. 
 
 Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: 
 And yet I would it were to give again. 
 
 Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it 1 for what pur- 
 pose, love ? 
 
 Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. 
 And yet I wish but for the thing I have : 
 My bounty is as boundless as the sea, 
 My love as deep ; the more I give to thee, 
 The more I have, for both are infinite. 
 
 [Nurse calls within. 
 I hear some noise within : Dear love, adieu ! 
 Anon, good nurse ! — Sweet Moutague, be true. 
 Stay but a little, I will come p-gain. [Exit. 
 
 Ram. blessed, blessed slight ! I am afeard, 
 Being in night, all this is but a dream, 
 Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. 
 
 Re-enter Juliet, above. 
 
 Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, 
 indeed. 
 If that thy bent 1 of love be honorable, 
 Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, 
 By one that I'll procure to come to thee, 
 Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; 
 And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, 
 And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world: — 
 
 Nurse. [Within.'] Madam. 
 
 Jul. I come, anon : — But if thou mean'st not 
 well, 
 I do beseech thee, — 
 
 Nurse. [Within.'] Madam. 
 
 Jul. By and by, I come : — 
 
 To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: 
 To-morrow will I send. 
 
 Rom. So thrive my soul, — 
 
 Jul. A thousand times good night ! [Exit. 
 
 *Sh,T ' Inclination. 
 
 Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thv 
 light.— 
 Love goes toward love, as school-boys from theii 
 
 books, 
 But love from love, toward school with heavy looks 
 [Retiring stoutly. 
 Re-enter Juliet, above. 
 
 Jul. Hist ! Romeo, hist ! — 0, for a falconer'* 
 voice, 
 To lure this tassel-gentle* back again ! 
 Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud ; 
 Else would I tear the cave where echo lies, 
 And make her airy tongue more hoarse than min« 
 With repetition of my Romeo's name. 
 
 Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name. 
 How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
 Like softest music to attending ears ! 
 
 Jul. Romec ! 
 
 Rom. My sweet ! 
 
 Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow 
 
 Shall I send to thee ? 
 
 Rom. At the hour of nine. 
 
 Jul. I will not fail ; ; tis twenty years till then. 
 I have forgot why I did call thee back. 
 
 Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it 
 
 Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there 
 Rememb'ring how I love thy company. 
 
 Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, 
 Forgetting any other home but this. 
 
 Ju I. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone : 
 And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
 Who lets it hop a little from her hand, 
 Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,' 
 And with a silk thread plucks it back again, 
 So loving-jealous of his liberty. 
 
 Rom. I would, I were thy bird. 
 
 Jul. Sweet, so would I: 
 
 Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
 Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet 
 
 sorrow, 
 That I shall say — good night, till it be morrow 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy 
 breast ! — 
 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! 
 Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 
 His help to crave, and my dear hap' to tell. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Friar Lawrence's Cell. 
 
 Enter Fiuar Lawrence, with a Basket. 
 
 Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frown- 
 ing night, 
 Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light: 
 And flecked 3 darkness like a drunkard reels 
 From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's "wheels: 
 Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, 
 The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
 I must fill up this osier cage of ours. 
 With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 
 The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb 
 What is her burying grave, that is her womb 
 And from her womb children of divers kind 
 We sucking on her natural bosom find ; 
 Many for many virtues excellent. 
 None but for some, and yet all different. 
 O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies 
 In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities : 
 For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, 
 But to the earth some special good doth give; 
 
 » The tnrccl is the male hawk, the falcon the fe»*U 
 » Fetters i Chance, fortune. 
 
 * Spotted, streaked. » The bud 
 
844 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 A err II. 
 
 Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use, 
 
 Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : 
 
 Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
 
 And vice sometime 's by action dignified. 
 
 Within the infant rind of this small flower 
 
 Poison hath residence, and med'eine power: 
 
 For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part ; 
 
 Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
 
 Two such opposed foes encamp them still 
 
 In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will ; 
 
 And where the worser is predominant, 
 
 Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Good morrow, father ! 
 
 Fri. Benedicite ! 
 
 What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? 
 i r oung son, it argues a distemper'd head, 
 So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
 Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, 
 And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; 
 But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain 
 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign ; 
 Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, 
 Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature ; 
 Or if not so, then here I hit it right — 
 Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 
 
 Horn. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. 
 
 Fri. God pardon sin ! wast thou with Rosaline ? 
 
 Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father ? no ; 
 I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. 
 
 Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou 
 been then 1 
 
 Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
 I have been feasting with mine enemy ; 
 Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me, 
 That's by me wounded ; both our remedies 
 Within thy help and holy physic lies : 
 I bear no hatred, blessed man : for, lo, 
 My intercession likewise steads my foe. 
 
 Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; 
 Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. 
 Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love 
 is set 
 On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: 
 As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine ; 
 And all combin'd, save what thou must combine 
 By holy marriage : When, and where, and how, 
 We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow, 
 I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, 
 That thou consent to marry us this day. 
 
 Fri. Holy saint Francis ! what a change is here? 
 Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear. 
 So soon forsaken ? young men's love then lies 
 Not truly in their hearts but in their eyes. 
 Jesu Maria ! what a deal of brine 
 Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline ! 
 How much salt water thrown away in waste, 
 To season love, that of it doth not taste ! 
 The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
 Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
 Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
 Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: 
 If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, 
 Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline; 
 /Vnd art thou changed ? pronounce this sentence 
 
 then — 
 Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. 
 
 Rom. Thou chiust me oft for loving Rosaline. 
 
 Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 
 
 Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 
 
 Fri. Not in a grave, 
 
 o lav one it, another out to have 
 
 Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom I lo<*e 
 now, 
 Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow 
 The other did not so. 
 
 Fri. 0, she knew well, 
 
 Thy love did read by role, and could not spell 
 But come, young waverer, come go with me, 
 In one respect I'll thy assistant be ; 
 For this alliance may so happy prove, 
 To turn your households' rancor to pure love. 
 
 Rom. O let us hence ; I stand on sudden tu.ste 
 
 Fri. Wisely and slow ; they stumble, that run 
 fast. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Street. 
 Enter Benyolio and Mehcutio. 
 
 Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be ? 
 Came he not home to-night ? 
 
 Ben. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his man. 
 
 Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wencb, 
 that Rosaline, 
 Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 
 
 Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
 Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 
 
 Mer. A challenge, on my life. 
 
 Ben. Romeo will answer it. 
 
 Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a 
 letter. 
 
 Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how 
 he dares, being dared. 
 
 Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! 
 stabbed with a white wench's black eye! shot 
 thorough the ear with a love-song : the very pin of 
 his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft';' 
 And is he a man to encounter Tybalt ? 
 
 Ben. Why what is Tybalt ? 
 
 Mer. More than prince of cats, 6 I can tell you. 
 0, he is the courageous captain of compliments. 
 He fights as you sing prick-song," keeps time, dis- 
 tance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest one, 
 two, and the third in your bosom : the very butcher 
 of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman 
 of the very first house, — of the first and second 
 cause: Ah. the immortal passado ! the punto re- 
 verso ! the hay ! ' 
 
 Ben. The what ? 
 
 Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting 
 fantasticoes ; these new tuners of accents ! — By 
 Jesu, a very good blade.'- -a very tall man! — a 
 very good whore! — Why, is not this a lamentable 
 thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted 
 with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, 
 these pardonnez-moys, who stand so much on the 
 new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old 
 bench ? 0, their boas, their bons ! 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 
 
 Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring: — O 
 flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! — Now is he for 
 the numbers that Petrarch flowed in : Laura, to his 
 lady, was but a kitchen-wench ; — marry, she had 
 a better love to be-rhyme her : Dido, a dowdy ; 
 Cleopatra, a gipsy ; Helen and Hero, hildings mm I 
 harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the 
 purpose. — Signior Romeo, bon jour ! There's a 
 French salutation to your French slop. 8 You gave 
 us the counterfeit fairly last night. 
 
 * Arrow « See the story of Itcynard the fcx 
 
 • By notes pricked down. 
 
 ' Terms of the fencing-school. 
 
 » Trowsers or pantaloons, a French fcjhinn in ?hakii 
 peare's time. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 94R 
 
 Rom. Good morrow to you both. What coun- 
 terfeit 'lid I give you ? 
 
 Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; 9 Can you not con- 
 ceive ? 
 
 Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was 
 great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may 
 strain courtesy. 
 
 Mer. That's as much as to say — such a case as 
 rours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 
 
 Rom. Meaning — to court'sy 
 
 Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 
 
 Rom. A most courteous exposition. 
 
 Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. 
 
 Rom. Pink for flower. 
 
 Mer. Right. 
 
 Rom. Why, then is my pump' well flowered. 
 
 Mer. Well said ; Follow me this jest now, till 
 tnou hast worn out thy pump ; that, when the sin- 
 gle sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after 
 the wearing, solely singular. 
 
 Rom. O singlc-soled jest, solely singular for the 
 singleness ! 
 
 Mer. Come between us, good Benvolic ; my wits 
 fail. 
 
 Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or 
 I'll cry a match. 
 
 Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, 
 . have done : for thou hast more of the wild-goose 
 in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my 
 whole five: Was I with you there for the goose] 
 
 Bum. Thou wast never with me for any thing, 
 when thou wast not there for the goose. 
 
 Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 
 
 Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 
 
 Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter-sweeting ; 3 it is a 
 most sharp sauce. 
 
 Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet 
 goose ? 
 
 Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, 3 that stretches 
 from an inch narrow to an ell broad ! 
 
 Rom. I stretch it out for that word — broad: 
 which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide 
 a broad goose. 
 
 Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning 
 for love ? now art thou sociable, now art thou Ro- 
 meo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well 
 as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great 
 natural, that runs idling up and down, to hide his 
 bauble in a hoie. 
 
 Ben. Stop there, stop there. 
 
 Me r. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against 
 the hair. 
 
 Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale 
 large. 
 
 Mer. 0, thou art deceived, I would have made 
 it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my 
 tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument 
 no longer. 
 
 Rom. Here's goodly geer! 
 
 Enter Nurse and Peter. 
 
 Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock. 
 Nurse. Peter! 
 Pet. Anon? 
 Nurse. My fan, Peter. 
 
 Mer. Pr'y thee, do, good Peter, to hide her face ; 
 fci her fan's the fairer of the two. 
 
 Nurse. God ye good-morrow, gentlemen. 
 Mer. God ye good-den,' fair gentlewoman. 
 
 » A pun on counterfeit money called slips. 
 1 Shue. ' An apple. 
 
 Soft itretching leather * Good even. 
 
 Nurse. Is it good-den? 
 
 Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you ; for the bawdy hand 
 of the dial is now upon the prick s of noon. 
 Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you? 
 Bom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made 
 himself to mar. 
 
 Nurse. By my troth, it is well said; — For him- 
 self to mar, quoth'a? — Gentlemen, can any of you 
 tell me where I may find the young Romeo ? 
 
 Rom. I can tell you ; but young Romeo will be 
 older when you have found him, than he was when 
 you sought him : I am the youngest of that name 
 for 'fault of a worse. 
 Nuise. You say well. 
 
 Mer. Yea, is the worse well ? very well took, 
 i' faith ; wisely, wisely. 
 
 Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence 
 with you. 
 
 Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 
 Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho ! 
 Rom. What hast thou found? 
 Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in alenten 
 pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent 
 An old hare hoar," 
 And an old hare hoar, 
 Is very good meat in lent: 
 But a hare that is hoar, 
 Is too much for a score, 
 When it hoars ere it be spent. 
 
 Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll tc 
 dinner thither. 
 
 Rom. I will follow you. 
 
 Mer. Farewell, ancient lady ; farewell, lady, lady 
 lady. [Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, farewell ! — I pray you, sir, what 
 saucy merchant 1 was this, that was so full of his 
 ropery ? 
 
 Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear 
 himself talk ; and will speak more in a minute, than 
 he will stand to in a month. 
 
 Nu?-se. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll 
 take him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and 
 twenty such Jacks; &nd if I cannot, I'll find those 
 that shall. — Scurvy knave ! I am none of his flirt- 
 gills; I am none of his skains-mates : 8 — And thou 
 must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use 
 me at his pleasure? 
 
 Pet. 1 saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I 
 had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I 
 warrant you : I dare draw as soon as another man, 
 if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on 
 my side. 
 
 Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that 
 every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! — Pray 
 you, sir, a word ; and, as I told you, my young 
 lady bade me inquire you out ; what she bade me 
 say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, 
 if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they 
 say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they 
 say: for the gentlewoman is young: and, therefore, 
 if you should deal double wirti her, truly, it were 
 an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and 
 very weak dealing. 
 
 Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- 
 tress. I protest unto thee, — 
 
 Nurse. Good heart! and, i' faith, I will tell her 
 as much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. 
 Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse 1 »hou do 
 not mark me. , 
 
 • Point. • Hoary, mouldy. 
 
 ' A term of disrespect, in contradistinction to ijentlemaa. 
 
 • A mate or companion of one wearing a skain: a siort 
 sword 
 
84rt 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act II 
 
 Nurse. I will tell her, sir — that you do protest; 
 which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer. 
 
 Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to 
 shrift' 
 This afternoon; 
 
 And there sfte shall at friar Laurence' cell 
 Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. 
 
 Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. 
 
 Rom. Go to; I say you shall. 
 
 Nurse. This afternoon, sir; well, she shall be 
 there. 
 
 Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey- 
 wall : 
 Within this hour my man shall be with thee; 
 And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, 
 Which to the high top-gallant ' of my joy 
 Must be my convoy in the secret night. 
 Farewell! — be trusty, and I'll quit 3 thy pains. 
 Farewell ! — Commend me to thy mistress. 
 
 Nurse. Now, God in heaven bless thee ! — Hark 
 you, sir. 
 
 Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? 
 
 Nurse. Is your man secret ? Did you ne'er hear 
 say — 
 Two may keep counsel, putting one away ? 
 
 Rom. I warrant thee ; my man's as true as steel. 
 
 Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest 
 lady — Lord, lord! — when 'twas a little prating 
 thing, — O, — there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, 
 that would fain lay knife aboard ; but she, good 
 soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see 
 him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris 
 is the properer man ; but, I'll warrant you, when I 
 say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal 
 world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both 
 with a letter? 
 
 Rom. Ay, nurse ; what of that? both with an K. 
 
 Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name ;R is 
 for the dog. No; I know it begins with some 
 other letter; and she hath the prettiest sententious 
 of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you 
 good to hear it. 
 
 Rom. Commend me to thy lady. [Exit. 
 
 Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter ! 
 
 Pet. Anon ? 
 
 Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before. 
 
 [Exeunt ■ 
 
 SCENE V.— Capulet's Garden. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send 
 the nurse ; 
 In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
 Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. — 
 0, she is lame ! love's heralds should be thoughts, 
 Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, 
 Driving back shadows over low'ring hills : 
 Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, 
 And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
 Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
 Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve 
 Is three long hours, — yet she is not come. 
 Had she affections, and warm youthful blood, 
 She'd be as ?wift in motion as a ball ; 
 My words would bandy 3 her to my sweet love, 
 And his to me: 
 
 But old folks, many feign as they were dead; 
 Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
 
 •Confession. 
 
 ' The highest extremity of the mast of a ship. 
 'Requite. 
 
 •Drive her, as a hall struck with a handy, i.e. a. hat or 
 battledo-p 
 
 Enter Nurse and Peteii. 
 
 God, she comes ! — O honey nurse, what news' 
 Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. 
 
 Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Petbh 
 
 Jul. Now, good, sweet nurse, — lord ! wh) 
 look'st thou sad ? 
 Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily ; 
 If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news 
 By playing it to me with so sour a face. 
 
 Nurse. I am weary, give me leave a while; — 
 Fye, how my bones ache ! What a jaunt have I had 
 
 Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy 
 news : 
 Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ; — good, good nurse 
 speak. 
 
 Nurse. Jesu ! What haste ? can you not stay a 
 while? 
 Do you not see that I am out of breath? 
 
 Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou has 
 breath 
 To say to me — that thou art out of breath ? 
 The excuse that thou dost make in this delay, 
 Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
 Is thy news good or bad ? answer to that ; 
 Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance : 
 Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad ? 
 
 Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice 
 you know not how to choose a man: Romeo ! no, 
 not he; though his face be better than any man's, 
 yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand and a 
 foot, and a body, — though they be not to be talked 
 on, yet they are past compare : He is not the flower 
 of courtesy, — but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a 
 lamb. — Go thy ways, wench ; serve God. — What, 
 have you dined at home? 
 
 Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before; 
 What says he of our marriage ? what of that? 
 
 Nurse. Lord, how my head aches ! what a head 
 have I! 
 It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. 
 My back o' t'other side. — 0, my back, my back ! — 
 Beshrew your heart, for sending me about, 
 To catch my death with jaunting up and down ! 
 
 Jul. F faith, I am sorry that thou art not well : 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my 
 love ? 
 
 Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, 
 And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, 
 
 And, I warrant, a virtuous: Where is your 
 
 mother ? 
 
 Jul. Where is my mother? — why, she is within ; 
 Where should she be? How oddly thou reply 'st; 
 Your love says like a?i honest gentleman, — 
 Where is your mother? 
 
 Nurse. O, God's lady dear! 
 
 Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow: 
 Is this the poultice for my aching bones ! 
 Henceforward do your messages yourself. 
 
 Jul. Here's such a coil, 4 — come, what says 
 Romeo? 
 
 Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day 
 
 Jul. I have. 
 
 Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence 
 cell, 
 There stays a husband to make you a wife : 
 Now comes the wanton blood up in your checks. 
 They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. 
 Hie you to church : I must another way, 
 To fetch a ladder, by the which your love 
 Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark. 
 
 1 am the drudge, and toil in your delight: 
 
 ♦Bustle. 
 
Act 111. Scene I. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 847 
 
 Hut you stall bear the burden soon at night. 
 Co, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. 
 
 Tut. Hie to high fortune! — honest nurse, fare- 
 well. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Friar Laurence' Cell. 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 
 
 Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, 
 That after-hours with sorrow chide us not. 
 
 Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, 
 ft cannot countervail the exchange of joy 
 That one short minute gives me in her sight: 
 Do thou but close our hands with holy words, 
 Then love-devouring death do what he dare, 
 It is enough I may but call her mine. 
 
 Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, 
 And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, 
 Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey 
 Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, 
 And in the taste confounds the appetite : 
 Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so; 
 Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Here comes the lady : — O, so light a foot 
 
 Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: 
 A lover may bestride the gossamers' 
 That idle in the wanton summer air, 
 And yet not fall ; so light is vanity. 
 
 Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 
 
 Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for u? 
 both. 
 
 Jul. As much to him, else arc his thanks too 
 much. 
 
 Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
 Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
 To blazon' it, then sweeten with thy breath 
 This neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue, 
 Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both 
 Receive in either by this dear encounter. 
 
 Jul. Conceit, 1 more rich in matter than in words, 
 Brags of his substance, not of ornament: 
 They are but beggars that can count their worth , 
 But my true love is grown to such excess, 
 I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. 
 
 Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make 
 short work; 
 For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, 
 Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Public Place. 
 Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants. 
 
 Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire; 
 The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, 
 And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl; 
 For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. 
 
 Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, 
 when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me 
 his sword upon the table, and says, God send me 
 no need of thee! and, by the operation of the second 
 cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is 
 no need. 
 
 Ben. Am I like such a fellow? 
 
 Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy 
 mood as any in Italy ; and as soon moved to be 
 moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 
 
 Ben. And what to 1 ? 
 
 Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should 
 have none shortly, for one would kill the other. 
 Thou ! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath 
 a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou 
 hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking 
 nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast 
 hazel eyes; What eye, but such an eye, would spy 
 out such a quarrel ? Thy head is as full of quarrels 
 as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath 
 been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. 
 Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in 
 the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that 
 hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out 
 with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before 
 Easter"! with another, for tying his new shoes with 
 >ld riband ? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quar- 
 elling ! 
 
 Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any 
 man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an 
 hour and a quarter. 
 
 Mer. The fee-simple? O simple! 
 
 Enter Ttbalt, and others. 
 
 Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. 
 
 Mer. By my heel, I care not. 
 
 Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. — 
 Gentlemen, good den; a word wi:h one of you. 
 
 Mer. And but one word with one of us ? Couplo 
 it with something; make it a word and a blow. 
 
 Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir 
 if you will give me occasion. 
 
 Mer. Could you not take some occasion withou' 
 giving? 
 
 Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo, — 
 
 Mer. Consort? what, dost thou make us minstrels? 
 an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing 
 but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall 
 make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! 
 
 Ben. We talk herein the public haunt of men: 
 Either withdraw into some private place, 
 Or reason coldly of your grievances. 
 Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. 
 
 Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them 
 gaze; 
 I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir ! here cornea 
 my man. 
 
 Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery 
 Marry, go before to field, he'll be your followc; 
 Your worship, in that sense, may call him — man. 
 
 Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee, can afford 
 No better term than this — Thou art a villain. 
 
 Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee 
 Doth much excuse the appertaining rage 
 To such a greeting: — Villain am I none; 
 Therefore, farewell; I see, thou know'st me noL 
 
 Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
 That thou hast done me; therefore turn, and draw 
 
 Rom. I do protest I never injur'd thee; 
 But love thee better than thou canst devise. 
 Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: 
 And so, good Capulet, — which name I tender 
 As dearly as mine own, — be satisfied. 
 
 Mer. calm, dishonorable, v'le submission ' 
 A la stoccata" carries it away. [Lh-aivs 
 
 Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will yru walk? 
 
 Tyb. What woulds-t thou have with me? 
 
 • The long white filament which flies in the air. 
 
 • Paint, display. ' Imagination. 
 
 • The Italian term for a thrust or stab with a rapier 
 
K4% 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 ACT II] 
 
 Mer. Guca King of cats, nothing, but one of your 
 (line lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and 
 as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of 
 the eight. Will you pluck, your sword out of his 
 pilcher 9 by the ears? make haste, lest mine be 
 about your ears ere it be out. 
 
 Tyb. I am for you. [Drawing. 
 
 Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 
 
 Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight. 
 
 Rom. Draw, Benvolio; 
 Heat down their weapons: — Gentlemen, for shame ; 
 Forbear this outrage ; — Tybalt — Mercutio — 
 The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying 
 In Verona streets : — hold, Tybalt; — good Mercutio. 
 [Exeunt Tybalt and his Partisans. 
 
 Mer. I am hurt; — 
 A plague o' both the houses ! — I am sped : — 
 fs he gone, and hath nothing ? 
 
 Ben. What, art thou hurt? 
 
 Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis 
 enough. — 
 Where is my page? — go, villain, fetch a surgeon. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 
 Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. 
 
 Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide 
 as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask 
 for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave 
 man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world: — 
 A plague o' both your houses ! — 'Zounds, a dog, 
 a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death ! 
 a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the 
 book of arithmetic! — Why, the devil, came you 
 between us ? I was hurt under your arm. 
 
 Rom. I thought all for the best. 
 
 Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, 
 Or I shall faint. — A plague o' both your houses! 
 They have made worm's meat of me : 
 I have it, and soundly too: — Your houses! 
 
 [Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio. 
 
 Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, 
 My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt 
 In my behalf; my reputation stain'd 
 With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour 
 Hath been my kinsman: — sweet Juliet, 
 Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, 
 And in my temper soften'd valor's steel. 
 Re-enter Benvolio. 
 
 Ben. Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead ; 
 That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, 
 Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. 
 
 Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth 
 depend ; 
 This but begins the woe, others must end. 
 Re-enter Tybalt. 
 
 Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. 
 
 Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain ! 
 Away to Heaven, respective 1 lenity, 
 And fire-eyed fury be my conduct Q now! — 
 Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, 
 That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul 
 Is but a little way above our heads, 
 Staying for thine to keep him company; 
 Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. 
 
 Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort 3 
 him here, 
 Shalt with him hence. 
 
 Rom. This shall determine that. 
 
 [They fight; Tybalt falls. 
 
 den. Romeo, away, be gone ! 
 The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain : 
 
 * Case or scabbard. 
 •Conductor. 
 
 ' Considerate. 
 'Accompany. 
 
 Stand not amaz'd: — the pnr.ee will doom thee 
 
 death, 
 If thou art taken : — hence ! — be gone ! — away ! 
 
 Rom. ! I am fortune's fool ! 
 
 Ben. Why dost thou stay? [Exit Romeo 
 
 Enter Citizens, S(C. 
 
 1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio 1 
 Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? 
 
 Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 
 
 1 Cit. Up, sir, go with me, 
 
 I charge thee in the prince's name, obey. 
 
 Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, 
 t/ieir Wives, and others. 
 Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray? 
 Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all 
 The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: 
 There lies the man slain by young Romeo 
 That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 
 
 La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin ! — O my brother's 
 child ! 
 Unhappy sight ! ah me, the blood is spill'd 
 Of my dear kinsman ! — Prince, as thou art true/ 
 For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. — 
 
 cousin, cousin! 
 
 Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray ? 
 
 Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand 
 did slay ; 
 Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink 
 How nice 5 the quarrel was, and urged withal 
 Your high displeasure : — All this — uttered 
 With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly 
 
 bow'd, — 
 Could not take truce with the unruly spleen 
 Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts 
 With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast; 
 Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, 
 And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats 
 Cold death aside, and with the other sends 
 It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity 
 Retorts it : Romeo he cries aloud, 
 Hold, friends/ friends, part.' and, swifter than hi» 
 
 tongue, 
 His agile arm beats down their fatal points, 
 And 'tvvixt them rushes ; underneath whose arm 
 An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life 
 Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled : 
 But by and by comes back to Romeo, 
 Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, 
 And to't they go like lightning ; for, ere I 
 Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain ; 
 And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly: 
 This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. 
 
 La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague, 
 Affection makes him false, he speaks not true: 
 Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, 
 And all those twenty could but kill one life : 
 
 1 beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; 
 Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. 
 
 Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; 
 Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? 
 
 Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio' 
 friend ; 
 His fault concludes but what the law should end, 
 The life of Tybalt. 
 
 Prin. And, for that offence, 
 
 Immediately we do exile him hence: 
 I have an interest in your hates' proceeding, 
 My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding 
 But I'll amerce 6 you with so strong a fine, 
 That you shall all repent the loss of mine . 
 
 * Just and upright. 
 « Punish by fine. 
 
 * Slight, 'in important 
 
ScjSNE II. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 84ft ! 
 
 T will be deaf to pleading and excuses ; 
 Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses; 
 Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, 
 Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. 
 Bear hence this body, and attend our will: 
 Mercv but murders, pardoning those that kill. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in Capulet's House. 
 
 Enter Julikt. 
 Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
 Towards Phoebus' mansion ; such a waggoner 
 As Phaeton would whip you to the west, 
 And bring in cloudy night immediately. — 
 Spread thy close curtain, love performing night! 
 That run-away's eyes may wink; and Romeo 
 Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen! — 
 Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
 By their own beauties: or, if love be blind, 
 It best agrees with night. — Come, civil' night, 
 Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
 And learn me how to lose a winning match, 
 Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: 
 Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks, 9 
 With thy black mantle; ti'.i strange love, grown 
 
 bold, 
 Think true love acted, simple modesty. 
 Come, night! — Come, Romeo! come, thou day in 
 
 night! 
 For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 
 Whiter than new snow on a rave.rs back. — 
 Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brcw'd 
 
 night, 
 Give me my Romeo: and when he shall die, 
 Take him and cut him out in little stars, 
 And he will make the face of heaven so fine 
 That all the world will be in love with night, 
 And pay no worship to the garish" sun. — 
 O, I have bought the mansion of a love, 
 But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold, 
 Not yet enjoy'd: So tedious is this day, 
 As is the night before some festival 
 To an impatient child, that hath new robes, 
 And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, 
 
 Enter Nurse, with Cords. 
 And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks 
 But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence. — 
 Now. nurse, what news? What hast thou there, 
 
 the cords, 
 That Romeo bade thee fetch ? 
 
 Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords. 
 
 [Throws them down. 
 
 Jul. Ah me ! what news ! why dost thou wring 
 
 thy hands! 
 Nurse. Ah well-a-day ! he's dead, he's dead, he's 
 
 dead ! 
 We are undone, lady, we are undone ! — 
 Alack the day ! — he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead ! 
 Jul. Can heaven be so envious ? 
 Nurse. Romeo can, 
 
 Though heaven cannot : — O Romeo ! Romeo ! 
 Who ever would have thought it? — Romeo! 
 Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me 
 
 thus? 
 This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. 
 Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but /,' 
 And that bare vowel /shall poison more 
 Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice 
 
 ' Grave, solemn. • These are terms of falconry. 
 
 'Gaudy, showy. 
 
 * J n Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay, was 
 asuaJly written /, and here it is necessary to retain the 
 >!cl unfiling. 
 
 I am not I, if there be such an I: 
 Or those eyes shut, that makes thee answer, /. 
 If he be slain, say — I ; or if not, no : 
 Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. 
 
 Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,- - 
 God save the mark! — here, on his manly breast: 
 A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
 Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, 
 All in gore blood ; I swoonded at the sight. 
 
 Jul. O break, my heart! — poor bankrupt, breai 
 at once ! 
 To prison, eyes ! ne'er look on liberty ! 
 Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
 And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier ! 
 
 Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had 
 courteous Tybalt ! honest gentleman ! 
 That ever I should live to see thee dead ! 
 
 Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary ' 
 Is Romeo slaughter'd ; and is Tybalt dead ? 
 My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord ? 
 Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom ! 
 For who is living, if those two are gone ? 
 
 Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; 
 Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. 
 
 Jul. O God ! — did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt'* 
 blood ? 
 
 Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day ! it did. 
 
 Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face ! 
 Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? 
 Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! 
 Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish ravening lamb ' 
 Despised substance of divinest show ! 
 Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, 
 A damned saint, an honorable villain ! — 
 O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell, 
 Whe'n thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 
 In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh 1 
 Was ever book, containing such vile matter, 
 So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell 
 In such a gorgeous palace ! 
 
 Nurse. There's no trust, 
 
 No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd, 
 All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. — 
 Ah, where's my man ? give me some aqua litae :- - 
 These griefs, these woes, these sorrows, make ni€ 
 
 old. 
 Shame come to Romeo ! 
 
 Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, 
 
 For such a wish ! he was not born to shame : 
 Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit ; 
 For 'tis a throne where honor may be crown'd 
 Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
 O, what a beast was I to chide at him ! 
 
 Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd 
 your cousin ? 
 
 Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband ! 
 Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy 
 
 name, 
 When I, thy three-hour's wife, have mangled it? 
 But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? 
 That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: 
 Back, foolish tears, "back to your native spring; 
 Your tributary drops belong to woe. 
 Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
 My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain 
 And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my hus- 
 band : 
 All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then ? 
 Some word there was, worser than Tyba't's deal!) 
 That murder'd me: I would forget it fain: 
 But, O ! it presses to my memory, 
 Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' mind*' 
 Tybalt is dead, and Rcmeo — banished. 
 
850 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET 
 
 Act 111 
 
 That — banished, that one word, — banished. 
 
 Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 
 
 Was woe enough, if it had ended there : 
 
 Or, — if sour woe delights in fellowship, 
 
 And needly will be ranked with other griefs, — 
 
 Why follow'd not, when she said — Tybalt's dead, 
 
 Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, 
 
 Which modern' lamentation might have mov'd 7 
 
 But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
 
 Romeo is banished, — to speak that word, 
 
 Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 
 
 All slain, all dead : — Romeo is banished,— 
 
 There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, 
 
 In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. — 
 
 Where is my father, and my mother, nurse 7 
 
 Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: 
 Will you go to them 7 I will bring you thither. 
 
 Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears 7 mine 
 shall be spent, 
 When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
 Take up those cords: — Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, 
 Both you and I ; for Romeo is exil'd : 
 He made you for a highway to my bed; 
 But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. 
 Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed; 
 And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! 
 
 Nurse. Hie to your chamber : I'll find Romeo 
 To comfort you : — I wot 3 well where he is. 
 Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night ; 
 I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 
 
 Jul. find him! give this ring to my true knight, 
 And bid him come to take his last farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. • 
 
 Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fear- 
 ful man; 
 Affliction is enamor'd of thy parts, 
 And thou art wedded to calamitv. 
 
 Rom. Father, what news 7 what is the prince's 
 doom 7 
 What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, 
 That I yet know not 7 
 
 Fri. Too familiar 
 
 Is my dear son with such sour company : 
 I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. 
 
 Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's 
 doom 7 
 
 Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, 
 Not body's death, but body's banishment. 
 
 Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say — death: 
 For exile hath more terror in his look, 
 Much more than death : do not say — banishment. 
 
 Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished: 
 Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. 
 
 Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, 
 But purgatory, torture, hell itself. 
 Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, 
 And world's exile is death: — then banishment, 
 Is death mis-term'd : calling death — banishment, 
 Thou cut'st my head off. with "a golden axe, 
 And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. 
 
 Fri. deadly sin ! O rude unthankfulness ! 
 Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince, 
 Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, 
 And tum'd that black word death to banishment: 
 This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. 
 
 Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is here, 
 Where Juliet lives ; and every cat, and dog, 
 And little mouse, every unworthy thing, 
 Lira here in heaven, and may look on her, 
 1 Common. "Know. 
 
 But Romeo may not. — More validity, 
 More honorable state, more courtship live> 
 In carrion flies, than Romeo : they may seize 
 On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, 
 And steal immortal blessing from her lips ; 
 Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, 
 Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; 
 But Romeo may not; he is banished: 
 Flies may do this, when I from this must fly , 
 They are free men, but I am banished. 
 And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death 7 
 Had'st thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, 
 No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean.. 
 But, — banished — to kill me ; banished 7 
 O friar, the damned use that word in hell; 
 Howlings attend it : How hast thou the heart, 
 Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, 
 A sin absolver, and my friend profess'd, 
 To mangle me with that word — banishment 7 
 Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a 
 
 word. 
 Rom. O thou wilt speak again of banishment. 
 Fri. I'll give thee armor to keep of)' that word; 
 Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, 
 To comfort thee, though thou art banished. 
 
 Rom. Yet banished ! — Hang up philosophy ! 
 Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, 
 Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom ; 
 It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. 
 
 Fri. 0, then I see that madmen have no ears. 
 Rom. How should they, when that wise mei. 
 
 have no eyes 7 
 Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 
 Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost 
 not feel : 
 Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, 
 An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, 
 Doting like me, and like me banished, 
 Then mightst thou speak, then mightsl thou tear 
 
 thy hair, 
 And fall upon the ground as I do now, 
 Taking the measure of an unmade grave. 
 
 Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide 
 thyself. [Knocking within. 
 
 Rom. Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick 
 groans, 
 Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. 
 
 [Knocking. 
 Fri. Hark, how it ey knock ! — Who s there 7 — 
 Romeo, arise : 
 Thou wilt be taken: — 3tay a while: stand up; 
 
 [Knocking. 
 Run to my study . -By and by : — God's will ! 
 What wilfulness is this 7 — I come, I come. 
 
 [Knocking, 
 Who knocks so hard T whence come you 7 whars 
 your will 7 
 Nurse. [Within.~\ Let me come in, and you shah 
 know my errand; 
 I come from Lady Juliet. 
 
 Fri. Welcome (hen. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, 
 Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo 7 
 
 Fri. There, on the ground, with his own lean 
 made drunk. 
 
 Nurse. 0, he i6 even in my mistress' case 
 Just in her case ! 
 
 Fri. woeful sympathy ! 
 
 Piteous predicament ! 
 
 Nurse. Even so lies she, 
 
 * Worth, Ya)ue. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 851 
 
 Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubber- 
 ing :- 
 Stand up, stand up ; stand, an you be a man : 
 For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand ; 
 Why should you fall into so deep an 0? 
 
 Rom. Nurse ! 
 
 Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir ! — Well, death's the end 
 of all. 
 
 Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? 
 Does not she think me an old murderer, 
 Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy 
 With blood remov'd but little from her own ? 
 Where is she ? and how doth she ? and what says 
 My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love ? 
 
 Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and 
 weeps ; 
 And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, 
 And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, 
 And then down falls again. 
 
 Rom. As if that name, j 
 
 Shot from the deadly level of a gun, 
 Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand 
 Murder'd her kinsman. — O tell me, friar, tell me, 
 In what vile part of this anatomy 
 Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack 
 The hateful mansion. [Drawing his Sword. 
 
 Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: 
 
 Art thou a man ? thy form cries out, thou art ; 
 Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote 
 The unreasonable fury of a beast. 
 Unseemly woman, in a seeming man ! 
 Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both ! 
 Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order, 
 I thought thy disposition better temper'd. 
 Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself? 
 And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, 
 By doing damned hate upon thyself? 
 Why rail'stthou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? 
 Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet 
 In thee at once ; which thou at once wouldst Jos*. 
 Fye, fve ! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit ; 
 Whi-:h, like an usurer, abound'st in all, 
 And usest none in that true use indeed 
 Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. 
 Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, 
 Digressing from the valor of a man : 
 Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury, 
 Killing that love which Jhou hast vow'd to cherish ; 
 Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 
 Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, 
 Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask, 
 Is set on fire by thine own ignorance, 
 And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. 
 What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive. 
 For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; 
 There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee, 
 But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too: 
 The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend, 
 And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: 
 A pack of blessings lights upon thy back: 
 Happiness courts thee in her best array; 
 But, like a mis-behav'd and sullen wench, 
 Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: 
 Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
 Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
 Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her; 
 But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set, 
 For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 
 Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 
 To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 
 Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
 With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
 Than thou wen V forth in lamentation. — 
 
 Go before, nurse : commend me to thy lady , 
 And bid her hasten all the house to bed, 
 Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto 
 Romeo is coming. 
 
 Nurse. Lord, I could have staid here all th6 
 night, 
 To hear good counsel: 0, what learning is! — 
 My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. 
 
 Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 
 
 Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: 
 Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit. 
 
 Rom. How well my comfort is rcviv'd by this '. 
 
 Fri. Go hence: goodnight: and here stands all 
 your state; 5 
 Either be gone before the watch be set, 
 Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence : 
 Sojourn in Mantua ; I'll find out your man, 
 And he shall signify from time to time 
 Every good hap to you, that chances here: 
 Give me thy hand; 'tis late; farewell; good night 
 
 Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
 It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
 Farewell. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Room in Capulet's House. 
 Enter Capulet, Ladt Capulet. and Paris. 
 
 Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily, 
 That we have had no time to move our daughter 
 Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, 
 And so did I; — Well, we were born to die. — 
 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night : 
 I promise you, but for your company, 
 I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 
 
 Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo. 
 Madam, good night; commend me to yourdaughtei 
 
 La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to- 
 morrow ; 
 To-night she's mew'd 6 up to her heaviness. 
 
 Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate 1 tender 
 (»:' my child's love : I think, she will be rul'd 
 la ail respects by me ; nay more, I doubt it not. 
 Wife, go yen to her ere you go to bed ; 
 Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love ; 
 And bid her. mark you me, on Wednesday next — 
 But soft : What day is this? 
 
 Par. Monday, my lord. 
 
 Cap. Monday ? ha ! ha ! Well, Wednesday is toe 
 soon, 
 O' Thursday let it be ; — o' Thursday, tell her, 
 She shall be married to this noble earl: — 
 Will you be ready? do you like this haste? 
 We'll keep no great ado; — a friend, or two: 
 For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, 
 It may be thought we held him carelessly, 
 Being our kinsman, if we revel much: 
 Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, 
 And there an end. But what say you to Thursday 1 
 
 Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Cap. Well, get you gone: — 0' Thursday be it 
 then : — 
 Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, 
 Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day, — 
 Farewell, my lord. — Light to my chamber, ho! 
 Afore me, it is so very late, that we 
 May call it early by and by : — Good night. [Exrunl 
 
 SCENE V.— Juliet's Chamber. 
 Enter Romeo and Juliet. 
 Jul. Wilt thou be gone ? if is not yet nea dap 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark. 
 
 • The whole of your fortune dewnds on thin 
 
 • Shut up. i Hold. 
 
852 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act IIJ 
 
 That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: 
 Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 
 
 Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
 No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks 
 Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east : 
 Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day 
 Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; 
 I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 
 
 Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: 
 It is some meteor that the sun exhales, 
 To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
 And light thee on thy way to Mantua: 
 Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 
 
 Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; 
 I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
 I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, 
 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow! 8 
 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
 The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: 
 I have more care 9 to stay, than will to go; — 
 Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so. 
 How is't, my soul ? let's talk, it is not day. 
 
 Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away ; 
 It is the lark that sings so out of tune, 
 Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. 
 Some say, the lark makes sweet division; 1 
 This doth not so, for she divideth us: 
 Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes: 
 0, now I would they had changed voices too; 
 Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, 
 Hunting thee hence with hunts-up a to the day. 
 '>, now be gone; more light and light it grows. 
 
 Rom. More light and light] — more dark and 
 dark our woes. 
 
 • Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Madam ! 
 
 Jul. Nurse? 
 
 Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your 
 chamber : 
 The day is broke; be wary, look about. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. 
 
 Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll de- 
 scend. [Romeo descends. 
 
 Jul. Art thou gone so? my love ! my lord! my 
 friend ! 
 1 must hear from thee every day i' the hour, 
 For in a minute there are many days : 
 O ! by this count I shall be much in years, 
 Ere I again behold my Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Farewell ! I will omit no opportunity 
 That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 
 
 Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? 
 
 Rom I doubt it not ; and all these woes shall 
 serve 
 For sweet discourses in our time to come. 
 
 Jul. O God ! I have an ill-divining soul : 
 Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below, 
 As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: 
 Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale. 
 
 Rom. And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you : 
 Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu! 
 
 [Exit Romeo. 
 
 Jul. O fortune! fortune ! all men call thee fickle: 
 If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him 
 That is renown'd for faith ; Be fickle, fortune : 
 For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, 
 But send him back. 
 
 » Xifiection of the moon. » Inclination. 
 
 1 Division was the technical phrase for musical compo- 
 •ition. 
 
 ■> A tune plavd to wake hunters, also a morning song 
 to a woman the day after marriage. 
 
 La. Cap. [ Within.'] Ho, daughter ! are you up 
 Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? 
 
 Is she not down so late, or up so early ? 
 
 What unaccustoin'd cause procures 3 her hither? 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 
 La Cap. Why, how now, Juliet? 
 Jul. Madam, I am not well, 
 
 La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's 
 death ? 
 What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with 
 
 tears ? 
 An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live 
 Therefore, have done: Some grief shows much of 
 
 love; 
 But much of grief shows still some want of wit. 
 Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. 
 La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but notthv 
 friend, 
 Which you weep for. 
 
 Jul. Feeling so the loss 
 
 I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. 
 
 La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so mud 
 for his death, 
 As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. 
 Jul. What villain, madam? 
 La. Cap. That same villain, Romeo. 
 
 Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. 
 God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; 
 And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart. 
 La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer 
 
 lives. 
 Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach oi these mv 
 hands. 
 'Would, none but I might 'venge my cousin's death! 
 La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear 
 thou not: 
 Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Man> 
 
 tua, — 
 Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, — 
 That shall bestow on him so sure a draught, 
 That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: 
 And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. 
 Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied 
 With Romeo, till I behold him — dead — 
 Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd: — 
 Madam, if you could find out hut a man 
 To bear a poison, I would temper it ; 
 That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, 
 Soon sleep in quiet. — O, how my heart abhors 
 To hear him named, — and cannot come to him, - 
 To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt 
 Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him ! 
 
 La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such 
 a man. 
 But now, I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 
 
 Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful 
 time: 
 What are they, I beseech your ladyship? 
 
 La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, 
 child; 
 One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness, 
 Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, 
 That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. 
 Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that? 
 La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursda) 
 morn, 
 That gallant, young, and noble gentleman, 
 The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church, 
 Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. 
 Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Pete' 
 too, 
 
 •Brings. 
 
Scene V. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 853 
 
 He shall not make me there a joyful bride. 
 [ wonder at this haste : that I must wed 
 Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. 
 I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, 
 I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear, 
 h shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, 
 Rather than Paris : — These are news indeed ! 
 La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so 
 yourself, 
 And see how he will take it at your hands. 
 
 Enter Capulet, and Nurse. 
 
 Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; 
 But for the sunset of my brother's son. 
 It rains downright. — 
 
 How now ? a conduit, girl ? what, still in tears ? 
 Ever more showering; in one little, body 
 Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind : 
 For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, 
 Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, 
 Sailing in this salt flood : the winds, thy sighs ; 
 Who, — raging with thy tears, and they with 
 
 them, — 
 Without a sudden calm, will overset 
 Thy tempest-tossed body. — How now, wife? 
 Have you deliver' d to her our decree? 
 
 La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives 
 you thanks. 
 I would, the fool were married to her grave ! 
 
 Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, 
 wife. 
 How! will she none] doth she not give us thanks? 
 Is she not proud ? doth she not count her bless'd. 
 Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought 
 So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? 
 
 Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you 
 have: 
 Proud can I never be of what I hate; 
 But thankful even for hate, that is meant iove. 
 
 Cap. Hew now ! how now, chop-logic ! What 
 is this ? 
 Proud, — and. I thank you, — and, I thank you 
 
 not ; — * 
 And yet not proud ; — Mistress minion, you, 
 Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, 
 But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, 
 To go with Paris to St. Peter's church, 
 Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 
 Out, you frreen-siekness carrion ! out, you baggage ! 
 You tallow-face! 
 
 La. Cap. Fye, fye, what, are you mad ? 
 
 Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, 
 Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 
 
 Cap. Hang thee, young baggage ! disobedient 
 wretch ! 
 I tell thee what, — get thee to church o' Thursday, 
 Or never after look me in the face : 
 Speak not, reply not, do not answer me : 
 My fingers itch. — Wife, we scarce thought us 
 
 bless'd, 
 That God had sent us but this only child: 
 But now I see this one is one too much, 
 And that we have a curse in having her : 
 Out on her, hilding! 4 
 
 Nurse. God in heaven bless her! — 
 
 You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 
 
 Cap. And why, my lady wisdom ? hold yoi r 
 tongue, 
 Good prudence ; smatter with your gossips, go. 
 
 Nurse. I speak no treason. 
 
 Cap. 0, God ye good den ! 
 
 Kurse. May not one speak ? 
 4 Base woman. 
 
 Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool 
 
 Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, 
 For here we need it not. 
 
 La. Cap. You are too hot. 
 
 Cap. God'sbread ! it makes me mad : Day, night 
 late, early, 
 At home, abroad, alone, in company, 
 Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been 
 To have her matched : and having now provided 
 A gentleman of princely parentage, 
 Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, 
 Stuff'd (as they say) with honorable parts, 
 Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man. — 
 And then to have a wretched puling fool, 
 A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, 
 To answer — Til not wed, — I cannot love, 
 I am too young, 1 pray you, pardon me; — 
 But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you : 
 Graze where you will, you shall not house with me . 
 Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. 
 Thursday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise : 
 An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend ; 
 An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets, 
 For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, 
 Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : 
 Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit, 
 
 Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, 
 That sees into the bottom of my grief? 
 O, sweet my mother, cast me not away ! 
 Delay this marriage, for a month, a week: 
 Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
 In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 
 .La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a 
 word: 
 Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit 
 
 Jul. O God ! — nurse ! how shall this be pre- 
 vented ? 
 My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; 
 How shall that faith return again to earth, 
 Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
 By leaving earth ? — Comfort me, counsel me, — 
 Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems 
 Upon so soft a subject as myself! — 
 What say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy ? 
 Some comfort, nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Faith, here 'tis : Romeo 
 
 Is banish'd ; and all the world to nothing. 
 That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you ; 
 Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
 Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
 I think it best you married with the county. 
 O, he's a lovely gentleman ! 
 Romeo's a dishclout to him ; an eagle, madam, 
 Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye, 
 As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, 
 I think you are happy in this second match, 
 For it excels your first: or if it did not, 
 Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were, 
 As living here and you no use of him. 
 
 Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart ? 
 
 Nurse. From my soul too, 
 
 Or else beshrew them both. 
 
 Jul. Amen ! 
 
 Nurse. To what ? 
 
 Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellou* 
 much. 
 Go in ; and tell my lady I am gone. 
 Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell, 
 To make confession, and to be absolv'd. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, I will ; and this is wisely done. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 Jul. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend 
 Is it more sin — to wish me thus forsworn. 
 
fr54 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act l\ 
 
 )r to dispraise my tord with that same tongue 
 Which she hath prais'd him with above compare 
 80 many thousand times 1 — Go, counsellor ; 
 
 Thou and my bosom henceforth shal. be twain.— 
 
 I'll to the friar, to know his remedy ; 
 
 If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. 
 
 Fri. On Thursday, sir 1 the time is very short. 
 
 Par. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
 \nd I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. 
 
 Fri. You say you do not know the lady's mind ; 
 Uneven is the course, I like it not. 
 
 Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, 
 And therefore have I little talk'd of love, 
 For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
 Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, 
 That she doth give her sorrow so much sway; 
 And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage, 
 To stop the inundation o r her tears ; 
 Which, too much minded by herself alone, 
 May be put from her by society : 
 Now do you know the reason of this haste. 
 
 Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife ! 
 
 Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 
 
 Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday 
 next. 
 
 Jul. What must be shall be. 
 
 Fri. That's a certain text. 
 
 Par. Come you to make confession to this father] 
 
 Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you. 
 
 Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me. 
 
 Jul. I will confess to you, that I love him. 
 
 Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me. 
 
 Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, 
 Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. 
 
 Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. 
 
 Jul. The tears have got small victory by that ; 
 For it was bad enough before their spite. 
 
 Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with 
 that report. 
 
 Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth ; 
 And what I spake, I spake it to my face. 
 
 Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. 
 
 Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. — 
 Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
 Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? 
 
 Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, 
 now : — 
 My lord, we must entreat the time alone. 
 
 Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion ! 
 Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you : 
 Till then, adieu ! and keep this holy kiss. 
 
 [Exit Paris. 
 
 Jul. O, shut the door ! and when thou hast done so, 
 Come weep with me ; Past hope, past cure, past help! 
 
 Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
 It strains me past the compass of my wits : 
 f hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it, 
 On Thursday next be married to this county. 
 
 Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, 
 Jnless thou tell me how I may prevent it: 
 If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, 
 Do thou but call my resolution wise, 
 And with this knife I'll henjj it presently. 
 Jod join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; 
 
 And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd. 
 Shall be the label to another deed, 
 Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
 Turn to another, this shall slay them both 
 Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, 
 Give me some present counsel; or, behold, 
 Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
 Shall play the umpire;* arbitrating that 
 Which the commission 6 of thy years and art 
 Could to no issue of true honor bring. 
 Be not so long to speak ; I long to die, 
 If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. 
 
 Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hvye, 
 Which craves as desperate an execution 
 As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
 If, rather than to marry county Paris, 
 Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, 
 Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake 
 A thing like death to chide away this shame, 
 That cop'st with death himself to scape from it ; 
 And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy. 
 
 Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, 
 From off the battlements of yonder tower : 
 Or walk in thievish ways ; or bid mc lurk 
 Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears 
 Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
 O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, 
 With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls ; 
 Or bid me go into a new-made grave, 
 An-d hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
 Things that, to hear them told, have made me 
 
 tremble ; 
 And I will do it without fear or doubt, 
 To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 
 
 Fri. Hold, then ; go home, be merry, give consent 
 To marry Paris : Wednesday is to-morrow ; 
 To-morrow night look that thou lie alone, 
 Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber : 
 Take thou this phial, being then in bed, 
 And this distilled liquor drink thou off: 
 When, presently, through all thy veins shall run 
 A cold and drowsy humor, which shall seize 
 Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep 
 His natural progress, but surcease to beat: 
 No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st; 
 The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
 To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fill, 
 Like death, when he shuts up the day of life ; 
 Each part, depriv'd of supple government, 
 Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death. 
 And in this bcrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
 Thou shalt rema.n full two and forty hours, 
 And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
 Now when the bridegroom in the morning comra 
 To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou deac' : 
 Then, (as the manner of our country is,) 
 In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, 
 Thou shalt lie borne to that same ancient vault, 
 Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
 In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 
 Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift: 
 And hither shall he come ; and he and I 
 Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
 
 » Decide the struggle between me and mv distregeei 
 8 Authority or power 
 
r~^ 
 
 Scene III 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 »5ft 
 
 Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
 And this shall free thee from this present shame; 
 If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, 
 Abate thy valor in the acting it. 
 
 Jul. Give me, give me ! tell me not of fear. 
 
 Fri. Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous 
 In this resolve : 1*11 send a friar with speed 
 To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 
 
 Ju I. Love, give me strength ! and strength shall 
 help afford. 
 Farewell, dear father ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Capulet's House. 
 
 Enter Capulet, Ladt Capulet, Nurse, and 
 Servants. 
 Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. — 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 
 
 2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try 
 if they can lick their fingers. 
 
 Cap. How canst thou try them so? 
 2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot 
 lick his own fingers: therefore he, that cannot lick 
 his fingers, goes not with me. 
 
 Cap. Go, begone. — [Exit Servant. 
 
 We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. 
 What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence ? 
 Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her: 
 \ peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Nurse. See, where she comes from shrift with 
 
 merry look. 
 Cap. How now, my headstrong ? where have you 
 
 been gadding? 
 Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin 
 Of disobedient opposition 
 To you, and your behests; 1 and am enjoin'd 
 By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, 
 And beg your pardon: — Pardon, I beseech you! 
 Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. 
 
 Cap. Send for the county: go tell him of this; 
 I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. 
 
 Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; 
 And gave him what becomed" love I might, 
 Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. 
 
 Cap. Why, I am glad on't; this is well, — stand 
 up: 
 This is as't should be. — Let me see the county ; 
 Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. — 
 Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar, 
 All our whole city is much bound to him. 
 
 Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, 
 To help me sort such needful ornaments 
 As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? 
 
 La. Cap. No, not till Thursday ; there is time 
 
 enough. 
 Cap. Go, nurse, go with her: — we'll to church 
 to-morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. 
 La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision ; 
 "Tis now near night. 
 
 Cap. Tush ! I will stir about, 
 
 And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife : 
 Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; 
 I'll not to bed to-night ; — let me alone ; 
 i'II play the housewife for this once. — What, ho ! 
 They are all forth : Well, I will walk myself 
 To ounty Paris, to prepare him up 
 Against to-morrow : my heart is wondrous light, 
 *ince this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 " Commands * Becoming. 
 
 SCENE III.— Juliet's Chamber. 
 
 Enter Juliet and Nurse. 
 Jul. Ay, those attires are best: — But, gentla 
 nurse. 
 1 pray thee, leave me to myself to-night; 
 For I have need of many orisons 9 
 To move the heavens to smile upon my state, 
 Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 
 La. Cap. What, are you busy ? do you need 
 help? 
 
 Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such neceb 
 saries 
 As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: 
 So please you let me now be left alone, 
 And let the nurse this night sit up with you; 
 For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
 In this so sudden business. 
 
 La. Cap. Good-night! 
 
 Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 
 
 [Exeunt Ladt Capulet and Nurse 
 
 Jul. Farewell ! — God knows when we shall 
 meet again. 
 I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life: 
 I'll call them back again to comfort me; 
 Nurse! — What should she do here? 
 My dismal scene I needs must act alone. — 
 Come, phial. — 
 
 What if this mixture do not work at all? 
 Must I of force be married to the county ? — 
 No, no ; — this shall forbid it : — lie thou there. — 
 
 [Laying down a Daggn 
 What if it be a poison, which the friar 
 Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead\ 
 Lest in this marriage he should be dishonor' d, 
 Because he married me before to Romeo? 
 I fear, it is: and yet, methinks, it should not; 
 For he hath still been tried a holy man : 
 I will not entertain so bad a thought. — 
 How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
 I wake before the time that Romeo 
 Come to redeem me ? there's a fearful point ! 
 Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, 
 To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, 
 And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ? 
 Or, if I live, is it not very like, 
 The horrible conceit of death and night, 
 Together with the terror of the place, — 
 As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, 
 Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
 Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; 
 Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth. 
 Lies fest'ring in his shroud ; where, as they say, 
 At some hours in the night, spirits resort; 
 Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, 
 So early waking, — what with loathsome smells, 
 And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, 
 That living mortals, hearing them, run mad; 1 — 
 O ! if I wake, shall I not be distraught,' 
 Environed with all these hideous fears? 
 And madly play with my forefathers' joints? 
 And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? 
 And. in this rage, with some great kinsman's bont! v 
 As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? 
 0, look ! methinks I see my cot-sin's, ghost 
 Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body 
 
 » I'rayers. 
 
 1 The fabulous accounts of the plant called mandraht 
 give it a degree of animal life, and say that when it ii 
 torn from the ground, it groans, which is fatal to him that 
 pulls it up. ? Distracted 
 
656 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act IV 
 
 T Jpon a rapier's point: — Stay, Tybalt, stay! — 
 rtomeo, T come! this do I drink to thee. 
 
 [She throws herself on the Bed. 
 
 SCENE .V.— Capulet's Hall. 
 Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more 
 
 spices, nurse. 
 Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the 
 pastry.' 
 
 Enter Capulet. 
 Cap. Cotae, stir, stir, stir ! the second cock hath 
 crow'd, 
 The curfeu bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: — 
 Look to the baked meats, good Angelica : 
 Spare not for cost. 
 
 Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go, 
 
 Get you to bed; faith, you'll be sick to-morrow 
 For this night's watching. 
 
 Cap. No, not a whit : What! I have watch'd 
 ere now 
 \1I night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 
 La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in 
 your time; 
 But I will watch you from such watching now. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 Cap. J\. jealous-hood, a jealous-hood! — Now, 
 lellow, 
 What's tnere ? 
 Enter Servants, with Spits, Logs, and Baskets. 
 
 1 Serv. Things for the cook, sir ; but I know not 
 
 what. 
 Can. Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Serv.] — 
 Sirrah, fetch drier logs; 
 Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 
 
 2 Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, 
 And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. 
 
 Cap. 'Mass, and well said : A merry whore- 
 son ! ha, 
 Thou shalt be logger-head. — Good faith, 'tis day : 
 The county will be here with music straight, 
 
 [Music within. 
 For so he said he would. I hear him near : — 
 Nurse! — Wife! — what, ho ! — what, nurse, I say! 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her up; 
 I'll go and chat with Paris : — Hie, make haste, 
 Make haste ! the bridegroom he is come already : 
 Make haste, I say ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.— Juliet's Chamber,- Juliet on the Bed. 
 Enter Nurse. 
 Nurse. Mistress ! — • what, mistress ! — Juliet ! — 
 fast, I warrant her, she: — 
 lamb ! — why, lady ! — fye, you slug-a- 
 bed !— 
 Why, love, I say ! — madam ! — sweetheart ! — why, 
 
 bride ! 
 What, not a word? — you take your pennyworths 
 
 now; 
 Sleep for a week : for the next night, I warrant, 
 The county Paris hath set up his rest, 
 That you shall rest but little. — God forgive me, 
 (Marry and amen !) how sound is she asleep ! 
 I needs must wake her: — Madam, madam, madam! 
 Ay, let the county take you in your bed ; 
 He'll fright you up, i'faith. — Will it not be? 
 What.drest! and in your clothes! and down again! 
 I must needs wake you : Lady ! lady ! lady ! — 
 \las ! alas ! — Help ! help ! my lady's dead ! — 
 3 The room were pies were made. 
 
 O, well-a-day, that ever I was born ! — 
 Some aqua vita?, ho! — my lord, my lady! 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 La. Cap. What noise is here? 
 Nurse. lamentable day 
 
 La. Cap. What is the matter ? 
 Nurse. Look, look ! heavy day 
 
 La. Cap. me, O me ! — my child, my onlv life. 
 Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! — 
 Help, help ! — call help. 
 
 Enter Capulet. 
 Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth ; her lord is 
 
 come. 
 Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead ; alack 
 
 the day ! 
 La. Cap. Aiack the day ! she's dead, she's dea<S, 
 
 she's dead. 
 Cap. Ha! let me see her: — Out, alas, she's 
 cold, 
 Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff: 
 Life and these lips have long been separated: 
 Death lies on her, like an untimely frost 
 Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
 Accursed time ! unfortunate old man '. 
 Nurse. O lamentable day ! 
 La. Cap. O woeful time! 
 
 Cap. Death that hath ta'en her hence to make 
 me wail, 
 Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 
 
 Enter Fiiiar Lauhenci and Paris, with Musi- 
 cians. 
 
 Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church . 
 
 Cap. Ready to go, but never to return: 
 O son, the night before thy wedding-day 
 Hath death lain with thy bride ; — See, there she lies, 
 Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
 Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; 
 My daughter he hath wedded ! I will die, 
 And leave him all; life leaving, all is death's. 
 
 Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's 
 face, 
 And doth it give me such a sight as this ? 
 
 La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful 
 day ! 
 Most miserable hour that e'er time saw 
 In lasting labor of his pilgrimage! 
 But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, 
 But one thing to rejoice and solace in, 
 And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight. 
 
 Nurse. woe ! woeful, woeful, woeful day ! 
 Most lamentable day ! most woeful day, 
 That ever, ever, I did yet behold! 
 day ! (') day ! day ! hateful day ! 
 Never was seen so black a day as this : 
 woeful day, O woeful day ' 
 
 Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! 
 Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, 
 By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown! 
 O love ! O life ! — not life, but love in death ' 
 
 Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martvr'd,kill'd I 
 Uncomfortable time ! why cam'st thou now 
 To murder, murder our solemnity? — 
 child! child ! — my soul, and not my child! • 
 Dead art thou, dead ! — alack ! my child is dead ; 
 And with my child, my joys are buried ! 
 
 Fri. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives noi 
 In these confusions. Heaven and yourself 
 Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven hath al-i, 
 And all the better is it for the maid: 
 Your part in her you could not keep horn death ; 
 But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
 
A irr \ T . Scene I. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 651 
 
 The mos" you sought was — her promotion ; 
 For 'twas your heaven, she should be advanced : 
 And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced, 
 Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
 0, in this love, you love your child so ill, 
 That you run mad, seeing that she is well : 
 She's not well married, that lives married long ; 
 But she's best married, that dies married young. 
 Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
 On this fair corse ; and, as the custom is, 
 In all her best array bear her to church : 
 For though fond nature bids us all lament, 
 Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 
 
 Cap. All things that we ordained festival, 
 Turn from their office to black funeral : 
 Our instruments, to melancholy bells ; 
 Our wedding-cheer, to a sad burial feast ; 
 Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ; 
 Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, 
 And all things change them to the contrary. 
 
 Fri. Sir, go you in, — and, madam, go with him ; 
 And go, sir Paris; — every one prepare 
 To follow this fair corse unto her grave: 
 The heavens do lower upon you, for some ill; 
 Move them no more, by crossing their high will. 
 [Exeunt Capclet, Ladt Capulet, Paris, 
 and Friar. 
 
 1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be 
 gone. 
 
 Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up ; put up ; 
 For, well you knowj this is a pitiful case. 
 
 [Exit Nurse. 
 
 1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be 
 amended. 
 
 Enter Peter. 
 
 Pet. Musicians, 0, musicians, Heart's ease, 
 heart's ease ,• 0, an you'll have me live, play — 
 heart's ease. 
 
 1 Mus. Why hearts ease ? 
 
 Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 
 — My heart is full of woe : 0, play me some 
 merry dump,' to comfort me. 
 
 2 Mus. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to piay 
 now. 
 
 Pet. You will not then T 
 
 Mus. No. 
 
 Pet. I will then give it you soundly. 
 
 1 Mus. What will you give us? 
 
 Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek:' I 
 will give you the minstrel. 
 
 1 Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature 
 
 Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger 
 on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : I'll re you, 
 VW fa you ; Do you note me? 
 
 1 Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us. 
 
 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put 
 out your wit. 
 
 Pet. Then have at you with my wit : I will 
 dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron 
 dagger : — Answer me like men : 
 
 When griping grief the heart doth wound, 
 
 And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
 Then music, with her silver sound ; 
 Why, silver sound ? why, music with her silver 
 sound ? 
 What say you, Simon Catling? 
 
 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
 sound. 
 
 Pet. Prelty ! What say you, Hugh Rebeck ? 
 
 2 Mus. I say — silver sound, because musician* 
 sound for silver. 
 
 Pet. Pretty too ! — What say you, James Sound 
 post? 
 
 3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. 
 
 Pet. 0, I cry you mercy ! you are the singer: 1 
 will say for you. It is — music with her silver 
 sound, because such fellows as you have seldom 
 gold for sounding : — 
 
 Then music with her silver sound, 
 With speedy help doth lend redress. 
 
 [Exit, singing. 
 
 1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same ! 
 
 2 Mus. Hang him, Jack ! Come, we'll in here: 
 tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— Mantua. A Street. 
 Enter Romko. 
 Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, 
 My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : 
 My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne ; 
 And all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit 
 Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 
 I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead ; 
 (Strange dream ! that gives a dead man leave to 
 
 think,) 
 And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, 
 That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
 Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd 
 When but love's shadows are so rich in joy ! 
 
 Enter Balthazar. 
 News from Verona ! — How now, Balthazar ? 
 Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar ? 
 How doth my lady ? is my father well ? 
 How fares my Juliet ? That I ask again ; 
 For nothing can be ill, if she be well. 
 
 Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill ; 
 Her body sleeps in Cape-!s' monument, 
 A.nd her immortal part with angels lives ; 
 « Dumps were heavy mournful tunes. 
 
 I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault 
 And presently took post to tell it you : 
 
 pardon me for bringing these ill news, 
 Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 
 
 Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars ! — 
 Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper, 
 And hire post-horses ; I will hence to-night. 
 
 Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus ■ 
 Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
 Some misadventure. 
 
 Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd ; 
 
 Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do : 
 Hast thou no letters to me from the friar ? 
 
 Bal. No, my good lord. 
 
 Rom. No matter : get thee gone, 
 
 And hire those horses ; I'll be wilh thee straight. 
 [Exit Balthazab 
 Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. 
 Let's see for means : — 0, mischief, thou art swift 
 To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! 
 
 1 do remember an apothecary, — 
 
 And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted 
 In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, 
 Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, 
 * To glesk is to scoff, and a gleekman signified a minstra* 
 3G 
 
858 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Sharp nvsery had worn him 1 3 the bones : 
 And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 
 An alligator stuff'd, and other skins 
 Of ill-shap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 
 A beggarly account of empty boxes, 
 Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 
 Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, 
 Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. 
 Noting this penury, to myself I said — 
 An if a man did need a poison now. 
 Whose sale is present death in Mantua, 
 Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. 
 O, this same thought did but fore-run my need ; 
 And tnis same needy man must sell it me. 
 As I remember, this should be the house: 
 Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. — 
 What, ho ! apothecary ! 
 
 Enter Apothecary. 
 
 Ap. Who calls so loud ? 
 
 Rom. Come, hither, man. — I see, that thou art 
 poor; 
 Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have 
 A dram of poison : such soon-speeding geer" 
 As will disperse itself through all the veins, 
 That the life-weary taker may fall dead ; 
 And that the trunk may be discharged of breath 
 As violently, as hasty powder fired 
 Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 
 
 Ap. Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's 
 law 
 Is death, to any he that utters them. 
 
 Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, 
 And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, 
 Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, 
 Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, 
 The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law : 
 The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
 Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 
 
 Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 
 
 Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. 
 
 Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will, 
 And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 
 Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 
 
 Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to men's 
 souls, 
 Doing more murders in this loathsome world, 
 Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not 
 
 sell: 
 I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
 Farewell ; buy food, and get thyself in flesh. — 
 Come, aordial, and not poison ; go with me 
 To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar John. 
 John. Holy Franciscan friar ! brother, ho ! 
 
 Enter Friar Laurence. 
 Lau. This same should be the voice of Friar 
 John. — 
 Welcome from Mantua : What says Romeo ? 
 ')r, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 
 
 John. Going to find a barefoot brother out, 
 One of our order to associate me, 
 Here in this city visiting the sick, 
 And finding him, the searchers of the town, 
 Suspecting that we both were in a house 
 Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 
 Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth, 
 So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 
 •Stuff. 
 
 Lau. Who bare my letter then to Romeo'? 
 
 John. I could not send it, — here it is again, - 
 Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, 
 So fearful were they of infection. 
 
 Lau. Unhappy fortune ! by my brotherhood, 
 The letter was not nice,' 1 but full of charge, 
 Of dear import; and the neglecting it 
 May do much danger: Friar John, go hence; 
 Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 
 Unto my cell. 
 
 John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Exit. 
 
 Lau. Now must I to the monument alone; 
 Within these three hours will fair Juliet wake; 
 She will beshrew me much that Romeo 
 Hath had no notice of these accidents: 
 But I will write again to Mantua, 
 And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; 
 Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — ^4 Church-Yard,- in it, a Monu- 
 ment belonging to the Capulets. 
 
 Enter Paris, and his Page, bearing Flowers, and 
 a Torch. 
 
 Par. Give me thy torch, boy : Hence, and stand 
 aloof; — 
 Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. 
 Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along, 
 Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
 So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, 
 (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,) 
 But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to mc, 
 As signal that thou hear'st something approach. 
 Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. 
 
 Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone 
 Here in the churchyard; yet I wil' adventure. 
 
 [Retires. 
 
 Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy 
 bridal bed: 
 Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain 
 The perfect model of eternity; 
 Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain, 
 Accept this latest favor at my hands ; 
 That living honor'd thee, and, being dead, 
 With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb ! 
 
 [The Boy whistles. 
 The boy gives warning, something doth approach 
 What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, 
 To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites? 
 What, with a torch! — muffle me, night, a while. 
 
 [Retires. 
 
 Enter Romeo and Balthazar, ivith a Torch, 
 Mattock, Sfc. 
 
 Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching 
 iron. 
 Hold, take this letter ; early in the morning 
 See thou deliver it to my lord and father. 
 Give me the light : Upon thy life, I charge thee, 
 Whate'er thou hear'st or see'st stand all aloof, 
 And do not interrupt me in my course. 
 Why I descend into this bed of death, 
 Is, partly, to behold my lady's face, 
 But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead fingei 
 A precious ring ; a ring that I must use 
 In dear employment: 8 therefore hence, begone. 
 But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
 In what I further shall intend to do, 
 By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, 
 And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs- 
 The time and my intents are savage-wild ; 
 
 'ie. On a trivial or idle subject. 
 * ». e. A matter of importance 
 
Scene 111. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 859 
 
 More fierce, and more inexorable far, 
 Than empty tigers, or the i oaring sea. 
 
 Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. 
 Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. — Take 
 thou that: 
 Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. 
 Bal. For all this same. I'll hide me hereabout; 
 His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires. 
 Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou wombof death, 
 Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, 
 Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, 
 
 [Breaking open the Door of the Monument. 
 And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! 
 
 Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague, 
 That murder'd my love's cousin ; — with which grief, 
 It is supposed the fair creature died, — 
 And here is come to do some villanous shame 
 To the dead bodies : I will apprehend him. — 
 
 [Advances. 
 Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague ; 
 Can vengeance be pursued further than death ? 
 Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee : 
 Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 
 
 Rom. I must, indeed ; and therefore came I 
 hither. — 
 Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man, 
 Fly hence, and leave me; — think upon these gone ; 
 Let them affright thee. — I beseech thee, youth, 
 Heap not another sin upon my head, 
 By urging me to fury : — O, be gone ! 
 By heaven, I love thee better than myself: 
 For I come hither arm'd against myself: 
 Stay not, be gone ; — live, and hereafter say — 
 A mad-man's mercy bade thee run away. 
 
 Par. I do defy thy conjurations, 9 
 And do attach thee as a felon here. 
 
 Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at thee, 
 boy. [They fight. 
 
 Page. O lord ! they fight, I will go call the 
 watch. [Exit Page. 
 
 Par. O, I am slain! [Falls.'] — If thou be merciful, 
 Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. 
 
 Rom. In faith, I will : — Let me peruse this 
 face ; — 
 Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris : — 
 What said my man, when my betossed soil 
 Did not attend him as we rode ? I think. 
 He told me Paris should have married Juliet: 
 Said he not so ? or did I dream it so ? 
 Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
 To think it was so ? — 0, give me thy hand, 
 One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
 I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave, — 
 A grave 7 O, no ; a lantern, slaughter'd youth, 
 For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
 This vault a feasting presence' full of light. 
 Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. 
 
 [Laying Pah is in the Monument. 
 How oft when men are at the point of death, 
 Have they been merry] which their keepers call 
 A lightning before death; — O, how may I 
 Call this a lightning - ? — O, my love ! my wife ! 
 Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
 Hath had no p»wer yet upon thy beauty : 
 Thou art not conqucr'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
 Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, 
 And death's pale flag is not advanced there. — 
 Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? 
 0, what more favor can I do to thee, 
 Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, 
 To sunder his that was thine enemy ? 
 
 » I refuse to do as thou conjurest me to do, i. e. to depart. 
 1 Presence chamber. 
 
 Forgive me, cousin ! — Ah, dear Juliet, 
 
 Why art thou yet so fair ? Shall I believe 
 
 That unsubstantial death is amorous ; 
 
 And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
 
 Thee here in dark to be his paramour ? 
 
 For fear of that, I will still stay with thee , 
 
 And never from this palace of dim night 
 
 Depart again ; here, here will I remain 
 
 With worms that are thy chambermaids ; O, here 
 
 Will I set up my everlasting rest ; 
 
 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
 
 From this world-wearied flesh. — Eyes, look your 
 
 last ! 
 Arms take your last embrace ! and lips, O you 
 The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
 A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! — 
 Come, bitter conduct, 2 come, unsavory guide ! 
 Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
 The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 
 Here's to my love ! — [Drinks.] O, true apothecary ! 
 Thy drugs are quick. — Thus with a kiss I die. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Enter, at the other End of the Churchyard, Friah 
 Laurence, with a Lantern, Crow, and Spade. 
 
 Fri. Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to night 
 Have my old feet stumbled at graves'! — Who's 
 
 there ? 
 Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead ! 
 
 Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows 
 you well. 
 
 Fri. Bliss be upon you? Tell me, good mj 
 friend, 
 What torch is yond', that vainly lends his light 
 To grubs and eyeless skulls ? as I discern, 
 It burneth in the Capels' monument. 
 
 Bal. It doth so, holy sir ; and there's my mastei 
 One that you love. 
 
 Fri. Who is it ! 
 
 Bal. Romeo, 
 
 Fri. How long hath he been there ? 
 
 Bal. Full half an hour. 
 
 Fri. Go with me to the vault. 
 
 Bal. I dare not, sir : 
 
 My master knows not, but I am gone hence ; 
 And fearfully did menace me with death, 
 If I did stay to look on his intents. 
 
 Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone : — Fear comes upon 
 me: 
 0, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. 
 
 Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
 I dreamt my master and another fought, 
 And that my master slew him. 
 
 Fri. Romeo ! [Advances. 
 
 Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains 
 The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? — 
 What mean these masterless and gory swords 
 To lie discolor'd by this place of peace ? 
 
 [Enters the Monument. 
 Romeo ! O, pale ! — Who else ? what, Paris, too ? 
 And steep'd in blood ? — Ah, what an unkind hour 
 Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! — 
 The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes and stirs. 
 
 Jul. 0, comfortable friar ! where is my lord ! 
 I do remember well where I should be, 
 And there I am : — Where is my Romeo? 
 
 [Noise within. 
 
 Fri. I hear some noise. — Lady, come from thai 
 nest 
 Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep ; 
 A greater Power than we can contradict 
 Hath thwarted our intents ; come, com* away-. 
 » Conductor 
 
! 860 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Act V 
 
 Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 
 And Paris too : come, I'll dispose of thee 
 Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : 
 Stay not to question, for the watch is coming ; 
 Come, go, good Juliet, — [Noise again.] I dare 
 stay no longer. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. — 
 What's here 1 a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand ? 
 Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end : — 
 churl ! drink all ; and leave no friendly drop, 
 To help me after 1 — I will kiss thy lips ; 
 Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, 
 To make me die with a restorative. [Kisses him. 
 Thy lips are warm ! 
 
 1 Watch. [Within.'] Lead, boy : — Which way? 
 
 Jul. Yea, noise ? — Then I'll be brief. — happy 
 
 dagger ! [Snatching Romeo's Dagger. 
 
 This is thy sheath ; [Stabs herself.] there rust, and 
 
 let me die. 
 
 [Falls on Romeo's Body, and dies. 
 Enter Watch, with the Page of Paris. 
 Page. This is the place ; there, where the torch 
 doth burn. 
 
 1 Watch. The ground is bloody ; Search about 
 
 the churchyard : 
 Go, some of you, whoe'er you find, attach. 
 
 [Exeunt some. 
 Pitiful sight ! here lies the county slain ; — 
 And Juliet bleeding; warm, and newly dead, 
 Who here hath Iain these two days buried. — 
 Go, tell the prince, — run to the Capulets, — 
 Raise up the Montagues, — some others search ; — 
 [Exeunt other Watchmen. 
 We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ; 
 But the true ground of all these piteous woes, 
 We cannot without circumstance descry. 
 
 Enter some of the Watch, with Balthazar. 
 
 2 Watch. Here's Romeo's man, we found him in 
 
 the churchyard. 
 1 Watch. Hold him in safety, till the prince come 
 hither. 
 
 Enter another Watchman, with Friar Laurence. 
 
 3 Watch. Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and 
 
 weeps : 
 We took this mattock and this spade from him, 
 As he was coming from this churchyard side. 
 1 Watch. A great suspicion : Stay the friar too. 
 
 Enter the Prince and Attendants. 
 Prince. What misadventure is so early up, 
 That calls our person from our morning's rest 1 
 
 Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others. 
 Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek 
 
 abroad ? 
 La. Cap. The people in the street cry — Romeo, 
 Some — Juliet, and some — Paris; and all run, 
 With open outcry toward our monument. 
 
 Prince. What fear is this, which startles in our 
 
 ears 1 
 1 Watch. Sovereign, here lies the county Paris 
 slain ; 
 And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before, 
 Warm and new kill'd. 
 Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul 
 
 murder comes. 
 1 Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's 
 man ; 
 tVith instruments upon them, fit to open 
 These dead men's tombs. 
 
 Cap O, heavens ! — wife \ look how our 
 d*»igrfe.ter bleeds ! 
 
 This dagger hath mista'en, — for lo! his house 3 
 
 Is empty on the back of Montague, — 
 
 And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom. 
 
 La Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as a bell, 
 That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 
 
 Enter Montague and others. 
 
 Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up, 
 To see thy son and heir more early down. 
 
 Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; 
 Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath : 
 What further woe conspires against mine age 1 
 Prince. Look, and thou shalt see. 
 Mon. O thou untaught ; what manners is in this, 
 To press before thy father to a grave ? 
 
 Prince. Seal up the mouth of outrage for awhile, 
 Till we can clear these ambiguities, 
 And know their spring, their head, their true 
 
 descent ; 
 And then will I be general of your woes, 
 And lead you even to death : Meantime forbear, 
 And let mischance be slave to patience. — 
 Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 
 
 Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least, 
 Yet most suspected, as the time and place 
 Doth make against me, of this direful murder, 
 And here I stand, both to impeach and purge 
 Myself condemned and myself excus'd. 
 
 Prince. Then say at cr.ee what thou dost know 
 
 in this. 
 Fri. I will be brief, for my short date of breath 
 Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 
 Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; 
 And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife : 
 I married them ; and their stolen marrutge-day 
 Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death 
 Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from thi» 
 
 city; 
 For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. 
 You — to remove that siege ' of grief from her, — 
 Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce, 
 To county Paris : — Then comes she to me ; 
 And, with wild looks, bid me devise some meant 
 To rid her from this second marriage, 
 Or, in my cell there would she kill herself. 
 Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, 
 A sleeping potion; which so took effect 
 As I intended, for it wrought on her 
 The form of death : meantime I writ to Romeo, 
 That he should hither come at this dire night, 
 To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, 
 Being the time the potion's force should cease. 
 But he which bore my letter, friar John, 
 Was staid by accident; and yesternight 
 Return'd my letter back : Then all alone, 
 At the prefixed hour of her waking, 
 Came I to take her from her kindred's vault ; 
 Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, 
 Till I conveniently could send to Romeo : 
 But, when I came, (some minute ere the time 
 Of her awakening,) here untimely lay 
 The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead. 
 She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth. 
 And bear this work of heaven with patience : 
 But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; 
 And she, too desperate, would not go with me, 
 But (as it seems) did violence on herself. 
 All this I know ; and to the marriage, 
 Her nurse is privy: And, if aught in this 
 Miscarried by my fault, let my old lite 
 Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, 
 Unto the rigor of severest law. 
 
 » i. «. The scabbard. * Seat. 
 
SCKNE III. 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 40 
 
 Prince. We still have known thee for a holy 
 man. — 
 Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? 
 
 Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's death ; 
 And then in post he came from Mantua, 
 To this same place, to this same monument. 
 This letter he early bid me give his father; 
 And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault, 
 li I departed not, and left him there. 
 
 Prince. Give me the letter, I will look on it. — 
 Where is the county's page that rais'd the watch ?— 
 Sirrah, what made your master in this place ? 
 
 Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's 
 grave ; 
 And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: 
 Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb; 
 And, by and by, my master drew on him; 
 And then I ran away to call the watch. 
 
 Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's 
 words, 
 Their course of love, the tidings of her death: 
 A nd here he writes — that he did buy a poison 
 Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal 
 Came to th : js vault to die. and lie with Juliet*— 
 
 Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! 
 
 See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, 
 
 That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! 
 
 And I, for winking at your discords too, 
 
 Have lost a brace of kinsmen:' — All are punish'd. 
 
 Cap. brother Montague, give me thy hand: 
 This is my daughter's jointure, for no more 
 Can I demand. 
 
 Man. But 1 can give thee more: 
 
 For I will raise her statue in pure gold ; 
 That, while Verona by that name is known, 
 There shall no figure at such rate be set, 
 As that of true and faithful Juliet. 
 
 Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie; 
 Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! 
 
 Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it 
 brings : 
 The sun for sorrow will not show his head: 
 Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things ; 
 Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: 
 For never was a story of more woe, 
 Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [ExeunL 
 *Mercutio tad Pari*. 
 
HAMLET, 
 
 PMNCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Clacdius, King of Denmark. 
 
 Hamlet, Son to the former, and Nephew to the 
 
 present King. 
 Polonius, Lord Chamberlain. 
 Horatio, Frien d to Hamlet. 
 Laertes, Son to Polonius. 
 Voltimand, ^ 
 Cornelius, I Courtiers. 
 
 KOSENCRANTZ, 
 GuiLDENSTERN, J 
 
 Osric, a Courtier. 
 Another Courtier. 
 A Priest. 
 Marcelltjs, 
 Bernardi 
 
 ' > Officers. 
 jo, S M 
 
 Francisco, a Soldier. 
 
 Retnaldo, Servant to Polonius. 
 
 A Captain. 
 
 An Ambassador. 
 
 Ghost of Hamlet's Father. 
 
 Fortinbras, Prince of Norway. 
 
 Gertrude, Queen of Denmark, and Mothet of 
 
 Hamlet. 
 Ophelia, Daughter of Polonius. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players, Grave 
 diggers, Sailors, Messengers, and other Attend 
 ants. 
 
 SCENE, Elsinore. 
 
 ACT J. 
 
 SCENE I.— Elsinore. A Platform before the 
 
 Castle. 
 Francisco on his Post. Enter to him Bernardo. 
 Ber. Who's there? 
 
 Fran. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Ber. Long live the king ! 
 Fran. Bernardo? 
 
 Ber. He. 
 
 Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 
 Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve; get thee to bed, 
 
 Francisco. 
 Fran. For this relief, much thanks; 'tis bitter 
 cold, 
 And I am sick at heart. 
 
 Ber. Have you had quiet guard ? 
 Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 
 Ber. Well, good-night. 
 If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
 The rivals' of my watch, bid them make haste. 
 Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
 Fran. I think, I hear them. — Stand, ho ! Who 
 
 is there ? 
 Hot. Friends to this ground. 
 Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 
 
 Fran. Give you good-night. 
 Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier: 
 
 Who hath reliev'd you ? 
 
 Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 
 
 Give you good-night. [Exit Francisco. 
 
 Mar. Holla! Bernardo! 
 
 * Partners. 
 f862] 
 
 Ber. Say, 
 
 What, is Horatio there? 
 
 Hor. A piece of him. 
 
 Ber. Welcome, Horatio; welcome, good Mar 
 cellus. 
 
 Hor. What, has this thing appear'd again to 
 night ? 
 
 Ber. I have seen nothing. 
 
 Mar. Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy, 
 And will not let belief take hold of him, 
 Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us; 
 Therefore I have entreated him, along 
 With us to watch the minutes of this night; 
 That, if again this apparition come, 
 He may approve" our eyes, and speak to it. 
 
 Hor. Tush ! tush ! 'twill not appear. 
 
 Ber. Sit down awhile , 
 
 And let us once again assail your ears, 
 That are so fortified against our story, 
 What we two nights have seen. 
 
 Hor. Well, sit we down, 
 
 And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 
 
 Ber. Last night of all, 
 When yon same star, that's westward from the pole. 
 Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
 Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself, 
 The bell then beating one, — 
 
 Mar. Peace, break thee off; look, where it 
 comes again ! 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's dead 
 » Make good or establish. 
 
Scene I. 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 863 
 
 Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 
 Ber. Looks it not like the king"! mark it, Ho- 
 ratio. 
 Hor. Most like : — it harrows me with fear, and 
 wonder. 
 
 Ber. It would be spoke to. 
 
 Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of 
 night, 
 Together with that fair and warlike form 
 In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
 Did sometimes march? By heaven, I charge thee, 
 speak. 
 
 Mar. It is offended. 
 
 Ber. See! it stalks away. 
 
 Hor. Stay, speak : speak I charge thee, speak. 
 
 [Exit Ghost 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 
 
 Ber. How now, Horatio ? you tremble, and look 
 pale: 
 Is not this something more than fantasy ? 
 What think you of it? 
 
 Hor. Before my God, I might not this believe, 
 Without the sensible and true avouch 
 Of mine own eyes. 
 
 Mar. Is it not like the king? 
 
 Hor. As thou art to thyself: 
 Such was the very armor he had on, 
 When he the ambitious Norway combated; 
 So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 3 
 He smote the sledded ' Polack 6 on the ice. 
 'Tis strange. 
 
 Mar. Thus, twice before, and jump' at this dead 
 hour, 
 With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 
 
 Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know 
 not; 
 But in the gross and scope of mine opinion, 
 This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
 
 Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that 
 knows. 
 Why this same strict and most observant watch 
 So nightly toils the subject of the land; 
 And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, 
 And foreign mart for implements of war: 
 Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
 Does not divide the Sunday from the week: 
 What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
 Doth make the night joint-laborer with the day ; 
 Who is't, that can inform me? 
 
 Hor. That can I; 
 
 \i least, the whisper goes so. Our last king, 
 Whose image even but now appear'd to us, 
 Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
 Thereto prick 'd on by a most emulate pride, 
 Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet 
 (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him) 
 Did slay this Fortinbras; who, by a seal'd compact, 
 Well ratified by law and heraldry, 
 Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands, 
 Which he stood seis'd of, to the conqueror: 
 Against the which, a moiety competent 
 Was gaged by our king; which had return 'd 
 To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
 Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same comart," 
 And carriage of the article design'd, 8 
 His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras, 
 Of unimproved mettle hot and full,' 
 Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, 
 
 * Dispute. ' Sledded. 
 
 » Polander, an inhabitant of Poland. « Just. 
 
 Joint bargain. 8 The covenant to confirm that bargain. 
 » Full of spirit without experience. 
 
 Shark'd ' up a list of landless resolutes, 
 
 For food and diet, to some enterprize 
 
 That hath a stomach 2 in't ; which is no other, 
 
 (As it doth well appear unto our state,; 
 
 But to recover of us, by strong hand, 
 
 And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands 
 
 So by his father lost: And this, I take it, 
 
 Is the main motive of our preparations ; 
 
 The source of this our watch ; and the chief head 
 
 Of this post-haste and romage 3 in the land. 
 
 Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so: 
 Well may it sort,' that this portentous figure 
 Comes armed through our watch ; so like the king 
 That was, and is, the question of these wars. 
 
 Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye. 
 In the most high and palmy 6 state of Rome, 
 A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, 
 The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted deaJ 
 Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. 
 
 As, stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, 
 Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star 6 
 Upon whose influence Neptune's empire stands, 
 Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. 
 And even the like precurse of fierce events, — 
 As harbingers preceding still the fates, 
 And prologues to the omen 7 coming on, — 
 Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
 Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 
 
 Re-enter Ghost. 
 But, soft; behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 
 I'll cross it, though it blast me. — Stay, illusion! 
 If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 
 Speak to me ; 
 
 If there be any good thing to be done, 
 That may to thee do ease, and grace to me, 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If thou art privy to thy country's fate, 
 Which, happily, foreknowing, may avoid, 
 O speak! 
 
 Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 
 Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, 
 For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 
 
 [Cock crows. 
 Speak of it: — stay, and speak. — Stop it, Marcellus. 
 
 Mar. Shall I strike at it with my partizan ? " 
 
 Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 
 
 Ber. 'Tis here! 
 
 Hor. • 'Tis here ! 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone. [Exit Ghost. 
 
 We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
 To offer it the show of violence ; 
 For it is, as the air, invulnerable, 
 And our vain blows malicious mockery. 
 
 Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew 
 
 Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
 Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 
 The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn, 
 Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
 Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
 Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
 The extravagant and erring 8 spirit hies 
 To his confine : and of the truth herein 
 This present object made probation. 1 
 
 Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock 
 Some say, that ever 'gainst that season cornea 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated: 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long: 
 And then they say no spirit dares stir abroad, 
 
 •Pick'd. » Resolution. 'Search • Suit. 
 
 • Victorious. • The moon. ' Event 
 
 • A sort of pike. » Wandering ' Proof 
 
864 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act I. 
 
 The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, 
 So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 
 
 Hor So have I heard, and do in part believe it 
 But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hi , 
 Break we our watch up; and, by my advice, 
 Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
 Unto young Hamlet: for, upon my life, 
 This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him: 
 Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
 As needful in our loves, fitting our duty] 
 
 Mar. Let's do't, I pray ; and I this morning know 
 Where we shall find him most convenient. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room of State in the same. 
 Enter the King, Queen, Ham let, Polonius. 
 
 Laehtes, Voltimand, Cohnelius, Lords, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's 
 death 
 The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
 To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom 
 To be contracted in one brow of woe; 
 Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature, 
 That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
 Together with remembrance of ourselves. 
 Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
 The imperial jointress of this warlike state, 
 Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy, — 
 With one auspicious, and one drooping eye; 
 With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, 
 In equal scale weighing delight and dole, 2 — 
 Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
 Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
 With this affair along: — For all, our thanks. 
 
 Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, 
 Holding a weak supposal of our worth ; 
 Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death, 
 Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
 Colleagued with this dream of his advantage, 
 He hath not fail'd to pester us with message, 
 Importing the surrender of those lands 
 Lost by his father, with all bands 3 of law, 
 To our most valiant brother. — So much for him. 
 Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting. 
 Thus much the business is: We have here rmt 
 To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — 
 Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears 
 Of this his nephew's purpose. — to suppress 
 His further gait 4 herein; in that the levies, 
 The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
 Out of his subject: — and we here despatch 
 You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
 For bearers of this greeting to old Norway; 
 Giving to you no further personal power 
 To business with the king, more than the scope 
 Of these dilated articles allow. 
 Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty. 
 
 Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we show 
 our duty. 
 
 King. We doubt it nothing; heartily farewell. 
 [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
 And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? 
 You told us of some suit: What is't, Laertes? 
 You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
 And lose your voice : What wouldst thou beg, 
 
 Laertes, 
 That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? 
 The head is not more native to the heart, 
 The hand more instrumental to the mouth, 
 
 « Grief. 
 
 « Way, path. 
 
 Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
 What wouldst thou have, Laertes? 
 
 Laer. My dread loid. 
 
 Your leave and favor to return to France; 
 From whence though willingly I came to Denmark, 
 To show my duty in your coronation ; 
 Yet now I must confess, that duty done, 
 My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, 
 And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 
 
 King. Have you your father's leave? What says 
 Polonius? 
 
 Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow 
 leave, 
 By laborsome petition ; and, at last, 
 Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 
 I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
 
 King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be thine 
 And thy best graces: spend it at thy will. — 
 But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, 
 
 Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you? 
 
 Ham. Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun. 
 
 Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off, 
 And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
 Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids' 
 Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
 Thou know'st 'tis common ; all, that live, must die, 
 Passing through nature to eternity. 
 
 Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
 
 Queen. If it be, 
 
 Why seems it so particular with thee ? 
 
 Ham. Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not 
 seems. 
 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
 Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
 Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, 
 No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
 Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, 
 Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief. 
 That can denote me truly : These, indeed, seem, 
 For they aTe actions that a man might play: 
 But I have that within, which passeth show; 
 These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
 
 King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your n» 
 ture, Hamlet, 
 To give these mourning duties to your father: 
 But, you must know, your father lost a father; 
 That father lost his; and the survivor bound 
 In filial obligation, for some term 
 To do obsequious sorrow: But to persever 
 In obstinate condolcment, is a course 
 Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief: 
 It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, 
 A heart unfortified, or mind impatient; 
 An understanding simple and unschool'd: 
 For what, we know, must be, and is as common 
 As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 
 Why should we, in our peevish opposition, 
 Take it to heart? Fye! 'tis a fault to heaven, 
 A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 
 To reason most absurd; whose common theme 
 Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, 
 From the first corse, till he that died to-day, 
 This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth 
 This unprevailing woe; and think of us 
 As of a father: for let the world take note, 
 You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
 And, with no less nobility of love, 
 Than that which dearest father bears his son, 
 Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
 In going back to school in Wittenberg, 
 » Lowering eyef. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 80c 
 
 t is most ret r ograde 6 to our desire: 
 V.nd, we beseech you, bend you to remain 
 Here. In the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
 Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 
 
 Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, 
 Hamlet, 
 I pray thee stay with us, go not to Wittenberg. 
 
 Ham. I shall in all my best obey you, madam. 
 
 King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ; 
 Be as ourself in Denmark. — Madam, come; 
 This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet 
 Sits smiling to my heart: in grace whereof, 
 No jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day, 
 But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell; 
 And the king's rouse , the heaven shall bruit 8 again, 
 Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, <fc. Polonius, 
 and Laertes. 
 
 Ham. 0, that this too too solid flesh would melt, 
 Thaw, and resolve 9 itself into a dew ! 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fixed 
 His canon ' 'gainst self-slaughter ! O God ! God ! 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 Seem to me all the u&es of this world ! 
 Fye on't ! O fye ! 'tis an unweeded garden, 
 That grows to seed; things rank, and gross in nature, 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
 But two months dead .' — nay, not so much, not two : 
 So excellent a king; that was, to this, 
 Hyperion 11 to a satyr: so loving to my mother, 
 That he might net beteem 3 the winds of heaven 
 Visit her face too roughiy. Heaven and earth ! 
 Must I remember'? why, she would hang on him 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 By what it fed on : And yet, within a month, — 
 Let me not think on't ; — Frailty, thy i ame is 
 
 woman ! — 
 A little month ; or ere those shoes were a'd, 
 With which she fo'Iow'd my poor father's body, 
 Like Niobe, all tears; — why she, even she, — 
 heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
 Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my 
 
 uncle, 
 My father's brother; but no more like my father, 
 Than I to Hercules: Within a month; 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
 She married: — most wicked speed, to post 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to, good • 
 But break, my heart: for I must hold my tongue' 
 
 Enter Horatio, Bernardo, and Makcellus. 
 
 Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 
 
 Ham. I am glad to see you well : 
 
 Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 
 
 Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant 
 ever. 
 
 Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name 
 with you. 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? — 
 Marcellus? 
 
 Mar. My good lord, 
 
 Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, 
 
 sir. 
 
 But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? 
 
 Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so : 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against yourself: I know, you are no truant. 
 
 « Contrary. 
 » Law. 
 
 1 Draught. 
 « Ar ->llo. 
 
 • Report. 
 
 » Dissoh e. 
 ' Suffer. 
 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore? 
 
 We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral 
 
 Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me. fellow 
 student; 
 I think, it was to see my mother's weodmg. 
 
 Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. 
 
 Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral baked 
 meats 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 'Would I had met my dearest 4 foe in heaven 
 Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! — 
 My father, — Methinks, I see my father. 
 
 Hor. Where, 
 
 My lord ? 
 
 Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 
 
 Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
 
 Ham. Saw ! who ? 
 
 Hor. My lord, the king your father. 
 
 Ham. The king my father . 
 
 Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
 With an attent' ear; till I may deliver, 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 
 
 Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
 Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
 In the dead waist and middle of the night, 
 Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, 
 Armed at point, exactly cap-a-pe, 
 Appears before them, and, with solemn march, 
 Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd, 
 By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, 
 Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distill'd 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
 And I with them, the third night kept the watch: 
 Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
 The apparition comes: I knew your father: 
 These hands are not more like. 
 
 Ham. But where was this? 
 
 Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 
 watch'd. 
 
 Ham. Did you not speak to it? 
 
 Hor. My lord, I did; 
 
 But answer made it none : yet once, methought, 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak: 
 But, even then, the morning cock crew loud; 
 And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
 And vanish'd from our sight. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 Hor. As I do live, my honor'd lord, 'tis true; 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty, 
 To let you know of it. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
 Hold you the watch to-night? 
 
 All. We do, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Arm'd, say you ? 
 
 All. Arm'd, my l»rd. 
 
 Ham. From top to toe ! 
 
 All. My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Ham. Then saw you noi 
 
 His face? 
 
 Hor. 0, yes, my lord ! he wore his beaver" up 
 
 4 Chiefest. » A tten ti vo. 
 
 « That part of the helmet which protects the lewer p«*1 
 of the face, and may be lifted up. 
 
866 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 A.cr 1 
 
 Ham. What, look'd he frowningly 1 
 
 Hor. A countenance more 
 
 lu sorrow than in anger. 
 
 Ham. Pale, or red 1 
 
 Hor. Nay, very pale. 
 
 Ham. And lix'd his eyes upon you ? 
 
 Hor. Most constantly. 
 
 Ham. I would, I had been there. 
 
 Hor. It would have much amaz'd you. 
 
 Ham. Very like, 
 
 Very like: Stay'd it long? 
 
 Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell 
 a hundred. 
 
 Mar. Ber. Longer, longer. 
 
 Hor. Not when I saw it. 
 
 Ham. His beard was grizzl'd ? no? 
 
 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable silver'd. 
 
 Ham. I will watch to-night ; 
 
 Perchance, 'twill walk again. 
 
 Hor. I warrant, it will. 
 
 Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
 I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape, 
 And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
 If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still : 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
 I will requite your loves: So, fare you well: 
 Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
 I'll visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honor. 
 
 Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. 
 [Exeunt Hon., Maii., and Beh. 
 My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
 I doubt some foul play : 'would the night were 
 
 come! 
 Till then sit still my soul : Foul deeds will rise, 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE TIL — A Room in Polonius's House. 
 
 Enter Laertes and Ophelia. 
 Laer. My necessaries are embark'd ; farewell : 
 And, sister, as the winds give benefit, 
 And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, 
 But let me hear from you. 
 
 Oph. Do you doubt that 1 
 
 Laer. For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, 
 Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood; 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature, 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
 No more. 
 
 Oph. No more but so 1 
 Laer. Think it no more : 
 
 For nature, crescent, 1 does not grow alone 
 In thews, 8 and bulk, but, as this temple waxes, 
 The inward service of the mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now; 
 And now no soil, nor cautel," doth besmirch ' 
 The virtue of his will : but, you must fear, 
 His greatness weigh'd, his will is not his own ; 
 For he himself is subject to his birth : 
 He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
 Carve tor himself; for on his choice depends 
 The safety and the health of the whole state ; 
 And therefore must his choice be circurnscrib'd 
 Unto the voice and yielding of that body, 
 Whereof he is the head : Then if he says he loves 
 
 you, 
 7t fits your wisdom so far to believe it, 
 
 Inc reasing. • sinews » Subtlety, deceit. » Discolor. 
 
 As he in his particular act and place 
 
 May give his saying deed ; which is no furthe: 
 
 Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal 
 
 Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain, 
 
 If with too credent 5 ear you list 3 h>s songs : 
 
 Or lose your heart; or your chaste treasure open 
 
 To his unmaster'd 4 importunity. 
 
 Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister ; 
 
 And keep you in the rear of your affection, 
 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
 
 If she unmask her beauty to the moon: 
 
 Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes: 
 
 The canker galis- the infants of the spring, 
 
 Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd ; 
 
 And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
 
 Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
 
 Be wary then : best safety lies in fear ; 
 
 Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 
 
 Oph. I shall the eflect of this good lesson keep, 
 As watchman to my heart : But, good my brother, 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
 Show me the steep and thoiny way to heaven; 
 Whilst, like a puff'd and reckless libertine, 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads 
 And recks not his own read.' 
 
 Laer. fear me not. 
 
 I stay too long; — But here my father comes. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 A double blessing is a double grace ; 
 Occasion smiies upon a second leave. 
 
 Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard for shame; 
 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, 
 And you are staid for: There, — my blessing with 
 you ; [Laying Ids Hand on Laertes' Head. 
 And these few precepts in thy memory 
 Look thou character. 6 Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel : 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel : but, being in, 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: 
 Take each man's censure, 1 but reserve thy judg- 
 ment. 
 Costly thy habit, as thy purse can buy, 
 But not cxpress'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 And they in France of the best rank and station, 
 Are most select and generous, 8 chief 9 in that. 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be : 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 This above all, — To thine ownself be true ; 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 Farewell; my blessing season 1 this in thee! 
 
 Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 
 
 Pol. The time invites you ; go, your servants 
 tend. 3 
 
 Laer. Farewell, Ophelia ; and remember well 
 What I have said to you. 
 
 Oph. 'Tis in my memory loek'd 
 
 And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 
 
 Laer. Farewell! [Exit Laertes 
 
 Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he hath said to you ? 
 
 » Believing. 3 Listen to. 'Licentious. 
 
 * Ruguuls not his own lessonc • Write. 
 
 'Opinion. 'Noble. • Chi i fly. 'Infix »Wait 
 
CUNE IV. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 867 
 
 Oph, So please you, something touching the 
 lord Hamlet. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well bethought : 
 'Tis told me, he hath very oft of late 
 Given private time on you : and you yourself 
 Have of your audience been most free and boun- 
 teous 
 If it be so, (as so 'tis put on me, 
 And that in way of caution,) I must tell you, 
 You do not understand yourself so clearly, 
 As it behoves my daughter, and your honor : 
 What is between you ? give me up the truth. 
 
 Oph. He hath my lord, of late, made many tenders 
 Of his affection to me. 
 
 Pol. Affection ? Puh ! you speak like a green girl, 
 Unsifted 3 in such perilous circumstance. 
 Do you believe his tenders, as you call them 1 
 
 Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 
 
 Pol. Marry, I'll teach you ; think yourself a 
 baby; 
 That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay 
 Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more 
 
 dearly ; 
 Or (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, 
 Wronging it thus) you'll tender me a fool. 
 
 Oph. My lord, he hath importun'd me with love, 
 In honorable fashion. 
 
 Pol. Av. fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 
 
 Opn. And hatn given countenance to his speech, 
 my lord, 
 With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 
 
 Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, 
 When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
 Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter, 
 Giving more light than heat, — extinct in bo/h, 
 Even in their p-omise, as it is a making, — 
 You must not take for fire. From this time 
 Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence; 
 Set your entreatments 4 at a higher rate, 
 Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
 Believe so much in him, That he is young; 
 And with a larger tether may he walk, 
 Than may be given you : In few, Ophelia, 
 Do not believe his vows, for they are brokers, 
 Not of that die which their investments show, 
 But mere implorators* of unholy suits, 
 Breathing like sanctified and pious bonds, 
 The better to beguile. This is for all, — 
 I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, 
 Have you so slander any moment's leisure, 
 As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. 
 Look to't, I charge you ; come your ways. 
 
 Oph. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Platform. 
 Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Mahcelltjs. 
 Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 
 Hor. It is a nipping and an eager 6 air. 
 Ham. What hour now ? 
 
 Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 
 
 Mar. No, it is struck. 
 
 Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not ; it then draws near 
 the season, 
 Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 
 
 \_A Flourish of Trumpets, and Ordnance shot 
 off, within. 
 What does this mean, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes 
 his rouse, 1 
 Keeps wassel. 8 and the swaggering up-spring 9 reels; 
 \nd, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
 
 • Uctemptcd. « Company. »Implorcrs. 'Sharp. 
 "Jovial draught. 'Jollity. • A dance. 
 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Hor. Is it a custom ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, is't: 
 But to my mind, though I am native here, 
 And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
 More honor'd in the breach, than the observance. 
 This heavy-headed revel, east and west, 
 Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations: 
 They clepe ' us drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
 Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 
 From our achievements, though performed at height, 
 The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
 So oft it chances in particular men, 
 That for some vicious mole of nature in them, 
 As, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin,) 
 By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, 2 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; 
 Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
 The form of plausive manners; — that these men,-- 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect; 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
 Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace, 
 As infinite as man may undergo) 
 Shall in the general censure take corruption 
 From that particular fault: The dram of base 
 Doth all the noble substance often dout, 3 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Hor. Look, my lord, it comes? 
 
 Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us!-- 
 Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts froci 
 
 hell, 
 Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
 Thou com'st in such a questionable ' shape, 
 That I will speak to thee; I'll cai! thee, Hamlet 
 King, father, royai Dane : 0, answer me : 
 Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell, 
 Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death. 
 Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, 
 Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws, 
 To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
 That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel 
 Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
 Making night hideous; and we fools of nature, 
 So horridly to shake our disposition, 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls * 
 Say, why is this? wherefore? what should we do! 
 
 Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 
 As if it some impartment did desire 
 To you alone. 
 
 Mar. Look, with what courteous actir j 
 
 It waves you to a more removed ground : 
 But do not go with it. 
 
 Hor. No, by no means. 
 
 Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow it. 
 
 Hor. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, what should be the fear 1 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 6 
 And, for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 Being a thing immortal as itself? 
 It waves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. 
 
 Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my 
 lord, 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
 That beetles 6 o'er his base into the sea! 
 And there assume some other horrihle form. 
 
 ■ Call 
 
 4 Conversable. 
 
 a Humor. 
 ' Value. 
 
 » Do out. 
 • II ansa. 
 
868 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act I 
 
 Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
 And draw you into madness ? think of it : 
 The very place puts toys 1 of desperation, 
 Without more motive, into every brain, 
 That looks so many fathoms to the sea, 
 And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Ham. It waves me still : 
 
 Go on, I'll follow thee. 
 
 Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Hold off your hands. 
 
 Hor. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 
 
 Ham. My fate cries out, 
 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. — 
 
 [Ghost beckons. 
 Still am I call'd ; — unhand me, gentlemen ; — 
 
 [Breaking from them. 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets 9 
 
 me: — 
 I say, away : — Go on, I'll follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
 Hor. He waxes desperate with imagination. 
 
 Mar. Let's follow ; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. 
 
 Hor. Have after : — To what issue will this come ? 
 
 Mar. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. 
 
 Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let's follow him. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A more remote Part of the Platform. 
 Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me ? Speak, I'll 
 go no further. 
 
 Ghost. Mark me. 
 
 Ham. I will. 
 
 Ghost. My hour is almost come, 
 
 When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
 Must render up myself. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 
 
 Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
 To what I shall unfold. 
 
 Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt 
 hear. 
 
 Ham. What? 
 
 Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; 
 Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night ; 
 And, for the day, confin'd to fast in fires, 
 Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
 Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid 
 To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
 I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
 Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 
 Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 
 
 spheres ; 
 Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
 And each particular hair to stand on end 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 
 But this eternal blazon 9 must not be 
 To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, O list ! — 
 If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 
 
 Ham. heaven ! 
 
 Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural 
 murder. 
 
 Ham. Murder] 
 
 Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
 But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
 
 Ham. Haste me to know it ; that I, with wings 
 as swift 
 As meditation, or the thoughts of love, 
 May sweep to my revenge. 
 
 Ghost. I find thee apt ; 
 
 ' WtiiuuL • Hinder*. • Display. 
 
 And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed 
 That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
 Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear 
 'Tis given out, that, sleeping in mine orchard, 
 A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Denmark 
 Is by a forged process of my death 
 Rankly abus'd ; but know, thou noble youth, 
 The serpent that did sting thy father's life, 
 Now wears his crown. 
 
 Ham. 0, my prophetic soul ! my uncie. 
 
 Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast 
 With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
 (0 wicked wit, and gifts, t'uat have the power 
 So to seduce !) won to his shameful lust 
 The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen : 
 O, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 
 From me, whose love was of that dignity, 
 That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
 I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
 Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
 To those of mine ! 
 
 But virtue, as it never will be mov'd, 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, 
 Will sate itself in a celestial bed, 
 And prey on garbage. 
 
 But, soft ! methinks I scent the morning air ; 
 Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard. 
 My custom always of the afternoon, 
 Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
 With juice of cursed hebenon 1 in a vial, 
 And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
 The leperous distilment : whose effect 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man, 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
 And, with a sudden vigor, it doth posset 
 And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
 The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; 
 And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 
 Most lazar-like, a with vile and loathsome crust, 
 All my smooth body. 
 
 Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, 
 Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd : 
 Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 Unhousel'd,* disappointed," unaneled;' 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 With all my imperfections on my head : 
 O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! 
 If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
 But, howsoever thou pursuest this act, 
 Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
 Against thy mother aught ; leave her to heaven, 
 And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
 To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once ' 
 The glow-worm shows the matin to be near. 
 And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire : 
 Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me. [Exit. 
 
 Ham. O all you host of heaven ! O earth ! What 
 
 And shall I couple hell? — O fye!— Hold, hold, 
 
 my heart; 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, 
 But bear me stiffly up ! — Remember thee ? 
 Ay, thou poor ghcst, while memory holds a seat 
 In this distracted globe.' Remember thee ? 
 Yea, from the table of my memory 
 
 i Henbane. a Leprous a Bereft. 
 
 4 Without haTing received the, sacrament. 
 
 > Una-ppointed, unprepared. « Without extreme un< Hon 
 
 'Head. 
 
Act II. Scene 1. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 8(39 
 
 I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, 
 ,\1! saws 8 of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
 That youth and observation copied there ; 
 And thy commandment all alone shall live 
 Within the book and volume of my brain, 
 Unmix'd with baser matter : yes, by heaven. 
 O most pernicious woman ! 
 
 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
 My tables, 9 — meet it is, I set it down, 
 
 That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; 
 At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark : 
 
 [ Writing. 
 So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ; 
 It is, Adieu, adieu ! remember me. 
 
 1 have sworn 't. 
 
 Hor. [Within.] My lord, my lord, — 
 
 Mar. [ Within?] Lord Hamlet, 
 
 Hor. [Within,] Heaven secure him. 
 Ham. So be it. 
 
 Mar. [ Within.] Illo, ho, ho, my lord ! 
 Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 
 
 Enter Horatio and Marcellus. 
 
 Mar. How is't, my noble lord 7 
 
 Hor. What news, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. wonderful ! 
 
 Hor. Good, my lord, tell it. 
 
 Ham. No ; 
 
 You will reveal it. 
 
 Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. How say you then : would heart of man 
 once think it 7 — 
 But you'll be secret, 
 
 Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 
 
 Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all 
 Denmark, 
 But he's an arrant knave. 
 
 Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come from 
 the grave, 
 To tell us this. 
 
 Ham. Why, right ; you are in the right ; 
 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 I hold it fit, that we shake hands, and part : 
 You, as your business, and desire, shall point you ; — 
 For every man hath business, and desire, 
 Such as it is; — and, for my own poor part, 
 Look you, I will go pray. 
 
 Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, 
 my lord. 
 
 Ham. I am sorry they offend you, heartily ; yes, 
 Faith, heartily. 
 
 Hor. There's no offence, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 
 Arid much offence too. Touching this vision here, 
 It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you ; 
 For your desire to know what is between us, 
 O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends, 
 As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, 
 jive me one poor request. 
 
 Hor. What is't, my lord 7 
 
 We will. 
 
 Ham. Never make known what you have seen 
 to-night. 
 
 Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but swear't. 
 
 Hor. Ir faith, 
 
 My lord, not I. 
 
 Mar. Nor I, my lord, in faith. 
 
 Ham. Upon my sword. 
 
 Mar. We have sworn, my lord, al'eady 
 
 Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha, boy ! say'st thou so 7 art thou 
 there, true-penny 7 
 Come on, — you hear this fellow in the cellarage, — 
 Consent to swear. 
 
 Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Never to speak of this that you have seen 
 Swear by my sword. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Hie et ubique? 1 then we'll shift our 
 ground : — 
 Come hither, gentlemen, 
 And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
 Swear by my sword, 
 Never to speak of this that you have heard. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear by his sword. 
 
 Ham. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' the 
 earth so fast 7 
 A worthy pioneer ! — Once more remove, good 
 friends. 
 Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange! 
 Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 
 
 But come ; 
 
 Here, as before, never, so help you mercy ! 
 
 How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 
 
 As I, perchance, hereafter shall think meet 
 
 To put an antic disposition on, — 
 
 That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, 
 
 With arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake, 
 
 Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
 
 As, Well, well, we know ; — or. We could, an if we 
 
 would,- — or, If we list to speak,- — or, There be, an 
 
 if they might; 
 
 Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
 
 That you know aught of me : — This do you swear, 
 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help you ! 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So gentlemen, 
 With all my love I do commend me to you : 
 And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
 May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
 God willing, shall not lack. -Let us go in together; 
 And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
 The time is out of joint ; — cursed spite ! 
 That evei I was born to set it right ! 
 Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt. 
 
 ^CT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Polonius's House. 
 Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. 
 
 Pol. Give him this money, and these notes, Rey- 
 
 naldo. 
 Rey. I will, my lord. 
 
 • Strings, sentences. ' Memorandum book. 
 
 Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- 
 naldo, 
 Before you visit him, to make inquiry 
 Of his behavior. 
 
 Rey My lord, I did intend it. 
 
 Pol. Marry, well said : very well said. Look 
 you, sir, 
 
 1 Ilere and every where 
 
870 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act I) 
 
 Inquire me first what Danskers 3 are in Paris; 
 And how, and who, what means, and where they 
 
 keep, 
 What company, at what expense; and finding, 
 By this encompassment and drift of question, 
 That they do know my son, come you more nearer 
 Than your particular demands will touch it: 
 Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; 
 As thus, — I know his father, and his friends, 
 And, in part, him; — Do you mark this, Reynaldo? 
 
 Rey. Ay, very well, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And, in part, him; — but, you may say, not 
 well: 
 But, if 't be he I mean, he's very wild,- 
 Addicted so and so,- — and there put on him 
 What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank 
 As may dishonor him ; take heed of that: 
 But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips, 
 As are companions noted and most known 
 To youth and liberty. 
 
 Rey. As gaming, my lord. 
 
 Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quar- 
 relling, 
 Drabbing: — You may go so far. 
 
 Rey. My lord, that would dishonor him. 
 
 Pol. 'Faith, no; as you may season it in the charge. 
 You must not put another scandal on him, 
 That he is open to incontinency ; 
 That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults so 
 
 quaintly, 
 That they may seem the taints of liberty: 
 The flash and out-break of a fiery mind; 
 A savageness in unreclaimed blood, 
 Of general assault. 
 
 Rey. But, my good lord, 
 
 Pol. Wherefore should you do this? 
 
 Rey. Ay, my lord, 
 
 i would know that. 
 
 Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift; 
 
 And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant: 
 You laying these slight sullies on my son, 
 As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 
 Mark you, 
 
 Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
 Having ever seen in the prenominate 3 crimes, 
 The youth you breathe of, guilty, be assur'd, 
 He closes with you in this consequence; 
 Good sir, or so; or friend, or gentleman, — 
 According to the phrase, or the addition, 
 Of man, and country. 
 
 Rey. Very good, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And then, sir, does he this, — He does — 
 What was I about to say? — By the mass, I was 
 about to say something: — Where did I leave 1 
 
 Rey. At, closes in the consequence. 
 
 Pol. At, closes in the consequence, — Ay, marry,- 
 He closes with you thus : — / know the gentleman,- 
 I saw him yesterday, or I' 'other day, 
 Or then, or then,- with such, or such; and, as you say, 
 There was he gaming; there overtook in his rouse,- 
 There falling out at tennis.- or, perchance, 
 I saw him enter such a house of sale, 
 (Videlicet, a brothel,) or so forth. — 
 See you now; 
 
 Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth: 
 And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, 
 Vith windlaces, and with assays of bias, 
 By indirections find directions out; 
 So, by former lecture and advice, 
 "shall you, my son : You have me, have you not ? 
 Rey Mv lord, I have. 
 
 Pol. God be wi' you ; fare you well. 
 
 »P»nefc • Already namec 
 
 Rey. Good, my lord, 
 
 Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 
 
 Rey. I shall, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And let him ply his music. 
 
 Rey. Well, my lord. [Exit 
 
 Enter Ophelia. 
 
 Pol. Farewell! — How now, Ophelia? what's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Oph. O, my lord, my lord, I have been so a£ 
 frighted ! 
 
 Pol. With what, in the name of heaven? 
 
 Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, 
 Lord Hamlet, — with his doublet all unbraced; 
 No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd, 
 Ungarter'd, and down-gyved 4 to his ankle; 
 Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each other; 
 And with a look so piteous in purport, 
 As if he had been loosed out of hell, 
 To speak of horrors. — he comes before me. 
 
 Pol. Mad for thy love? 
 
 Oph. My lord, I do not know j 
 
 But, truly, I do fear it. 
 
 Pol. What said he? 
 
 Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held rne hard; 
 Then goes he to the length of all his arm : 
 And with his other hand thus o'er his brow, 
 He falls to such perusal of my face, 
 As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so; 
 At last, — a little shaking of mine arm, 
 And thrice his head thus waving up and down,-- 
 He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound, 
 As it did seem to shatter all his bulk, 
 And end his being: That done, he lets me go* 
 And, with his head over his shoulder turn'd, 
 He seem'd to find his way without his eyes; 
 For out of doors he went without their helps, 
 And, to the last, bended their light on me. 
 
 Pol. Come, go with me ; I will go seek the king. 
 This is the very ecstasy of love; 
 Whose violent property foredoes 6 itself, 
 And leads the will to desperate undertakings, 
 As oft as any passion under heaven, 
 That does afflict our natures. I am sorry, — 
 What, have you given him any hard words of 
 late? 
 
 Oph. No, my good lord: but, as you did command, 
 I did repel his letters, and denied 
 His access to me. 
 
 Pol. That hath made him mad. 
 
 I am sorry, that with better heed and judgment, 
 I had not quoted 6 him: I fear'd, he did but trifle, 
 And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jea- 
 lousy ! 
 It seems, it is as proper to our age 
 To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions, 
 As it is common for the younger sort 
 To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king; 
 This must be known; which v eing kept close, 
 
 might move 
 More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. 
 Come. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guilder, 
 stern, and Attendants. 
 King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guilden« 
 stern ! 
 Moreover that we much did long to see you, 
 The need, we have to use you, did provoke 
 Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
 Of Hamlet's transformation ( so I call it, 
 * Hanging down like fetters. 9 » Destroys. • 0bserT«4 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 «7] 
 
 Since not the exterior nor the inward man 
 Resembles that it was: What it should be, 
 Mori than his father's death, that thus hath put 
 
 hin. 
 So much from the understanding of himself, 
 I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, 
 That, — being of so young days brought up with 
 
 him: 
 And, since, so neighbor'd to his youth and hu- 
 mor, — 
 That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
 Some little time: so by your companies 
 To draw him on to pleasures; and to gather, 
 So much as from occasion you may glean, 
 Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him 
 
 thus, 
 That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 
 
 Queen. Good gentlemen, he hath much talk'd of 
 you; 
 And, sure I am, two men there are not living, 
 To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
 To show us so much gentry, and good will, 
 As to expend your time with us awhile, 
 For the supply and profit of our hope, 
 Your visitation shall receive such thanks 
 As fits a king's remembrance. 
 
 Ros. Both your majesties 
 
 Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
 Put your dread pleasures more into command 
 Than to entreaty. 
 
 Guil. But we both obey ; 
 
 And here give up ourselves, in the full bent; 1 
 To lay our service freely at your feet, 
 To be commanded. 
 
 King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guilden- 
 
 stem. 
 Queen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen- 
 crantz: 
 And I beseech you instantly to visit 
 My too much changed son. — Go, some of you, 
 And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 
 Guil. Heavens make our presence, and our prac- 
 tices, 
 Pleasant and helpful to him ! • 
 
 Queen. Ay, amen! 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, 
 and some A ttendants. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 Pol, The ambassadors from Norway, my good 
 lord, 
 Are joyfully return'd. 
 
 King. Thou still hast been the father of good 
 
 news. 
 Pol. Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good 
 liege, 
 I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
 Both to my God, and to my gracious king: 
 And I do think, (or else this brain of mine 
 Hunts not the trail 5 of policy so sure 
 As it hath used to do,) that I have found 
 The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 
 
 King. O, speak of that: that do I long to 
 
 hear. 
 Pol. Give first admittance to the ambassadors; 
 A?y news shall be the fruit to that great feast. 
 King. Thyself do grace to them, and bring them 
 in. [Exit Polonius. 
 
 He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found 
 The head and source of all your son's distemper. 
 
 Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main; 
 
 His father's death, and our o'er-hasty marriage. 
 
 ' Utmost exertion » Scent. 
 
 Re-enter Polonius, with Voltimasd avd 
 Cornelius. 
 
 King. Well, we shall sift him. — Welcome, nijr 
 good friends ! 
 Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway 1 
 
 Volt. Most fair return of greetings, and desires. 
 Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
 His nephew's levies; which to him appear'd 
 To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack; 9 
 But, better look'd into, he truly found 
 It was against your highness : Whereat griev'd, — 
 That so his sickness, age, and impotence, 
 Was falsely borne in hand, 1 — sends out arrests 
 On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys; 
 Receives rebuke from Norway ; and, in fine, 
 Makes vow before his uncle, never more 
 To give the assay of arms against your majesty. 
 Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, 
 Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee; 
 And his commission to employ those soldiers, 
 So levied as before, against the Polack: 
 With an entreaty, herein further shown, 
 
 [Gives a Paper 
 That it might please you to give quiet pass 
 Through your dominions for this enterprize; 
 On such regards of safety, and allowance, 
 As therein are set down. 
 
 King. It likes us well: 
 
 And, at our more consider'd time, we'll read, 
 Answer, and think upon this business. 
 Mean time, we thank you for your well-took labor* 
 Go to your rest; at night we'll feast together: 
 Most welcome home! 
 
 [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
 
 Pol. This business is well ended. 
 
 My liege, and madam, to expostulate 5 
 What majesty should be, what duty is, 
 Why day is day, night, night, and time is time, 
 Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time, 
 Therefore, — since brevity is the soul of wit, 
 And tcdiousness the limbs and outward flourishes, 
 I will be brief: your noble son is mad: 
 Mad call I it: for, to define true madness, 
 What is't, but to be nothing else but mad 1 
 But let that go. 
 
 Queen. More matter with less art. 
 
 Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 
 That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true, 'tis pity; 
 And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure; 
 But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
 Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, 
 That we find out the cause of this effect ; 
 Or, rather say, the cause of this defent , 
 For this effect, defective, comes by cause : 
 Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
 Perpend. 
 
 I have a daughter ; have, while she is mine ; 
 Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
 Hath given me this: Now gather and surmise. 
 — To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most 
 
 beautified Ophelia, 
 
 That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; beautified is * 
 vile phrase; but you shall hear. — Thus: 
 
 In her excellent white bosom, these, #<:. 
 
 Queen. Camt this from Hamlet to her? 
 
 Pol. Good madam, stay awhile ; I will oc laith 
 ful.— 
 
 Doubt thou, the stars are fire- 
 Doubt, that the sun doth move: 
 
 Doubt truth to be a liar; 
 But never doubt, I love. 
 
 [Reada 
 
 1 Imposed on. 
 
 •Discuss 
 
872 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act II 
 
 dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers,- I 
 have not art to reckon my groans,- but that I love 
 thee best, most best, believe it. Adieu. 
 
 Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst 
 this machine is to him, Hamlet. 
 This in obedience, hath my daughter shown me: 
 And more above, hath his solicitings, 
 As they fell out by time, by means, and place, 
 All given to mine ear. 
 
 King. But how hath she 
 
 Receiv d his love ? 
 
 Pol. What do you think of me ? 
 
 King. As of a man faithful and honorable. 
 
 Pol. I would iain prove so. But what might 
 you think, 
 When I had seen this hot love on the wing, 
 (As I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that, 
 Before my daughter told me,) what might you, 
 Or my dear majesty your queen here, think, 
 If I had play'd the desk, or table-book; 
 Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb; 
 Or look'd upon this love with idle sight; 
 What might you think ? no, I went round 3 to work, 
 And my young mistress thus did I bespeak : 
 Lord Hamlet is aprince out of thy sphere,- 
 This must not be: and then I precepts gave her, 
 That she should lock herself from his resort, 
 Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
 Which done, she took the fruits of my advice; 
 And he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,) 
 Fell into a sadness; then into a fast; 
 Thence to a watch ; thence into weakness ; 
 Thence to a lightness; and, by this declension, 
 Tnto the madness wherein now he raves, 
 /vnd all we mourn for. 
 
 King. Do you think, 'tis this ? 
 
 Queen. It may be, very likely. 
 
 Pol. Hath there been such a time, (I'd fain know 
 that,) 
 That I have positively said, 'Tis so, 
 When it proved otherwise"? 
 
 King. Not that I know. 
 
 p «/. Take this from this, if this be otherwise : 
 [Pointing to his Head and Shoulder. 
 If circumstances lead me, I will find 
 Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
 Within the centre. 
 
 King. How may we try it further? 
 
 Pol. You know sometimes he walks four hours 
 together, 
 Here in the lobby. 
 
 Queen. So he does, indeed. 
 
 Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to 
 him; 
 Be you and I behind an arras then,; 
 Mark the encounter: if he love her not, 
 And be not from his reason fallen thereon, 
 Let me be no assistant for a s'.ate, 
 But keep a farm, and cartels. 
 
 King. We will try it. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, reading. 
 Queen. But look, where sadly the poor wretch 
 
 comes reading. 
 Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away : 
 f 11 board him presently: — 0, give me leave. — 
 
 [Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants, 
 .-low does my good lord Hamlet ? 
 Ham. Well, god-'a-mercy. 
 Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 
 Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 
 Pel. Not I, my lord. 
 
 •Roundly, without reserre. 
 
 Ham. Then I would you were so honest a ran. 
 
 Pol. Honest, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world gee.*, 
 is to be one man picked out of ten thousand. 
 
 Pol. That's very true, my lord. 
 
 Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead 
 
 dog, being a god, kissing carrion, Have you a 
 
 daughter] 
 
 Pol. I have, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception 4 is 
 a blessing ; but not as your daughter may conceive,' 
 — friend, look to't. 
 
 Pol. How say you by that ? [Aside.'] Still harp 
 ing on my daughter: — yet he knew me not at first, 
 he said, I was a fishmonger; He is far gone, far 
 gone : and, truly in my youth I suffered much ex- 
 tremity for love : very near this. I'll speak to him 
 again. — What do you read, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Words, words, wcids! 
 
 Pol. What is the matter, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Between who? 
 
 Pol. I mean the matter that you read, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says 
 here, that old men have grey beards; that their faces 
 are wrinkled ; their eyes purging thick amber, and 
 plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful 
 lack of wit, together with most weak hams: All of 
 which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently 
 believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus 
 set down ; for yourself, sir, shall be as old as I am, 
 if, like a crab, you could go backward. 
 
 Pol. Though this be madness, yet there's method 
 in it. [Aside.'] Will you walk out of the air, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Into my grave? 
 
 Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. — How preg 
 nant 6 sometimes his replies are! a happiness that 
 often madness hits on, which reason and sanity 
 could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will 
 leave him, and suddenly contrive the means of 
 meeting between him and my daughter. — My 
 honorable lord, I will most humbly take my leave 
 of you. 
 
 Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing 
 that I will more willingly part withal; except my 
 life, except my life, except my life. 
 
 Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 Ham. These tedious old fools! 
 
 Enter Rosenchantz and Guildenstehn. 
 
 Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet ; there he is. 
 
 Ros. God save you, sir ! [To Polonius. 
 
 VExit Polonius. 
 
 Guil. My honored lord ! — 
 
 Ros. My most dear lord ! — 
 
 Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost 
 thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good lads, 
 how do ye both ? 
 
 Ros. As the indifferent children of the earth. 
 
 Guil. Happy, in that we are not over happy; 
 On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 
 
 Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe? 
 
 Ros. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the 
 middle of her favors ? 
 
 Guil. 'Faith, her privates we. 
 
 Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, most 
 true; she is a strumpet. What news? 
 
 Ros. None, my lord : but that the world is 
 grown honest. 
 
 Ham. Then is doomsday near: But your news 
 is not true. Let me question more in particular' 
 What have you, my good friends, deserve*: at 
 
 * Understanding. « Be pregnant. • Ready, apt 
 

 . ■ 
 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 nands oi" fortune, that she sends you to prison 
 hither? 
 
 Guil. Prison, my lord! 
 
 Ham. Denmark's a prison. 
 
 Rvs. Then is the world one. 
 
 Ham. A goodly one; in which there are many 
 confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark being 
 one of the worst. 
 
 Ros. We think not so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you ; for there is 
 nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it 
 so: to me it is a prison. 
 
 Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one ; 'tis 
 100 narrow for your mind. 
 
 Ham. God! I could be bounded in a nut- 
 shell, and count myself a king of infinite space; 
 were it not that I have bad dreams. 
 
 Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition ; for 
 the very substance of the ambitious is merely the 
 shadow of a dream. 
 
 Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 
 
 Ros. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and 
 light a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. 
 
 Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies ; and our 
 monarchs, and outstretched heroes, the beggars' 
 shadows: Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I 
 cannot reason. • 
 
 Ros. Guil. We'll wait upon you. 
 
 Ham. No such matter: I will not sort you with 
 the rest of my servants ; for, to speak to you like 
 an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. 
 But, in the beaten way of friendship, what make 
 you at Elsinore? 
 
 Rvs. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 
 
 Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in 
 thanks ; but I thank you : and sure, dear friends, 
 my thanks are too dear, a halfpenny. Were you 
 not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free 
 visitation ? Come, come ; deal justly with me : 
 come, come ; nay speak. 
 
 Guil. What should we say, my lord 1 
 
 Ham. Any thing — but to the purpose. You 
 were sent for, and there is a kind of confession in 
 your looks, which your modesties have not craft 
 enough to color : I know the good king and queen 
 have sent for you. 
 
 Ros. To what end, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. That you must teach me. But let me 
 conjure you by the rights of our fellowship, by the 
 consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our 
 ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better 
 proposer could charge you withal, be even and di- 
 rect with me, whether you were sent for, or no ? 
 
 Ros. What say you? [To Gcildensterx. 
 
 Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you; [Aside."] 
 ■ — if you love me, hold not off. 
 
 Guil My lord, we were sent for. 
 
 Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my anticipa- 
 tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to 
 the king and queen moult no feather. I have of 
 late, (but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my 
 mirth, forgone all custom of exercises : and, indeed, 
 it goes so heavily with my disposition, that this 
 goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile pro- 
 montory : this most excellent canopy, the air, look 
 you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majes- 
 tical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears 
 no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent 
 congregation of vapors. What a piece of work 
 is man ! How noble in rea3on . how infinite in 
 faculties! in form and moving, how express and 
 admirable ! in action, how like an angel ! in ap- 
 „. nreaension, how like a god! the beauty of the 
 
 to me, i 
 eligb* ^ 
 j your (X $ 
 
 world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, 
 what is this quintessence of dust? ma.i delights 
 not me, — nor woman neither; though by your 
 smiling you seem to say so. 
 
 Ros. My lord, there is no such stuff in my 
 thoughts. 
 
 Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I said, 
 Man delights not me? 
 
 Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in 
 man, what lenten 7 entertainment the players shall 
 receive from you: we coted i them on the way: 
 and hither are they coming, to offer you service. 
 
 Ham. He that plays the king, shall be welcome ; 
 his majesty shall have tribute of me; the adven- 
 turous knight shall use his foil and target:- the 
 lover shall not sigh gratis; the humorous man shall 
 end his part in peace : the clown shall make those 
 laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the sere: and the 
 lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse 
 shall halt for't. — What players are they ? 
 
 Ros. Even those you were wont to take such 
 delight in, the tragedians of the city. 
 
 Ham. How chances it they travel? their resi- 
 dence, both in reputation and profit, was better both 
 ways. 
 
 Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the meana 
 of the late innovation. 
 
 Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they 
 did when I was in the city ? Are they so followed ? 
 
 Ros. No, indeed, they are not. 
 
 Ham. How comes it? Do they grow rusty? 
 
 Ros. Nay, their endeavor keeps in the wonted 
 pace: But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little 
 eyases,' that cr_ out on the top of question, 1 
 and are most tyrannically clapp'd for't : these are 
 now the fashion ; and so berattle the common 
 stages, (so they call them,) that many, wearing 
 rapiers, are afraid of goose quills, and dare scarce 
 come thither. 
 
 Ham. What, are they children ? who maintains 
 them ? how are they escoted ? a Will they pursue 
 the quality 3 no longer than they can sin ? will 
 they not say afterwards, if they should grow them- 
 selves to common players, (as it is most like, if 
 their means are no better.) their writers do them 
 wrong, to make them exclaim against their own 
 succession ? 
 
 Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on botn 
 sides; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre 4 them 
 on to controversy : there was, for a while, no money 
 bid for argument, unless the poet, and the player 
 went to cuffs in the question. 
 
 Ham. Is it possible ? 
 
 Guil. O, there has been much throwing about 
 of brains. 
 
 Ham. Do the boys carry it away ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord; Hercules and 
 his load, too. s 
 
 Ham. It is not very strange: for my uncle is 
 king of Denmark, and those, that would make 
 mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty, 
 forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece, for his pic- 
 ture in little. 'Sblood, there is something in this 
 more than natural, if philosophy could find it out. 
 [Flourish of Trumpets within. 
 
 Guil. There are the players. 
 
 Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. 
 Your hands. Come then : the appurtenance of 
 welcome is fashion and ceremony : let me comply • 
 
 'Sparc. 'Overtook. 9 Young nestlings. 
 
 1 Dialogue. 'Paid 3 Profession. 'Provoke. 
 
 s i. e. The globe, the sifin of Shakspeare's theatre. 
 •Compliment. 
 
 3 H 
 
874 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act 11 
 
 with you in this garb ; lest my extent to the players, 
 which, I tell you, must show fairly outward, should 
 more appear like entertainment than yours. You 
 are welcome; but my uncle-father, and aunt- 
 mother, are deceived. 
 
 Guil. In what, my dear lord 1 
 
 Ham. I am but mad north-north-west : when 
 the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand- 
 saw. 
 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern ; — and y i too : 
 —at each ear a hearer: that great baby, y u see 
 there, is not yet out of his swaddling-clouts. 
 
 Ros. Happily, he's the second time come to them ; 
 for they say an old man is twice a child. 
 
 Ham. I will prophesy, he comes to tell me of 
 the players ; mark it. — You say right, sir : o' Mon- 
 day morning ; 'twas then, indeed. 
 
 Pol. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
 
 Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you : When 
 Roscius was an actor in Rome, 
 
 Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Buz, buz ! 
 
 Pol. Upon my honor, 
 
 Ham. Then came each actor on his ass, 
 
 Pol. The best actors in the world, either for 
 tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comi- 
 cal, historical-pastoral, [tragical-historical, tragical- 
 comical-historical-pastoral,] scene individable, or 
 poem unlimited : Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor 
 Plautus too light. For the law of writ ''and the 
 liberty, these are the only men. 
 
 Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, — what a 
 treasure hadst thou ! 
 
 Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Why — One fair daughter, and. no more, 
 The which he loved passing loell. 
 
 Pol. Still on my daughter. [Aside. 
 
 Ham. Am I not in the right, old Jephthah ? 
 
 Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have 
 a daughter, that I love passing well. 
 
 Ham. Nay, that follows not. 
 
 Pol. What follows then, my lord 1 
 
 Ham. Why, As by lot, God wot, and then you 
 know, It came to pass, As most like it was, — The 
 first row of the pious chanson 8 will show you 
 more : for look, my abridgment comes. 
 
 Enter four or five Players. 
 You arc welcome, masters : welcome all ; — I am 
 glad to see thee well: — welcome, good friends : — 
 0, old friend ! Why, thy face is valaneed" since I 
 saw thee last ; Com'st thou to beard me in Den- 
 mark? — What! my young lady and mistress! 
 By'r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than 
 when I saw you last by the altitude of a chopine. 1 
 Pray God, your voice, like a piece of uncurrent 
 gold, be not cracked within the ring. — Masters, you 
 are all welcome. We'll e'en to't like French fal- 
 coners, lly at any thing we see: We'll have a 
 speech straight : Come, give us a taste of your 
 quality ; come, a passionate speech. 
 
 1 Play. What speech, my lord? 
 
 Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, — 
 but it was never acted ; — or, if it was, not above 
 once : for the play, I remember, pleased not the 
 million; 'twas caviare* to the general: 3 but it 
 was (as I received it and others, whose judgments, 
 in such matters, cried in the top* of mine) an ex- 
 
 " Writing. • Christmas carols. 'Fringed. 
 
 1 Clog. • An Ital ian dish made of the roes of fishes. 
 
 » Multituo« 4 Above. 
 
 cellent play; well digested m the scenes, set down 
 with as much modesty as cunning. I remember, 
 one said, there were no salads in the lines, to make 
 the matter savory ; nor no matter in the phrase- 
 that might indite s the author of affection : 6 but 
 called it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, 
 and by very much more handsome than fine. One 
 speech in it I chiefly loved: 'twas JEneas' tale to 
 Dido; and thereabout of it especially, where he 
 speaks of Priam's slaughter: If it live in your me- 
 mory, begin at this line: let me see, let me see; — 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast, — 
 'tis not so; it begins with Pyrrhus. 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, — he, whose sable arms, 
 Black as his purpose, did the night resemble 
 When he lay couched in the ominous horse, 
 Hath now this dread and blackcomplezionsmear'd 
 With heraldry more dismal; head to fad 
 Now is he total gules,-'' horridly trick'd s 
 With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons; 
 Baked and impasted with the parching streets. 
 That lend a tyrannous and a damned light 
 To their lord's murder: Roasted in wrath, and fire, 
 And thus o'er-sized ivith coagulate gore, 
 With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
 Old grandsire Priam seeks,- — So proceed you. 
 
 Pol. 'Fore God my lord, well spoken ; with good 
 accent, and good discretion. 
 
 1 Play. Anon he finds him, 
 
 Striking too short at Greeks,- his antique sword, 
 Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, 
 Repugnant to command: Unequal matched, 
 Pyrrhus at Priam drives,- in rage, strikes wide; 
 But with the tohiff and wind of his fell sword 
 The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, 
 Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top 
 Sloops to his base,- and with a hideous crash 
 Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear,- for, lo! his sword 
 Which was declining on the milky head 
 Of reverend Priam, seem'd i' the air to slick: 
 So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood; 
 And, like a neutral to his ivill and matter, 
 Did nothing. 
 
 But, as we often see, against some storm, 
 A silence in the heavens, the rack* standstill, 
 The bold winds speechless, and the orb below 
 As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder 
 Doth rend the region.- so, after Pyrrhus' pause 
 A roused vengeance sets him new a-work; 
 And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
 On Mars's armor, forged for proof eterne, 1 
 With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sw.ird 
 Now falls on Priam. — 
 
 Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune.' All you gods. 
 In general synod, take away her power,- 
 Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, 
 Avd bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, 
 As tow as to the fiends/ 
 
 Pol. This is too long. 
 
 Ham. It shall to the barber's with your beard.- 
 Pr'ythee, say on : — He's for a jig, or a tale of baw- 
 dry, or he sleeps : — say on : come to Hecuba. 
 
 1 Play. But who, ah woe/ had see?i the mobltd* 
 queen 
 
 Ham. The mobled queen ? 
 
 Pol. That's good ; mobled queen is good. 
 
 I Play. Run barefoot up and down, tfireat'fimg 
 the flames 
 With bisson 3 rheum,- a clout upon that head, 
 Where late the d'adem stood,- and, for a robe, 
 
 » Convict. 6 All ;etation. ' Red, a terra in heraldry 
 s Blazoned. 'Light clouds. 'Eternal. 
 aMuffl-jd. 'Blind. 
 
A.ct III. Scene I. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 87& 
 
 About her lank and ail o 'erteemed loins, 
 A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up,- 
 Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep 'd, 
 'Gainst fortune's state would treason have pro- 
 nounced : 
 But if the gods themselves did see her then, 
 When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport 
 In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs,- 
 The instant, burst of c amor that she made, 
 {Unless things /aortal move them not at all,) 
 Would have made milch * the burning eye of heaven, 
 And passion in the gods. 
 
 Pol. Look, whether he has not turn'd his color, 
 anj has tears in 's eyes. — Pr'ythee, no more. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis well: I'll have thee speak out the 
 rest of this soon. Good my lord, will you see the 
 players well bestowed'? Do you hear, let them be 
 well used ; for they are the abstract, and brief 
 chronicles, of the time: After your death you were 
 better have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while 
 you live. 
 
 Pol. My lord, I will use them according to their 
 desert. 
 
 Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better: Use 
 every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape 
 whipping ? Use them after your own honor and 
 dignity: The less they deserve, the more merit is 
 in your bounty. Take them in. 
 Pol. Come, sirs. 
 
 [Exit Polonius, with some oj the Players. 
 Ham. Follow him, friends: we'll hear a play to- 
 morrow. — Dost thou hear me, old friend ; can you 
 play the murder of Gonzago? 
 1 Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, 
 for a need, study a speech of some dozen or six- 
 teen lines, which I would set down, and insert in't: 
 could you not 1 
 
 1 Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Very well. — Follow that lord ; and look 
 you mock him not. [Exit Player.] My good friends, 
 [To Ros. and Guil.] I'll leave you till night: you 
 are welcome to Elsinore. 
 Ros. Good my lord ! 
 
 [Exeunt Rosexcrantz and Guildenstern. 
 Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you: — Now I am 
 alone. 
 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
 Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit, 
 That from her working all his visage wann'd; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
 (\. broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 
 With forms to his conceit' And all f >r nothing : 
 
 For Hecuba! 
 
 What's Hecuba to him, O' he to Hecuba, 
 
 That he should weep for her? What would he d«, 
 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passion, 
 
 That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears, 
 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; 
 
 Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, 
 
 Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed, 
 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
 
 Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
 
 And can say nothing; no, not for a king, 
 
 Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
 
 A damn'd defeat 6 was made. Am I a coward? 
 
 Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? 
 
 Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
 
 Tweaks me by the nose? gives me the lie i' the 
 
 throat, 
 As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? 
 Ha! 
 
 Why, I should take it : for it cannot be, • 
 
 But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall 
 To make oppression bitter ; or, ere this, 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 With this slave's offal : Bloody, bawdy villain ! 
 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless, 6 vil- 
 lain ! 
 Why, what an ass am I ? This is most brave ; 
 That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, 
 Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 
 Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, 
 Arid fall a cursing, like a very drab, 
 A scullion! 
 Fye upon't ! foh ! About my brains ! Humph ! I 
 
 have heard, 
 That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, 
 Have by the very cunning of the scene 
 Been struck so to the soul, that presently 
 They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 
 For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
 With most miraculous organ. I'll have these players 
 Play something like the murder of my father, 
 Before mine uncle : I'll observe his looks ; 
 I'll tent him 1 to the quick; if he do blench,* 
 I know my course. The spirit, that I have seen. 
 May be a devil : and the devil hath power 
 To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and, perhaps, 
 Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 
 (As he is very potent with such spirits,) 
 Abuses me to damn me,: I'll have grounds 
 More relative than this : The play's the thing, 
 Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— .A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Poloxics, Ophelia, Rosen- 
 crantz, and Guildenstern. 
 
 King. And can you, by no drift of conference, 
 Get from him, why he puts on this confusion ; 
 Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
 With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ? 
 
 Ros. He does confess, he feels himself distracted ; 
 But from what cause he will by no means speak. 
 
 Guil. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded : 
 But with a crafty madness, keeps aloof. 
 
 « Milky. 
 
 When we would bring him on to some confession 
 Of his true state. 
 
 Queen. Did he receive you well ? 
 
 Ros. Most like a gentleman. 
 
 Guil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 
 
 Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands, 
 Most free in his reply. 
 
 Queen. Did you assay him 
 
 To any pastime ? 
 
 Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
 We o'er-raught 9 on the way : of these we told him 
 And there Hl. geem in him a kind of joy 
 
 i Be.«truct:en. 
 » Shrink or eUrt. 
 
 Search his wiunrti 
 * Overtook 
 
S76 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Aci .il 
 
 To hear of it : They are about the court ; 
 And, as I think, they have already order 
 This night to play before him. 
 
 Pol. 'Tis most true : 
 
 And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties, 
 To hear and see the matter. 
 
 King. With all my heart; and it doth much 
 content me 
 To hear him so inclin'd. 
 Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, 
 And drive his purpose on to these delights. 
 
 Ros. We shall, my lord. 
 [Exewit Rosencrantz and Gcildenstern. 
 
 King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too : 
 
 For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ; 
 That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 
 Affront ' Ophelia: 
 
 Her father, and myself, (lawful espials,') 
 Will so bestow ourselves, that seeing, unseen, 
 We may of their encounter frankly judge ; 
 And gather by him, as he is behaved, 
 If 't be the affliction of his love or no, 
 That thus he suffers for. 
 
 Queen. I shall obey you : 
 
 And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish, 
 That your good beauties be the happy cause 
 Of Hamlet's wildness : so shall I hope, your virtues 
 Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
 To both your honors. 
 
 Oph. Madam, I wish it may. 
 
 [Exit Queen. 
 
 Pol. Ophelia, walk you here : — Gracious, so 
 please you, 
 We will bestow ourselves : — Read on this book ; 
 
 [To Ophelia. 
 That show of such an exercise may color 
 Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this, — 
 Tis too much prov'd," — that, with devotion's visage, 
 And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
 The devil himself. 
 
 King. O, 'tis too true ! how smart 
 
 A lash that speech doth give my conscience ! 
 The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering art, 
 Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it. 
 Than is my deed to my most painted word : 
 O heavy burden ! [Aside. 
 
 Pol. I hear him coming ; let's withdraw, my lord. 
 [Exeunt King and Polonius. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question : — 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 And, by opposing, end them ? — To die, — to 
 
 sleep, — 
 No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir* to, — 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ; — to slef:p : — 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the 
 
 rub; 
 For in that sleep of death what dteams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 4 
 Must give us pause : There's the respect/ 
 That makes calamity of so long life : 
 For who would bear t'ae whips and scorns of time, 
 The oppressor's ■wrong, the proud man's con- 
 tumely, 6 
 The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 
 3 Too frequent. 
 • Rudeness 
 
 » Meet. 
 
 « Stir, bustle. 
 
 > Spies. 
 
 • Consideration. 
 
 That patient merit of the unworthy take* 
 When he himself might his quietus* make 
 With a bare bodkin ? 8 Who would fardels' be*' 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 
 But that the dread of something after death, — 
 The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn* 
 No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 And enterprizes of great pith and moment, 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 And lose the name of action. — Soft you, now ! 
 The fair Ophelia: — Nymph, in thy orisons' 
 Be all my sins remember'd. 
 
 Oph. Good my loid, 
 
 How does your honor for this many a day .' 
 
 Ham. I humbly thank you ; well. 
 
 Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours. 
 That I have longed long to re-deliver ; 
 I pray you, now receive them. 
 
 Ham. No, not I: 
 
 I never gave you aught. 
 
 Oph. My honor'd lord, you know right well, 
 you did ; 
 And, with them, words of so sweet breath compos'd 
 As made the things more rich : their perfume lost. 
 Take these again ; for to the noble mind, 
 Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. 
 There, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honest ? 
 
 Oph. My lord ? 
 
 Ham. Are you fair ? 
 
 Oph. What means your lordship ? 
 
 Ham. That if you be honest and fair, you. should 
 admit no discourse to your beauty. 
 
 Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better com 
 rnerce than with honesty? 
 
 Ham. Ay, truly ; for the power of beauty will 
 sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, 
 than the force of honesty can translate beauty into 
 his likeness ; this was some time a paradox, but 
 now the time gives it proof. I did love you once. 
 
 Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. 
 
 Ham. You should not have believed me : for 
 virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we 
 shall relish of it : I lov'd you not. 
 
 Oph. I was the more deceived. 
 
 Ham. Get thee to a nunnery ; Why wouldst thou 
 be a breeder of sinners ? I am myself indifferent 
 honest ; but yet I could accuse me of such things, 
 that it were better my mother had not borne me: I 
 arn very proud, revengeful, ambitious ; with more 
 offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put 
 them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to 
 act them in: What should such fellows as I do 
 crawling between earth and heaven ! We are arrant 
 knaves, all; believe none of us: Go thy ways to & 
 nunnery. Where's your father ? 
 
 Oph. At home, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let the doors be shut upon him ; that h< 
 may play the fool no where but in 's own house. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Oph. 0, help him, you sweet heavens ! 
 
 Ham. If-thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague 
 for thy dowry ; Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure aa 
 snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thoe tc 
 a nunnery ; farewell : Or, if thou wilt needs marry, 
 marry a fool; for wise men know well enough 
 
 1 Quiet. • The ancient term for a wnall dagger. 
 
 9 Pack, burden. ' Boundary, limit? » Prayera 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 877 
 
 what monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, 
 go ; and quickly too. Farewell. 
 
 Oph. Heavenly powers, restore him ! 
 
 Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well 
 enough ; God hath given you or.e face, and you 
 make yourselves another : you jig, you amble, and 
 you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make 
 your wantonness your ignorance Go to ; I'll no 
 more oft; it hath made me mad. I say, we will 
 have no more marriages ; those that are married 
 already, all but one, shall live; the rest shall keep 
 as they are. To a nunnery, go. [Exit Hamlet. 
 
 Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
 The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, 
 
 sword : 
 The expectancy and fflse of the fair state, 
 The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
 The observed of all observers! quite, quite down! 
 And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
 That suck'd the honey of his music vows, 
 Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
 That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth, 
 Blasted with ecstasy ; 3 O, woe is me ! 
 To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 
 
 Re-enter King and Polonius. 
 
 King. Love ! his affections do not that way tend ; 
 Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, 
 Was not like madness. There's something in his 
 
 soul, 
 O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
 And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose, 
 Will be some danger: Which for to prevent, 
 I have, in quick determination, 
 Thus set it down ; He shall with speed to England, 
 For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
 Haply, the seas, and countries different, 
 With variable objects, shall expel 
 This something-settled matter in his heart ; 
 Whereon his brains, still beating, puts him thus 
 From fashion of himself. What think you on't ? 
 
 Pol. It shall do well : but yet I do believe, 
 The origin and commencement of his grief 
 Sprung from neglected love. — How now Ophelia'? 
 You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said ; 
 We heard it all. — My lord, do as you please ; 
 But, if you hold it fit, after the play, 
 Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
 To show his grief; let her be round* with him ; 
 And I'll be placed, so please you, in the ear 
 Of all their conference : If she find him not, 
 To England send him : or confine him, where 
 Your wisdom best shall think. 
 
 King. It shall be so : 
 
 Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Hall in the same. 
 Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 
 Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pro- 
 nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but 
 if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had 
 as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not 
 6aw tho air too much with your hand, thus ; but 
 •ise all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, 
 «nd (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you 
 must acquire and beget a temperance, that may 
 give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to 
 bear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion 
 to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the 
 
 3 Alienation of mind. 
 
 * Reprimand him with freedom. 
 
 groundlings ; 6 who, for the most part, are capabla 
 of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noicr : 
 I would have such a fellow whipt for o'er-doing 
 Termagant; it out-herods Herod: 6 Pray you. 
 avoid it. 
 
 1 Play. I warrant your honor. 
 
 Hani. Be not too tame neither, but let your own 
 discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the 
 word, the word to the action ; with this special 
 observance, that you o'er-step not the modesty o 
 nature : for any thing so overdone is from the pur- 
 pose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and 
 now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up 
 to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn 
 her own image, and the very age and body of the 
 time, his form and pressure.' Now this, overdone, 
 or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful 
 laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the 
 censure of which one, must, in your allowance, 8 
 o'er-weigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be 
 players, that I have seen play, — and heard others 
 praise, and that highly, — not to speak it profanely, 
 that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor 
 the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so 
 strutted, and bellowed, that I have thought some 
 of nature's journeymen had made men, and not 
 made them well, they imitated humanity so abomi- 
 nably. 
 
 1 Play. I hope, we have reformed that indif- 
 ferently with us. 
 
 Ham. 0, reform it altogether. And let those, 
 that play your clowns, speak no more than is set 
 down for them: for there be of them, that will 
 themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren 
 spectators to laugh too ; though, in the mean time, 
 some necessary question of the play be then to be 
 considered : that's villanous ; and shows a most 
 pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make 
 you ready. [Exeunt Players. 
 
 Enter Polonius, Rosencbantz, and Guil- 
 
 PENSTEK3T. 
 
 How now, my lord 1 will the king hear this piece 
 of work 1 
 Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. 
 Ham. Bid the players make haste. — 
 
 [Exit Polonius 
 Will you two help to hasten them 1 
 Both. Ay, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencbantz and Guildenstebn. 
 Ham. What, ho; Horatio ! 
 
 Enter Hobatio. 
 
 Hot. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 
 
 Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation cop'd withal. 
 
 Hot. O, my dear lord, 
 
 Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter . 
 
 For what advancement may I hope from thee, 
 That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, 
 To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the pooi 
 
 be flatter'd ? 
 No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp; 
 And crook the pregnant 3 hinges of the knee, 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear ' 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, 
 And could of men distinguish her election. 
 She hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers noming; 
 A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards 
 
 s The meaner people then seem to have sat in the pit 
 
 Herod's character was always violent. 
 
 1 Impression, reseiahiance. * » Approbation. 
 * Quick, ready. 
 
878 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act HI 
 
 Hast ta'en with eauai tnanks: and bless'd are those 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
 Tha they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 To sound what stop she please: Give me that man 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, 
 As I do thee. — Something too much of this. — 
 There is a play to-night before the king; 
 One scene of it comes near the circumstance, 
 Which I have told thee of my father's death. 
 I pr'ythee, when thou see'st that act afoot, 
 Even with the very comment of thy soul 
 Observe my uncle: if his occulted' guilt 
 Doth not itself unkennel in one speech, 
 It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 
 And my imaginations are as foul 
 As Vulcan's stithy. 3 Give him heedful note: 
 For I mine eyes will rivet to his face: 
 And, after, we will both our judgments join 
 In censure 3 of his seeming. 
 
 Hor. Well, my lord : 
 
 If he steal aught, the whilst this play is playing, 
 And 'scape detecting, I will pay the theft. 
 
 Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must be 
 idle: 
 Get you a place. 
 
 Danish March. A Flourish. Enter Kino, 
 Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, 
 Guildenstern, and others. 
 
 King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ] 
 Ham. Excellent, i'faith ; of the camelicn's dish : 
 I eat the air, promise-crammed : You cannot feed 
 capons so. 
 
 King. I have nothing with this answer, Ham- 
 let; these words are not mine. 
 
 Ham. No, nor mine now. My lord, — you played 
 once in the university, you say 1 [To Polonius. 
 Pol. That did I, my lord : and was accounted a 
 good actor. 
 
 Ham. And what did you ensct ] 
 Pol. I did enact Julius Cffisar ; I was killed i'the 
 Capitol; Brutus killed me. 
 
 Ham. It was a brute part of him to kill so capi- 
 tal a calf there. — Be the players ready ] 
 
 Kos. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your patience. 
 Queen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. 
 Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more 
 attractive. 
 
 Pol. ho ! do you mark that ] [To the King. 
 Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap] 
 
 [Lying down at Ophelia's Feet. 
 Uph. No, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap] 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Do you think, I meant country matters] 
 Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 
 Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between maids' 
 legs. 
 
 Oph. What is, my lord] 
 Ham. Nothing. 
 Oph. Ycu are merry, my lord. 
 Ham. Who, I ] 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. O ! your only jig-maker. What should a 
 man do, but be merry ] for look you, how cheer- 
 fully my mother looks, and my father died within 
 ♦hese two hours. 
 
 Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 
 Ham. So long ] Nay, then let the devil wear 
 olack, for I'll have a suit of sables.' heavens ! 
 
 i Secret. 
 * Opinion 
 
 a A stithy is a smith's shop. 
 ♦'The richest dress. 
 
 die two months ago, and not forgotten yet ] Then 
 there's hope, a great man's memory may outliv* 
 his life half a year: But, by'r-lady, he must build 
 churches then : or else shall he sutler not thinking 
 on, with the hobby-horse ; whose epitaph is, For 
 0,for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot. 
 
 Trumpets sound. The dumb Show follows. 
 Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly ,■ thi 
 Queen embracing him, and he her. She kneek 
 and makes show of protestation unto him. Ht 
 takes her up, and declines his head upon her 
 neck ; lays him down upon a bank of flowers ; 
 she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon come* 
 in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, and 
 pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The 
 Queen returns j finds i lie King dead, and makes 
 passionate action. The Poisoner, with some 
 two or three Mutes, comes in again, seeming to 
 lament wi/h her. The dead body is carried 
 away. The Poisoner woos the Queen with 
 gifts ,■ she seems loath and unwilling awhile, 
 but, in the end, accepts his love. [Exeunt 
 
 Oph. What means this, my lord ] 
 Ham. Marry, this is miching m.allecho ; * it 
 means mischief. 
 
 Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument ol 
 the play. 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 Ham. We shall know by this fellow : the players 
 cannot keep counsel; they'll tell all. 
 
 Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant ] 
 Hum. Ay, or any show that you'll show him . 
 Be not you ashamed to show, he'll not shame to 
 tell you what it means. 
 
 Oph. You are naught, you are naught ; I'll mark 
 the play. 
 
 Pre. For us, and for our tragedy. 
 Here stooping to your clemency, 
 We beg your hearing patiently. 
 Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring ! 
 Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 
 Ham. As woman's love. 
 
 Enter a King and a Queen. 
 P. King. Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart 
 gone round 
 Neptune's salt wash, andTellus' s orbed ground; 
 And thirty dozen moons, with borrowed sheen, 1 
 About the world have times twelve thirties been ; 
 Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands 
 Unite commutual in most sacred bands. 
 
 P. Queen. So many journeys may the sun and 
 moon 
 Make us again count o'er, ere love be done ! 
 But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, 
 So far from cheer, and from your former state, 
 That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, 
 Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must: 
 For women fear too much, even as they love ; 
 And women's fear and love ho-ld quantity ; 
 In neither aught, or in extremity. 
 Now, what my love is, proof hath made you know . 
 And as my love is siz'd, 8 my fear is so. 
 Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; 
 Where little fears grow great, great love grows 
 there. 
 P. King. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, am 
 shortly too; 
 My operant 9 powers their functions leave to do- 
 And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, 
 
 » Secret wickedness. « The earth. n Shining, lustie. 
 » In proportion to the extent of my love. > Active 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK 
 
 879 
 
 Honor d, belov'd ; and, haply, one as kind 
 For husband shalt thou 
 
 P. Queen. 0, confound the rest ! 
 
 Such love must needs be treason in my breast : 
 In second husband let me be accurst ! 
 None wed the second, but who kill'd the first. 
 
 Ham. That's wormwood. 
 
 P. Queen. The instances, 1 that second marriage 
 move, 
 Are base respects of thrift, but none of love ; 
 A second time I kill my husband dead, 
 When second husband kisses me in bed. 
 
 P. King. I do believe, you think what now you 
 speak ; 
 But, what we do determine, oft we break. 
 Purpose is but the slave to memory : 
 Of violent birth, but poor validity : 
 Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree : 
 But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
 Most necessary 'tis, that we forget 
 To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt : 
 What to ourselves in passion we propose, 
 The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
 The violence of either grief or joy 
 Their own enactures 5 with themselves destroy: 
 Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament ; 
 Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
 This world is not for aye ; nor 'tis not strange, 
 That even our loves should with our fortunes change; 
 For 'tis a question left us yet to prove. 
 Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. 
 The great man down, you mark, his favorite flies; 
 The poor advanced makes friends of enemies. 
 And hitherto doth love on fortune tend : 
 For who not needs, shall never lack a friend ; 
 And who in want a hollow friend doth try, 
 Directly seasons him his enemy. 
 But, orderly to end where I begun, — 
 Our wills, and fates, do so contrary run, 
 That our devices still are overthrown; 
 Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own : 
 So think thou wilt no second husband wed; 
 But die thy thoughts, when thy first lord is dead. 
 
 P. Queen. Nor earth to give me food, nor 
 heaven light ! 
 Sport and repose lock from me, day and night ! 
 To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
 An anchor's 3 cheer in prison be my scope ! 
 Each opposite, that blanks the face of Joy, 
 Meet what I would, have well, and it destroy ! 
 Both here, and hence, pursue me, lasting strife, 
 If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
 
 Hum. If she should break it now, 
 
 [To Ophelia. 
 
 P. King. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me 
 here awhile ; 
 My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
 The tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 
 
 P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain ; 
 
 And never come mischance between us twain ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ham. Madam, how like you this play ? 
 
 Queen. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 
 
 Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 
 
 King. Have you heard the argument ? Is there 
 ao offence in't? 
 
 Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; 
 uo offence i'the world. 
 
 King. What do you call the play ? 
 
 Ham. The Mouse-trap. 4 Marry, how? Tropi- 
 
 ' Motives. 
 
 i Determinations. 
 
 * Anchoret 
 the thine 
 
 'a which he'll catch the conscience of the king 
 
 cally. This play is the image of a murder done 
 in Vienna Gonzago is the duke's name; his wife, 
 Baptista : you shall see anon ; 'tis a knavish piece 
 of work: But what of that? your majesty, and w* 
 that have free souls, it touches us not: Let the 
 galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung.— 
 
 Enter Lucianus. 
 This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
 Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord 
 Ham. I could interpret between you and your 
 love, if I could see the puppets dallying. 
 Oph- You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 
 Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take ofl 
 my edge. 
 
 Oph. Still better, and worse. 
 Ham. So you mistake your husbands. — Begin, 
 murderer; — leave thy damnable faces, and begin. 
 
 Come ; 
 
 The croaking raven 
 
 Doth bellow for revenge. 
 
 Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and 
 time agreeing ; 
 Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
 Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, 
 With Hecate's ban ' thrice blasted, thrice infected, 
 Thy natural magic and dire property, 
 On wholesome life usurp immediately. 
 
 [Pours the Poison into the Sleeper's Ears 
 Ham. He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. 
 His name's Gonzago : the story is extant, and writ- 
 ten in very choice Italian : You shall see anon, how 
 the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
 Oph. The king rises. 
 Ham. What! frighted with false fire? 
 Queen. How fares my lord ? 
 Pol. Give o'er the play. 
 King. Give me some light : — away ! 
 Pol. Lights, lights, lights! 
 
 [Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio 
 Ham. Why, let the strucken deer go weep, 
 The hart ungalled play : 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep 
 Thus runs the world away. — 
 Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if th< 
 rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with tw< 
 Provencial roses on my razed 6 shoes, get me a fcl 
 lowship in a cry 1 of players, sir? 
 Hor. Half a share. 
 Ham. A whole one, I. 
 
 For thou dost know, Damon dear, 
 
 This realm dismantled was 
 Of Jove himself; and now reigns here 
 A very, very — peacock. 
 Hor. You might have rhymed. 
 Ham. good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word 
 for a thousand pound. Didst perceive? 
 Hor. Very well, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Upon the talk of the poisoning, 
 
 Hor. I did very well note him. 
 Ham. Ah, ah ! — Come, some music; come, tne 
 recorders. 9 — 
 
 For if the king like not the comedy, 
 Why then, belike, — he likes it not, perdy. — 
 Enter Rosencrantz and Guildensterit. 
 Come, some music. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word wttl 
 you. 
 
 Ham. Sir, a whole history. 
 
 Guil. The king, sir, 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, what of hint ': 
 
 > Curse. « Slashed. 
 
 • A kind of flute 
 
 Pack, eompanj 
 Par ISf.H. 
 
88C 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act III 
 
 Guil. Is, in ms retirement, marvellous distem- 
 pered. 
 
 Ham. With drink, sir* 
 
 Guil. No, my lord, with choler. 
 
 Ham. Your wisdom should show itself more 
 richer, to signify this to the doctor; for, for me to 
 put him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge 
 mm into more choler. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some 
 frame, and start not so wildly from my affair. 
 
 Ham. I am tame, sir : — pronounce. 
 
 Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great 
 affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 
 
 Ham. You are welcome. 
 
 Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of 
 the right breed. If it shall please you to make me 
 a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's com- 
 mandment: if not, your pardon, and my return, 
 t-hall be the end of my business. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I cannot. 
 
 Guil. What, my lord] 
 
 Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my wit's 
 diseased: But, sir, such answer as I can make, you 
 6hall command: or, rather, as you say, my mother: 
 therefore no more, but to the matter: My mother, 
 you say, 
 
 Ros. Then thus she says ; Your behavior hath 
 «truck her into amazement and admiration. 
 
 Ham. O wonderful son, that can so astonish a 
 mother! — But is there no sequel at the heels of 
 this mother's admiration? impart. 
 
 Ros. She desires to speak with you in her closet, 
 ere you go to bed. 
 
 Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our 
 mother. Have you any further trade with us? 
 
 Ros. My lord, you once did love me. 
 
 Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of dis- 
 temper? you do, surely, but bar the door upon 
 your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to your 
 friend. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 
 
 Ros. How can that be, when you have the voice 
 of tne king himself for your succession in Denmark? 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, but, While the grass grouts, — the 
 proverb is something musty. 
 
 Enter the Players, with Recorders. 
 
 O, the recorders : — let me see one. — To withdraw 
 with you : — Why do you go about to recover the 
 wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil ? 
 
 Guil. 0, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my 
 love is too unmannerly. 
 
 Ham. I do not well understand that. Will you 
 play upon this pipe? 
 
 Guil. My lord, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I pray you. 
 
 Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I do beseech you. 
 
 Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying : govern these ven- 
 tages ' with your fingers and thumb, give it breath 
 with your mouth, and it will discourse, most eloquent 
 music Look you, these are the stops. 
 
 Guil. But these cannot I command to any utter- 
 tnce of harmony; I have not the skill. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing 
 yv,-j make of me ! You would play upon me ; you 
 would seem to know my stops; you would pluck 
 out the heart of my mystery ; you would sound me 
 from my lowest note to the top of my compass : and 
 »fc«re is much music, excellent voice, in this little 
 « Holes. 
 
 organ ; yet cannot you make it speak. 'Sblood, do 
 you think, I am easier to be played on than a pipe? 
 Call me what instrument you will, though you can 
 fret me, you cannot play upon me. 
 Enter Polonius. 
 God bless you, sir ! 
 
 Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, 
 and presently. 
 
 Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in 
 shape of a camel? 
 
 Pol. By the mass, and 'tia like a camel, indeed. 
 
 Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 
 
 Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Ham. Or, like a whale ? 
 
 Pol. Very like a whale. 
 
 Ham. Then will I come to my mother by ana 
 by. — They fool me to the top of my bent. 3 — I will 
 come by and by. 
 
 Pol. I will say so. [Exit Polosius 
 
 Ham. By and by is easily said. — Leave me, 
 
 friends. [Exeunt Ros., Guil., Hon., JS(C. 
 
 'Tis now the very witching time of night; 
 
 When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
 
 Contagion to this world : Now could I drink hot 
 
 blood, 
 And do such business as the bitter day 
 Would quake to look on. Soft: now to my 
 
 mother. — 
 O, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
 The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
 Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 
 I will speak daggers to her, but use none; 
 My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites: 
 How in my words soever she be shent. 3 
 To give them seals ' never, my soul, consent ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Room in the same. 
 Enter King, Rosencrantz, and Guiliiensteric. 
 
 King. I like him not; nor stands it safe with u» 
 To let his madness range. Therefore, prepare you; 
 I your commission will forthwith despatch, 
 And he to England shall along with you: 
 The terms of our estate may not endure 
 Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow 
 Out of his lunes. 5 
 
 Guil. We will ourselves provide : 
 
 Most holy and religious fear it is, 
 To keep those many many bodies safe, 
 That live, and feed, upon your majesty. 
 
 Ros. The single and peculiar life is bound, 
 With all the strength and armor of the mind, 
 To keep itself from 'noyance ; but much more 
 That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest 
 The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
 Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
 What's near it, with it: it is a massy wheel, 
 Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, 
 To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
 Are mortis'd and adjoin'd; which, when it falls, 
 Each small annexment, petty consequence, 
 Attends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone 
 Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 
 
 King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; 
 For we will fetters put upon this fear, 
 Which now goes too free-footed. 
 
 Ros. Guil. We will haste us 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildensterj*. 
 Enter Polonius. 
 
 Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother's clcset 
 Behind the arras I'll convey myself, 
 
 » Utmost stretch. 
 
 ♦Authority to Dut them in execution 
 
 "Repiored 
 « f.nnncies 
 
ScENK I. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 88 i 
 
 To hear the process ; I'll warrant, she'll tax him 
 
 home: 
 And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 
 'Tia meet that some more audience, than a mother, 
 Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
 The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my liege ; 
 I'll call upon you ere you go to bed, 
 And tell you what I know. 
 
 King. Thanks, dear my lord. 
 
 [Exit Polonius. 
 
 0, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
 It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, 
 
 A brother's murder ! — Pray can I not, 
 Though inclination be as sharp as will; 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; 
 And, like a man to double business bound, 
 I stand in paust where I shall first begin, 
 And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
 Were thicker than itself with brother's blood 7 
 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, 
 To wash it white as snow] Whereto serves mercy, 
 But to confront the visage of offence? 
 And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, — 
 To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 
 Or pardon'd, being down] Then I'll look up; 
 My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer 
 Can serve my turn ] Forgive me my foul murder ! — 
 That cannot be; since I am still possess'd 
 Of those effects for which I did the murder, 
 My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
 May one be pardon'd, and retain the offence? 
 In the corrupted currents of this world, 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; 
 And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
 Buys out the law : But 'tis not so above : 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd, 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 To give in evidence. What then] what rests] 
 Try what repentance can: What can it not] 
 Yet what can it, when one cannot repent] 
 wretched state ! O bosom, black as death ! 
 O limed" soul; that struggling to be free, 
 Art more engaged ! Help, angels, make assay ! 
 Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart, with strings of 
 
 steel, 
 i.e soft as sinews of the new-born babe ; 
 All may be well ! [Retires and kneels. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying ; 
 And now I'll do't; — and so he goes to heaven: 
 And so am I revenged ] That would be scann'd: 1 
 A villain kills my father; and. for that, 
 
 1, his sole son, do this same villain send 
 To heaven. 
 
 Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
 He took my father grossly, full of bread; 
 With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; 
 And, how his audit stands, who knows, save Hea- 
 ven ] 
 But in our circumstance and course of thought, 
 'Tis heavy with him: And am I then revenged, 
 To take him in the purging of his soul, 
 When he is fit and season'd for his passage] 
 No. 
 
 Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent:* 
 When he is drunk, asleep; or in his rage; 
 Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed ; 
 At gaming, swearing ; — or about some act 
 That has no relish of salvation in't. — 
 
 • Caught as with bird-lime. 
 •Bald, t. c. purpose 
 
 ' Should be cousidered. 
 
 Then tup him, that his heels nay kick at heaven, 
 And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black, 
 As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays: 
 This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [Exit. 
 The King rises and advances. 
 King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain 
 below : 
 Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Queen and Polonius. 
 
 Pol. He will come straight. Look, you lay home 
 to him : 
 Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear 
 
 with ; 
 And that your grace hath screen'd and stood between 
 Much heat and him. I'll silence me e'en here. 
 Pray you, be round with him. 
 
 Queen. I'll warrant you, 
 
 Fear me not: — withdraw, I hear him coming. 
 
 [Polonius hides himself. 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 Ham. Now mother; what's the matter] 
 Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much of 
 
 fended. 
 Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 
 Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle 
 
 tongue. 
 Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 
 Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet] 
 Ham. What's the matter now] 
 
 Queen. Have you forgot me] 
 Ham. No, by the rood,' not so: 
 
 You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife; 
 And, — would it were not so ! — you are. my mother. 
 Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can 
 
 speak. 
 Ham. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall 
 not bttSge ; 
 You go not, till I set you up a glass 
 Where yoa may see the inmost part of you. 
 Queen. What wiit thou do] thou wilt not murder 
 me] 
 Help, help, ho! 
 
 Pol. [Behind.'] What, ho! help! 
 Ham. How now! a rat? 
 
 [Dra ws. 
 Dead, for & ducat, dead. 
 
 [Hamlet makes a pass through the Arras. 
 Pol. [Behind.] O, I am slain. 
 
 [Falls, and dies. 
 Queen. O me, what hast thou done ] 
 Ham. Nay, I know not 
 
 Is it the king] 
 
 [Lifts up the Arras, and draws forth Polos i pa. 
 Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is this! 
 Ham. A bloody deed! — almost as bad, ijood 
 mother, 
 As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
 Queen. As kill a king! 
 
 Hum. Ay, lady, 'twas my vvord • 
 
 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ' 
 
 [To Polonii/» 
 I took thee for thy better: take thy fortune: 
 Thou find'st, to be too busy, is some danger. — 
 Leave wringing of year hands: Peace; sit you dowt 
 And let me wring yoT heaii : for so J shall. 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff; 
 If damned custom have not braz'd it so, 
 That it be proof and bulwark against sen»>» 
 •Cross. 
 
882 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Acr ill 
 
 Queen. WhaJ Vave I 4-nc, that il.,a Ju'stwag 
 thy tor jdu 
 [n noise so rude against me? 
 
 Ham. Such an act, 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; 
 £alls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
 And sets a blister there; makes marriage vows 
 As false as dicers' oaths: 0, such a deed 
 As from the body of contraction 1 plucks 
 The very soul; and sweet religion makes 
 ^ rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; 
 Yea, this solidity and compound mass, 
 With tristful 3 visage, as against the doom, 
 Is thought-sick at the act. 
 
 Queen. Ah me, what act, 
 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ? 3 
 
 Ham. Look here, upon this pictare, and on this; 
 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
 See, what a grace was seated on this brow : 
 Hyperion's 4 curls; the front of Jove himself; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; 
 A station 6 like the herald Mercury, 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 A combination, and a form, indeed, 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 To give the world assurance of a man : 
 This was your husband. — Look you now, what 
 
 follows : 
 Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear, 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes 1 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
 And batten 6 on this moor! Ha! have you eyes'? 
 You cannot call it, love: for, at your age, 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
 And waits upon the judgment; And what judgment 
 Would step from this to this? Sense," sure, you 
 
 have, 
 Else, could you not have motion: But, sure, that 
 
 sense 
 Is apoplex'd: for madness would not err; 
 Nor sense to ecstasy 8 was ne'er so thrall'd, 
 But it reserv'd some quantity of choice, 
 To serve in such a difference. What devil was't, 
 That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind ? 9 
 Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, 
 Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans' all, 
 Or but a sickly part of one true sense 
 Could not so mope.' 
 
 shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, 
 If tho-u canst mutine in a matron's bones, 
 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 
 And melt in her own lire : proclaim no shame, 
 When the compulsive ardor gives the charge; 
 Since frost itself as actively doth burn, 
 And reason panders will. 
 
 Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more : 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 And there I see such black and grained spots, 
 As will not leave their tinct. 3 
 
 Ham. Nay, but to live 
 
 In the rank sweat of an enseamed ' bed ; 
 Stew'd in corruption ; honeying and making love 
 
 Over the nasty sty ; 
 
 Queen. O, speak to me no more; 
 
 These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears: 
 No more, sweet Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. A muiderer, and a villain: 
 
 1 Marriage contract. » Sorrowful. 
 
 3 Index of contents prefixed to a book. 
 
 4 Apollo's. » The act of standing. 
 
 • Grow fat. ' Sensation * Frenzy. 
 
 •Blindman's buff. 'Without 5 Be so stupid. 
 
 •Coloi « Greasy 
 
 A slave, that is net twent eth part the tythe 
 Of your precedent lord:— a vice' oi kings: 
 A cutpurse of the empire and the rule; 
 That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 
 And put it in his pocket! 
 
 Queen. No more. 
 
 Enter Ghost. 
 
 Ham. A kins 
 
 Of shr.eds and patches: 
 
 Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings 
 You heavenly guards ! — What would your gracious 
 figure ? 
 
 Queen. Alas, he's mad. 
 
 Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
 That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
 The important acting of your dread command? 
 0, say ! 
 
 Ghost. Do not forget: This visitation 
 Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
 But, look! amazement on thy mother sits: 
 step between her and her righting soul: 
 Conceit 6 in weakest bodies strongest works; 
 Speak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Hani. How is it with you, lady 1 
 
 Queen. Alas, how is't with you? 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
 And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? 
 Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly pee-p: 
 And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, 
 Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, 1 
 Starts up, and stands on end. O gentle son, 
 Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
 Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? 
 
 Ham. On him ! on him ! — Lock you, how pa 
 he glares! 
 His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones 
 Would make them capable. 8 — Do not look upoi 
 
 me; 
 Lest with this piteous action, you convert 
 My stern effects : 9 then what I have to do 
 Will want true coloi 1 ; tears, perchance, for blogd. 
 
 Queen. To whom do you speak this? 
 
 Ham. Do you see nothing there? 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all; yet all, that is, I sae. 
 
 Ham. Nor did you nothing hear? 
 
 Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you there! look, how it steals 
 away ! 
 My father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 
 
 [Exit Ghost 
 
 Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy ' 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Ham. Ecstasy ! 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 And makes as healthful music: It is not madness, 
 That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, 
 And I the matter will re-word; which madness 
 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 That not your trespass but my madness speaks* 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place; 
 Whiles rank corruption, mining all within, 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven; 
 Repent what's past: avoid what is to come; 
 And do not spread the compost 2 on the weeds, 
 To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtuu 
 For in the fatness of these pursy times, 
 
 * Mimic. * Imagination. 
 
 ' The hair of animals is excrementitious. that is, wits 
 out life or sensation. • Intelligent. 
 
 •Actions. 'Frenzy « Manure 
 
Act IV Scene 1 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 88? 
 
 Virtue itself of vice musi pardon beg: 
 
 Vea, curb 3 and woo, for leave to do him good. 
 
 Queen. O Kamlet! thou hast cleft my heart in 
 twain. 
 
 Ham. O, throw away the worser part of it, 
 \nd live the purer with the other half. 
 Good night: but go not to my uncle's bed; 
 Assupie a virtue, if you have it not. 
 That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat 
 Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this; 
 That to the use of actions fair and good 
 He likewise gives a frock, or livery, 
 That aptly is put on: Refrain to-night; 
 And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
 To the next abstinence: the next more easy: 
 For use aln.ost can change the stamp of nature, 
 / nd either curb the devil, or throw him out 
 "V ' ith wondrous potency. Once more good night ! 
 t. nd when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
 I'ii blessing beg of you. — For this same lord, 
 
 [Pointing to Polonius. 
 I do repent: But heaven hath pleas'd it so, — 
 To puni-sh me with this, and this with me, 
 That I must be their scourge and minister. 
 I will bestow him, and will answer well 
 The death I gave him. So again good night! — 
 I must be cruel, only to be kind: 
 Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. — 
 But one word more, good lady. 
 
 Jueen. What shall I do! 
 
 Ham. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: 
 Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed; 
 Pinch wanton on your cheek; call you, his mouse; 
 And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, 
 Or paddling in your neck with his damned finge-rs, 
 Make you to ravel all this matter out, 
 
 That I essentially am not in madness, 
 
 But mad in craft. 'Twere good, you let him know* 
 
 For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise, 
 
 Would from a paddock,' from a bat, a gib, 6 
 
 Such dear concernings hide ? who would do so 1 
 
 No, in despite of sense, and secrecy, 
 
 Unpeg the basket on the house's top, 
 
 Let the birds fly : and, like the famous ape, 
 
 To try conclusions, 1 in the basket creep, 
 
 And break your own neck down. 
 
 Queen. Be thou assur'd, if words be made ol 
 breath, 
 And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
 What thou has; said to me. 
 
 Ham. I must to England; you know that? 
 
 Queen. Alack 
 
 I had forgot; 'is so concluded on. 
 
 Ham. There's letters seal'd : and my two school 
 fellows, — 
 Whom I will trust, as I will adders fang'd, 8 — 
 They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way 
 And marshal me to knavery: Let it work; 
 For 'tis the sport to have the engineer 
 Kcist with his own petar:' and it shall go hard, 
 But I will delve one yard below their mines, 
 And blow ';hem at the moon: 0, 'tis most sweet, 
 When in 3ne line two crafts directly meet. — 
 This mar. shall set me packing. 
 I'll lug the gu.s into the neighbor room: — 
 Mother, good night. — Indeed, this counsellor 
 Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, 
 Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
 Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you: 
 Good night, mother. 
 
 [Exeunt severally,- Hamlet dragging in 
 Polonius. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, and Guil- 
 densterx. 
 
 King. There's matter in these sighs; these pro- 
 found heaves; 
 You must translate : 'tis fit we understand them : 
 Where is your son ? 
 
 Queen. Bestow this place on us a little while. — 
 
 [To RoSENCRANTZ flftrf GuiLDENSTERIiT, 
 
 tuho go out. 
 Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night! 
 
 King. What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? 
 
 Queen. Mad as the sea, and wind, when both 
 contend 
 Which is the mightier: In his lawless fit, 
 Behind the arras hearing something stir, 
 Whips out his rapier, cries, A rat! a rat! 
 And, in this brainish apprehension, kills 
 The unseen good old man. 
 
 King. O heavy deed ! 
 
 It had been so with us, had we been there : 
 His liberty is full of threats to all; 
 To you yourself, to us, to every one. 
 Alas ! how shall this bloody deed be answer'd ? 
 It will be laid to us, whose providence 
 Sbj u Id have kept short, restrain'd, and out of 
 
 haunt,' 
 This mad young man : but, so much was our love, 
 We would not understand what was most fit ; 
 
 ' Bend. 4 Company. 
 
 But, like the owner of a foul disease, 
 To keep it from divulging, let it feed 
 Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? 
 
 Queen. To draw apart the body he hath kill'd; 
 O'er whom his very madness, like some ore, 
 Among a mineral 1 of metals base, 
 Shows itself pure ; he weeps for what is done. 
 
 King. O, Gertrude, come away ! 
 The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
 But we will ship him hence : and this vile deed 
 We must, with all our majesty and skill, 
 Both countenance and excuse. — Ho! Guilden 
 stern ! 
 
 Enter Rosettcrantz and Guilpensterkt. 
 
 Friends both, go join you with some further aid : 
 Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, 
 And from his mother's closet hath he dragged him: 
 Go seek him out: speak fair, and bring the body 
 Into the chapel. I pray you haste in this. 
 
 [Exeunt Ros. and Guit. 
 Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends: 
 And let them know both what we mean to do, 
 And what's untimely done : so, haply, slander,- 
 Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, 
 As level as the cannon to his blank, 2 
 Transports his poison'd shot, — may miss our name, 
 And hit the woundless air. — come away ! 
 My soul is full of discord, and dismay. [Exeunt 
 
 »Toad. 
 
 * Having their teeth. 
 
 > Mine. 
 
 • Cat. ' Experimente. 
 
 » Blown up with his own bomb 
 »Mark. 
 
$34 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Safely stowed, — [Ros. <SfC. within. 
 
 Hamlet! lord Hamlet!] But soft! — what noise? 
 who calls on Hamlet? 0, here they come. 
 
 Enter Rosencrantz a?id Guild enstern. 
 
 Ros. What have you done, my lord, with the 
 dead body? 
 
 Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin. 
 
 Ros. Tell us where 'tis; that we may take it 
 thence, 
 And bear it to the chapel. 
 
 Ham. Do not believe it. 
 
 Ros. Believe what? 
 
 Ham. That I can keep your counsel, and not 
 mine own. Besides, to lie demanded of a sponge — 
 what replication should be made by the son of a 
 kin?' 1 
 
 Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord' 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir; that soaks up the king's counte- 
 nance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers 
 do the king best service in the end : He keeps them, 
 like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, 
 to be last swallowed: When he needs what you 
 have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, 
 70U shall be dry again. 
 
 Ros. I understand you not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. - am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps 
 in a foolish ear. 
 
 Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the body 
 is, and go with us to the king. 
 
 Ham. The body is with the king, but the king 
 is not with the body. The king is a thing 
 
 Guil. A thing, my lord? 
 
 Ham Of nothing: bring me to him. Hide 
 fox, and. al." after. 3 [Exeunt. 
 
 S3ENL III. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter King, attended. 
 King. I have sent to seek him, and to find the 
 body. 
 Fow dangerous is it, that this man goes loose ! 
 Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
 FVj lov'd of the distracted multitude, 
 • T .' .. like not in their judgment, but their eyes; 
 J .id, where 'tis s.">, tfc.3 offender's scou.ge is weigh'd, 
 > it never the offence. To bear all smooth and 
 
 even, 
 This sudden sending him away must seem 
 Lel : berate pause: Diseases, desperate grown, 
 By desperate appliance are reliev'd, 
 
 Enter Rosencrantz. 
 Or not at all. — How now? what hath befallen? 
 
 Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my lord, 
 We cannot get from him. 
 
 King. But where is he? 
 
 Ros. Without, my lord ; guarded, to know your 
 
 pleasure. 
 King. Bring him before us. 
 Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ? bring in my lord. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Guildexstern. 
 
 King. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius? 
 
 Ham. At supper. 
 
 King. At supper ? Where ? 
 
 Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten: 
 * i^ertain convocation of politic worms are e'en at 
 him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet: 
 v« fas, all creatures else, to fat us: and we fat cur- 
 re. »p>s fni maggots: Your fat king, and your lean 
 * A sport among children. 
 
 beggar, is but variable service; two dishes, but to 
 one table ; that's the end. 
 
 King. Alas, alas! 
 
 Hum. A man may fish with the worm that hatb 
 eat of a king ; and eat of the fish that hath fed of 
 that worm. 
 
 King. What dost thou mean by this? 
 
 Ham. Nothing, but to show you how a king 
 may go a progress through the guts of a beggar. 
 
 King. Where is Polonius? 
 
 Ham. In heaven; send thither to see: if your 
 messenger find him not there, seek him i' the other 
 place yourself. But, indeed, if you find him not 
 within this month, you shall nose him as you go 
 up the stairs into the lobby. 
 
 King. Go seek him there. [To some Attendants. 
 
 Ham. He will stay till you come. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 
 King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial 
 safety, — 
 Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 
 For that which thou hast done, — must send thee 
 
 hence 
 With fic.y quickness: Therefore, prepare thyself; 
 The bark is ready, and the wind at help. 
 The associates tend, and every thing is bent 
 For England. 
 
 Ham. For England? 
 
 King. Ay, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Good. 
 
 King. So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes. 
 
 Ham. I see a cherub, that sees them. — But, 
 come, for England ! — Farewell, dear mother. 
 
 King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. My mother: Father and mother is man and 
 wife ; man and wife is one flesh ; and so, my mother. 
 Come, for England ! — [Exit. 
 
 King. Follow him at foot: tempt him with speed 
 aboard ; 
 Delay it not, T'll have him hence to-night: 
 Away; for every thing is seal'd and done 
 That else leans on the affair : Pray you, make haste. 
 [Exeunt Ros. and Gcil. 
 And, England, if my love thou hold'st at aught, 
 (As my great power thereof may give thee sense; 
 Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
 After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
 Pays homage to us,) thou mayst not coldly set 4 
 Our sovereign process; which imports at full, 
 Ey letters conjuring to that effect, 
 The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; 
 For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 
 And thou must cure me: Till I know 'tis done, 
 Howe'er my haps, my joys will ne'er begin. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Plain in Denmark. 
 
 Enter Fortinbras, and Forces, marching. 
 
 For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king; 
 Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras 
 Craves the conveyance of a promised march 
 Over nis kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
 If that his majesty would aught with us, 
 We shall express our duty in his eye,' 
 And let him know so. 
 
 Cap. I will do't, my lord. 
 
 For. Go softly on. 
 
 [Exeunt Fortix bras and Forces. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, CfnjrEs- 
 
 STERN, (SfC. 
 
 Ham. Good sir, whose powers are these 1 
 
 Cap. They are of Norway, 6ir. 
 * Value, estimate. » Pi esence 
 
Scene V. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 88ft 
 
 How purpos'd, sir, 
 
 Against some part of Poland. 
 
 Who 
 
 Ham. 
 I pray you 1 
 
 Cap. 
 
 Ham. 
 Commands them, sir? 
 
 Cap. The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. 
 
 Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, 
 Or for some frontier] 
 
 Cap. Truly to speak, sir, and with no addition, 
 We go to gain a little patch of ground, 
 That hath in it no profit but the name. 
 To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; 
 Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole, 
 A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. 
 
 Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it. 
 
 Cap. Yes, 'tis already garrison'd. 
 
 Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thou- 
 sand ducats, 
 Will not debate the question of this straw: 
 This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace ; 
 That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 
 Why the man dies. — I humbly thank you, sir. 
 
 Cap. God be wi' you, sir. [Exit Captain. 
 
 Ros. Will't please you go, my lord ] 
 
 Ham. I will be with you straight. Go a little 
 before. [Exeunt Ros. and Guil. 
 
 How all occasions do inform against me, 
 And spur my dull revenge ! What is a man, 
 If iiis chief good, and market of his time, 
 Bt but to sleep, and feed"! a beast, no more. 
 Sure, He, that made us with such large discourse, 6 
 Looking before, and after, gave us not 
 That capability and godlike reason 
 To fust ' in us unused. Now, whether it be 
 Bestial oblivion, or some craven 8 scruple 
 Of thinking too precisely on the event, — 
 A thought, which quarter'd, hath but one part 
 
 wisdom, 
 And, ever, three parts coward, — I do not know 
 Why yet I live to say, This thing's to do,- 
 Sith 9 1 have cause, and will, and strength, and means, 
 To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me: 
 Witness, this army of such mass, and charge, 
 Led by a delicate and tender prince : 
 Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff'd, 
 Makes mouths at the invisible event; 
 Exposing what is mortal, and unsure, 
 To ;ill that fortune, death, and danger, dare, 
 Even for an egg-shell. Rightly to be great, 
 Is not to stir without great argument; 
 But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, 
 When honor's at the stake. How stand I then, 
 That have a father kill' d, a mother stain'd, 
 Excitements of my reason, and my blood, 
 And let all sleep] while, to my shame, I see 
 The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 
 That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame, 
 Go to their graves like beds ; fight for a plot 
 Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, 
 Which is not tomb enough, and continent 
 To hide the slain ] — O, from this time forth 
 My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE V. — Elsinore. A Room in Ike Castle. 
 Enter Que kit and Horatio. 
 
 Queen. -I will not speak with her. 
 
 Hor. She is importunate; indeed, distract; 
 Her mood will needs be pitied. 
 
 Queen. What would she have ] 
 
 Hor. She speaks much of her father ; says, she 
 hears, 
 
 •Power of comprehension. 
 • Cowardly. 
 
 1 Grow mouldy. 
 9 Since. 
 
 There's tricks i' the world ; and hems, and beat* 
 
 her heart; 
 Spurns enviously at straws: speaks things in doubt 
 That carry but half sense : her speech is nothing. 
 Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
 The hearers to collection : they aim at it, 
 And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts, 
 Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield 
 
 them, 
 Indeed would make one think, there might tx 
 
 thought, 
 Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 
 
 Queen. 'Twere good she were spoken with ; for 
 
 she may strew 
 Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds : 
 Let her come in. [Exit Hoiiatio, 
 
 To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, 
 Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
 So full of artless jealousy is guilt, 
 It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 
 
 Re-enter Horatio, with Ophelia. 
 Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Den- 
 mark ? 
 Queen. How now, Ophelia ] 
 Oph. How should I your true love know 
 From another one ? 
 By his cockle hat and staff, 
 
 And his sandk shoon.' [Singing. 
 
 Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song ] 
 Oph. Say you ] nay, pray you, mark. 
 
 He is dead and goyie, lady, [Singa. 
 
 He is dead and gone : 
 At his head a grass-green turf, 
 At his heels a stone. 
 0, ho! 
 
 Queen. Nay, but Ophelia, 
 
 Oph. Pray you, mark. 
 
 White his shroud as the mountain snow, 
 
 [Sings 
 
 Enter King. 
 Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 
 Oph. Larded all with sweet flowers ,- 
 Which bewept to the grave did go, 
 With true-love showers. 
 King. How do you, pretty lady ] 
 Oph. Well, God 'ield 2 you ! They say the owl 
 was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we 
 are, but know not what we may be. God be at 
 your table ! 
 
 King. Conceit upon her father. 
 Oph. Pray, let us have no words of this ; but 
 when they ask you, what it means, say you this : 
 Good morrow, 'tis Saint Valentine's day, 
 
 All in the morning betime, 
 And la maid at your window, 
 
 To be your Valentine. 
 Then up he rose, and don'd his clothes, 
 
 And dupp'd 3 the chamber door; 
 Let in the maid, that out a maid 
 Never departed more. 
 King. Pretty Ophelia! 
 
 Oph. Indeed, without an oath, I'll make ai cnu 
 on't: 
 By Gis,' and hy Saint Charity,* ' 
 
 Alack, and fie for shame! 
 Young men will do't, if they come *o't. 
 By cock, they are to blame. 
 
 « Shoes. 3 Reward. 3 Da up 
 
 4 Saints in the Roman-catholic calendar. 
 
S86 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Quoth she, Before you tumbled me, 
 You promis'd me to wed: 
 [He answers.] 
 So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, 
 An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
 King. How long hath she been thus? 
 Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be 
 patient : but I cannot choose but weep, to think, 
 :hey should lay him i' the cold ground: My brother 
 shall know of it, and so I thank you for your good 
 counsel. Come, my coach ! Good night, ladies ; 
 good night, sweet ladies: good night, good night. 
 
 [Exit. 
 King. Follow her close ; give her good watch, 
 I pray you. [Exit Hohatio. 
 
 O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
 All from her father's death : And now behold, 
 O Gertrude, Gertrude, 
 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
 But in battalions ! First, her father slain ; 
 Next, your son gone ; and he most violent author 
 Of his own just remove: The people muddied, 
 Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and 
 
 whispers, 
 For good Polonius' death ; and we have done but 
 
 greenly, 
 In hugger-mugger to inter him : Poor Ophelia 
 Divided from herself, and her fair judgment; 
 Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts. 
 Last, and as much containing as all these, 
 Her brother is in secret come from France : 
 Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, 
 And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 
 With pestilent speeches of his father's death; 
 Wherein, necessity of matter beggar'd, 
 Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
 In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, 
 Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
 Gives me superfluous death ! [-4 Noise within. 
 Queen. Alack! what noise is this ? 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. Attend. 
 Where are my Switzers ? Let them guard the door: 
 What is the matter ? 
 
 Gent. Save yourself, my lord ; 
 
 The ocean, overpeering of his list,* 
 Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste, 
 Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
 O'erbears your officers ! The rabble call him lord; 
 And, as the world were now but to begin, 
 Antiquity forgot, custom not known, 
 The ratifiers and props of every word, 
 They cry, Choose we ,• Laertes shall be king ! 
 Oaps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, 
 Laertes shall be king, Laertes king .' 
 
 Queen How cheerfully on the false trail* they 
 cry! 
 r >, this is counter, 1 you false Danish dogs. 
 
 King The doors are broke. [Noise within. 
 
 Enter Laertes, armed ; Danes following. 
 
 Laer. Where is this king ? — Sirs, stand you all 
 without. 
 
 Dan. No, let's eome in. 
 
 Laer. I pray you, give me leave. 
 
 Dan. We will, we wi... 
 
 [They retire without the door. 
 
 Laer. I thank you: — keep the door. thou 
 vile king, 
 Give me my father. 
 
 Bounds. • Scent. 
 
 Hounds run oounter whe^ they trace the scent backwards. 
 
 Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 
 
 Laer. That drop of blood, that s calm, proclaim* 
 me bastard ; 
 Cries, cuckold, to my father; brands the harlot 
 Even here, between the chaste unsmirched 8 brow 
 Of my true mother. 
 
 King. What is the cause, Laertes, 
 
 That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ? — 
 Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person ; 
 There's such divinity doth hedge a king, 
 That treason can but peep to what it would, 
 Acts little of his will. — Tell me, Laertes, 
 Why thou art thus incens'd ; — Let him go, Ger- 
 trude ; — 
 Speak, man. 
 
 Laer. Where is my father ? 
 
 King. Dead. 
 
 Queen. But not by him. 
 
 King. Let him demand his fill. 
 
 Laer. How came he dead ? I'll not be juggled 
 with : 
 To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil ! 
 Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
 I dare damnation : To this point I stand, — 
 That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
 Let come what comes ; only I'll be revenged 
 Most thoroughly for my father. 
 
 King. Who shall stay you ? 
 
 Laer. My will ; not all the world's : 
 And, for my means, I'll husband them so well, 
 They shall go far with little. 
 
 King. Good Laertes, 
 
 If you desire to know the certainty 
 Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge, 
 That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe, 
 Winner and loser ? 
 
 Laer. None but his enemies. 
 
 King. Will you know them then ? 
 
 Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my 
 arms ; 
 And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, 
 Repast them with my blood. 
 
 King. Why, now you speak 
 
 Like a good child and a true gentleman. 
 That I am guiltless of your father's death. 
 And am most sensibly in grief for it, 
 It shall as level to your judgment 'pear, 
 As day does to your eye. 
 
 Danes. [Withini] Let her come in. 
 
 Laer. How now ! what noise is that? 
 
 Enter Ophklia, fantastically dressed with Straws 
 
 and Flowers. 
 O heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times salt, 
 Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! — 
 By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight, 
 Til! our scale turn the beam. rose of May . 
 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia ! 
 O heavens ! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
 Should be as mortal as an old man's life ? 
 Nature is fine 5 in love: and, where 'tis fine, 
 It sends some precious instance of itself 
 After the thing it loves. 
 
 Oph. They bore him barefaced on the bur; 
 Hey no nonny, nonny hey nonny : 
 And in his grave rain'd many a tear ,- — 
 
 Fare you well, my dove ! 
 
 Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade 
 revenge, 
 It could not move thus. 
 
 Oph. You must sing, Down-a-down, an you cafi 
 
 • Clean, undefiled. » Artful 
 
Scene VII. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 887 
 
 kirn a-aown-a. O, now tne wheel ' becomes it ! It 
 [» the false steward, that stole his master's daughter. 
 Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 
 Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; 
 pray you, love, remember ; and there is pansies, 
 that's for thoughts. 
 
 Laer. A document in madness; thoughts and 
 remembrance fitted. 
 
 Oph. There's fennel for you, and columbines: — 
 there's rue for you ; and here's some for me : — 
 we may call it, herb of grace o' Sundays — you 
 may wear your rue with a difference.' — There's a 
 daisy :— I would give you some violets ; but they 
 withered all, when my father died : — They say, he 
 
 made a good end, 
 
 For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy, — 
 
 [Sings. 
 Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself, 
 8he turns to favor, and to prettiness. 
 
 Oph. And will he not come again ? [Sings. 
 And will he not come again ? 
 No, no, he is dead, 
 Go to thy death-bed, 
 He never will come again. 
 His beard was as white as snow, 
 All flaxen was his poll ■ 
 He is gone, he is gone, 
 And we cast away moan ,• 
 God 'a mercy on his soul ! 
 And of all Christian souls ! I pray God. God be 
 wi' you! [Exit Ophelia. 
 
 Laer. Do you see this, O God 1 
 King. Laertes, I must commune with your grief, 
 Or you deny me right. Go but apart. 
 Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 
 And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me: 
 If by direct or by collateral hand 
 They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give, 
 Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, 
 To you in satisfaction ; but, if not, 
 Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
 And we shall jointly labor with your soul 
 To give it due content. 
 
 Laer. Let this be so ; 
 
 His means of death, his obscure funeral, — 
 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, 
 No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, — 
 Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth, 
 That I must call't in question. 
 
 King. So you shall, 
 
 And where the offence is, let the great axe fall. 
 I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Horatio, and a Servant. 
 Hor. What are they, that would speak with me 1 
 Serv. bailors, sir ; 
 
 They say, they have letters for you. 
 
 Hor. Let them come in : — 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 I do not know from what part of the world 
 I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet. 
 Enter Sailors. 
 1 Sail. God bless you, sir. 
 Hor. Let him bless thee too. 
 1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's 
 a letter for you, sir ; it comes from the ambassador 
 thai was bound for England ; if your name be Ho- 
 ratio, as T am let to know it is. 
 
 ' The burthen 
 
 * i. e. By ita Sunday name, " herb of grace," mine is 
 merely rue. »'. e. sorrow 
 
 Hor. [Reads.] Horatio, when thou shall havt 
 overlooked this, give these fellows some mea.:.< to the 
 king,- they have letters for him. Ere we were two 
 days old at sea, apirate of very warlike appointment 
 gave us chase: finding ourselves too slow of sail, we 
 put on a compelled valor; and in the grapple, I 
 boarded them: on the instant they got clear of our 
 ship,- so I alone became their prisoner. They 
 have dealt with me like thieves of mercy,- but they 
 knew what they did; I am to do a good turn for 
 them. Let the king have the letters I have sent; 
 and repair thou to me with as much haste as thou 
 wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in thine 
 ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too 
 light for the bore of the matter. These good fel- 
 lows will bring thee where lam. Rosen crantz and 
 Guildenstern hold their course for England; of 
 them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. 
 
 He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet. 
 
 Come, I will give you way for these your letters ; 
 And do't the speedier, that you may direct me 
 To him from whom you brought them. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— -Another Room in the same. 
 Enter King and Laeiites. 
 
 King. Now must your conscience my acquittance 
 seal, 
 And you must put me in your heart for friend; 
 Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, 
 That he, which hath your noble father slain, 
 Pursued my life. 
 
 Laer. It well appears : — but tell me, 
 
 Why you proceeded not against these feats, 
 So crimeful and so capital in nature, 
 A s by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things else, 
 You mainly were stirr'd up. 
 
 King. 0, for two special reasons: 
 
 Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew'd, 
 But yet to me they are strong. The queen his 
 
 mother, 
 Lives almost by his looks ; and for myself, 
 (My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,) 
 She is so conjunctive to my life and soul, 
 That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, 
 I could not but by her. The other motive, 
 Why to a public count I might not go 
 Is, the great love the general gender 3 bear him ; 
 Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, 
 Work like the spring that turneth wood to stone 
 Convert his gyves' to graces ; so that my arrows, 
 Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, 
 Would have reverted to my bow again, 
 And not where I had aim'd them. 
 
 Laer. And so have I a noble father lost ; 
 A sister driven into desperate terms; 
 Whose worth, if praises may go back again, 
 Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
 For her perfections: — But my revenge will come. 
 
 King. Break not your sleeps for that : you must 
 not think, 
 That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, 
 That we can let our beard be shook with danger, 
 And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more: 
 I loved your father, and we love ourself ; 
 And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, — 
 How now ? what news ? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet 
 
 This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 
 King. From Hamlet ] who brought them * 
 • Common people. * Chains 
 
S88 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act IT 
 
 Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say : I saw them not ; 
 They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them 
 Of him that brought them ? 
 
 King. Laertes, you shall hear them : — 
 
 Leave us. [Exit Messenger. 
 
 [Reads.] High and mighty, you shall kriow, lam 
 set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow, shall Ibeg 
 &ave to see your kingly eyes,- when Ishall,Jirst ask- 
 ing your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of 
 my sudden and more strange return. Hamlet. 
 
 What should this mean? Are all the rest come 
 
 back. 
 Or is it some abuse, and no such thing ? 
 
 Laer. Know you the hand ? 
 
 King. Tis Hamlet's character. Naked, — 
 
 And, in a postscript here, he says, alone.- 
 Can you advise me ? 
 
 Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him 
 come ; 
 It warms the very sickness in my heart, 
 That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
 Thus diddest thou. 
 
 King. If it be so, Laertes, 
 
 As how should it be so"! how otherwise? — 
 Will you be rul'd by me ? 
 
 Laer. Ay, my lord ; 
 
 So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace. 
 
 King. To thine own peace. If he be now re- 
 turn'd, — 
 As checking* at his voyage, and that he means 
 No more to undertake it, — I will work him 
 To an exploit, now ripe in my device, 
 Under the which he shall not choose but fall : 
 And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe ; 
 But even his mother shall uncharge the practice, 
 And call it, accident. 
 
 Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd ; 
 
 The rather, if you could devise it so, 
 That I might be the organ. 
 
 King. It falls right. 
 
 You have been talk'd of since your travel much, 
 And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality, 
 Wherein, they say, you shine : your sum of parts 
 Did not together pluck such envy from him, 
 As did that one; and that, in my regard, 
 Of the unworthiest siege." 
 
 Laer. What part is that, my lord? 
 
 King. A very riband in the cap of youth, 
 Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
 The light and careless livery that it wears, 
 Than settled age his sables, and his weeds, 
 Importing health and graveness. — Two months 
 
 since, 
 Here was a gentleman of Normandy, — 
 I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, 
 And they can well on horseback : but this gallant 
 Had witchcraft in't; he grew unto his seat; 
 And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse, 
 As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd 
 With the brave beast: so far he topp'd my thought, 
 That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, 
 Come short of what he did. 
 
 Laer. A Norman, was't ? 
 
 King. A Norman. 
 
 Laer. Upon my life, Lamord. 
 
 King. The very same. 
 
 Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch 1 indeed, 
 \nd gem of all the nation. 
 
 King. He made confession of you ; 
 And gave you such a masterly report, 
 Tor art and exercise in your defence, 
 
 » Objecting to. 
 
 • Seat, place. 
 
 Ornament. 
 
 And for your rapier most especial, 
 
 That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, 
 
 If one could match you : the scrimers" of thei? 
 
 nation, 
 He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, 
 If you oppos'd them : Sir, this report of his 
 Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, 
 That he could nothing do, but wish and beg 
 Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you. 
 Now, out of this, 
 
 Laer. What out of this, my lord ? 
 
 King. Laertes, was your father dear to you? 
 Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
 A face without a heart ? 
 
 Laer. Why ask you this? 
 
 King. Not that I think, you did not love youi 
 father ; 
 But that I know, love is begun by time; 
 And that I see, in passages of proof," 
 Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
 There lives within the very flame of love 
 A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it; 
 And nothing is at a like goodness still ; 
 For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, 
 Dies in his own too-much : That we would do, 
 We should do when we would ; for this would 
 
 changes. 
 And hath abatements and delays as many, 
 As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; 
 And then this should is like a spendthrift sigh, 
 That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the ulcer: 
 Hamlet comes back; What would you undertake, 
 To show yourself in deed your father'* son 
 More than in words ? 
 
 Laer. To cut his throa' i' the church. 
 
 King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctu- 
 arize; 
 Revenge should have no bounds. But, good 
 
 Laertes, 
 Will you do this : keep close within your chamber? 
 Hamlet, return'd, shall know you are come home: 
 We'll put on those shall praise your excellence, 
 And set a double varnish on the fame 
 The Frenchman gave you; bring you, in fine, 
 
 together, 
 And wager o'er your heads : he, being remiss, 
 Most generous, and free from all contriving, 
 Will not peruse the foils; so that, with ease, 
 Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
 A sword unbated,' and, in a pass of practice 
 Requite him for your father. 
 
 Laer. I will do't: 
 
 And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword. 
 I bought an unction of a mountebank, 
 So mortal, that but dip a knife in it, 
 Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, 
 Collected from all simples that have virtue 
 Under the moon, can save the thing from death, 
 That is but scratch'd withal : I'll touch my poim 
 With this contagion; that, if I gall him slightly, 
 It may be death. 
 
 King. Let's further think of this ; 
 
 Weigh, what convenience, both of time and mean*, 
 May fit us to our shape : if this should fail, 
 And that our drift look through our bad perform 
 
 ance, 
 'Twere better not essay 'd : therefore this project 
 Should have a back, or second, that might hold, 
 If this should blast in proof.* Soft; — let me 
 see: 
 
 » Fencers. ' Daily experience. 
 
 ' Not blunted as foils are. 
 
 » As fire-arms sometimes burst in proving their strength 
 
\cr V. Scene I. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 S8J 
 
 We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings, 3 — 
 I ha't: 
 
 When on your motion you are hot and dry, 
 (As make your bouts more violent to that end,) 
 And that he calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him 
 A chalice for the nonce; 4 whereon but sipping, 
 If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck,' 
 Our purpose may hold there. Eut stay, what noise ? 
 
 Enter Queen. 
 
 How now, sweet queen? 
 
 Queen- One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
 So fast they follow : — Your sister's drown'd, Laertes. 
 
 Laer. Drown'd! O, where? 
 
 Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the 
 brook, 
 That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
 Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
 Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, 
 That liberal 6 shepherds give a grosser name, 
 But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call 
 
 them : 
 There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; 
 
 When down her weedy trophies, and herself, 
 Fellin the weeping brook. Her clothes sprum' 
 
 wide; 
 And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up. 
 Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes, 
 As one incapable" of her own distress, 
 Or like a creature native and indued 
 Unto that element: but long it could not be. 
 Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, 
 Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
 To muddy death. 
 
 Laer. Alas, then, she is drown'd? 
 
 Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 
 
 Laer Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia. 
 And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet 
 It is our trick; nature her custom holds, 
 Let shame say what it will : when these are gone 
 The woman will be-.out. — Adieu, my lord! 
 I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze. 
 But that this folly drowns it. [Exit 
 
 King. Let's follow, Gertrude: 
 
 How much I had to do to calm his rage ! 
 Now fear I, this will give it start again ; 
 Therefore, let's follow. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Church Yard. 
 Enter two Clowns, with Spades, S(c. 
 
 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian burial, 
 that wilfully seeks her own salvation ? 
 
 2 Clo. I tell thee, she is; therefore make her 
 grave straight: 1 the crowner hath set on her, and 
 finds it Christian burial. 
 
 1 Clo. How can that be, unless she drowned her- 
 self in her own defence ? 
 
 2 Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 
 
 1 Clo. It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. 
 For here lies the point: If I drown myself wit- 
 tingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three 
 branches ; it is, to act, to do, and to perform : Argal, 
 she drowned herself wittingly. 
 
 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 
 
 1 Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: 
 here stands the man ; good : If the man go to this 
 water, and drown himself, it is. will he, nill he, he 
 goes; mark you that: but if the water come to him, 
 and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal, he, 
 that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not 
 his own life. 
 
 2 Clo. But is this law? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, marry is't; crowner's quest law. 
 
 2 Clo. VVill you" ha' the truth on't? If this had 
 not been a gentlewoman, she should have been 
 buried out of Christian bui ial. 
 
 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st: And the more 
 pity, that great folks shall have countenance in this 
 world to drown or hang themselves, more than their 
 even 8 Christian. Come, my spade. There is no 
 ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and 
 grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession. 
 
 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman? 
 
 1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms. 
 
 2 Clo. Why, he had none. 
 
 1 Clo. What, art a heathen ? How dost thou un- 
 ierstand the Scripture? The Scripture says, Adam 
 Jigged: Couid he dig without arms? I'll put 
 
 • SKill. 
 
 » Thrust. 
 
 1 Immediately. 
 
 * A cup for the purpose. 
 « Licentious. 
 » Fellow. 
 
 another question to thee : if thou answerest me nol 
 
 to the purpose, confess thyself 
 
 2 Clo. Go to. 
 
 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than eithei 
 the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 
 
 2 Clo. The gallows-maker; for that frame out- 
 lives a thousand tenants. 
 
 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith; the 
 gallows does well: but how does it well? it does, 
 well to those that do ill : now thou dost ill, to say, 
 the gallows is built stronger than the church: 
 argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again ; 
 come. 
 
 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a 
 shipwright, or a carpenter? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 1 
 
 2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell. 
 
 1 Clo. To't. 
 
 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Hoiiatio, at a distance. 
 1 Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it; foi 
 your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating: 
 and, when you are asked this question next, say, a 
 grave-maker; the houses that he makes, last til' 
 doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan and fetch me 
 a stoup of liquor. [Exit 2 Clown. 
 
 1 Clown digs, and sings. 
 In youth, when I did love, did love, 2 
 
 Methought, it was very sweet, 
 To contract, 0, the time, for, ah, my behove 
 
 0, methought, there was nothing meet. 
 
 Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business ? 
 he sings at grave-making. 
 
 Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property ol 
 easiness. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employ 
 ment hath the daintier sense. 
 
 1 Clo. But age, with his stealing steps, 
 Hath claw'd *ne in his clutch. 
 
 s Insensible. « Give over 
 
 « The song entire is printed in Percy's Keliques of an 
 cient English Poetry, vol. i : it was written bv Lorri Vans 
 SI 
 
890 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Ac I 
 
 And hath shipped me into the land, 
 As if I had never been such. 
 
 [Throws up a Skull. 
 
 Ham. That skull had a tongue in it, and could 
 sing once : How the knave jowls it to the ground, 
 as if it wtre Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first mur- 
 der! This; might be the pate of a politician, which 
 this ass new o'er-reaches; one that would circum- 
 vent God, might it not? 
 
 Hor. It might, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Or of a courtier; which could say, Good 
 morrow, sweet lord.' How dost thou, good lord? 
 This might be my lord Such-a-one, that praised my 
 lord Such-a-one's hor.se, when he meant to beg it; 
 might it not? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, e'en so: and now my lady Worm's; 
 ^hapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a 
 jexton's spade: Here's fine revolution, an we had 
 the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more 
 the breeding, but to play at loggats 5 with them? 
 mine ache to think on't. 
 
 1 Clo. Apick-axt, and a spade, a spade, [Sings. 
 For — and a shrouding sheet: 
 0, a pit of clay for to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 [Throws up a Skull. 
 
 Ham. There's another: Why may not that be 
 the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits 1 now, 
 tils quillets,' his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? 
 why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock 
 him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will 
 not tell him of his action of battery? Humph! 
 This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, 
 with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his 
 double vouchers, his recoveries: Is this the fine of 
 his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have 
 his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch 
 him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, 
 than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? 
 The very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie 
 in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no 
 more? ha? 
 
 Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord, and of calves' skins too. 
 
 Ham. They are sheep, and calves, which seek 
 out assurance in that, i will speak to this fellow : — 
 Whose grave's this, sirrah? 
 
 1 Clo. Mine, sir. — 
 
 0, a pit of clay for to be made [Sings. 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 Ham. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou liest 
 in't. 
 
 1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not 
 yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. 
 
 Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is 
 thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore 
 thou liest. 
 
 1 Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 'twill away again 
 from me to you. 
 
 Ham. What man dost thou dig it for? 
 
 1 Clo. For no man, sir. 
 
 Ham. What woman then? 
 
 1 Clo. For none neither. 
 
 Ham. Who ir, to be buried in't? 
 
 1 Clo. One, that was a woman, sir; but, rest 
 her soul, she's dead. 
 
 » An ancient game played as quoits are at present. 
 « Subtil ties. • Frivolous distinctions. 
 
 Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we mus' speak 
 by the card, 6 or equivocation will undo us. Uy 
 the lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken 
 note of it; the age is grown so picked, 1 that the toe 
 of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier, 
 he galls his kibe. — How long hast thou been a 
 grave-maker ? 
 
 1 Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I came to't that 
 day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. 
 
 Ham. How long's that since? 
 
 1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell 
 that: It was that very day that young Hamlet was 
 born : he that is mad, and sent into England. 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England 1 
 
 1 Cfo. Why, because he was mad: he shall re 
 cover his wits there; or, if he do not, 'tis no great 
 matter there. 
 
 Ham. Why? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there; there 
 the men are as mad as he. 
 
 Ham. How came he mad ? 
 
 1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. 
 
 Ham. How strangely? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 
 
 Ham. Upon what ground ? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, here in Denmark ; I have been sex- 
 ton here, man, and boy, thirty years. 
 
 Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere 
 he rot? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, 
 (as we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that 
 will scarce hold the laying in.) he will last you 
 some eight year or nino year: a tanner will last 
 you nine year. 
 
 Ham. Why he more than another? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his 
 trade, that he will keep out water a great while; 
 and your water is a soredecayer of your whoreson 
 dead body. Here's a skull now hath lain you i' 
 the earth threc-and-twenty years. • 
 
 Ham, Whoso was it? 
 
 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was; Whose 
 do you think it was? 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not. 
 
 1 Clo. A pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! 
 he poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. 
 This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's 
 jester. 
 
 73am. This? [Takes the Skull. 
 
 1 Clo. E'en that. 
 
 Ham. Alas ! poor Yorick! — I knew him, Horatio : 
 a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he 
 hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and 
 now how abhorred in my imagination it is! my 
 gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have 
 kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes 
 now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes ot 
 merriment, that were wont to set the table or. a roar' 
 not one now, to mock your own grinnit.g? quite 
 chap-fallen ? Now get you to my lady's chamber, 
 and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this fa- 
 vor 8 she must come : make her laugh at that. — 
 Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. 
 
 Hor. What's that, my lord? 
 
 Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' thi> 
 fashion i' the earth ? 
 
 Hor. E'en so. 
 
 Ham. And smelt so? pah! 
 
 [Throws down the Skull 
 
 Hor. E'en so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio 
 
 s By the compass. ' Spruce, effected 
 
 s Countenance, complexion. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 891 
 
 Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of 
 \lexander, till he find it stopping a bunghole? 
 
 Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to con- 
 sider so. 
 
 Ham. No, faith, not a jot: but to follow him 
 .hither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead 
 it: As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, 
 Alexander retumeth to dust; the dust is earth; of 
 earth we make loam : And why of that loam, where- 
 to he was converted, might they not stop a beer- 
 barrel ! 
 
 Imperious 9 Caesar, dead, and turn'd to clay, 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away: 
 O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe, 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! ' 
 But soft! but soft! aside: — Here comes the king. 
 
 Enter Priests, Sfc, in Procession,- the Corpse of 
 Ophelia, Laertes, and Mourners following; 
 King, Queen, their Trains, $c. 
 
 The queen, the courtiers: Who is this they follow] 
 And with such maimed rites! This doth betoken, 
 The corse, they follow, did with desperate hand 
 Fordo 2 its own life. 'Twas of some estate : 
 Couch we a while, and mark. 
 
 [Retiring with Horatio. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else! 
 
 Ham. That is Laertes, 
 
 A very noble youth: Mark. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else' 
 
 1 P7-iest. Her obsequies have been as far enlarged 
 As we have warranty : Her death was doubtful ; 
 And, but that great command o'ersways the order, 
 She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
 Till the last trumpet; for charitable prayers, 
 Shards, 3 flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on 
 
 her; 
 Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants,' 
 Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
 Of bell and burial. 
 
 Laer. Must there no more be done! 
 
 1 Priest. No more be done! 
 
 We should profane the service of the dead, 
 To sing a requiem, 1 and such rest to her 
 \s to peace-parted souls. 
 
 Laer. Lay her i' the earth ; — 
 
 And from her fair and unpolluted flesh, 
 May violets spring ! — I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, 
 When thou liest howling. 
 
 Ham. What, the fair Ophelia! 
 
 Queen. Sweets to the sweet : Farewell ! 
 
 [Scattering Flowers. 
 I hoped, thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; 
 I thought, thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, 
 And not have strew'd thy grave. 
 
 Laer. O, treble woe 
 
 Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
 Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
 Depriv'd thee of! — Hold off the earth a while, 
 Till I have caught her once more in mine arms: 
 
 [Leaps into the Grave. 
 Now pile your dust upon the quick 6 and dead; 
 Till of this flat a mountain you have made 
 To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 
 Of blue Olympus. 
 
 Ham. [Advancing.'] What is he, whose grief 
 Bears such an emphasis! whose phrase of sorrow 
 Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them 
 stand 
 
 * Imperial. ' Blast 
 » Broken pots or tiles. 
 
 • A mass tor the dead. 
 
 a Undo, destroy. 
 
 * Garlands. 
 
 • living. 
 
 Like wonder-wounded hearers! this is I, 
 Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the G-rave. 
 
 Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 
 
 [Grappling ivith him 
 
 Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
 I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat; 
 For, though I am not splenetive and rash, 
 Yet have I in me something dangerous, 
 Which, let thy wisdom fear : hold off thy hand. 
 
 King. Pluck them asunder. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet ! 
 
 All. Gentlemen, 
 
 Hot. Good my lord, be quiet. 
 
 [The Attendants part them, and they come 
 out of the Grave. 
 
 Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme, 
 Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 
 
 Queen. my son! what theme! 
 
 Ham. I lov'd Ophelia: forty thousand brothers 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love, 
 Make up my sum. — What wilt thou do for her? 
 
 King. 0, he is mad, Laertes. 
 
 Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 
 
 Ham. 'Zounds, show me what thou'lt do : 
 Woul'tweep! woul't fight! woul't fast? woul't 
 
 tear thyself! 
 Woul't drink up Esil ! ' eat a crocodile ! 
 I'll do't. — Dost thou come here to whine? 
 To outface me with leaping in her grave? 
 Be buried quick with her, and so will I: 
 And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
 Millions of acres on us; till our ground, 
 Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
 Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth 
 I'll rant as well as thou. 
 
 Queen. This is mere madness. 
 
 And thus a while the fit will work on him; 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, 8 
 His silence will sit drooping. 
 
 Ham. Hear you, sir, 
 
 What is the reason that you use me thus? 
 I lov'd you ever : But it is no matter; 
 Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
 The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. [Exit. 
 
 King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon 
 
 him. — [Exit Horatio 
 
 Strengthen your patience in our last night's speed 
 
 [To Laerte 
 We'll put the matter to the present push. — 
 Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. — 
 This grave shall have a living monument : 
 An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; 
 Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. — ^L Hall in the Castle. 
 Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 
 
 Ham. So much for this, sir: now, shall you see 
 the other; — 
 You do remember all the circumstance? 
 
 Hor. Remember it, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, 
 That would not let me sleep: methought, I lay 
 Worse than the mutines 9 in the bilboes. 1 Rashly, 
 And prais'd be rashness for it, — Let us know, 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, 
 When our deep plots do pall; 3 and that should 
 teach us, 
 
 ' Eisd is vinegar; but Mr. Steevens conjectures the word 
 should be Weisel, a river which falls into the Baltic ocean. 
 "Hatched. 'Mutineers. 
 
 1 Fetters and handcuffs brought from Bilboa in Spain, 
 a Fail. 
 
992 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Act V 
 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 
 
 Hor. That is most certain. 
 
 Ham. Up from my cabin, 
 My sea-gown scarf 'd about me, in the dark 
 f.Jrop'd I to find out them : had my desire ; 
 Finger'd their packet: and, in fine, withdrew 
 To mine own room again: making so bold, 
 My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
 Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio, 
 A royal knavery ; an exact command, — 
 Larded with many several sorts of reasons, 
 Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, 
 With, ho! such bugs 3 and goblins in my life, 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, 
 No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, 
 My head should be struck off. 
 
 Hor. Is't possible ! 
 
 Ham. Here's the commission; read it at more 
 leisure. 
 But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed ? 
 
 Hor. Ay, 'beseech you. 
 
 Ham. Being thus benetted round with villanies, 
 Or 4 I could make a prologue to my brains, 
 They had oegun the play; — I sat me down; 
 Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair: 
 [ once did hold it, as our statists 5 do, 
 A baseness to write fair, and labor'd much 
 How to forget that learning ; but, sir, now 
 It did me yeoman's service : Wilt thou know 
 The effect of what I wrote? 
 
 Hor. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king, — 
 As England was his faithful tributary; 
 As love between them like the palm might flourish; 
 As peace should still her wheaten garland wear, 
 And stand a comma 6 'tween their amities; 
 And many such like as's of great charge, — 
 That, on the view and knowing of these contents, 
 Without debatement further, more, or less, 
 He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
 Not shriving 1 time allowed. 
 
 Hor. How was this seal'd? 
 
 Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant ; 
 [ had my father's signet in my purse, 
 Which was the model of that Danish seal; 
 Folded the writ up in form of the other; 
 Subscrib'd it ; gave't the impression ; placed it 
 
 safely, 
 The changeling never known : Now the next day 
 Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent, 
 Thou kncw'st already. 
 
 Hor So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. 
 
 Ham. Why man, they did make love to this 
 employment; 
 They are not near my conscience; their defeat 
 Docs by their own insinuation grow: 
 '7'is dangerous, when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites. 
 
 Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 
 
 Ham. Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon? 
 He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother ; 
 Popp'd in between the election and my hopes: 
 Thrown out his angle for my proper life, 
 A nd with such cozenage ; is't not perfect con- 
 science, 
 To quit him with this arm ? and is't not to be 
 
 damn'd, 
 To lot this canker of our nature come 
 In further evil ? 
 
 1 Bugbears. 4 Before. 
 
 • A noto of connection. 
 
 • Statesmen. 
 7 Confessing. 
 
 Hor. It must be shortly known to him from 
 England, 
 What is the issue of the business there. 
 
 Ham. It will be short: the interim is mine: 
 And a man's life no more than to say, one 
 But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
 That to Laertes I forgot myself; 
 For by the image of my cause, I see 
 The portraiture of his: I'll count 8 his favors: 
 But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
 Into a towering passion. 
 
 Hor. Peace; who comes here! 
 
 Enter Osnic. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to 
 Denmark. 
 
 Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. — Dost know this 
 waterfly ? 
 
 Hor. No, my good lord. 
 
 Ham. Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a 
 vice to know him : He hath much land, and fertile : 
 let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand 
 at the king's mess: 'Tis a chough; 9 but, as I say, 
 spacious in the possession of dirt. 
 
 Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, 
 I should impart a thing to you from his majesty. 
 
 Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of 
 spirit : Your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the head 
 
 Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. 
 
 Hani. No, believe me, 'tis very cold; the wind 
 is northerly. 
 
 Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 
 
 Ham. But yet, methinks it is very sultry and 
 hot; or my complexion 
 
 Osr. Exceedingly, my lord : it is very sultry — 
 as 'twere, — I cannot tell how. — My lord, his ma- 
 jesty bade me signify to you, that he has laid a 
 great wager on your head : Sir, this is the matter, — 
 
 Ham. I beseech you, remember 
 
 [Hamlet moves him to put on his Hat. 
 
 Osr. Nay, good my lord ; for my ease, in good 
 faith.' Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes : 
 believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most ex- 
 cellent differences, 2 of very soft society, and great 
 showing: Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is 
 the card' or calendar of gentry, for you shall find 
 in him the continent* of what part a gentleman 
 would see. 
 
 Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in 
 you ; — though, I know, to divide him inventorially, 
 would dizzy the arithmetic of memory ; and yet 
 but raw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, 
 in the verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul 
 of great article ; and his infusion of such dearth 
 and rareness, as, to make true diction of him, his 
 semblable is his mirror; and, who else would trace 
 him, his umbrage, nothing more.* 
 
 Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him 
 
 Ham. The concernancy, sir ? why do we wary 
 the gentleman in our more rawer breath ? 
 
 Osr. Sir? 
 
 Hor. Is't not possible to understand in anothei 
 tongue ? You will do't, sir, really. 
 
 Ham. What imports the nomination of this gen 
 tleman? 
 
 Osr. Of Laertes? 
 
 Hor. His purse is empty already ; all nis golden 
 words are spent. 
 
 Ham. Of him, sir. 
 
 » Make account of, value. 9 A bird like a jackdaw. 
 
 i The affected phrase of the time. 
 
 a Distinguishing excellencies. » Compass or chart. 
 
 * The country and pattern for imitation. 
 
 * This speccU isA ridicule of the "ourt jargon of that time 
 
Scene II. 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 893 
 
 Osr. I know, you are not ignorant 
 
 Ham. I would, you did, sir; yet, in faith, if you 
 Jid, it would not much approve 6 me; — Well, sir. 
 Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
 Laertes is 
 
 Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should com- 
 pare with him in excellence ; but, to know a man 
 well, were to know himself. 
 
 Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon ; but in the im- 
 putation laid on him by them, in his meed 1 he's 
 unfellowed. 
 
 Ham. What's his weapon? 
 
 Osr. Rapier and dagger. 
 
 Ham. That's two of his weapons : but, well. 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him six 
 Barbary horses: against the which he nas im- 
 pawned, 8 as I take it, six French rapiers and 
 poniards, with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, 9 
 and so; Three of the carriages, in faith, are very 
 dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most 
 delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit. 
 
 Ham. What call you the carriages ? 
 
 Hor. I knew you must be edified by the mar- 
 gent,' ere you had done. 
 
 Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 
 
 Ham. The phrase would be more german 9 to the 
 matter, if we could carry a cannon by our sides ; 
 I would, it might be hangers till then. But, on : 
 Six Barbary horses against six French swords, 
 their assigns, and three liberal conceited carriages ; 
 that's the French bet against the Danish: Why, is 
 this impawned, as you call it] 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen 
 passes between yourself and him, he shall not ex- 
 ceed you three hits ; he hath laid, on twelve for 
 nine; and it would come to immediate trial, if your 
 lordship would vouchsafe the answer. 
 
 Ham. How, if I answer, no? 
 
 Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your 
 person in trial. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall : If it 
 please his majesty, it is the breathing time of day 
 with me: let the foils be brought, the gentleman 
 willing, and the king hold his purpose, I will win 
 for him, if I can; if not, I will gain nothing but 
 my shame, and the odd hits. 
 
 Osr. Shall I deliver you so ? 
 
 Ham. To this effect, sir; after what nourish 
 your nature will. 
 
 Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. [Exit. 
 
 Ham. Yours, ypurs. — He does well to com- 
 mend it himself; there are no tongues else for's turn. 
 
 Hur. This lapwing 3 runs away with the shell 
 on his head. 
 
 Ham. He did comply ' with his dug, before he 
 sucked it. Thus has he (and many more of the 
 same breed, that, I know, the drossy 5 age dotes on) 
 only got the tune of the time, and outward habit 
 of encounter; a kind of yesty collection, which 
 carries them through and through the most fond a 
 and winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to 
 their trial, the bubbles are out. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to 
 you by young Osric, who brings back to him, that 
 you attend him in the hall : He sends to know, if 
 
 • Recommend ' Praise. • Staked. 
 
 • That part of the belt by which the sword was suspended. 
 
 • Margin of a book which contains explanatory notes. 
 Akin. 
 
 ' A bird which runs about immediately it is hatched. 
 
 • Compliment * Worthless. 
 « Fir fond read fann'd. 
 
 your pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you 
 will take longer time. 
 
 Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they fol- 
 low the king's pleasure : if his fitness speaks, mine 
 is ready; now, or whensoever, provided I be so able 
 as now. 
 
 Lord. The king, and queen, and all are coming 
 down. 
 
 Ham. In happy time. 
 
 Lord. The queen desires you to use some gen 
 tie entertainment to Laertes, before you fall to 
 play. 
 
 Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord: 
 
 Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 
 
 Ham. I do not think so; since he went into 
 France, I have been in continual practice; I shall 
 win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think, how 
 ill all's here about my heart: but it is no matter. 
 
 Hor. Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Ham. It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of 
 gain-giving,'' as would perhaps, trouble a woman. 
 
 Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey it: I 
 will forestall their repair hither, and say, you are 
 not fit. 
 
 Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury; there is a 
 special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it 
 be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will 
 be now; if it be not now, yet it will come: the 
 readiness is all : Since no man, of aught he leaves, 
 knows, what is't to leave betimes ? Let be. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric, 
 and Attendants, with Foils, Sfc. 
 
 King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand 
 from me. 
 [The King puts the Hand of Laertes into 
 that of Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I have dono 
 you wrong; 
 But pardon it, as you are a gentleman. 
 This presence 8 knows, and you must needs ha\e 
 
 heard, 
 How lam punish'd with a sore distraction. 
 What I have done, 
 
 That might your nature, honor, and exception, 
 Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
 Was't Hamlet wronged Laertes? Never Hamlet, 
 If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, 
 And, when he's not himself, does wrong Laertes, 
 Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
 Who does it then ? His madness : If 't be so, 
 Hamlet is of the faction that is wronged; 
 His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
 Sir, in this audience, 
 Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
 Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, 
 That I have shot my arrow o'er the house, 
 And hurt my brother. 
 
 Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 
 
 Whose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
 To my revenge: but in my terms of honor, 
 I stand aloof; and will no reconcilement, 
 Till by some elder masters of known honor, 
 I have a voice and precedent of peace, 
 To keep my name ungor'd: 5 But till thai nmr, 
 I do receive your offer'd love like love, 
 And will not wrong it. 
 
 Ham. I embrace it freely; 
 
 And will this brother's wager frankly play. — 
 Give us the foils; come on. 
 
 Laer. Come, one for me 
 
 1 Misgiving. 
 »TJn wounded. 
 
 •The king and oueen's p-esenc# 
 
894 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Acr V 
 
 Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes; in mine igno- 
 rance 
 Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest night, 
 Stick fiery off indeed. 
 
 Laer. You mock me, sir. 
 
 Ham. No, by this hand. 
 
 King. Give them the foils, young Osric. — Cou- 
 sin Hamlet, 
 You know the wager ? 
 
 Ham. Very well, my lord; 
 
 Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker side. 
 
 King. I do not fear it: — I have seen you both: — 
 But since he's better'd, we have therefore odds. 
 
 Laer. This is too heavy, let me see another. 
 
 Ham. This likes me well: These foils have all 
 a length? [They prepare to play. 
 
 Osr. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Set me the stoups ' of wine upon that 
 table : — 
 If Hamlet give the first or second hit, 
 Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 
 Let all the battlements their ordnance fire, 
 The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; 
 And in the cup an union 2 shall he throw, 
 Richer than that which four successive kings 
 In Denmark's crown have worn ; Give me the cups ; 
 And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
 The trumpet to the cannoneer without, 
 The cannons to the heavens, the heaven to earth, 
 Now the King drinks to Hamlet. — Come, begin; — 
 And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 
 
 Ham. Come on ; sir. 
 
 Laer. Come, my lord. [They play. 
 
 Ham. One. 
 
 Laer. No. 
 
 Ham. Judgment. 
 
 Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 
 
 Laer. Well, — again. 
 
 King. Stay, give me drink : Hamlet, this pearl 
 is thine; 
 Here's to thy health. — Give him the cup. 
 [Trumpets sound,- and Cannon shot off within. 
 
 Ham. I'll play this bout first, set it by a while. 
 Come. — Another hit; What say you? [They play. 
 
 Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 
 
 King. Our son shall win. 
 
 Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. — 
 
 Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows: 
 The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Good madam, 
 
 King. Gertrude, do not drink. 
 
 Queen. I will, my lord ; — I pray you, pardon me. 
 
 King. It is the poison'd cup ; it is too late. [Aside. 
 
 Ham. I dare not drink yet, madam ; by and by. 
 
 Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 
 
 Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. 
 
 King. I do not think it. 
 
 Laer. And yet it is almost against my conscience. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Jam. Come, for the third, Laertes : You do but 
 dally; 
 I pray you, pass with your best violence; 
 I am afeard, you make a wanton 3 of me. 
 
 Laer. Say you so? come on [They play. 
 
 Osr. Nothing neither way. 
 
 Laer. Have at you now. 
 
 [Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuf- 
 fling, they change Rapiers, and Ham- 
 let wounds Laertes. 
 
 King. Part them, they are incens'd. 
 
 Ham. Nay, come again. [The Queen falls. 
 Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ! 
 
 Large jugs. » A precious pearl. 3 Boy. 
 
 Hor. They bleed on both sides; — How .s it, ni) 
 lord? 
 
 Osr. How is't, Laertes T 
 
 Laer. Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, 
 Osric; 
 I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. 
 
 Ham. How does the queen ? 
 
 King. She swoons to see them bleed 
 
 Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O mj 
 dear Hamlet ! 
 The drink, the drink ; — I am poison'd ! [Dies. 
 
 Ham. O villany ! — Ho ! let the door be lock'd : 
 Treachery ! seek it out. [Laertes falls 
 
 Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou art slain 
 No medicine in the world can do thee good. 
 In thee there is not half an hour's life ; 
 The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
 Unbated,' and envenom'd : the foul practice 
 Hath turn'd itself on me; lo, here I lie. 
 Never to rise again: Thy mother's poison'd: 
 I can no more; the king, the king's to blame. 
 
 Ham. The point 
 Envenom'd too ! — then, venom, to thy work. 
 
 [Stabs the King 
 
 Osr. S( Lords. Treason ! treason ! 
 
 King. O, yet defend me friends, I am but hurt 
 
 Ham. Here thou incestuous, murd'rous, damned 
 Dane, 
 Drink off this potion: — Is thy union here? 
 Follow my mother. [King dies. 
 
 Laer. He is justly serv'd; 
 
 It is a poison temper'd ' by himself. — 
 Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: 
 Mine and my father's death come not upon thee; 
 Nor thine on me! [Die&. 
 
 Ham. Heaven make thee free of it! I follow 
 thee. 
 I am dead. Horatio : — Wretched queen, adieu ! — 
 You that look pale and tremble at this chance, 
 That are but mutes or audience to this act, 
 Had I but time, (as this fell sergeant, 6 death, 
 Is strict in his arrest,) O, I could tell you, — 
 But let it be: — Horatio, I am dead; 
 Thou liv'st ; report me and my cause aright 
 To the unsatisfied. 
 
 Hor. Never believe it ; 
 
 I am more an antique Roman than a Dane, 
 Here's yet some liquor left. 
 
 Ham. As thou'rt a man, — 
 
 Give me the cup; let go; by heaven I'll have it.— 
 
 God ! — Horatio, what a wounded name, 
 Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind 
 
 me? 
 If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, 
 Absent thee from felicity awhile, 
 And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pail., 
 To tell my story. — 
 
 [March afar off, and Shot w.'thin 
 What warlike noise is this ? 
 Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come frorr 
 Poland, 
 To the ambassadors of England gives 
 This warlike volley. 
 
 Ham. O, I die, Horatio ; 
 
 The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit 
 
 1 cannot live to hear the news from England* 
 But I do prophesy the election lights 
 
 On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice 
 
 So tell him, with the occurrents, 1 more or lesct, 
 
 Which have solicited,' — the rest is silence. [IHe% 
 
 «Not blunted, without a button. 
 
 « Mixed. « A sergeant is a sheriff's offieer. 
 
 ' Occurrence" » Incited 
 
Scene II 
 
 PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 SW 
 
 Hor. Now cracks a noble heart; — Good-night, 
 sweet prince ; 
 Ai.d flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! 
 Why does the drum come hither ? [March within. 
 Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, 
 and others. 
 
 Fort. Where is this sight? 
 
 Hor. What is it you would see 1 
 
 If aught of woe or wonder, cease your searoh. 
 
 Fort. This quarry 9 cries on havoc ! ' — O proud 
 death ! 
 What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, 
 That thou so many princes, at a shot, 
 So bloodily hast struck? 
 
 1 Amb. The sight is dismal; 
 
 And our affairs from England come too late : 
 The ears are senseless, that should give us hearing, 
 To tell htm, his commandment is fulfill'd, 
 That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead: 
 Where should we have our thanks? 
 
 Hor. Not from his mouth, 
 
 Had it the ability of life to thank you ; 
 He never gave commandment for their death. 
 But since, so jump 3 upon this bloody question, 
 You from the Polack 3 wars, and you from England, 
 Are here arriv'd; give order, that these bodies 
 High on a stage be placed to the view; 
 
 • Heap of dead game. 
 
 * A word of censure when more game was destroyed 
 \hau was reasonable. 
 
 •ft; exactly at the time. • Polirti. 
 
 And let me speak, to the yet unknowing wond, 
 How these things come about: So shall you hear 
 Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts; 
 Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters; 
 Of deaths put on by cunning, and forced cause 
 And in this upshot, purposes mistook 
 FalPn on the inventors' heads: all this can I 
 Truly deliver. 
 
 Fort. Let us haste to hear it, 
 
 And call the noblest to the audience. 
 For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune , 
 I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, 
 Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 
 
 Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, 
 And from his mouth whose voice will draw on 
 
 more : 
 But let this same be presently perform'd, 
 Even while men's minds are wild ; lest more mis- 
 chance, 
 On plots and errors, happen. 
 
 Fort. Let four captains 
 
 Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage; 
 For he was likely, had he been put on, 
 To have prov'd most royally : and, for his passage, 
 The soldier's music, and the rites of war, 
 Speak loudly for him. — 
 Take up the bodies: — Such a sight as this 
 Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. 
 Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A Dead March. 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing off the dead Bodies,- after 
 which, a Peal of Ordnance U s/utt, off. 
 
OTHELLO, 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 DrKE of Venice. 
 Brabantio, « Senator. 
 Two other Senators. 
 Gbatiano, Brother to Brabantio. 
 Lonovico, Kinsman to Brabantio. 
 Othello, the Moor. 
 Cassio, his Lieutenant. 
 [ago, his Ancient. 
 Rokeiugo, a Venetian Gentleman. 
 Moxtano, Othello's Predecessor in the Govern- 
 ment of Cyprus. 
 
 Clown, Servant to Othello. 
 Herald. 
 
 Desdemon a, Daughter to Brabantio, and Wife U 
 
 Othello. 
 Emilia, Wife to Iago. 
 Bianca, a Courtezan, Mistress to Cassio. 
 
 Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, 
 Sailors, Attendants, Src. 
 
 SCENE, for the first Act, in Venice; during the rest of the Play, at a Sea-port in Cyprus. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Rodeeigo and Iago. 
 
 Rod. Tush, never tell me, I take it much un- 
 kindly, 
 That ihou, Iago, — who hast had my purse, 
 \s if the strings were thine, — shouldst know of 
 this. 
 
 Iago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me : — 
 If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
 \bhor me. 
 
 hod. Thou told'st me, thou didst hold him in thy 
 hate. 
 
 Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones 
 of the city, 
 In personal suit to make me his lieutenant, 
 ~)fi capp'd ' to him ; — and, by the faith of man, 
 [ know my price, I am worth no worse a place : 
 But he, as loving his own pride and purposes, 
 Evades them, with a bombast circumstance, 5 
 Horribly stuff 'd with epithets of war ; 
 And, in conclusion, nonsuits 
 My mediators ; for certes, 2 says he, 
 I have already chose my officer. 
 And what was he 1 
 forsooth, a great arithmetician, 
 One Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 
 A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife; 
 That never set a squadron in the field, 
 Nor the division of a battle knows 
 More than a spinster ; unless the bookish theoric, 
 Wherein the toged consuls can propose 
 As masterly as he : mere prattle, without practice, 
 Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, bad the election : 
 And I, — of whom his eyes had seen the proof, 
 At Rhodes, at Cyprus; and on other grounds 
 
 •Saluted " Circumlocu tion. « Certainly. 
 
 [8961 
 
 Christian and heathen, — must be be-lee'd and calm'd 
 By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster;* 
 He, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 
 And I, (God bless the mark !) his Moorship's an- 
 cient. 
 Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his 
 
 hangman. 
 Iago. But there's no remedy, 'tis the curse of 
 service ; 
 Preferment goes by letter, and affection, 
 Not by the old gradation, where each second 
 Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself, 
 Whether I in any just term am affin'd 5 
 To love the Moor. 
 
 Rod. I would not follow him then. 
 
 Iago. O, sir, content you ; 
 I follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
 We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
 Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
 Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
 That, doting on his own obsequious bondage, 
 Wears out his time, much like his master's ass, 
 .For nought but provender ; and, when he's old, 
 
 cashier'd ; 
 Whip me such honest knaves : Others there are, 
 Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty, 
 Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves ; 
 And, throwing but shows of service en their lords, 
 Do well thrive by them, and when they have lined 
 
 their coats, 
 Do themselves homage : these fellows have some 
 
 soul ; 
 And such a one do I profess my&i\f. 
 For, sir, 
 It is as sure as you are Roderifto, 
 
 * It was anciently tlie practico to vt Ac a up sums -will) 
 counters. » Rel»tod 
 
BoENK I. 
 
 OTHELLO THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 89? 
 
 Wc«p, J the Moor, I would not be Iago : 
 In following him, I follow but myself; 
 Hpaven is my judge, not 1 for love and duty, 
 Bui seeming so, for my peculiar end ; 
 For when my outward action doth demonstrate 
 The native act and figure of my heart 
 In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 
 But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 For daws to peck at : I am not what I am. 
 
 Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, 6 
 If he can carry't thus ! 
 
 Iago. Call up her father, 
 
 Rouse him : make after him, poison his delight, 
 Proclaim him in the streets ; incense her kinsmen, 
 And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 
 Plague him with flies : though that his joy be joy, 
 Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, 
 As it may lose some color. 
 
 Rod. Here is her father's house ; I'll call aloud. 
 
 Iago. Do; with like timorous accent, and dire yell, 
 As when, by night and negligence, the fire 
 Is spied in populous cities. 
 
 Rod. What ho! Brabantio!signiorBrabantio,ho! 
 
 Iago. Awake ! what ho ! Brabantio ! thieves ! 
 thieves ! thieves ! 
 Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags ! 
 Thieves ! thieves ! 
 
 Biiabantio, above, at a Window. 
 
 Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons 1 
 What is the matter there ? 
 
 Rod. Signior, is all your family within ? 
 
 Iago. Are your doors lock'd ? 
 
 Bra. Why ? wherefore ask you this ? 
 
 Iago. Zounds, sir, you are robb'd; for shame, put 
 on your gown ; 
 Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul ; 
 Even now, very now, an old black ram 
 Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise; 
 Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, 
 Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you: 
 Arise, I say. 
 
 Bra. What, have you lost your wits? 
 
 Rod. Most reverend signior,do you know my voice? 
 
 Bra. Not I : What are you ? 
 
 Rod. My name is — Roderigo. 
 
 Bra. The worse welcome ; 
 
 I have charged thee, not to haunt about my doors: 
 In honest plainness thou hast heard me say, 
 My daughter is not for thee; and now, in madness, 
 Being full of supper, and distempering draughts, 
 Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come 
 To start my quiet. 
 
 Rod. Sir, sir, sir, sir, 
 
 Bra. But thou must needs be sure, 
 
 My spirit, and my place, have in them power 
 To make this bitter to thee. 
 
 Rod. Patience, good sir. 
 
 Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing ? this is 
 Venice ! 
 My house is not a grange.' 
 
 Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 
 
 In simple and pure soul I come to you. 
 
 Iago. Zounds, sir, you are one of those, that will 
 not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we 
 come to do you service, you think we are ruffians: 
 You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary 
 horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you: 
 you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for 
 germans.* 
 
 Bra. What profane wretch art thou ? 
 
 Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your 
 • Owa, possess ' A lone farm-house. 8 Relations. 
 
 daughter and the Moor are now making the beast 
 with two backs. 
 
 Bra. Thou art a villain. 
 
 Iago. You are — a senator. 
 
 Bra. This thou shalt answer : I know thee, Ro- 
 derigo. 
 
 Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I be- 
 seech you, 
 If 't be your pleasure, and most wise consent, 
 (As partly, I find, it is,) that your fair daughter. 
 At this odd-even 9 and dull watch o' the night, 
 Transported — with no worse nor better guard, 
 But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier 
 To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, — 
 If this be known to you, and your allowance, 1 
 We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs ; 
 But, if you know not this, my manners tell me, 
 We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe 
 That, from the sense of all civility, 
 I thus would play and trifle with your reverence 
 Your daughter, — if you have not given her leave, — 
 I say again, hath made a gross revolt ; 
 Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes, 
 In an extravagant 2 and wheeling stranger, 
 Of here and every where : Straight satisfy yourself* 
 If she be in her chamber, or your house. 
 Let loose on me the justice of the state 
 For thus deluding you. 
 
 Bra. Strike on the tindtr, ho : 
 
 Give me a taper ; — call up all my people : — 
 This accident is not unlike my dream, 
 Belief of it oppresses me already : — 
 Light, I say ! light ! [Exit from above. 
 
 Iago. Farewell ; for I must leave you : 
 
 It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, 
 To be produced (as, if I stay, I shall) 
 Against the Moor : For, I do know, the state, — 
 However this may gall him with some check, — 
 Cannot with safety cast him ; for he's embark'd 
 With such loud reason to the Cyprus' wars, 
 (Which even now stand in act,) that, for their souls, 
 Another of his fathom they have not, 
 To lead their business : in which regard, 
 Though I do hate him as I do hell pains, 
 Yet, for necessity of present life, 
 I must show out a flag and sign of love, 
 Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely 
 
 find him, 
 Lead to the Sagittary the rais'd search ; 
 And there will I be with him. So farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Enter below, Brabantio, and Servants with 
 Torches. 
 
 Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ; 
 And what's to come of my despised time, 3 
 Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 
 Where didst thou see her ! — 0, unhappy girl ! — 
 With the Moor, say'st thou ? — Who would be a 
 
 father ? 
 How didst thou know 'twas she ? O, thou deceiv'st mo 
 Past thought ! — What said she to you ? — Ge' 
 
 more tapers : 
 Raise all my kindred. — Are they married, think 
 
 you? 
 Rod. Truly, I think, they are. 
 Bra. O heaven! — how got she out ?- -O treason 
 
 of the blood ! — 
 Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds 
 By what you see them act. — Are there not charms, 
 By which the property of youth and maidhood 
 May be abus'd ? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
 Of some such thing ? 
 •Midnight. 'Approbation. 'Wandering. *01dai{» 
 
898 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act I 
 
 Rod. Yes, sir; I have indeed. 
 
 Bra. Call up my brother. — O, that you had had 
 her !— 
 Some one way. some another. — Do you know 
 Where we may apprehend her and the Moor ? 
 
 Rud. I think, I can discover him: if you please 
 To get good guard, and go along with me. 
 
 Bra Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call ; 
 I may command at most; — Get weapons, ho! 
 And raise some special officers of night. — 
 On, good Roderigo : — I'll deserve your pains. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Stred. 
 Enter Othkllo, Iago, and Attendants. 
 
 Iago. Though in the trade of war I have slain 
 men, 
 Yet do I hold it very stuff* o' the conscience, 
 To do no contriv'd murder; I lack iniquity 
 Sometimes to do me service : Nine or ten times 
 I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the 
 ribs. 
 
 Oth. 'Tis better as it is. 
 
 Iago. Nay, but he prated, 
 
 And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
 Against your honor, 
 That with the little godliness I have, 
 I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir, 
 Are you fast married ? for, be sure of this, — 
 That the magnifico 4 is much belov'd ; 
 And hath, in his effect, a voice potential 
 As double as the duke's ; he will divorce you ; 
 Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
 The law (with all his might, to enforce it on) 
 Will give him cable. 
 
 Oth. Let him do his spite : 
 
 My services, which I have done the signiory, 
 Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know, 
 (Which when I know that boasting is an honor, 
 I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being 
 From men of royal siege; 6 and my demerits 6 
 May speak, unbonneted, to as proud a fortune 
 As this that I have reach'd : For know, Iago, 
 But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
 I would not my unhoused free condition 
 Put into circumscription and confine 
 For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights come 
 
 yonder ? 
 Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain Officers 
 with Torches. 
 
 Iago. These are the raised father, and his friends : 
 You were best go in. 
 
 Oth. Not I : I must be found ; 
 
 My parts, my title, and my perfect soul, 
 Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? 
 
 Iago. By Janus, I think no. 
 
 Oth. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. 
 The goodness of the night upon you, friends! 
 What is the news? 
 
 Cas. The duke does greet you, general; 
 
 And he requires your haste-poste-haste appearance, 
 fcven on the instant. 
 
 Oth. What is the matter, think you? 
 
 Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine; 
 It is a business of some heat: the gallies 
 Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
 This very night at one another's heels; 
 And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met, 
 Are at the duke's already: You have been hotly 
 call'd for; 
 
 • B'.abantic, magnifico is his title as a senator. 
 Sea.; or throne. 
 
 • Demerits has the same meaning in Shakspeare as merits. 
 
 When, being not at your lodging to be found, 
 The senate hath sent about three stveral quests 
 To search you out. 
 
 Oth. 'Tis will I am found by you 
 
 I will but spend a word here in the house, 
 And go with you. [Exit 
 
 Cas. Ancient, what makes he here? 
 
 Iago. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land 
 carack ; 1 
 If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. 
 
 Cas. I do not understand. 
 
 Iitgo. He's married. 
 
 Cas. To who 1 
 
 Re-enter Othello. 
 
 Iago. Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go? 
 
 Oth. Have with you. 
 
 Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 
 Enter Bhabantio, Rodkrigo, and Officers of 
 night, with Torches and Weapons. 
 
 Iago. It is Brabantio: — general, be advis'd; 
 He comes to bad intent. 
 
 Oth. Hola ! stand there ! 
 
 Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 
 
 Bra. Down with him, thief 
 
 [They draw on both sides 
 
 Iago. You, Roderigo ! come sir, I am for you. 
 
 Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew 
 will rust them. — 
 Good signior, you shall more command with years, 
 Than with your weapons. 
 
 Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd 
 my daughter ? 
 Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her: 
 For I'll refer me to all things of sense, 
 If she in chains of magic were not bound, 
 Whether a maid — so tender, fair, and happy ; 
 So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd 
 The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 
 Would ever have, to incur a general mock, 
 Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 
 Of such a thing as thou : to fear, not to delight. 
 Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense, 
 That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms; 
 Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or minerals. 
 That waken motion : — I'll have it disputed on ; 
 'Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. 
 I therefore apprehend and do attach thee, 
 For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
 Of arts inhibited and out of warrant : — 
 Lay hold upon him ; if he do resist, 
 Subdue hirn at his peril. 
 
 Oth. Hold your hands, 
 
 Both you of my inclining, and the rest: 
 Were it my cue to fight, I should have known If 
 Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go 
 To answer this your charge ? 
 
 Bra. To prison : till fit time 
 
 Of law, and course of direct session, 
 Call thee to answer. 
 
 Oth. What if I do obey? 
 
 How may the duke be therewith satisfied ; 
 Whose messengers are here about my side, 
 Upon some present business of the state, 
 To bring me to him ? 
 
 Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signii»i 
 
 The duke's in council; and your noble self, 
 I am sure, is sent for. 
 
 Bra. How! the duke in council 
 
 In this time of the night ! — Bring him away • 
 Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself. 
 Or any of my brothers of Jie state, 
 ' A rich ve.«s«l 
 
SCKNE III. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 8% 
 
 Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own ; 
 For if such actions may have passage free, 
 Bond-slaves, and pagans, shall our statesmen be. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III— A Council Chamber. 
 
 T/m Dukk, and Senators, sitting at a Table,- Offi- 
 cers attending. 
 
 Duke. There is no composition * in these news, 
 That gives them credit. 
 
 1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion 'd ; 
 My letters say, a hundred and seven gallies. 
 
 Duke. And mine a hundred and forty. 
 
 2 Sen. And mine, two hundred : 
 Bat though they jump not on a just account, 
 (As in these cases, where the aim 9 reports, 
 
 'Tis oft with difference,) yet do they all confirm 
 A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 
 
 Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment; 
 I do not so secure me in the error, 
 But the main article I do approve 
 In fearful sense. 
 
 Sailor. [ Within."] What ho ! what ho ! what ho ! 
 
 Enter an Officer, with a Sailor. 
 
 Off. A messenger from the gallies. 
 
 Duke. Now ? the business 1 
 
 Sailor. The Turkish preparation makes for 
 Rhodes : 
 So was I bid report here to the state, 
 By signior Angelo. 
 
 Duke. How say you by this change 1 
 
 1 Sen. This cannot be, 
 
 By no assay of reason ; 'tis a pageant, 
 To keep us in false gaze : When we consider 
 The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk ; 
 And let ourselves again but understand, 
 That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
 So may he with more facile question 1 bear it, 
 For that it stands not in such warlike brace." 
 But altogether lacks the abilities 
 That Rhodes is dress'd in : — if we make thought 
 
 of this, 
 We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful, 
 To leave that latest which concerns him first; 
 Neglecting an attempt of ease, and gain, 
 To wake and wage 3 a danger profitless. 
 
 Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's not for 
 Rhodes. 
 
 Off. Here is more news. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
 Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, 
 Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 
 1 Sen. Ay, so I thought : — How many, as you 
 
 guess* 
 Mess. Of thirty sail: and now do they re-stem 
 Tneir backward course, bearing with frank appear- 
 ance 
 Their purposes toward Cyprus. — Signior Montano, 
 Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 
 With his free duty recommends you thus, 
 And prays you to believe him. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus. — 
 Marcus Lucchese, is he not in town] 
 1 Se7i. He's now in Florence. 
 Duke. Write from us; wish him post post-haste: 
 
 despatch. 
 1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the valiant 
 Moor. 
 
 • Consistency. » Conjecture. 
 
 • Rtate of deSmee 3 Combat. 
 
 1 Easy dispute. 
 
 Enter Brabantio, Othullo, Iago, Rodeiugo, 
 and Officers. 
 
 Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight emplo) 
 you 
 Against the general enemy Ottoman. 
 I did not see you; welcome, gentle signior; 
 
 [To Brabantio 
 We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 
 
 Bra. So did I yours: Good your grace, pardon 
 me; 
 Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, 
 Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the general 
 
 care 
 Take hold on me; for my particular grief 
 Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature, 
 That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, 
 And it is still itself. 
 
 Duke. Why, what's the matter 1 
 
 Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
 
 Se?i. Dead ? 
 
 Bra. Ay, to me ; 
 
 She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
 By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks; 
 For nature so preposterously to err, ' 
 Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
 Sans 4 witchcraft could not 
 
 Duke. Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding, 
 Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself, 
 And you of her, the bloody book of law 
 You shall yourself read in the bitter letter, 
 After your own sense; yea, though our proper son 
 Stood in your action. 5 
 
 Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 
 
 Here is the man, this Moor; whom now, it seems, 
 Your special mandate, for the state affairs, 
 Hath hither brought. 
 
 Duke <$• Sen. We are very sorry for it. 
 
 Dulce. What, in your own part, can you say to 
 this] [To Othello. 
 
 Bra. Nothing but this is so. 
 
 Oth. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters, 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
 It is most true; true, I have married her; 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech, 
 And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace, 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used 
 Their dearest action 6 in the tented field : 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause, 
 In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious pa- 
 tience, 
 I will a round unvarnished tale deliver 
 Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, whal 
 
 charms, 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 (For such proceeding I am charged withal,) 
 I won his daughter with. 
 
 Bra. A maiden never bold; 
 
 Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Blush'd at herself; and she, — in spite of nature. 
 Of years, of country, credit, every thing, — 
 To fall in love »-Jh what she fear'd to look on? 
 It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 
 That will confess — perfection so oould err 
 Against all rules of nature, and must be driven 
 To find out practices of cunning hell, 
 Why this should be. I therefore vouch again, 
 
 * Without. s Accusation. • Best exertion. 
 
uoo 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Act 1 
 
 That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
 Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect, 
 He wrought upon her. 
 
 Duke. To vouch this is no proof; 
 
 Without more certain and more overt test,' 
 Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods 
 Of modern seeming, 8 do prefer against him. 
 
 1 Sen. But, Othello, speak; — 
 Did you by indhect and forced courses 
 Subdue and poison this young maid's affections? 
 Or came it by request, or such fair question 
 As soul to soul affordeth ? 
 
 Oth. I do beseech you, 
 
 Send for the lady to the Sagittary,' 
 And let her speak of me before her father : 
 If you do find me foul in her report, 
 The trust, the office, I do hold of you, 
 Not only take away, but let your sentence 
 Even fall upon my life. 
 
 Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 
 
 Oth. Ancient, conduct them ; you best know the 
 place. — [Exeunt Iago, and Attendants. 
 And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
 I do confess the vices of my blood, 
 So justly to your grave years I'll present 
 How I did thrive in this fair lady's love, 
 And she in mine. 
 
 Duke. Say it, Othello. 
 
 Oth. Her father lov'd me, oft invited me ; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life, 
 From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
 Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, 
 Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 
 Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach; 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, 
 And portance 1 in my travel's history: 
 Wherein of antres 3 vast, and deserts idle, 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch 
 
 heaven, 
 It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 
 And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things 
 
 to hear, 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline: 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence; 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 Devour up my discourse: Which I observing, 
 Took once a pliant hour; and found good means 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
 But not intentively : 3 I did consent; 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 
 That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: 
 She swore, —In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing 
 
 stiange; 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : 
 She wish'd, she had not heard it; yet she wish'd 
 That heaven had made her such a man : she thank'c? 
 
 me; 
 \nd bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 
 ' Open j.roof. ' Weak show. 
 
 » The s.gn of the fictitious creature so called. 
 1 My benavior. » Caves and dens 
 
 » luicntion and attention were once synonymous. 
 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I 
 
 spake ; 
 She lov'd m^ir the dangers I had pass'd; 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 
 This only is the witchcraft I have used ; 
 Here comes the lady, let her witness it. 
 
 Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendant*. 
 
 Duke. I think, this tale would win my daughter, 
 too. — 
 Good Brabantio, 
 
 Take up this mangled matter at the best: 
 Pvlen do their broken weapons rather use, 
 Than their bare hands. 
 
 Bra. I pray you, hear her speak 
 
 If she confess, that she was half the wooer, 
 Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
 Light on the man! — Come hither, gentle mistress; 
 Do you perceive in all this noble company, 
 Where most you owe obedience? 
 
 Des. My noble father, 
 
 I do perceive here a divided duty : 
 To you I am bound for life \nd education ; 
 My life, and education, both do learn me 
 How to respect you; you are the lord of duty, 
 I am hitherto your daughter: But here's my hue- 
 band; 
 And so much duty as my mother show'd 
 To you, preferring you before her father. 
 So much I challenge that I may profess 
 Due to the Moor, my lord. 
 
 Bra. God be with you ! — I have done. — 
 
 Please it your grace, on to the state affairs: 
 I had rather to adopt a child, than get it.- 
 Come hither, Moor: 
 
 I here do give thee that with all my heart, 
 Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
 I would keep from thee. — For your sake, jewel, 
 I am glad at soul I have no other child ; 
 For thy escape would teach me tyranny, 
 To hang clogs on them. — I have done, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Let me speak like yourself, and lay a 
 sentence, 
 Which, as a grise, 4 or step, may help these lovers 
 Into your favor. 
 
 When remedies are past, the griefs are ended, 
 By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. 
 To mourn a mischief that is past and gone, 
 Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
 What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes, 
 Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
 The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the 
 
 thief; 
 He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 
 
 Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; 
 We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 
 He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears 
 But the free comfort which from thence he hears. 
 But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow, 
 That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
 These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, 
 Being strong on both sides are equivocal : 
 But words are words; I never yet did hear, 
 That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear 
 I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. 
 
 Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation 
 makes for Cyprus: — Othello the fortitude of the. 
 place is best known to you : And though we have 
 there a substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet 
 opinion, a sovereign mistress of effects, throws a 
 more safer voice on you: you must therefore b* 
 * Grise from degrees. 
 
Scene III 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE 
 
 901 
 
 content to slubber' the gloss of your new fortunes 
 with this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. 
 
 Olh. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
 Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
 My thrice-driven bed of down: I do agnize' 
 A natural and prompt alacrity, 
 I find in hardness, and do undertake 
 These present wars against the Ottomites. 
 Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
 I crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
 Due reference of place, and exhibition,' 
 With such accommodation, and besort, 
 As levels with her breeding. 
 
 Duke. If you please, 
 
 Be't at her father's. 
 
 Bra. I'll not have it so. 
 
 Oth. Nor I. 
 
 Des. Nor I; I would not there reside, 
 
 To put my father in impatient thoughts, 
 By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
 To my unfolding lend a gracious ear; 
 And let me find a charter in your voice, 
 To assist my simpleness. 
 
 Duke. What would you, Desdemona? 
 Des. That I did love the Moor to live with him, 
 My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
 May trumpet to the world ; my heart's subdued 
 Even to the very quality of my lord: 
 I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
 And to his honors, and his valiant parts, 
 Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
 So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
 A moth of peace, and he go to the war, 
 The rites, for which I love him, are bereft me, 
 And I a heavy interim shall support 
 By his dear absence : Let me go with him. 
 
 Oth. Your voices, lords: — 'beseech you, let her 
 will 
 Have a free way. 
 
 Vouch with me, heaven ; I therefore beg it not, 
 To please the palate of my appetite; 
 Nor to comply with heat, the young affects, 8 
 In my distinct and proper satisfaction ; 
 But to be free and bounteous to her mind: 
 And heaven defend 'your good souls, that you think 
 [ will your serious and great business scant, 
 For 1 she is with me: No, when light-wing'd toys 
 Of feather'd Cupid seel 2 with wanton dulness 
 My speculative and active instruments, 
 That my disports corrupt and taint my business, 
 Let housewives make a skillet 3 of my helm,* 
 And all indign and base adversities 
 Make head against my estimation ! 
 
 Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine, 
 Either for her stay, or going: the affair cries — 
 
 haste, 
 And speed must answer it; you must hence to- 
 night. 
 Des. To-night, my lord ? 
 Duke. This night. 
 
 Oth. With all my heart. 
 
 Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll meet 
 again. 
 Othello, leave some officer behind, 
 And he shall our commission bring to you; 
 With such things else of quality and respect, 
 As doth import you. 
 
 Oth. Please your grace, my ancient; 
 
 A man he is of honesty and trust: 
 To his conveyance I assign my wife, 
 
 > Obscure. • Acknowledge. 'Allowance. 
 
 'Affections 3 Forbid. ''Because. 
 
 » Blind. ' A small kettle. « Helmet. 
 
 With what else needful your good grace shall think 
 To be sent after me. 
 
 Duke. Let it be so. — 
 
 Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, 
 
 [7b Bhabantto. 
 If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 
 Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 
 1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ! use Desdemona well. 
 Bra. IiOok to her, Moor ; have a quick eye to see ; 
 She has deceiv'd her father, and may thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Duke, Senators, Officers, <fc. 
 Oth. My life upon her faith. — Honest Iago, 
 My Desdemona must I leave to thee; 
 I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her; 
 And bring them after in the best advantage. — 
 Come, Desdemona; I have but an hour 
 Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 
 To spend with thee: we must obey the time. 
 
 [Exeunt Othello and DEsuEMOifi. 
 Rod. Iago. 
 
 Iago. What say'st thou, noble heart? 
 Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou ? 
 Iago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 
 Rod. I will incontinently 5 drown myself. 
 Iago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thet 
 after it. Why, thou silly gentleman ! 
 
 Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a tor- 
 ment : and then have we a prescription to die, when 
 death is our physician. 
 
 Iago. O villanous ! I have looked upon the world 
 for four times seven years ! and since I could dis- 
 tinguish between a benefit and an injury, I never 
 found a man that knew how to love himself. Ere 
 I would say, I would drown myself for the love of 
 a Guinea-hen, I would change my humanity with 
 a baboon. 
 
 Rod. What should I do? I confess it is my 
 shame to be so fond; but it is not in virtue tc 
 amend it. 
 
 Iago. Virtue ? a fig ! 'tis in ourselves, that we 
 are thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to 
 the which, our wills are gardeners: so that if we 
 will plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; set hyssop, and 
 weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, 
 or distract it with many ; either to have it steril 
 with idleness, or manured with industry; why, the 
 power and corrigible authority of this lies in our 
 wills. If the balance of our lives had not one scale 
 of reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood 
 and baseness of our natures would conduct us to 
 most preposterous conclusions : But we have reason 
 to cool our raging motions, our carnal stings, ovr 
 unbitted 6 lust; whereof I take thisf that you call-- 
 love, to be a sect, 1 or scion. 
 Rod. It cannot be. 
 
 Iago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a per 
 mission of the will. Come, be a man : Drown thy- 
 self? drown cats, and blind puppies. I have pro- 
 fessed me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy 
 deserving with cables of perdurable toughness, I 
 could never better stead thee than now. Put 
 money in thy purse; follow these wars; defeat thy ' 
 favor with an usurped beard! 8 I say, put money in 
 thy purse. It cannot be, that Desdemona should 
 long continue her love to the Moor, — put money ii 
 thy purse ; — nor he his to her : it was a violent com ■ 
 mencement, and thou shalt see an answerable se- 
 questration ; — put but money in thy purse. — These 
 Moors are changeable in their wills; — fill thy purse 
 with money : the food that to him now is as lua 
 
 'Immediately. "Unbridled 
 
 1 A sect is what the gardeners call a cutting 
 • Change your countenance with a fa'se beard 
 
002 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act II. 
 
 cious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as 
 coloquintida. She must change for youth: when 
 she is sated with his body, she will find the error 
 of her choice. — She must have change, she must: 
 therefore put money in thy purse. — If thou wilt 
 needs damn thyself, do it a more delicate way than 
 drowning. Make all the money thou canst: If 
 sanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring bar- 
 barian and a supersubtle Venetian, bt not too hard 
 for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt en- 
 joy her; therefore make money. A pox of drown- 
 ing thyself! it is clean out of the way: seek thou 
 rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy, than to 
 be drowned and go without her. 
 
 Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend 
 on the issue ? 
 
 logo. Thou art sure of me ; — Go, make money : 
 — I have told thee often, and I re-tell thee again 
 and again, I hate the Moor: My cause is hearted: 
 thine hath no less reason : Let us be conjunctive in 
 our revenge against him : if thou canst cuckold 
 him, thou dost thyself a pleasure, and me a sport. 
 There are many events in the womb of time, which 
 will be delivered. Traverse; 9 go; provide thy 
 money. We will have more of this to-morrow. 
 Adieu. 
 
 Rod. Where shall we meet i'the morning? 
 
 Iago. At my lodging. 
 
 Rod. I'll be with thee betimes. 
 
 Iago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, Roderign! 
 
 Rod. What say you ? 
 
 Iago. No more of drowning, do you hear? 
 
 Rod. I am changed. I'll sell all my land- 
 
 Iago. Go to; farewell; put money enough ix 
 your purse. [Exit Roukkiso 
 
 Thus do I ever make my fool my purse: 
 For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane 
 If I would time expend with such a snipe, 
 But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor ; 
 And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets 
 He has done my office: I know not if't be true; 
 But I, for mere suspicion in that kind, 
 Will do, as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
 The better shall my purpose work on him. 
 Cassio's a proper man: Let me see now; 
 To get his place, and to plume up my will ; 
 A double knavery, — How? how? — Let me see: — 
 After some time, to abuse Othello's ear, 
 That he is too familiar with his wife: — 
 He hath a person, and a smooth dispose, 
 To be suspected; framed to make women false. 
 The Moor is of a free and open nature, 
 That thinks men honest that but seem to be so; 
 And will as tenderly be led by the nose, 
 As asses are. 
 
 I have't ; — it is engender'd : — Hell and night 
 Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Sea-port Town in Cyprus. A 
 Platform. 
 
 Enter Montano and two Gentlemen. 
 
 Man. W'hat from the cape can you discern at sea? 
 
 1 Gent. Nothing at all : it is a high-wrought 
 
 flood; 
 I cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main, 
 Descry a sail. 
 
 Mon. Me.thinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at 
 land : 
 A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements : 
 If it hath ruffian'd so upon the sea, 
 What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them, 
 Can hold the mortise' 1 what shall we hear of this ? 
 
 2 Gent. A segregation ' of the Turkish fleet : 
 For do but stand upon the foaming store, 
 The chiding billow seems to pelt the clouds; 
 The wind-shakftl surge, with high and monstrous 
 
 main, 
 Seems to cast water on the burning bear, 2 
 And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : 
 I never did like molestation view 
 On th' enchafed flood. 
 
 Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 
 
 Be not inshelter'd and cmbay'd, they are drown'd: 
 It is impossible they bear it out. 
 
 Enter a third Gentleman. 
 
 3 Gent. News, 1 jrds ! our wars are done ; 
 
 The desperate ten pest hath so bang'd the Turks, 
 That theirdesignp.enlhalts: A noble ship of Venice 
 Hath seen agrie\ous wreck and sufferance 
 *n most part of thei/ fleet. 
 Mon. How! is this true? 
 
 3 Gent. The ship is here put in, 
 \. Veronese; Michael Cassio, 
 
 s An ancient military word of command. 
 Separation. •'The constellation near the polar star. 
 
 Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello, 
 
 Is come on shore : the Moor himself 's at pea, 
 
 And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 
 
 Mon. I am glad on't ; 'tis a worthy governor. 
 
 3 Gent. But this same Cassio, — though he speak 
 of comfort, 
 Touching the Turkish loss, — yet he looks sadly, 
 And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were parted 
 With foul and violent tempest. 
 
 Mon. 'Pray heaven he be ; 
 
 For I have serv'd him, and the man commands 
 Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, ho ! 
 As well to see the vessel that's come in, 
 As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello ; 
 Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue, 
 An indistinct regard. 
 
 3 Gent. Come, let's do so; 
 For every minute is expectancy 
 
 Of more arrivance. 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 
 Cos. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle, 
 That so approve the Moor ; 0, let the heavens 
 Give him defence against the elements, 
 For I have lost him on a dangerous sea! 
 
 Mon. Is he well shipp'd ? 
 
 Cos. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
 Of very expert and approv'd allowance: 3 
 Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death, 
 Stand in bold cure. 
 
 [ Within^] A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Cos. What noise ? 
 
 4 Gent. The town is empty ; on the brow o' th* 
 
 sea 
 Stand ranks of people, and they cry — a sail. 
 Cos. My hopes do shape him for the governcr 
 3 Allowed and approved expertness. 
 
/Scene I. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 903 
 
 2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of cour- 
 tesy : [Guns heard. 
 *)ur friends, at least. 
 
 Cos. I pray you, sir, go forth, 
 
 And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. 
 2 Gent. I atoll. [Exit. 
 
 Man. But, good lieutenant, is your general wived? 
 Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid 
 That paragons description, and wild fame; 
 On<j that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 
 And in the essential vesture of creation, 
 Does bear all excellency. — How now ? who has 
 put in ? 
 
 Re-enter second Gentleman. 
 2 Gent. 'Tis one Iago, ancient to the general. 
 Cas. He has had most favorable and happy 
 speed : 
 Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds, 
 The gutter'd rocks, and congregated sands, — 
 Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, 
 As having sense of beauty, do omit 
 Their mortal ' natures, letting go safely by 
 The divine Desdemona. 
 
 Mun. What is she! 
 
 Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's 
 captain, 
 Left in the conduct of the bold Iago ; 
 Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, 
 A se'nnight's speed. — Great Jove, Othello guard, 
 And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath ; 
 That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, 
 Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms, 
 Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits, 
 And bring all Cyprus comfort! — O, behold, 
 Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Rodehigo, and 
 
 Attendants. 
 The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
 Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees; — 
 Hail to thee, lady ! and the grace of heaven, 
 Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
 Enwheel thee round! 
 
 Des. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 
 
 What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 
 
 Cas. He is not yet arrived ; nor know I aught 
 But that he's well, and will be shortly here. 
 Des. O, but I fear; — How lost you company? 
 Cas. The great contention of the sea and skies 
 Parted our fellowship: But, hark! a sail ! 
 
 [Cry within, A sail, a sail! Then Guns heard. 
 2 Gent. They give their greeting to the citadel ; 
 This likewise is a friend. 
 
 Cas. See for the news. — 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 Good ancient, you are welcome; — Welcome, mis- 
 tress: — [To Emilia. 
 Let it not gall your patience, good Iago, 
 That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
 That gives me this bold show of courtesy. 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips, 
 As of her tongue she oft bestows on me, 
 You'd have' enough. 
 
 Des. Alas, she has no speech. 
 Iago. In faith, too much, 
 I find it still, when I have list* to sleep, 
 Afarr}', before your ladyship, I grant, 
 She puts her tongue a little in her heart, 
 And chides with thinking. 
 Emil. You have little cause to say so. 
 
 Iago. Come on, come on ; you are pictures out 
 of doors, 
 * iX.adly, destructive » Desire. 
 
 Bells in your parlors, wild cats in your kitchens, 
 Saints in your injuries, devils leing offended, 
 Players in your housewifery, and housewives ji 
 your beds. 
 
 Des. 0, fye on thee, slandertr ! 
 
 Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk; 
 You rise to play, and go t6 bed to work. 
 
 Emil. You shall not write my praise. 
 
 Iago. No, let me not 
 
 Des. What wouldst thou write of me, if thou 
 shouldst praise me ? 
 
 Iago. 0, gentle lady, do not put me to't; 
 For I am nothing, if not critical. 
 
 Des. Come on, assay : — There's one gone to the 
 harbor ? 
 
 Iago. Ay, madam. 
 
 Des. I am not merry : but I do beguile 
 The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. — 
 Come, how wouldst thou praise me? 
 
 Iago. I am about it ; but, indeed, my invention 
 Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize ; 
 It plucks out brains and all : But my muse labors, 
 And thus she is delivered. 
 If she be fair and wise, — fairness, and wit, 
 The one's for use, the other useth it. 
 
 Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and 
 witty 1 
 
 Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a wit, 
 She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. 
 
 Des. Worse and worse. 
 
 Emil. How, if fair and foolish? 
 
 Iago. She never yet was foolish that was fair; 
 For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 
 
 Des. These are old fond* paradoxes, to make 
 fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable praise 
 hast thou for her that's foul and foolish? 
 
 Iago. There's none so foul and foolish thereunto, 
 But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. 
 
 Des. heavy ignorance! — thou praisest the 
 worst best. But what praise couldst thou bestow 
 on a deserving woman indeed? one, that, in the 
 authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch 
 of very malice itself? 
 
 Iago. She that was ever fair, and never proud ; 
 Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud ; 
 Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay; 
 Fled from her wish, and yet said, — now I may,- 
 She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh, 
 Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly ; 
 She, that in wisdom never was so frail, 
 To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail; 
 She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind, 
 See suitors following, and not look behind ; 
 She was a wight, — if ever such wight were, — 
 
 Des. To do what? 
 
 Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. 
 
 Des. most lame and impotent conclusion ! — 
 Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy 
 husband. — 'How say you, Cassio? is he not a most 
 profane and liberal counsellor ? 
 
 Cas. He speaks home, madam ; you may relish 
 him more in the soldier, than in the scholar. 
 
 Iago. [Aside.'] He takes her by the palm: A}. 
 well said, whisper: with as little a web as this will 
 I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon 
 her, do. I will gyve'' thee in thine own courts! jp. 
 You say true ; 'tis so, indeed : if such tricks as 
 these strip you out of your lieutenantry, it had been 
 better you had not kissed your three fingers so oft, 
 which now again you are most apt to play the sir 
 in. 8 Very good; well kissed! an excellent our 
 
 • Foolish. i Shackle, fetter 
 
 •Tour good-breeding and gallantry- 
 
JK)4 
 
 O'J 'HELLO, 
 
 Act It. 
 
 iesy ! 'tis so, indeed. Yet again, your fingers to 
 your lips? would they were clyster-pipes, for your 
 8 ake. [Trumpet."] The Moor, I know his trum- 
 pet. 
 
 Cos. 'Tis truly so. 
 
 Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. 
 
 Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 
 
 Enter Othello, and Attendants. 
 
 Oth. O my fair warrior ! 
 Des. My dear Othello ! 
 
 Oth. It gives me wonder great as my content, 
 To see you here before me. O my soul's joy ! 
 If after every tempest come such calms, 
 May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ! 
 And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas, 
 Olympus-high ; and duck again as low 
 As hell's from heaven ! If it were now to die, 
 'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
 My soul hath her content so absolute, 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 Succeeds in unknown fate. 
 
 Des. The heavens forbid, 
 
 But that our loves and comforts should increase, 
 Even as our days do grow! 
 
 Oth. Amen to that, sweet powers ! — 
 
 I cannot speak enough of this content, 
 It stops me here; it is too much of joy: 
 And this, and this, the greatest, discords be, 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 That e'er our hearts shall make ! 
 
 Iago. you are well tuned now ! 
 
 But I'll set down the pegs that make this music, 
 As honest as I am. [Aside. 
 
 Oth. Come, let's to the castle. — 
 
 News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are 
 
 drown'd. 
 How do our old acquaintance of this isle ? — 
 Honey, you shall be well desir'd 9 in Cyprus, 
 I have found great love amongst them. my sweet, 
 I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
 In mine own comforts. — I pr'ythee, good Iago, 
 Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers: 
 Bring thou the master to the citadel ; 
 He is a good one, and his worthiness 
 Does challenge much respect. — Come, Dcsdemona, 
 Once more well met at Cyprus. 
 
 [Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and 
 Attendants. 
 Iago. Do thou meet me presently at the harbor. 
 Come hither. If thou be'st valiant as (they say) 
 base men, being in love, have then a nobility in 
 their natures more than is native to them, — list 
 me. 1 The lieutenant to-night watches on the court 
 of guard.: — First, I must tell thee this — Desdemo- 
 na is directly in love with him. 
 
 Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible. 
 Iago. Lay thy finger — thus, and let thy soul be 
 instructed. Mark me with what violence she first 
 loved the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her 
 fantastical lies: And will she love him still for 
 prating? let not thy discreet heart think it. Her 
 eye must be fed ; and what delight shall she have 
 to look on the devil? When the blood is made 
 dull with the act of sport, there should be, — again 
 to inflame it, and to give satiety a fresh appetite, — 
 loveliness in favor; sympathy in j'ears, manners, 
 and beauties; all which the Moor is defective in: 
 Now, for want of these required conveniences, her 
 delicate tenderness will find itself abused, begin to 
 heave the gorge, disrelish and abhor the Moor ; very 
 nature will instruct her in it, and compel her to 
 D Much solicited by invitation. ' Listen to me. 
 
 some second choice. Now, sir, this granted, (as i! 
 is a most pregnant and unforced position,) who 
 stands so eminently in the degree of this fortune, 
 as Cassio does? a knave very voluble; no further 
 conscionable, than in putting on the mere form of 
 civil and humane seeming, for the better compass 
 ing of his salt and more h'"iden loose affection 1 
 why, none; why, none: A slippery and subtle 
 knave: a finder out of occasions; that has an eye 
 can stamp and counterfeit advantages, though true 
 advantage never present itself: A devilish knave! 
 besides, the knave is handsome, young; and hath 
 all those requisites in him, that folly and green 
 minds look after: A pestilent complete knave; and 
 the woman hath found him already. 
 
 Rod. I cannot believe that in her; she is full ol 
 most blessed condition." 
 
 Iago. Blessed fig's end ! the wine she drinks la 
 made of grapes : if she had been blessed, she would 
 never have loved the Moor: Blessed pudding! 
 Didst thou not see her paddle with the palm of his 
 hand? didst not mark that? 
 
 Rod. Yes, that I did; but that was but courtesy. 
 Iago. Lechery, by this hand, an index and ob- 
 scure prologue to the history of lust and foul 
 thoughts. They met so near with their lips, that 
 their breaths embraced together. Villanous thoughts, 
 Roderigo! when these mutualities so marshal the 
 way, hard at hand comes the master and main ex- 
 ercise, the incorporate conclusion: — Pish!— But, 
 sir, be you ruled by me: I have brought you from 
 Venice. Watch you to-night; for the command, 
 I'll lay't upon you: Cassio knows you not; — I'll 
 not be far from you : Do you find some occasion 
 to anger Cassio, either by speaking too loud, or 
 tainting his discipline; or from what other course 
 you please, which the time shall more favorably 
 minister. 
 Rod. Well. 
 
 Iago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler ; 
 and, haply, with his truncheon may strike at you : 
 Provoke him, that he may: for, even out of that, 
 will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny ; whose qua- 
 lification shall come into no true taste again, but 
 by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you have a 
 shorter journey to your desires, by the means I 
 shall then have to prefer them ; and the impediment 
 most profitably removed, without the which there 
 were no expectation of our prosperity. 
 
 Rod. I will do this, if I can bring it to any op- 
 portunity. 
 
 Iago. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at 
 the citadel: I must fetch his necessaries ashore. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Rod. Adieu. [Exit. 
 
 logo. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; 
 That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit: 
 The Moor — howbeit that I endure him not — 
 Is of a constant, loving, noble nature; 
 And, I dare think, he'll prove to Dcsdemona 
 A most dear husband. Now I do love her too; 
 Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure. 
 I stand accountant for as great a sin,) . 
 But partly led to diet my revenge, 
 For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
 Hath leop'd into my seat: the thought whereof 
 Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwarde 
 And nothing can or shall content my soul, 
 Till I am even with him, wife for wife; 
 Or, failing so, yet that I put the Moor 
 At least into a jealousy so strong 
 That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to doy— 
 ^Qualities, disposition of the mind. 
 
Scene III 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 90ft 
 
 If this poor trash ' of Venice, whom I trash 4 
 For h : s quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
 I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip; 
 Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb, 5 — 
 For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too; 
 Make the Moot thank me, love me, and reward me, 
 For making him egregiously an ass, 
 And practising upon his peace and quiet 
 Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confus'd; 
 Knavery's plain face is never seen, till used. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — ^4 Street. 
 
 Enter a Herald, with a Proclamation, People 
 following. 
 Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and 
 valiant general, that, upon certain tidings now ar- 
 rived, importing the mere 6 perdition of the Turkish 
 fleet, every man put himself into triumph; some 
 to dance, some to make bonfires, each man to what 
 sport and revels his addiction leads him; for, be- 
 sides these beneficial news, it is the celebration of his 
 nuptials : So much was his pleasure should be pro- 
 claimed. All offices 1 are open; and there is full 
 liberty of feasting, from this present hour of five, 
 till the bell hath told eleven. Heaven bless the isle 
 of Cyprus, and our noble general, Othello. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— A Hall in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Oth. Good Michael, look you to the guard to- 
 night: 
 Let's teach ourselves that honorable stop, 
 Not to out-sport discretion. 
 
 Cos. Iago hath direction what to do; 
 But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
 Will I look to't. 
 
 Oth. Iago is most honest. 
 
 Michael, good night : To-morrow, with our earliest, 
 Let me have speech with you. — Come, my dear love, 
 The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue; 
 
 [To Desdemona. 
 That profit's yet to come 'twixt me and you. — 
 Good night. 
 
 [Exeunt Oth., Des., and Attendants. 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 Cas. Welcome, Iago : We must to the watch. 
 
 Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant; 'tis not yet ten 
 o'clock: Our general cast* us thus early, for the 
 love of his Desdemona ; whom let us not therefore 
 blame; he hath not yet made wanton the night 
 with her: and she is sport for Jove. 
 
 Cas. She's a most exquisite lady. 
 
 Iago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. 
 
 Cas. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate 
 creature 
 
 Iago. What an eye she has! methinks it sounds 
 t parley of provocation. 
 
 Cas. An inviting eye; and yet methinks right 
 modest. 
 
 Iago. And, when she speaks, is it not an alarm 
 o love 1 
 
 Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. 
 
 Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, 
 lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine ; and here with- 
 out are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain 
 have a measure to the health of the black Othello. 
 
 s Worthless hound 
 
 4 The terin for a clog put on a hound, to hinder his 
 running. sin the grossest manner. 
 
 « Entire. ' Rooms, or places in the castle. 
 
 • Dismissed. 
 
 Cas. Not to-night, good Iago ; I have very pool 
 and unhappy brains for drinking : I could well wish 
 courtesy would invent some other custom of enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Iago. O, they are our friends; but one cup; I'll 
 drink for you. 
 
 Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that 
 was craftily qualified 9 too, and. behold, what inno- 
 vation it makes here: I am unfortunate in the in- 
 firmity, and dare not task my weakness with any 
 mere. 
 
 Iago. What, man ! 'tis a night of revels ; the 
 gallants desire it. 
 
 Cas. Where are they? 
 
 Iago. Here at the door ; I pray you, call them in. 
 
 Cas. I'll do't; but it dislikes me. [Exit Cassio, 
 
 Iago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him, 
 With that which he hath drunk to-night already, 
 He'll be as full of quarrel and offence 
 As my young mistress' dog. Now, my sick fool, 
 
 Roderigo, 
 Whom love has turn'd almost the wrong side out- 
 ward, 
 To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
 Potations pottle deep; and he's to watch: 
 Three lads of Cyprus, — noble swelling spirits, 
 That hold their honors in a wary distance, 
 The very elements of this warlike isle, — 
 Have I to-night fluster'd with flowing cups, 
 And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 
 
 drunkards, 
 Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
 That may offend the isle: — But here they come: 
 If consequence do but approve my dream, 
 My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream- 
 
 Re-enter Cassio, with him Montano, and 
 
 Gentlemen. 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouse ' 
 already. 
 
 Mon. Good faith, a little one; not past a pint, 
 as I am a soldier. 
 
 Iago. Some wine, ho! 
 
 And let me the canakin clink, clink; [Sings. 
 And let me the canakin clink: 
 A. soldier's a man; 
 A life's but a span; 
 Why then, let a soldier drink. 
 Some wine, boys! [Wine brought in 
 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. 
 Iago. I learned it in England, where (indeed) 
 they are most potent in potting: your Dane, youi 
 German, and your swag-bellied Hollander, — Drink, 
 ho ! — are nothing to your English. 
 
 Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drink- 
 ing? 
 
 Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, youi 
 Dane dead drunk ; he sweats not to overthrow youi 
 Almain; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the 
 next pottle can be filled. 
 
 Cas. To the health of our general. 
 Mon. I am for it, lieutenant; and I'll do you 
 justice. 3 
 
 Iago. O sweet England! 
 
 King Stephen was a worthy peer, 2 
 
 His breeches cost him but a crown; 
 He held them sixpence all too dear, 
 
 With that he call'd the tailor — lown ' 
 He was a wight of high renown, 
 
 And thou art but of low degree: 
 
 9 Slily mixed with water. ' A little more than enough 
 a Drink as much as you do. * A worthy fellow. « Clown 
 3K 
 
906 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Act II 
 
 'Tis pride that pulls the country down, 
 
 Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
 
 Some wine, ho! 
 
 Cos. Why, thi= is a more exquisite song than the 
 other. 
 
 Jago. Will you hear it again! 
 
 Cos. No; for I hold him to be unworthy of his 
 place, that does those things. — Well, — Heaven's 
 above all ; and there be souls that must be saved, 
 jnd there be souls must not be saved. 
 
 Iago. It's true, good lieutenant. 
 
 Cos. For mine own part, — no offence to the gen- 
 eral, or any man of quality, — I hope to be saved. 
 
 Iago, And so do I too, lieutenant. 
 
 Cos. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me ; the 
 lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's 
 have no more of this; let's to our affairs. — Forgive 
 us our sins! — Gentlemen, let's look to our busi- 
 ness. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk ; this 
 is my ancient; — this is my right hand, and this is 
 my left hand: — I am not drunk now; I can stand 
 well enough, and speak well enough. 
 
 All. Excellent well. 
 
 Cas. Why, very well, then : you must not think 
 then that I am drunk. [Exit. 
 
 Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let's set 
 the watch. 
 
 Iago. You see this fellow that is gone before ; — 
 He is a soldier, fit to stand by Caesar 
 And give direction; and do but see his vice; 
 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, 
 The one as long as the other: 'tis pity of him. 
 I fear, the trust Othello puts him in, 
 On some odd time of his infirmity 
 Will shake this island. 
 
 Mon. But is he often thus? 
 
 Iago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep : 
 He'll watch the horologe a double set, 6 
 If drink rock not his cradle. 
 
 Mon. It were well, 
 
 The general were put in mind of it. 
 Perhaps he sees it not; or his good nature 
 Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
 And looks not on his evils: Is not this true? 
 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 mgo. How now. Roderigo? [Aside. 
 
 I pray you, after the lieutenant; go. 
 
 [Exit Roderigo. 
 Mon. And 'tis great pity, that the noble Moor 
 Should hazard such a place, as his own second, 
 With one of an ingraft 6 infirmity: 
 It were an honest action, to say 
 So to the Moor. 
 
 Iago. Not I, for this fair island: 
 
 ! do love Cassio well; and would do much 
 To cure him of this evil. But hark! what noise? 
 [Cry within. — Help! help! 
 
 Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. 
 
 Cas. You rogue! you rascal! 
 
 Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant? 
 
 Cas. A knave ! — teach me my duty ! 
 '11 beat the knave into a twiggen 1 bottle. 
 
 Rod. Beat me ! 
 
 Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue? 
 
 [Striking Roderigo. 
 
 Mon. N\y, good lieutenant; [Staying him. 
 i pray you, sir, hold your hand. 
 
 Cas. Let me go, sir, 
 
 h' I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. 
 
 » While the clock strikes two rounds, or four-and-twenty 
 "lovrs. • Rooted, settled. ' A. wicker'd bottle. 
 
 Mon. Come, come, you're drunk. 
 
 Cas. Drunk! [They fight. 
 
 Iago. Away, I say ! go out, and cry — a mutiny. 
 [Aside to Rod., who goes out. 
 Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen, — 
 Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — sir, — 
 Help, masters ! — Here's a goodly watch, indeed ! 
 
 [Bell rings 
 Who's that that rings the bell ? — Diablo, ho ! 
 The town will rise; God's will, lieutenant! hold; 
 You will be shamed for ever. 
 
 Enter Othello, and Attendants. 
 
 Oth. What is the matter here ? 
 
 Mon. I bleed still, I am hurt to the death ; — ho 
 dies. 
 
 Oth. Hold, for your lives. 
 
 Iago. Hold, hold, lieutenant, sir, Montano,— 
 gentlemen, — 
 Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
 Hold, hold ! the general speaks to you ; hold, for 
 shame ! 
 
 Oth. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth 
 this? 
 Are we turn'd Turks ; and to ourselves do that, 
 Which heaven hath forbid the Ottomites ? 
 For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl: 
 He that stirs next to carve for his own rage, 
 Holds his soul light; he dies upon his motion. — 
 Silence that dreadful bell, ic frights the isle 
 From her propriety. — What is the matter, masters ? 
 Honest Iago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
 Speak, who began this ? on thy love, I charge thee. 
 
 Iago. I do not know ; — friends all but now, 
 even now, 
 In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
 Devesting them for bed : and then, but now, 
 (As if some planet had unwitted men,) 
 Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, 
 In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
 Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 
 And 'would in action glorious I had lost 
 These legs, that brought me to a part of it ! 
 
 Oth. How comes it, Michael, you are thus forgot ? 
 
 Cas. I pray you pardon me, I cannot speak. 
 
 Oth. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil, 
 The gravity and stillness of your youth 
 The world hath noted, and your name is great 
 In mouths of wisest censure ; What's the matter, 
 That you unlace your reputation thus, 
 And spend your rich opinion, for the name 
 Of a night brawler ? give me answer to it. 
 
 Mon. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger ; 
 Your officer, Iago, can inform you — 
 While I spare speech, which something now offend? 
 
 me — 
 Of all that I do know : nor know I aught 
 By me that's said or done amiss this night ; 
 Unless self-charity be sometime a vice ; 
 And to defend ourselves it be a sin, 
 When violence assails us. 
 
 Oth. Now, by heaven, 
 
 My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
 And passion, having my best judgment collied,* 
 Assays to lead the way : If once I stir, 
 Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
 Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
 How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 
 And he that is approv'd 9 in this offence, 
 Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a biiM^ 
 Shall lose me. — What ! in a town of war, 
 Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, 
 » Darkened. • Convicted by proof. 
 
Scene HI. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 tun 
 
 To manage private and domestic quarrel, 
 
 In night, and on the court and guard of safety ! 
 
 'Tis monstrous. — Iago, who began it ] 
 
 Mon. If partially affin'd, 1 or leagu'd in office, 
 Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
 Thou art no soldier. 
 
 luge. Touch me not so near : 
 
 I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth, 
 Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
 Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
 Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general. 
 Montano and myself being in speech, 
 There comes a fellow, crying out for help ; 
 And Cassio following him with determin'd sword, 
 To execute upon him : Sir, this gentleman 
 Steps in to Cassio. and entreats his pause ; 
 Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 
 Lest, by his clamor, (as it so fell out,) 
 The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
 Outran my purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
 For that I heard the clink and fall of swords, 
 And Cassio high in oath ; which, till to-night, 
 I ne'er might say before : when I came back, 
 (For this was brief,) I found them close together, 
 At blow, and thrust ; even as again they were, 
 When you yourself did part them. 
 More of this matter can I not report : — 
 But men are men; the best sometimes forget: — 
 Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, — 
 As men in rage strike those that wish them best; — 
 Yet, surely, Cassio, I believe, receiv'd, 
 From him that fled, some strange indignity, 
 Which patience could not pass. 
 
 Oth. I know, Iago, 
 
 Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
 Making it light to Cassio : — Cassio, I love thee : 
 But never more be officer of mine. — 
 
 Eater Desdemoxa, attended. 
 
 Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up; — 
 I'll make thee an example. 
 Des. What's the matter, dear \ 
 
 Oth. All's well now, sweeting ; Come away to bed. 
 Sir, for your hurts, 
 Myself will be your surgeon : Lead him off. 
 
 [To Montano, who is led off. 
 Iago, look with care about the town ; 
 And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. — 
 Come, Desdemona ; 'tis the soldier's life, 
 To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. 
 [Exeunt all but Iago and Cassio. 
 
 Iago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant 1 
 
 Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 
 
 Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 
 
 Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! 0, I 
 have lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal 
 part, sir, of myself, and what remains is bestiaL — 
 My reputation, Iago, my reputation. 
 
 Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had 
 received some bodily wound ; there is more offence 
 in that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle 
 and most false imposition ; oft got without merit, 
 and lost without deserving : You have lost no repu- 
 tation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. 
 What, man ! there are ways to recover the general 
 again : You are but now cast in his mood, 2 a 
 Dunishment more in policy than in malice ; even 
 so as one would beat his offenceless dog, to affright 
 an imperious lion : sue to him again, and he's yours. 
 
 Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to 
 deceive so good a commander, with so slight, so 
 
 « Related by nearness of office 
 * I'ismissfU in his anger 
 
 drunken, and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk .' and 
 speak parrot 1 3 and squabble 1 swagger ] swear ? and 
 discourse fustian with one's own shadow ? — thou 
 invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be 
 known by, let us call thee — devil ! 
 
 Iago. What was he that you followed with your 
 sword 1 What had he done to you 1 
 
 Cas. I know not. 
 
 Iago. Is it possible 1 
 
 Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing 
 distinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing wherefore. — O, 
 that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to 
 steal away their brains ! that we should, with joy, 
 revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves 
 into beasts ! 
 
 Iago. Why, but you are now well enough : How 
 came you thus recovered 1 
 
 Cas. It hath pleased the devil, drunkenness, to 
 give place to the devil, wrath : one unperfectness 
 shows me another,to make me frankly despise myself. 
 
 Iago. Come, you are too severe a moraler : As 
 the time, the place, and the condition of this country 
 stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen ; 
 but since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. 
 
 Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall 
 tell me, I am a drunkard ! Had I as many mouths 
 as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To 
 be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and pre- 
 sently a beast ! strange ! — Every inordinate cup 
 is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. 
 
 Iago. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar 
 creature, if it be well used ; exclaim no more 
 against it. And, good lieutenant, I think, you 
 think I love you. 
 
 Cas. I have well approved it, sir. — I drunk 1 
 
 Iago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at 
 some time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. 
 Our general's wife is now the general : — I may say 
 so in this respect, for that he hath devoted and 
 given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and 
 denotement of her parts and graces: — confess 
 yourself freely to her; importune her; she'll help 
 to put you in your place again : she is of so free, 
 so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, that she 
 holds it a vice in her goodness, not to do more 
 than she is requested : This broken joint, between 
 you and her husband, entreat her to splinter ; and, 
 my fortunes against any lay' worth naming, this 
 crack of you: love shall grow stronger than it was 
 before. 
 
 Cas. You advise me well. 
 
 Iago. I protest in the sincerity of love, and honest 
 kindness. 
 
 Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morn- 
 ing, I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to un- 
 dertake for me : I am desperate of my fortunes, if 
 they check me here. 
 
 Iago. You are in the right. Good night, lieu- 
 tenant ; I must to the watch. 
 
 Cas. Good night, honest Iago. [Exit Cassio. ' 
 
 Iago. And what's he then, that says, — I play 
 the villain ; 
 When this advice is free, I give, and honest, 
 Probal to thinking, and (indeed) the course 
 To win the Moor again 1 For, 'tis most easy 
 The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
 In any honest suit: she's framed as fruiulil* 
 As the free elements. And then for her 
 To win the Moor, were't to renounce his baptism. 
 All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, — 
 His soul is so enfetter'd to her love, 
 That she may make, unmake, do what she list, 
 » Talk idly. « Bet or w*gec » Liberal, bountiful 
 
908 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act III 
 
 1 
 
 Even as her appetite shall play the god 
 
 With his weak function. How am I then a villain, 
 
 To counsel Cassio to this parallel 6 course, 
 
 Directly to his good ? Divinity of hell ! 
 
 When devils with their blackest sins put on, 
 
 They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, 
 
 As I do now : For while this honest fool 
 
 Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes, 
 
 And she for him pleads strongly to the Moor, 
 
 ('11 pour this pestilence into his ear. — 
 
 That she repeals 1 him for her love of him ; 
 
 And, by how much she strives to do him good, 
 
 8he shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
 
 8o will I turn her virtue into pitch ; 
 
 And out of her own goodness make the net, 
 
 That shall enmesh them all. — How now, Roderigo? 
 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 
 Rod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a 
 hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My 
 money is almost spent ; I have been to-night ex- 
 ceedingly well cudgelled ; and, I think, the issue 
 will be — I shall have so much experience for my 
 
 pains: and so, with no money at all, *nd a littl* 
 more wit, return to Venice. 
 
 Iago. How poor are they, that have not u* 
 
 tience ! — 
 What wound did ever heal, but by degrees .' 
 Thou know'st we work by wit, and not by witchcraft 
 And wit depends on dilatory time 
 Does't not go well ? Cassio hath beaten thee, 
 And thou, by that small hurt, hath cashier'd Cassio 
 Though other things grow fair against the sun, 
 Yet fruits that blossom first, will first be ripe : 
 Content thyself a while. — By the mass, 'tis morning; 
 Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short. — 
 Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
 Away, I say ; thou shah know more hereafter : 
 Nay, get thee gone [Exit Rod.] Two things aro 
 
 to be done. — 
 My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
 I'll set her on ; 
 
 Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart, 
 And bring him jump 9 when he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife : — Ay, that's the way ; 
 Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter Cassio, and some Musicians. 
 
 Cas. Masters, play here, I will content your pains, 
 
 Something that's brief; and bid — good-morrow, 
 
 general. [Music, 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. Why masters, have your instruments been 
 at Naples, that they speak i'the nose thus ? 
 
 1 Mus. How, sir, howl 
 
 Clo. Are these, I pray you, called wind instru- 
 ments? 
 
 1 Mus. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 
 
 Clo. 0, thereby hangs a tail. 
 
 1 Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir? 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that 
 I know. But, masters, here's money for you : and 
 the general so likes your music, that he desires you, 
 of all loves, to make no more noise with it. 
 
 1 Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 
 
 Clo. If you have any music that may not be 
 heard, to't again : but, as they say, to hear music, 
 the general does not greatly care. 
 
 1 Mus. We have none such, sir. 
 
 Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for 
 I'll away : Go ; vanish into air ; away. 
 
 [Exeunt Musicians. 
 
 Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend ? 
 
 Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend; I hear you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. 8 There's a 
 
 ' poor piece of gold for thee : if the gentlewoman 
 
 that attends the general's wife be stirring, tell her 
 
 there's one Cassio entreats her a little favor of 
 
 speech: Wilt thou do this? 
 
 Clo. She is stirring, sir ; if she will stir hither, I 
 shall seem to notify unto her. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 fJas. Do, good my friend. — In happy time, Iago. 
 
 Iago. You have not been a-bed then? 
 
 Cas. Why, no; the day had broke 
 Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, 
 To send in to your wife : My suit to her 
 
 « Even. * Recalls. • Nice distinctions 
 
 Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
 Procure me some access. 
 
 Iago. I'll send her to you presently ; 
 
 And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor 
 Out of the way, that your converse and business 
 May be more free. [Exit, 
 
 Cos. I humbly thank you for't. I never knew 
 A Florentine more kind and honest. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Emil. Good-morrow, good lieutenant : I am 
 sorry 
 For your displeasure ; but all will soon be well. 
 The general, and his wife, are talking of it ; 
 And she speaks for you stoutly : The Moor replies, 
 That he, you hurt, is of great fame in Cyprus, 
 And great affinity ; and that, in wholesome wis- 
 dom, 
 He might not but refuse you : but, he protests, he 
 
 loves youj 
 And needs no other suitor, but his likings, 
 To take the saf 'st occasion by the front, 
 To bring you in again. 
 
 Cas. Yet, I beseech you,- 
 
 If you think fit, or that it may be done, 
 Give me advantage of some brief discourse 
 With Desdemona alone. 
 
 Emil. Pray you, come in , 
 
 I will bestow you where you shall have time 
 To speak your bosom freely. 
 
 Cas. I am much bound to you 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. 
 
 Oth. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; 
 And, by him, do my duties to the state : 
 That done, I will be walking on the works. 
 Repair there to me. 
 
 Iago. Well, my good lord, I'll do't 
 
 Oth. This fortification, gentlemen, — shall wc 
 see't? 
 
 Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. [ExeunJ 
 
 9 Just at the time. 
 
SctNE III. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 90& 
 
 SCENE III.— Before the Castle. 
 Enter Desdemojta, Cassio, and Emilia. 
 
 Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
 All iny abilities in thy behalf. 
 
 Emil. Good madam, do ; I know it grieves my 
 husband, 
 As if the case were his. 
 
 Des. 0, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt, 
 Cassio, 
 But I will have my lord and you again 
 As friendly as you were. 
 
 Cos. Bounteous madam, 
 
 Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
 He's never any thing but your true servant. 
 
 Des. sir, I thank you : You do love my lord : 
 You have known him long: and be you well 
 
 assur'd, 
 He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
 Than in a politic distance. 
 
 Cos. Ay, but, lady, 
 
 That policy may either last so long, 
 Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
 Or breed itself so out of circumstance, 
 That, I being absent, and my place supplied, 
 My general will forget my love and service. 
 
 Des. Do not doubt that ; before Emilia here, 
 I give thee warrant of thy place ; assure thee, 
 If I do vow a friendship, I'll perform it 
 To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; 
 I'll watch him tame, 1 and talk him out of patience; 
 His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift ; 
 I'll intermingle every thing he does 
 With Cassio's suit: Therefore be merry, Cassio; 
 For thy solicitor shall rather die, 
 Than give thy cause away. 
 
 Enter Othello, and Iago, at a distance. 
 
 Emil. Madam, here comes 
 
 My lord. 
 
 Cos. Madam, I'll take my leave. 
 
 Des. Why, stay, 
 
 And hear me speak. 
 
 Cos. Madam, not now; I am very ill at ease, 
 Unfit for mine own purposes. 
 
 Des. Well, well, 
 
 Do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. 
 
 Iago. Ha ! I like not that. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou say ? 
 
 Iago. Nothing, my lord : or if — I know not 
 what. 
 
 Oth. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife ? 
 
 Iago. Cassio, my lord ? No, sure, I cannot think it, 
 That he would steal away so guilty-like, 
 Seeing you coining. 
 
 Oth. I do believe 'twas he. 
 
 Des. How now, my lord? 
 I have been talking with a suitor here, 
 A man that languishes in your displeasure. 
 
 Oth. Who is't, you mean T 
 
 Des. Why, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my 
 lord, 
 If I have any grace, or power to move you, 
 His present reconciliation take : 
 For, if he be not one that truly loves you, 
 That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
 I have no judgment in an honest face : 
 I pr'ythee, call him back. 
 
 Oth. Went he hence now ? 
 
 Des Ay, sooth ; so humbled, 
 That he hath left part of his grief with me ; 
 [ suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 
 > H&vks are tamed by keeping them fr<m sleep. 
 
 Oth. Not now, sweet Desdemona ; some other 
 time. 
 
 Des. But shall't be shortly ? 
 
 Oth. The sooner, sweet, lor you. 
 
 Des. Shall't be to-night at supper ? 
 
 Oth. No, not to-night. 
 
 Des. To-morrow dinner then ? 
 
 Oth. I shall not dine at home ; 
 
 I meet the captains at the citadel. 
 
 Des. Why then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday 
 morn; 
 Or Tuesday noon, or night; or Wednesday morn ; — 
 I pray thee, name the time ; but let it not 
 Exceed three days: in faith he's penitent; 
 And yet his trespass, in our common reason, 
 (Save that, they say, the wars must make examples 
 Out of their best, 5 ) is not almost a fault 
 To incur a private check : When shall he come ? 
 Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul, 
 What you could ask me, that I should deny, 
 Or stand so mammering 3 on. What ! Michael 
 
 Cassio, 
 That came a wooing with you ; and many a time, 
 When I have spoke of you dispraisingly, 
 Hath ta'en your part; to have so much to do 
 To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much — 
 
 Oth. Pr'ythee, no more : let him come when he 
 will; 
 I will deny thee nothing. 
 
 Des. Why this is not a boon; 
 
 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, 
 Or feed on nourishing dishes, or keep you warm ; 
 Or sue to you to do peculiar profit 
 To your own person : Nay, when I have a suit, 
 Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, 
 It shall be full of poise 4 and difficulty, 
 And fearful to be granted. 
 
 Oth. I will deny thee nothing: 
 
 Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
 To leave me but a little to myself. 
 
 Des. Shall I deny you ? no : Farewell, my lord. 
 
 Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona: I will come to 
 thee straight. 
 
 Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach 
 you; 
 Whate'er you be, I am obedient. 
 
 [Exit, with Emilia. 
 
 Oth. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, 
 But I do love thee! and when I love thee not, 
 Chaos is come again. 
 
 Iago. My noble lord, 
 
 Oth. What dost thou say, Iago? 
 
 Iago. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my 
 lady, 
 Know of your love ? 
 
 Oth. He did, from first to last: Why dost thou 
 ask? 
 
 Iago. But for a satisfaction of my thought; 
 No further harm. 
 
 Oth. Why of thy thought, Iago? 
 
 Iago. I did not think he had been acquainted 
 with her. 
 
 Oth. O, yes ; and went between us very oft. 
 
 Iago. Indeed? 
 
 Oth. Indeed! ay, indeed: — Discern'st thou aught 
 in that ? 
 Is he not honest ? 
 
 Iago. Honest, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, honest 
 
 Iago. My lord, for aught I know. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou think ? 
 
 Iago. Think, my lord? 
 
 • Beat men. » Hesitating. « Weight. 
 
910 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act 111 
 
 Oth. Think, my lord ! 
 
 By heaven, he echoes me, 
 As if there were some monstei in his thought 
 Too hideous to be shown. — Thou dost mean some- 
 thing : 
 [ heard thee say but now, — Thou lik'dst not that, 
 When Cassio left my wife: What didst not like? 
 And, when I told thee — he was of my counsel 
 In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst, In- 
 deed? 
 And didst contract and purse thy brow together, 
 As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
 Some horrible conceit : If thou dost love me, 
 Show me thy thought. 
 
 Iago. My lord, you know I love you. 
 
 Oth. I think thou dost: 
 
 And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty, 
 And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them 
 
 breath, — 
 Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more: 
 For such things, in a false disloyal knave, 
 Are tricks of custom ; but, in a man that's just, 
 They are close denotements, working from the heart, 
 That passion cannot rule. 
 
 Iago. For Michael Cassio, — 
 
 I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 
 
 Oth. I think so too. 
 
 Iago. Men should be what they seem ; 
 
 ")r, those that be not, 'would they might seem none! 
 
 Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 
 
 Iago. Why then, 
 
 I think that Cassio is an honest man. 
 
 Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this : 
 I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings, 
 As thou dost ruminate; and give thy worst of 
 
 thoughts 
 The worst of words. 
 
 Iago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 
 
 Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
 I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
 Utter my thoughts ? Why, say, they are vile and 
 
 false, — 
 As where's that palace, whereinto foul things 
 Sometimes intrude not ? Who has a breast so pure, 
 But some uncleanly apprehensions 
 Keep leets,* and law-days, and in session sit 
 With meditations lawful ? 
 
 Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago, 
 If thou but think'sthim wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
 A stranger to thy thoughts. 
 
 Iago. I do beseech you, — 
 
 Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess, 
 As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
 To spy into abuses ; and, oft, my jealousy 
 Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then, 
 From one that so imperfectly conjects, 6 
 5fou take no notice; nor build yourself a trouble 
 Out of his scattering and unsure observance: 
 It were not for youi quiet, nor your good, 
 Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom, 
 To let you know my thoughts. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou mean ? 
 
 Iago. Good name, in man, and woman, dear my 
 lord, 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls: 
 Who steals my purse, steals trash : 'tis something, 
 
 nothing; 
 Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thou- 
 sands • 
 But he that filenes from me my good name, 
 rlohs me of that, which not enriches him, 
 And makes' me poor indeed. 
 
 • Courts of enquiry • Conjectures. 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. 
 
 Iago. You cannot, if my heart were in your hand 
 Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 
 
 Oth. Ha! 
 
 Iago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 
 
 It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock 
 The meat it feeds on: That cuckold lives in bliss 
 Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
 But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er, 
 Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly love? 
 
 Oth. O misery ! 
 
 Iago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough 
 But riches, fineless, 1 is as poor as winter, 
 To him that ever fears he shall be poor: — 
 Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend. 
 From jealousy. 
 
 Oth. Why, why is this? 
 
 Think'st thou, I'd make a life of jealousy, 
 To follow still the changes of the moon 
 With fresh suspicions? No: to be once in doubt, 
 Is — once to be resolved: Exchange me for a goat 
 When I shall turn the business of my sou4 
 To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, 
 Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jeal 
 
 ous, 
 To say, — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves com 
 
 pany, 
 Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; 
 Where virtue is, these aie more virtuous: 
 Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
 The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt ; 
 For she had eyes, and chose me: No, Iago; 
 I'll see, before I doubt; when I doubt, prove ; 
 And, on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
 Away at once with love, or jealousy. 
 
 Iago. I am glad of this, for now I shall have 
 reason 
 To show the love and duty that I bear you 
 With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound, 
 Receive it from me — I speak not yet of proof. 
 Look to your wife: observe her well with Cassio; 
 Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure : 
 I would not have your free and noble nature, 
 Out of self-bounty, be abused; look to't: 
 I know our country disposition well: 
 In Venice, they do let heaven see the pranks 
 They dare not show their husbands ; their best con- 
 science 
 Is — not to leave undone, but keep unknown. 
 
 Oth. Dost thou say so? 
 
 Iago. She did deceive her father, marrying you , 
 And when she seem'd to shake, and fear your 
 
 looks, 
 She lov'd them most. 
 
 Oth. And so she did. 
 
 Iago. Why, go to, then; 
 
 She that, so young, could give out such a seeming, 
 To seel " her father's eyes up close as oak, — 
 He thought 'twas witchcraft: — But I am much to 
 
 blame; 
 I humbly do beseech you of your pardon, 
 For too much loving you. 
 
 Oth. I am bound to thee for ever. 
 
 Iago. I see this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 
 
 Oth. Not a jot, not a jot. 
 
 Iago. Trust me, I fear it has. 
 
 I hope, you will consider what is spoke 
 Comes from my love ; — But, I do see, you are 
 
 mov'd: — 
 I am to pray you, not to strain my speech 
 
 'Endless, unbounded. 
 
 • An expression from falconry : to seel a hawk is to Ben 
 up his eye-lids. 
 
Scene III. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 911 
 
 To grosser issues," nor to larger reach, 
 Than to suspicion. 
 
 Oth. I will not. 
 
 Iago. Should you do so, my lord, 
 
 My speech should fall into such vile success 
 As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy 
 
 friend : 
 My lord, I see you are mov'd. 
 
 Oth. No, not much mov'd: — 
 
 I do not think but Desdemona's honest. 
 
 Iago. Long live she so ! and long live you to 
 think so ! 
 
 0, h. And yet, how nature, erring from itself, — 
 
 Iago. Ay, there's the point: — As, — to be bold 
 with you, — 
 Noi to affect many proposed matches, 
 Of her own clime, complexion, and degree; 
 Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends: 
 Foh ! one may smell, in such, a will most rank, 
 Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
 But, pardon me: I do not, in position, 
 Distinctly speak of her: though I may fear, 
 Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, 
 May fall to match you with her country forms, 
 And (happily) repent. 
 
 Oth. Farewell, farewell : 
 
 If more thou dost perceive, let me know more ; 
 Set on thy wife to observe : Leave me, Iago. 
 
 Iago. My lord, I take my leave. [Going. 
 
 Oth. Why did I marry] — This honest creature, 
 doubtless, 
 Sees and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 
 
 Iago. My lord, I would, I might entreat your 
 honor 
 To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time : 
 And though it be fit that Cassio have his place, 
 (For, sure, he fills it up with great ability,) 
 Yet if you please to hold him off a while, 
 You shall by that perceive him and his means: 
 Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 1 
 With any strong or vehement opportunity ; 
 Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, 
 Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
 (As worthy cause I have, to fear — I am,) 
 And hold her free, I do beseech your honor. 
 
 Oth. Fear not my government. 
 
 Iago. I once more take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 Oth. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 
 And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
 Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard, 
 Though that her jesses 3 were my dear heart- 
 strings, 
 I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, 
 To prey at fortune. Haply, for 1 am black; 
 And have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chamberers have: — Or, for I am declin'd 
 Into the vale of years; — yet that's not much; 
 She's gone, I am abused ; and my relief 
 Must be — to loath her. curse of marriage, 
 That we can call these delicate creatures ours, 
 And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad, 
 And live upon the vapor of a- dungeon, 
 Than keep a corner in the thing I love 
 For others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great ones ; 
 Prerogativ'd are they, less than the base; 
 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death; 
 Even then this forked plague is fated to us, 
 When we do quicken. 4 Desdemona comes: 
 
 * Conclusions. 
 
 1 Press hard his re-admission to bis office 
 
 * A species of hawk, also a term of reproach applied to 
 a wanton. 
 
 a Straps of leather by which a hawk is held on the fist. 
 
 * Wben we be?in to live. 
 
 Enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
 If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself !- 
 I'll not believe it. 
 
 Des. How now, my dear Othello ? 
 Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
 By you invited, do attend your presence. 
 
 Oth. I am to blame. 
 
 Des. Why is your speech so faint? are you no! 
 well'! 
 
 Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 
 
 Des. 'Faith, that's with watching ; 'twill away 
 again, 
 Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
 It will be well. 
 
 Oth. Your napkin is too little; 
 
 [He puts the Handkerchief from him, and 
 it drops. 
 Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. 
 
 Des. I am very sorry that you are not well. 
 
 [Exeunt Oth. and Dks. 
 
 Emit. I am glad I have found this napkin ; 
 This was her first remembrance from the Mooi : 
 My wayward husband hath a hundred times 
 Woo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token, 
 (For he conjur'd her, she would ever keep it,) 
 That she reserves it evermore about her, 
 To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out 
 And give it Iago: 
 
 What he'll do with it, heaven knows, not I; 
 I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 Iago. How now ! what do you here alone ? 
 
 Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for you. 
 
 Iago. A thing for me? — it is a common thing,— 
 
 Emil. Ha ! 
 
 Iago. To have a foolish wife. 
 
 Emil. 0, is that all? What will you give me now 
 For that same handkerchief? 
 
 Iago. What handkerchief? 
 
 Emil. What handkerchief? 
 Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona ; 
 That which so often you did bid me steal. 
 
 Iago. Hast stolen it from her? 
 
 Emil. No, faith; she let it drop by negligence; 
 And to the advantage, I, being here, took't up. 
 Look, here it is. 
 
 Iago. A good wench ; give it me. 
 
 Emil. What will you do with it, that you have 
 been so earnest 
 To have me filch it? 
 
 Iago. Why, what's that to you ? 
 
 [Snatching it. 
 
 Emil. If it be not for some purpose of import, 
 Give it me again : Poor lady ! she'll run mad, 
 When she shall lack it. 
 
 Iago. Be not you known oft; I have use for it. 
 Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 
 
 I will in Cassio's lodging lose this napkin, v v. 
 
 And let him find it: Trifles, light as air, \ 
 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong \ 
 
 As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. \ 
 The Moor already changes with my poison : — 
 Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poison* 
 Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste: 
 But, with a little act upon the blood, 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. — I did say no:— 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 Look, where he comes ! Not poppy, nor msndra 
 
 gora, 5 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 
 » The mandrake has a soporific quality 
 
P!2 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act ltl 
 
 Shall medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ow'dst* yesterday. 
 
 Oth. Ha! ha! false to me? 
 
 To me? 
 
 logo. Why, how now, general ? no more of that. 
 
 Oth. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on the 
 rack: 
 I swear, 'tis better to be much abused, 
 Than but to know't a little. 
 
 Iago. How now, my lord? 
 
 Oth. What sense had 1 of her stolen hours of 
 
 lust? 
 saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
 slept the next night well, was free and merry; 
 found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
 , He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen, 
 Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all. 
 
 Tago. I am sorry to hear this. 
 
 Oth. I had been happy, if the general camp, 
 Pioneers 1 and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
 So I had nothing known : O now, for ever, 
 Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
 That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
 Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
 The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
 The royal banner; and all quality, 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 
 And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
 The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, 
 Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! 
 
 Iago. Is it possible? — My lord, 
 
 Oth. Villain, be sure you prove my love a whore ; 
 Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof; 
 
 [Taking him by the Throat. 
 Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, 
 Thou hadst been better have been born a dog, 
 Than answer my waked wrath. 
 
 Iago. Is it come to this ? 
 
 Oth. Make me to see it; or (at the least) so 
 prove it, 
 That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop, 
 To hang a doubt on : or, woe upon thy life ! 
 
 Iago. My noble lord, 
 
 Oth. If thou dost slander her, and torture me, 
 ■Never pray more: abandon all remorse; 
 On horror's head horrors accumulate : 
 Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd, 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add, 
 Greater than that. 
 
 Iago. O grace ! heaven defend me ! 
 
 Are you a man? have you a soul, or sense? — 
 God be wi' you; take mine office. — wretched 
 
 fool, 
 That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice ! — 
 
 monstrous world! Take note, take note, O world, 
 To be direct and honest, is not safe. — 
 
 1 thank you for this profit; and, from hence, 
 I'll love no friend, since love breeds such offence. 
 
 Oth. Nay, stay • Thou shouldst be honest. 
 
 Iago. I should be wise, for honesty's a fool, 
 And loses that it works for. 
 
 Oth. By the world, 
 
 I think my wife be honest, and think she is not. 
 1 think that thou art just, and think thou art not; 
 I'll have some proof: Her name that was as fresh 
 As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black 
 As mine own face. — If there be cords, or knives, 
 Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, 
 I'll not endure it. — 'Would, I were satisfied ! 
 
 • Possessedst. 
 
 1 The vilest of the camp. Pioneers were geneituij i« 
 traded soldiers. 
 
 Iago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion 
 I do repent me, that I put it to you. 
 You would be satisfied? 
 
 Oth. Would ? nay, I wili. 
 
 Iago. And may: But, how? how satisfied, my lord ' 
 Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on? 
 Behold her tupp'd? 
 
 Oth. Death and damnation ! O ! 
 
 Iago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think 
 To bring them to that prospect : Damn th« m then 
 If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster, 
 More than their own ! What then ? How then 
 What shall I say ? Where's satisfaction ? 
 It is impossible you should see this, — 
 Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkies, 
 As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
 As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say. 
 If imputation, and strong circumstances, 
 Which lead directly to the door of truth, 
 Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. 
 
 Oth. Give me a living 8 reason she's disloyal. 
 
 Iago. I do not like the office : 
 But, sith I am enter'd in this cause so far, — 
 Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love, — 
 I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately ; 
 And, being troubled with a raging tooth, 
 I could not sleep. 
 
 There are a kind of men so loose of soul, 
 That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs ; 
 One of this kind is Cassio : 
 In sleep I heard him say, — Sweet Desdemouc 
 Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ,■ 
 And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my -1 ad, 
 Cry, — 0, sweet creature.' and then kiss me ird. 
 As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots, 
 That grew upon my lips: then laid his leg 
 Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and r/"en 
 Cried, — Cursed fate ! that gave thee to the Irfoor/ 
 
 Oth. O monstrous ! monstrous ! 
 
 Iago. Nay, this was but his rVeam. 
 
 Oth. But this denoted a foregone conclusion ; 
 'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream 
 
 Iago. And this may help to thicken other proofs, 
 That do demonstrate thinly. 
 
 Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces 
 
 Iago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see nothing done; 
 She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, — 
 Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief, 
 Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand ? 
 
 Oth. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my first gift. 
 
 Iago. I know not that : but such a handkerchief. 
 (I am sure it was your wife's,) did I to-day 
 See Cassio wipe his beard with. 
 
 Oth. Ifitbethat,- 
 
 Iago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 
 It speaks against her with the other proofs. 
 
 Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand liv<>s, 
 One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
 Now do I see 'tis true. — Look here, Iago ; 
 All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven : 
 'Tis gone. — 
 
 Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ' 
 Yield up, O love, thy crown, and hearted throius' 
 To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraugl t,' 
 For 'tis of aspic's tongues ! 
 
 Iago. Pray, be content. 
 
 Oth. 0, blood, Iago, bloo.) ? 
 
 Iago. Patience, I say ; your mind, perhaps, mry 
 change. 
 
 Oth. Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
 
 • Speaking, manifest. 
 
 • The heart on which thou wast enthrorj?d. 
 « Freight, load. 
 
Scene IV. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 918 ! 
 
 Whose icy current and compulsive course 
 
 Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
 
 To the Propontic, and the Hellespont; 
 
 Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace, 
 
 Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
 
 Till that a capable 2 and wide revenge 
 
 Swallow them up. — Now, by yond' marble heaven, 
 
 In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels. 
 
 I here engage my words. 
 
 Iugo. Do not rise yet. — [Kneels. 
 
 Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
 5fou elements that clip 3 us round about ! 
 Witness, that here Iago doth give up 
 The execution of his wit, hands, heart, 
 To wrong'd Othello's service! let him command, 
 And to obey shall be in me remorse,* 
 What bloody work soever. 
 
 Oth. I greet thy love, 
 
 Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance boun- 
 teous, 
 And will upon the instant put thee to't : 
 Within these three days let me hear thee say, 
 That Cassio's not alive. 
 
 Iago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done at your re- 
 quest ; 
 But let her live. 
 
 Oth. Damn her, lewd minx ! 0, damn her! 
 Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw, 
 To furnish me with some swift means of death 
 For the fair devil. Now art thou my lieutenant. 
 
 Iago. I am your own for ever. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 Enter Dksdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 
 
 Des. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant 
 Cassio lies ? 
 
 Clo. I dare not say, he lies any where ? 
 
 Des. Why, man? 
 
 Clo. He is a soldier; and forme to say a soldier 
 lies, is stabbing. 
 
 Des. Go to ; Where lodges he ? 
 
 Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell you 
 where I lie. 
 
 Des. Can any thing be made of this ? 
 
 Clo. I know not where he lodges; and for me 
 to devise a lodging, and say — he lies here, or he 
 lies there, were to lie in my own throat. 
 
 Des. Can you enquire him out, and be edified 
 by report? 
 
 Clo. I will catechise the world for him ; that is, 
 make questions, and by them answer. 
 
 Des. Seek him, bid him come hither: tell him 
 I have moved my lord in his behalf, and hope, all 
 will be well. 
 
 Clo. To do this is within the compass of man's 
 wit ; and therefore I will attempt the doing it. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Des. Where should I lose that handkerchief, 
 Emilia? 
 
 Emil. I know not, madam. 
 
 Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
 Full of cruzadoes.' And, but my noble Moor 
 Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
 As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
 To put him to ill-thinking. 
 
 Emil. Is he not jealous 1 
 
 Des. Who, he? I think, the sun, where he was 
 born, 
 Drew all such humors from him. 
 
 Emil. Look, where he comes. 
 
 » Capacious. * Embrace. 
 
 « Not of malice tr> others, but of tendering for him. 
 
 » A Portuguese coin 
 
 Des. I will not leave him now, till Cassio 
 Be call'd to him. — How is't with you, my lord? 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 
 Oth. Well, my good lady : — [Aside.'] 0, hard- 
 ness to dissemble ! — 
 How do you, Desdemona ? 
 
 Des. Well, my good lord. 
 
 Oth. Give me your hand : This hand is moist, 
 my lady. 
 
 Des. It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow 
 
 Oth. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart ;- 
 Hot, hot, and moist : This hand of yours require 
 A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer, 
 Much castigation, exercise devout; 
 For here's a young and sweating devil here, 
 That commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, 
 A frank one. 
 
 Des. You may indeed say so ; 
 For 'twas that hand that p;ave away my heart. 
 
 Oth. A liberal hanu : The hearts, of olu, gave 
 hands ; 
 But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts. 
 
 Des. I cannot speak of this. Come now, your 
 promise. 
 
 Oth. What promise, chuck ? 
 
 Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with 
 you. 
 
 Oth. I have a salt and sullen rheum off-nds me: 
 Lend me thy handkerchief. 
 
 Des. Here, my lord. 
 
 Oth. That which I gave you. 
 
 Des. I have it not about me. 
 
 Oth. Not? 
 
 Des. No, indeed my lord. 
 
 Oth. That is a fault ; 
 
 That handkerchief 
 
 Did an Egyptian to my mother give ; 
 She was a charmer, 6 and could almost read 
 The thoughts of people : she told her, while she 
 
 kept it, 
 'Tvvould make her amiable, and subdue my father 
 Entirely to her love; but if she lost it, 
 Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
 Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should huni 
 After new fancies : She, dying, gave it me ; 
 And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, 
 To give it her. I did so : and take heed oft, 
 Make it a darling like your precious eye ; 
 To lose or give't away, were such perdition, 
 As nothing else could match. 
 
 Des. Is it possible ? 
 
 Oth. 'Tis true : there's magic in the web of it : 
 A sibyl, that had number'd in the world 
 The sun to make two hundred compasses, 
 In her prophetic fury sew'd the work : 
 The worms were hallow'd that did breed the silk ; 
 And it was died in mummy, which the skilful 
 Conserv'd of maidens' hearts. 
 
 Des Indeed ! is't true ? 
 
 Oth ■ Most veritable ; therefore look to't well. 
 
 Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had nevei 
 seen it. 
 
 Oth. Ha ! wherefore ? 
 
 Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash 
 
 Oth. Is't lost ? is't gone ? speak, is it out of the 
 way ? 
 
 Des. Heaven bless us ! 
 
 Oth. Say you ? 
 
 Des. It is not lost; But what an if it were 7 
 
 Oth. Ha! 
 
 Des. I say, it is not lost. 
 « Enchantress. " v ehemently, vitO«ntiy. 
 
<jU 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Am 111 
 
 Oth. Fetch't, let me see it. 
 
 Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now ; 
 [ his is a trick, to put me from my suit ; 
 / pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 
 
 Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief: my mind 
 misgives. 
 
 Des. Come, come ; 
 You'll never meet a more sufficient man. « 
 
 Oth. The handkerchief, 
 
 Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 
 
 Oth. The handkerchief, 
 
 Des. A man that, all his time, 
 Hath founded his good fortune on your love ; 
 Shared dangers with you ; 
 
 Oth. The handkerchief, 
 
 Des. In sooth, 
 You are to blame. 
 
 Oth. Away ! [Exit Othello. 
 
 Emit. Is not this man jealous ? 
 
 Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
 Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief: 
 I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 
 
 Emit. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a man ; 
 They are all but stomachs, and we all but food ; 
 They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, 
 They belch us. Look you ! Cassio, and my husband. 
 
 Enter Iago and Cassio. 
 
 logo. There is no other way ; 'tis she must do't; 
 And, lo, the happiness! go, and importune her. 
 
 Des. How now, good Cassio ? what's the news 
 with you ■* 
 
 Cos. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech you, 
 That, by your virtuous means, I may again 
 Exist, and be a member of his love, 
 Whom I, with all the duty of my heart, 
 Entirely honor ; I would not be delay'd : 
 If my offence be of such mortal kind, 
 That neither service past, nor present sorrows, 
 Nor purpos'd merit in futurity, 
 Can ransom me into his love again, 
 But to know so must be my benefit; 
 So shall I clothe me in a forced content, 
 And shut myself up in some other course, 
 To fortune's alms. 
 
 Des. Alas ! thrice gentle Cassio, 
 
 My advocation is not now in tune ; 
 My lord is not my lord ; nor should I know him, 
 Were he in favor 8 as in humor alter'd. 
 So help me, every spirit sanctified, 
 As I have spoken for you all my best ; 
 And stood within the blank of his displeasure,' 
 For my free speech ! You must awhile be patient: 
 What I can do, I will ; and more I will, 
 Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 
 
 Iago. Is my lord angry ? 
 
 Emit. He went hence but now, 
 
 And, certainl), in strange unquietness. 
 
 Iago. Can he be angry ? I have seen the cannon, 
 When it hath blown his ranks into the air; 
 And, like the devil, from his very arm 
 Puff'd his own brother ; — And can he be angry ? 
 Something of moment, then : I will go meet him ; 
 There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. 
 
 Des. I pr'ythee do so. — Something, sure of 
 state, — [Exit Iago. 
 
 Either from Venice; or some unhatch'd practice 1 
 Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him, — 
 Hath puddled his clear spirit : and, in such cases, 
 Men's natures wrangle with inferior things, 
 Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so ; 
 
 • In couDtenanco. 
 1 Treason. 
 
 » Within the shot of his anger. 
 
 For let our finger ache, and it endues 
 
 Our other healthful members even to that sense 
 
 Of pain : Nay, we must think, men are not god» 
 
 Nor of them look for such observances 
 
 As fit the bridal. 2 — Beshrew me much, Emilia, 
 
 I was (unhandsome warrior as I am) 
 
 Arraigning his unkindness with my soul, 
 
 But now I find, I had suborn'd the witness, 
 
 And he's indicted falsely. 
 
 Emit. Pray heaven, it be state matters, as you 
 think; 
 And no conception, nor no jealous toy, 
 Concerning you. 
 
 Des. Alas, the day ! I never gave him cause. 
 
 Emit. But jealous souls will not be answer'dso, 
 They are not ever jealous for the cause, 
 But jealous for they are jealous: 'tis a monster, 
 Begot upon itself, born on itself. 
 
 Des. Heaven keep that monster from Othello'* 
 mind ! 
 
 Emit. Lady, amen. 
 
 Des. I will go seek him. — Cassio, walk here 
 about : 
 If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit, 
 And seek to effect it to my uttermost. 
 
 Cos. I humbly thank your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia 
 Enter Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 
 
 Cos. What make you from home ? 
 
 How is it with you, my most fair Bianca? 
 I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 
 
 Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
 What! keep a week away ! seven days and nights? 
 Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours, 
 More tedious than the dial eight score times? 
 
 weary reckoning! 
 
 Cos. Pardon me, Bianca; 
 
 1 have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd ; 
 But I shall, in a more continuate time 3 
 
 Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, 
 
 [Giving her Desdemona's Handkerchief. 
 Take me this work out. 4 
 
 Bian. O, Cassio, whence came this * 
 
 This is some token from a newer friend. 
 To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
 Is it come to this? Well, well. 
 
 Cos. Woman, go to' 
 
 Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth, 
 From whence you have them. You are jealous now, 
 That this is from some mistress, some remembrance; 
 No, in good troth, Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Why, whose is it? 
 
 Cas. I know not, sweet : I found it in my chamber. 
 I like the work well ; ere it be demanded, 
 (As like enough, it will,) I'd have it copied: 
 Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time. 
 
 Bian. Leave you! wherefore? 
 
 Cas. I do attend here on the general; 
 And think it no addition, nor my wish, 
 To have him see me woman'd. 
 
 Bian. Why, I pray you? 
 
 Cas. Not that I love you not. 
 
 Bian. But that you do not love me. 
 
 I pray you, bring me on the way a little; 
 And say, if I shall see you soon at night, 
 
 Cas. 'Tis but a little way, that I can bring you, 
 For I attend here: but I'll see you soon. 
 
 Bian. 'Tis very good; I must be circumstanced 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 a The nuptial feast. 3 Time less interrupted. 
 
 ♦The meaning is, not pick out the work, but copy thil 
 work in another handkerchief. 
 
/vCT [V. SCENF I. 
 
 THE I/.OOR OF VENICE. 
 
 315 
 
 ACTIY. 
 
 oft. 
 
 SCENE L— The same. 
 Enter Othello and Iago. 
 Will you think so? 
 
 Think so, Iago? 
 
 What, 
 To kiss in private? 
 
 Oth. An unauthoriz'd kiss. 
 
 Iago. Or to be naked with her friend abed, 
 An hour, or more, not meaning any harm? 
 
 Oi!i. Naked abed, Iago, and not mean harm? 
 It is hypocrisy against the devil: 
 They that rtrem virtuously, and yet do so, 
 The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven, 
 
 Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip: 
 But if I give my wife a handkerchief, 
 
 Oth. What then ? 
 
 Iago. Why then 'tis hers, my lord ; and, being hers. 
 She may, I think, bestow't on any man. 
 
 Oth. She is protectress of her honor too; 
 May she give that? 
 
 Iago. Her honor is an essence that's not seen; 
 They have it very oft, that have it not: 
 But, for the handkerchief, 
 
 Oth. By heaven I would most gladly have forgot 
 it:— 
 Thou said'st, — O, it comes o'er my memory, 
 As doth the raven o'er the infected house, 
 Boding to all, 5 — he had my handkerchief. 
 
 Iago. Ay, what of that? 
 
 Oth. That's not so good, now. 
 
 Iago. What, if I had said, I had seen him do you 
 wrong ? 
 Or heard him say, — As knaves be such abroad, 
 Who having, by their own importunate suit, 
 Or voluntary dotage of some mistress, 
 Convinced or supplied 6 them, cannot choose 
 But they must blab 
 
 Oth. Hath he said any thing? 
 
 Iago. He hath, my lord ; but be you well assur'd, 
 No more than he'll unswear. 
 
 Oth. What hath he said? 
 
 Iago. 'Faith, that he did, — I know not what he 
 did. 
 
 Oth. What ? what ? 
 
 Iago. Lie 
 
 Oth. With her? 
 
 Iago. With her, on her; what you will. 
 
 Oth. Lie with her! lie on her! — We say, lie on 
 her, when they belie her: Lie with her! that's 
 fulsome. — Handkerchief, — confessions, — handker- 
 chief. — To confess, and be hanged for his labor. — 
 First to be hanged, and then to confess: — I tremble 
 at it. Nature would not invest herself in such 
 shadowing passion, without some instruction. It is 
 not words, that shake me thus: — Pish! — Noses, 
 ears, and lips: — Is it possible? — Confess! — Hand- 
 kerchief! — O, devil! — [Falls in a Trance. 
 
 Iago. Work on, 
 My medicine, work ! Thus credulous fools are 
 
 caught; 
 And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus, 
 All guiltless meet reproach. — What, ho ! my lord ! 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 My lord, I say! Othello! — How now, Cassio? 
 
 » The raven was thought to be a constant attendant on 
 t houpe Infected with the plague. 
 • Old spelling of sucpled, t e. softened. 
 
 Cos. What is the matter? 
 
 Iago. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy; 
 This is his second fit; he had one yesterday. 
 
 Cos. Rub him about the templos. 
 
 Iago. No, forbear: 
 
 The lethargy must have his quiet course: 
 If not, he foams at mouth; and, by and by, 
 Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs. 
 Do you withdraw yourself a little while, 
 He will recover straight; when he is gone, 
 I would on great occasion speak with you. — 
 
 [Exit Cassio. 
 How is it, general? have you not hurt your head? 
 
 Oth. Dost thou mock me ? 
 
 Iago. I mock you ! no, by heaven 
 
 'Would you would bear your fortunes like a man. 
 
 Oth. A horned man's a monster, and a beast. 
 
 Iago. There's many a beast then in a populous city, 
 And many a civil monster. 
 
 Oth. Did he confess it? 
 
 Iago. Good sir, be a man 
 
 Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yoked, 
 May draw with you: there's millions now alive 
 That nightly lie in those unproper beds, 
 Which they dare swear peculiar; your case is better. 
 O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock, 
 To lip a wanton in a secure couch, 
 And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know; 
 And, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. 
 
 Oth. O, thou art wise; 'tis certain. 
 
 Iago. Stand you awhile apart; 
 
 Confine yourself but in a patient list.' 
 W hilst you were here, erewhile mad with your grief, 
 (A passion most unsuiting such a man,) 
 Cassio came hither: I shifted him away, 
 And laid good 'scuse upon your ecstasy; 
 Bade him anon return, and here speak with me ; 
 The which he promis'd. Do but encave 8 yourself, 
 And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, 
 That dwell in every region of his face; 
 For I will make him tell the tale anew, — 
 Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
 He hath, and is again to cope your wife; 
 I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience; 
 Or I shall say, you are al! in all in spleen, 
 And nothing of a man. 
 
 Oth. Dost thou hear, Iago ? 
 
 I will be found most cunning in my patience 
 But (dost thou hear?) most bloody. 
 
 Iago. That's not amiss , 
 
 But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ? 
 
 [Othello withdraw] 
 Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 
 A housewife, that, by selling her desires, 
 Buys herself bread and clothes: it is a creature 
 That dotes on Cassio, — as 'tis the strumpet's plagui. 
 To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one; 
 He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 
 From the excess of laugher: — Here he comes. — 
 
 Re-enter Cassio. 
 
 As he shall smile. Othello shall go mad: 
 And his unbookish' jealousy must construe 
 Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behavioi 
 Quite in the wrong. — How do you now, lieu 
 tenant? 
 
 ' Within the bounds of patience. » IT'da 
 
 s Ignora-ut. 
 
916 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act IV 
 
 Cas. The worser, that you give me the addition,' 
 Whose want even kill? me. 
 
 lago. Ply Desdemoi.a well, and you are sure oft. 
 Now, if this suit lay in Bianca's power, 
 
 [Speaking lower. 
 How quickly should you speed! 
 
 Cas. Alas, poor caitiff! 
 
 Oth. Look, how he laughs already ! [Aside. 
 
 Iago. I never knew a woman love man so. 
 
 Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think, i'faith, she loves 
 me. 
 
 Oth. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Iago. Do you hear, Cassio ? 
 
 Oth. Now he importunes him 
 
 To tell it o'er: Go to : well said, well said. [Aside. 
 
 Iago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her: 
 Do you intend it? 
 
 Cas. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Oth. Do you triumph, Roman? do you triumph? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cas. I marry her ! — what ? a customer ! 3 I 
 pr'y thee, bear some charity to my wit ; do not think 
 it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Oth. So, so, so, so : They laugh that win. [Aside. 
 
 Iago. 'Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry 
 her. 
 
 Cas. Pr'y thee, say true. 
 
 Iago. I am a very villain else. 
 
 Oth. Have you scored me ? Well. [Aside. 
 
 Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out: she 
 is persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love 
 and flattery, not out of my promise. 
 
 Oth. Iago beckons me ; now he begins the story. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cas. She was here even now : she haunts me in 
 every place. I was, the other day, talking on the 
 sea-bank with certain Venetians; and thither comes 
 this bauble ; by this hand, she falls thus about my 
 neck : 
 
 Oth. Crying, O dear Cassio! as it were: his 
 gesture imports it. [Aside. 
 
 Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me; 
 so hales, and pulls me: ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Oth. Now he tells, how she pluck'd him to my 
 chamber: 0,1 see that nose of yours, but not that 
 dog I shall throw it to. [Aside. 
 
 Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 
 
 Iago. Before me! look where she comes. 
 
 Enter Biahca. 
 
 Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew ! 3 marry, a per- 
 fumed one, — What do you mean by this haunting 
 of me ? 
 
 Bian. Let the devil and his dam haunt you ! 
 What did you mean by that same handkerchief, 
 you gave me even now ? I was a fine fool to take it. 
 I must take out the whole work? — A likely piece 
 of work, that you should find it in your chamber, 
 and not know who left it there ! This is some minx's 
 token, and I must take out the work? There, — give 
 it your hobby-horse: wheresoever you had it, I'll 
 take out no work on't. 
 
 Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca? how now? 
 how now? 
 
 0>h. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night, you 
 ■nay: an you will not, come when you are next 
 prepared for. [Exit. 
 
 Jgt. After her, aftei her. 
 
 1 Title ot lieutenant. » A common woman. 
 
 •A Dclecat. 
 
 Cas. 'Faith I must, she'll rail in the st'oet else 
 
 Iago. Will you sup there? 
 
 Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 
 
 Iago. Well, I may chance to see you ; for I would 
 very fain speak with you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'y thee, come; will you? 
 
 Iago. Gc to; say no more. [Exit C&fliNt 
 
 Oth. How shall I murder him, Iago? 
 
 Iago. Did you perceive how he laughed 4t his 
 vice? 
 
 Oth. O, Iago ! 
 
 Iago. And did you see the handkerchief? 
 
 Oth. Was that mine ? 
 
 Iago. Yours, by this hand : and to see how lie 
 prizes the foolish woman, your wife ! she gave ir 
 him, and he hath given it his whore. 
 
 Oth. I would have him nine years a killing : — 
 A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 
 
 Iago. Nay, you muut forget that. 
 
 Oth. Ay, let her rot and perish, and be damned 
 to-night; for she shall not live: No, my heart is 
 turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. 
 0, the world hath not a sweeter creature- she 
 might lie by an emperor's side, and command him 
 tasks. 
 
 Iago. Nay, that's not your way. 
 
 Oth. Hang her ! I do but say what she is: — So 
 delicate with her needle ! — An admirable musician ! 
 O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear! — 
 Of so high and plenteous wit and invention ! — 
 
 Iago. She's the worse for all this. 
 
 Oth. 0, a thousand, a thousand times: — And 
 then, of so gentle a condition !* 
 
 Iago. Ay, too gentle. 
 
 Oth. Nay, that's certain: But yet the pity of it, 
 Iago ! — O, Iago. the pity of it, Iago ! 
 
 Iago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give 
 her patent to offend ; for, if it touch not you, it 
 comes near nobody. 
 
 Oth. I will chop her into messes : — Cuckold me ! 
 
 Iago. 0, 'tis foul in her. 
 
 Oth. With mine officer! 
 
 Iago. That's fouler. 
 
 Oth. Get me some poison, Iago; this night: — 
 I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and beau- 
 ty unprovide my mind again: — this night, Iago. 
 
 lago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her 
 bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 
 
 Oth. Good, good: the justice of it pleases; very 
 good. 
 
 Iago. And, for Cassio, — let me be his under- 
 taker : 
 You shall hear more by midnight. 
 
 [.4 Trumpet luithin. 
 
 Oth. Excellent good. — What trumpet is that 
 same? 
 
 Iago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lo- 
 dovico, 
 Come from the duke : and, see, your wife is with 
 him. 
 
 Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. 
 
 hod. 'Save you, worthy general! 
 Oth. With all my heart, sir. 
 
 hod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. 
 [Gives him a Packet. 
 Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 
 
 [Opens the Packet and reads. 
 Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico 1 
 lago. lam very glad to see you, signior. - 
 Welcome to Cyprus. 
 
 hod. I thank you ; How does lieutenant Cassio' 
 « Of so sweet a disposition. 
 
SczNr n. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 9n 
 
 'ago. Lives, sir. 
 
 rtp.s. Cousin, there's fallen between him and my 
 lord 
 A., unkind breach: but you shall make all well. 
 'Ah. Are you sure of that] 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 Oth. This fail you not to do, as you ivill — 
 
 [Reads, 
 hod. He did not call ; he's busy in the paper. 
 fs there division 'twixt my lord and Cassio ? 
 
 Des. A most unhappy one; I would do much 
 To atone 4 them, for the love I bear to Cassio. 
 Oth. Fire and brimstone! 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 Oth. Are you wise? 
 
 Des. What, is he angry ? 
 
 hod. 'May be, the letter mov'd him ; 
 
 For, as I think, they do command him home, 
 Deputing Cassio in his government. 
 Des. By my troth, I am glad on't. 
 Oth. Indeed ? 
 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 Oth. I am glad to see you mad. 
 Des. How, sweet Othello ? 
 
 Oth. Devil ! [Striking her. 
 
 Des. I have not deserv'd this. 
 
 hod. My lord, this would not be believ'd in 
 Venice, 
 Though I should swear I saw it : 'Tis very much ; 
 Make her amends, she weeps. 
 
 Oth. O devil, devil! 
 
 If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, 
 Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile : — 
 Out of my sight ! 
 
 Des. I will not stay to offend you. 
 
 [Going, 
 hod. Truly, an obedient lady : — 
 I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 
 
 Oth. Mistress, 
 
 Des. My lord? 
 
 Oth. What would you with her, sir! 
 
 hod. Who, I, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Ay; you did wish that I would make her turn: 
 Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on, 
 And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep: 
 And she's obedient, as you say, — obedient, — 
 Very obedient; — Proceed you in your tears. — 
 Concerning this, sir, — O well-painted passion! 
 I am commanded home : Get you away ; 
 I'll send for you anon. — Sir, I obey the mandate, 
 And will return to Venice; — Hence, avaunt! 
 
 [Exit Desdemona. 
 Cassio shall have my place. And, — sir, to-night, 
 I do entreat that we may sup together. 
 You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus. — Goats and 
 monkies ! [Exit, 
 
 hod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate 
 Call — all-in-all sufficient ? — This the noble nature 
 Whom passion could not shake ? whose solid virtue 
 The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, 
 Could neither graze, nor pierce ? 
 
 logo. He is much changed. 
 
 hod. Are his wits safe ? is he not light of brain? 
 
 logo. He is that he is ; I may not breathe my 
 
 censure. 
 
 What he might be, — if, what he might, he is not, — 
 
 I would to heaven he were. 
 
 hod. What, strike his wife! 
 
 Iago. 'Faith, that was not so well ; Yet 'would 
 I knew, 
 That stroke would prove the worst. 
 
 hod. Is it his use ? 
 
 * Beconcile. 
 
 Or did the letters work upon his blood, 
 And new-create this fault ? 
 
 Iago. Alas, alas ! 
 
 It is not honesty in me, to speak 
 What I have seen and known. You shall observe 
 
 him; 
 And his own courses will denote hirn so, 
 That I may save my speech : Do but go after, 
 And mark how he continues. 
 
 hod. I am sorry, that I am deceiv'd in him. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Othello and Emilia. 
 
 Oth. You have seen nothing then ? 
 
 Emit. Nor ever heard ; nor ever did suspect. 
 
 Oth. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. 
 
 Emit. But then I saw no harm : and then I heard 
 Each syllable, that breath made up between them. 
 
 Oth. What, did they never whisper? 
 
 Emil. Never, my lord. 
 
 Oth. Nor send you out of the way ? 
 
 Emil. Never. 
 
 Oth. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, noi 
 nothing ? 
 
 Emil. Never, my lord. 
 
 Oth. That's strai ge. 
 
 Emil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
 Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other, 
 Remove your thought; it doth abuse your bosom. 
 If any wretch hath put this in your head, 
 Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse ! 
 For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true, 
 There's no man happy : the purest of their wives 
 Is foul as slander. 
 
 Oth. Bid her come hither : — go. — 
 
 [Exit Emilia. 
 She says enough: — yet she's a simple bawd, 
 That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, 
 A closet-lock-and-key of villanous secrets: 
 And yet she'll kneel, and pray ; I have seen her do'(, 
 
 Re-enter Emilia, with Desdemona. 
 
 Des. My lord, what is your will? 
 
 Oth. Pray, chuck, come hither 
 
 Des. What is your pleasure ? 
 
 Oth. Let mesee your eyes; 
 
 Look in my face. 
 
 Des. What horrible fancy's this ? 
 
 Oth. Some of your function, mistress; 
 
 [To Emilia. 
 Leave procre?.nts alone, and shut the door: 
 Cough, or cry — hem, if any body come : 
 Your mystery, your mystery; — nay, despatch. 
 
 [Exit Emilia, 
 
 Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech im- 
 port? 
 I understand a fury in your words, 
 But not the words. 
 
 Oth. Why, what art thou ? 
 
 Des. Your wife, my lord; your true 
 
 And loyal wife. 
 
 Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 
 
 Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves 
 Should fear to seize thee: therefore be double- 
 
 damn'd, 
 Swear — thou art honest. 
 
 Des. Heaven doth truly know ii 
 
 Oth. Heaven truly knows that thou art false aj 
 hell. 
 
 Des. To whom, my lord ? with whom ? How an 
 I false? 
 
 Oth. O Desdemona! — away! away! away! 
 
91* 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act 19 
 
 Des. Alas, the heavy day ! — Why do you weep? 
 Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord ? 
 If, haply, you my father do suspect, 
 An instrument of this your calling back, 
 Lay not your blame on me ; if you have lost him, 
 Why, I have lost him too. 
 
 Oth. Had it pleas'd Heaven 
 
 To try me with affliction; had he rain'd 
 All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head; 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips; 
 Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes; 
 I should have found in some part of my soul 
 A drop of patience: but (alas!) to make me 
 A fixed figure, for the time of scorn 
 To point his slow and moving finger at, — 
 0! O! 
 
 Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : 
 But there, where I have garner'd 6 up my heart; 
 Where either I must live, or bear no life; 
 The fountain from the which my current runs, 
 Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence ! 
 Or keep it as a cistern, for foul toads 
 To knot and gender in! — turn thy complexion 
 
 there ! 
 Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin ; 
 Ay, there, look grim as hell ! 
 
 Des. I hope, my noble lord esteems me honest. 
 
 Oth. 0, ay: as summer flies are in the shambles, 
 That quicken even with blowing. O thou weed, 
 Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, 
 That the sense aches at thee. — 'Would thou hadst 
 ne'er been born ! 
 
 Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed] 
 
 Oth. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, 
 Made to write whore upon ! What committed! 
 Committed ! — O thou public commoner! . 
 I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
 That would to cinders burn up modesty, 
 Did I but speak thy deeds — What committed ! 
 Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks; 
 The bawdy wind that kisses all it meets, 
 Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
 And will not hear it: What committed! — 
 Impudent strumpet! 
 
 Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 
 
 Oth. Are not you a strumpet? 
 
 Des. No, as I am a Christian : 
 
 If to preserve this vessel for my lord, 
 From any other foul unlawful touch, 
 Be, — not to be a strumpet, I am none. 
 
 Oth. What, not a whore ? 
 
 Des. No, as I shall be saved. 
 
 Oth. Is it possible? 
 
 Des O, heaven forgive us! 
 
 Oth. I cry you mercy, then ; 
 
 I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, 
 That married with Othello. — You, mistress, 
 
 Re-enter Emilia. 
 
 That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, 
 \nd keep the gate of hell ; You ! you ! ay, you : 
 We have done our course : there's money for your 
 
 pains; 
 I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 IS mil. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive? — 
 
 How do you, madam ? how do you, my good lady ? 
 
 Des. 'Faith, half asleep. 
 
 Emit. Good madam, what's the matter with my 
 
 lord? 
 Des. With who? 
 
 Fmil. Why, with my lord, madam. 
 
 • Treasvr«d up. 
 
 Des. Who is thy lord? 
 
 Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady . 
 
 Des. I have none: Do not talk to me, Uir.iha; 
 I cannot weep; nor answer I have none, 
 But what should go by water. Pr'yth^e, tc night 
 Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, — remember ; — 
 And call thy husband hither. 
 
 Emil. Here is a change, indeed ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Des. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very meet. 
 How have I been behaved, that he might stick 
 The small'st opinion on my great'st abuse ? 
 
 Re-enter Emilia, with Iago. 
 
 Iago. What is your pleasure, madam ? How is it 
 with you ? 
 
 Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach young 
 babes, 
 Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks : 
 He might have chid me so: for, in good faith, 
 I am a child to chiding. 
 
 Iago. What's the matter, lady? 
 
 Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her 
 Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her, 
 As true hearts cannot bear. 
 
 Des. Am I that name, Iago? 
 
 Iago. What name, fair lady ? 
 
 Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was 
 
 Emit. He call'd her, whore; a beggar, in his 
 drink, 
 Could not have laid such terms upon his callet.' 
 
 Iago. Why did he so ? 
 
 Des. I do not know ; I am sure, I am none such. 
 
 Iago. Do not weep, do not weep; Alas the day! 
 
 Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches, 
 Her father, and her country, and her friends, 
 To be call'd — whore? would it not make one weep? 
 
 Des. It is my wretched fortune. 
 
 Iago. Beshrew him for it ! 
 
 How comes this trick upon him ? 
 
 Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 
 
 Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain, 
 Some busy and insinuating rogue, 
 Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office, 
 Have not devis'd this slander; I'll be hang'd else. 
 
 Iago. Fye, there's no such man ; it is impossible. 
 
 Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him ! 
 
 Emil. A halter pardon him ! and hell gnaw his 
 bones ! 
 Why should he call her, whore? who keeps her 
 
 company ? 
 What place? what time ? what form? what like- 
 lihood ? 
 The Moor's abused by some most villanous knave, 
 Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow : — 
 0, heaven, that such companions 9 thou'dst unfold; 
 And put in every honest hand a whip, 
 To lash the rascal naked through the world, 
 Even from the east to the west ! 
 
 Iago. Speak within dooi. 
 
 Emil. 0, fye upon him ! some such squire he was, 
 That turn'd your wit the seamy side' without, 
 And made you to suspect me with the Moor. 
 
 Iago. You are a fool ; go to. 
 
 Des. 0, good Iago, 
 
 What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
 Good friend, go to him; for by this light of heaven 
 I know not how I lost him. Here I kneel: — 
 If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love, 
 Either in discourse of thought, or actual deed* 
 Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense. 
 Delighted them in any other form ; 
 
 ' His drab. 8 Fellows. » Inside out 
 
Scene III. 
 
 THE xMOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 *JI9 
 
 Or that I do not yet, and ever did, 
 And ever will, — though he do shake me off 
 To beggarly divorcement, — love him dearly, 
 Comfort forswear me ! Unkindness may do much ; 
 And his unkindness may defeat my life, 
 But never taint my love. I can't say, whore ; 
 It does abhor me, now I speak the word; 
 To do the act that might the addition ' earn, 
 Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 
 
 Ingo. I pray you be content ; 'tis but his humor; 
 The business of the state does him offence, 
 And he does chide with you. . 
 
 Des. If 'twere no other, — 
 
 Iago. It is but so, I warrant you. [Trumpets. 
 Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 
 And the great messengers of Venice stay : 
 Go in, and weep not; all things shall be well. 
 
 [Exeunt Dksdemoxa and Emilia. 
 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 
 How now, Roderigo] 
 
 Rod. I do not find that thou deal'st justly with me. 
 
 Iago. What in the contrary ? 
 
 Rod. Every day thou doff'st 3 me with some 
 device, Iago ; and rather (as it seems to me now) 
 keep'st from me all conveniency, than suppliest me 
 with the least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, 
 no longer endure it : Nor am I yet persuaded, to put 
 up in peace what already I have foolishly suffered. 
 
 Iago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? 
 
 Rod. I have heard too much ; for your words, 
 and performances, are no kin together. 
 
 Iago. You charge me most unjustly. 
 
 Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted 
 myself out of my means. The jewels you have had 
 from me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have 
 corrupted a votarist : You have told me — she has 
 received them, and returned me expectations and 
 comforts of sudden respect and acquittance ; 3 but I 
 find none. 
 
 Iago. Well ; go to ; very well. 
 
 Rod. Very well ! go to ! I cannot go to, man ; 
 nor 'tis not very well : By this hand, I say, it is 
 very scurvy ; and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 
 
 Iago- Very well. 
 
 Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make 
 myself known to Desdemona: If she will return 
 me my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent 
 my unlawful solicitation : if not, assure yourself, I 
 will seek satisfaction of you. 
 
 Iago. You have said now. 
 
 Rod. Ay, and I have said nothing, but what I 
 protest intendment of doing. 
 
 Iugo. Why, now I see there's mettle in thee; and 
 even, from this instant, do build on thee a better 
 opinion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Ro- 
 derigo: Thou hast taken against me a most just 
 exception ; but yet, I protest, I have dealt most di- 
 rectly in thy affair. 
 
 Rod. It hath not appeared. 
 
 Iago. I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared ; and 
 your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. 
 But, Roderigo, if thou hast that within thee in- 
 deed, which I have greater reason to believe now 
 than ever, — I mean, purpose, courage, and valor, 
 — this night show it: if thou the next night follow- 
 ing enjoyest not Desdemona, take me from this 
 world with treachery, and devise engines for my life. 
 
 Rod. Well, what is it! is it within reason, and 
 tompass ? 
 
 logo. Sir, there is especial commission come 
 from Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 
 ••Title. »Put'stm*off "Requital. 
 
 Rod. Is that true ? why, then Othello and Des- 
 demona return again to Venice. 
 
 Iago. O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and take* 
 away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode 
 be lingered here by some accident; wherein none 
 can be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio. 
 
 Rod. How do you mean — removing of him ? 
 
 Iago. Why, by making him uncapable of Othel- 
 lo's place; knocking out his brains. 
 
 Rod. And that you would have me do? 
 
 Iago. Ay ; if you dare do yourself a profit and a 
 right. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thither 
 will I go to him ; — he knows not yet of his ho- 
 norable fortune : if you will watch his going 
 thence, (which I will fashion to fall out between 
 twelve and one,) you may take him at your plea- 
 sure; I will be near to second your attempt, and 
 he shall fall between us. Come, stand not amazed 
 at it, but go along with me ; I will show you such a 
 necessity in his death, that you shall think your- 
 self bound to put it on him. It is now high sup- 
 per-time, and the night grows to waste : about it. 
 
 Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 
 
 Iago. And you shall, be satisfied. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Room in the Castle. 
 
 E-nter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, 
 
 and Attendants. 
 
 hod. I do bcieech you, sir, trouble yourself no 
 further. 
 
 Oth. 0, pardon me ; 'twill do me good to walk. 
 
 hod. Madam, good-night ; I humbly thank your 
 ladyship. 
 
 Des. Your honor is most welcome. 
 
 Oth. Will you walk, sir ? — 
 
 0, — Desdemona, 
 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 Oth. Get you to bed on the instant, I will be re- 
 turned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there 
 look, it be done. 
 
 Des. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt Oth., Lon., and Attendants. 
 
 Emit. How goes it now? he looks gentler than 
 he did. 
 
 Des. He says he will return incontinent; 4 
 He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
 And bade me to dismiss you. 
 
 Emit. Dismiss me ! 
 
 Des. It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
 Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
 We must not now displease him. 
 
 Emit. I would you had never seen him ! 
 
 Des. So would not I; my love doth so approve him, 
 That even his stubbornness, his checks, and 
 
 frowns, — 
 Pr'ythee, unpin me, — have grace and favor in 
 them. 
 
 Emit. I have laid those sheets you bade me on 
 the bed. 
 
 Des. All's one : — Good father ! how foolish ara 
 our minds ! — 
 If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me 
 In one of those same sheets. 
 
 Emit. Come, come, you talk 
 
 Des. My mother had a maid call'd — Barbara; 
 She was in love ; and he, she lov'd, proved mad, 5 
 And did forsake her: she had a song of — willow, 
 An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, 
 And she died singing it: That song, to-night, 
 Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do 
 But to go hang my head all at one side, 
 And sing it like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatch 
 * Immediately • Wild, inconstant 
 
320 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act V 
 
 Emil. Shall I go fetch Tour night-gown ? 
 Des. No, unpin me here. — 
 
 This Lodovico is a proper man. 
 Emil. A very handsome man. 
 Des. And he speaks well. 
 
 Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have 
 walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his 
 nether lip. 
 
 I. 
 Des. The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, 
 Sing all a green wulow,- [Singing. 
 
 Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow: 
 The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur 'd her 
 moans,- 
 Sing willow, Sfc. 
 Her salt tears fell from her, and soften 'd the stones, 
 Lay by these: 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow,- 
 Pr'ythee, hie thee; he'll come anon. — 
 
 Sing all a green willow, must be my garland. 
 
 II. 
 
 Let nobody blame him, his scorn 1 approve, — 
 Nay, that's not next. — Hark! who is it that knocks? 
 Emil. It is the wind. 
 
 Des. I calVd my love, false love; but what said 
 he then? 
 Sing willow, $c. 
 If I court mo 6 women, you'll couch with mo men. 
 
 So, get thee gone ; good-night. Mine eyes do itch ; 
 Doth that bode weeping? 
 
 Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there. 
 
 Des. I have heard it said so. — 0, these men, 
 these men ! — 
 Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia, — 
 That there be women do abuse their husbands 
 In such gross kind? 
 
 Emil. There be some such, no question. 
 
 Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all the 
 world ? 
 
 Emil. Why, would not you ? 
 
 Des. No, by this heavenly light! 
 
 Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light ; 
 I might do't as well i'the dark. 
 
 Des. Wouldst thoit do such a deed for a-!l the 
 world ? 
 
 Emil. The world is a huge thing : 'tis a great price 
 For a small vice. 
 
 Des. Good troth, I think thou wouldst not. 
 
 Emil. By my troth, I think I should ; and un- 
 do't, when I had done. Marry, I would not do 
 such a thing for a joint-ring; nor for measures ol 
 lawn ; nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor any 
 petty exhibition : but for the whole world, — Why, 
 who would not make her husband a cuckold, to 
 make him a monarch ? I should venture purgatory 
 for't. 
 
 Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong 
 for the whole world. 
 
 Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i' the 
 world: and, having the world for your labor, 'tis 
 a wrong in your own world, and you may quickly 
 make it right. 
 
 Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 
 
 Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many 
 To the vantage, as would store the world they 
 
 play'd for. 
 But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults, 
 If wives do fall : Say, that they slack their duties 
 And pour our treasures into foreign laps; 
 Or else break out in peevish jealousies, 
 Throwing restraint upon us ; or, say they strike us, 
 Or scant our former having 9 in despite ; 
 Why, we have galls; and, though we have some 
 
 grace, 
 Yet we have some revenge. Let husbands know 
 Their wives have sense' like them: they see, and 
 
 smell, 
 And have their palates both for sweet and sour, 
 As husbands have. What is it that they do, 
 When they change us for others? Is it sport ? 
 I think it is ; And doth affection breed it ? 
 I think it doth ; Is't frailty, that thus errs ? 
 It is so too : And have not we affections ? 
 Desires for sport? and frailty, as men have ! 
 Then, let them use us well : else let then know, 
 The ills we do, theii ills instruct us to. 
 
 Des. Good-night, good-night: Heaven me such 
 usage send, 
 Not to pick bad from bad ; but, by bad, mend ! 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT Y. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street. 
 
 Enter Iago and Roderigo. 
 
 Jago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight will 
 he come : 
 Wear thy good rapier bare, 1 and put it home ; 
 Quick, qu'ck; fear nothing; I'll be at thy elbow: 
 It makes us, or it mars us ; think on that, 
 \nd fix most firm thy resolution. 
 Hod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in't. 
 Iago. Here, at thy hand ; be bold, and take thy 
 sword. [Retires to a little distance. 
 
 Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
 And yet he has given me satisfying reasons : — 
 'Tis but a man gone : — forth, my sword ; he dies. 
 [Goes to his stand. 
 Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to 
 the sense, 8 
 And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill Cassio, 
 <.' Cassio him, or each do kill the other, 
 * Mo for more. ' Unsheathed. • To the quick. 
 
 Every way makes my gain : Live Roderigo, 
 
 He calls me to a restitution large 
 
 Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd 3 from him, 
 
 As gifts to Desdemona ; 
 
 It must not be : if Cassio do remain, 
 
 He hath a daily beauty in his life- 
 
 That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor 
 
 May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much 
 
 peril : 
 No, he must die: — But so, I hear him coming. 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 
 Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he ; — Villain, thou diest 
 [Rushes from his post, and makes a pass 
 at Cassio. 
 Cos. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, 
 But that my coat is better than thou think st; 
 I will make proof of thine. 
 
 [Draws, and wounds Rohkiugo, 
 
 Our former allowance of expense, 
 a Fished. 
 
 1 Sensation. 
 
Scene 1. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 921 
 
 Rod. O, I am slain ! 
 
 [Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio be- 
 hind in the Leg, and Exit. 
 Cas. Iammaim'dforever: — Help, ho! murder! 
 murder ! [Falls. 
 
 Enter Othello, at a distance. 
 Oth. The voice of Cassio: — Iago keeps his word. 
 Rod. 0, villain that I am ! 
 Oth. Hark ! 'tis even so. 
 
 Cos. O, help ! ho . light ! a surgeon ! 
 Oth- 'Tis he ; — ° brave Iago, honest, and just, 
 That hath such noble sense of thy friend's wrong! 
 Thou teachest me, — Minion, your dear lies dead, 
 And your fate hies apace : — Strumpet, I come : 
 Forth 3 of my heart those charms, thine eyes, are 
 
 blotted ; 
 Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be 
 spotted. [Exit Otuello. 
 
 Enter Lodovico and Guatiano, at a distance. 
 Cas. What, ho! no watch? no passage! 4 mur- 
 der! murder! 
 Gra. 'Tis some mischance ; the cry is very direful. 
 Cas. 0, help! 
 Lod. Hark ! 
 
 Rod. O wretched villain ! 
 
 Lod. Two or three groans ; — it is a heavy * 
 night : 
 These may be counterfeits ; let's think't unsafe 
 To come in to the cry, without more help. 
 Rod. Nobody come ? then shall I bleed to death. 
 
 Enter Iago, with a Light. 
 
 Lod. Hark! 
 
 Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light 
 and weapons. 
 
 Iago. Who's there? whose noise is this, that 
 cries on murder ? 
 
 Lod. We do not know. 
 
 Iago. Did you not hear a cry I 
 
 Cas. Here, here ; for heaven's sake, help me. 
 
 Iago. What's the matter? 
 
 Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 
 
 Lod. The same, indeed ; a very valiant fellow. 
 
 Iago. What are you here that cry so grievously ? 
 
 Cas. Iago? 0, 1 am spoil'd, undone by villains ! 
 Give me some help. 
 
 Iago. me, lieutenant ! what villains have done 
 this? 
 
 Cas. I think, that one of them is hereabout, 
 And cannot make away. 
 
 Iago. O treacherous villains !— 
 
 What, are you there ? come in, and give some help. 
 
 [To LonoTico and Guatiano. 
 
 Rod. 0, help me here ! 
 
 Cas. That's one of them. 
 
 Iago. murderous slave ! villain ! 
 
 [Iago stabs Rodkiugo. 
 
 Rod. O damn'd Iago! inhuman dog! — 
 0! 0! O! 
 
 Iago. Kill men i'the dark! — Where be these 
 bloody thieves? 
 How silent is this town ! — Ho ! murder ! murder ! 
 What may you be ? are you of good, or evil ? 
 
 Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 
 
 Iago. Signior Lodovico ? 
 
 Lod. He, sir. 
 
 Iago. I cry you mercy ; Here's Cassio hurt 
 By villains. 
 
 Gra. Cassio ? 
 
 Iago. How is it, brother? 
 
 Cas. My leg is cut in two. 
 
 Out. *■ No passengers. » Thick, cloudy 
 
 Iago. Marry, heaven forbid ! — 
 
 Light, gentlemen ; I'll bind it with my shirt. 
 Enter Bianca. 
 Bian. What is the matter, ho ? who is't that cry d * 
 Iago. Who is't that cry'd ? 
 Bian. my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 
 Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio ! 
 
 Iago. notable strumpet ! — Cassio, may you 
 suspect 
 Who they should be, that have thus mangled you ? 
 Cas. No. 
 Gra. I am sorry to find you thus : I have beea 
 
 to seek you. 
 Iago. Lend me a garter : So. — 0, for a chair, 
 To bear him easily hence ! 
 
 Bian. Alas, he faints : — O Cassio ! Cassi« 
 
 Cassio ! 
 Iago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 
 To be a party in this injury. — 
 Patience a while, good Cassio. — Come, come ; 
 Lend me a light. — Know we this face, or no ' 
 Alas ! my friend, and my dear countryman, 
 Roderigo ? no : — Yes, sure ; O heaven ! Roderigo. 
 Gra. What, of Venice ? 
 Iago. Even he, sir ; did you know him ? 
 Gra. Know him ? ay. 
 
 lags. Signior Gratiano ? I cry you gentle par- 
 don ; 
 These bloody accidents must excuse my manners, 
 That so neglected you. 
 
 Gra. I am glad to see you. 
 
 Iago. How do you, Cassio? — 0, a chair, a chair! 
 Gra. Roderigo! 
 
 Iago. He, he, 'tis he : — 0, that's well said ; — 
 the chair : — [.A Chair brought in. 
 
 Some good man bear him carefully from hence ; 
 I'll fetrh the general's surgeon. — For you, mistress, 
 
 [To Bianca. 
 Save you your labor. He that lies slain here, 
 
 Cassio, 
 Was my dear friend : What malice was between 
 you? 
 Cas. None in the world; nor do I know the 
 
 man. 
 Iago. [To Bian.] What, look you pale? — O, 
 bear him out o' the air. — 
 
 [Cassio and Rod. are borne off. 
 Stay you, good gentlemen : — Look you pale, mis- 
 tress ? 
 Do you perceive the ghastness of her eye ? 
 Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon : — 
 Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her; 
 Do you see, gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak, 
 Though tongues were out of use. 
 Enter Emilia. 
 Emil. 'Las, what's the matter; what's the mat. 
 
 ter, husband ? 
 Iago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark, 
 By Roderigo, and fellows that are 'scap'd ; 
 He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
 
 Emil. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good Cassio! 
 Iago. This is the fruit of whoring. — Pr'ythee, 
 Emilia, 
 Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night :- 
 What, do you shake at that ? 
 Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but I therefore 
 
 shake not. 
 Iago. O, did he so ? I charge you go with me. 
 Emil. Fye, fye upon thee, strumpet ! 
 Bian. I am no strumpet ; but of life as honest. 
 As you that thus abuse me. 
 
 Emil. As I ? foh ! fye upon thee 
 
 3L 
 
923 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act V 
 
 fago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio 
 dress'd : — 
 Come, mistress, you musl tell us another tale. — 
 Emilia, run you to the citadel, 
 And tell my lord and lady what has happ'd. — 
 Will yon go on, I pray ? — This is the night, 
 
 [Aside. 
 That either makes me, or fordoes 6 me quite. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Bed-chamber: Desdemona in 
 Bed asleep. A Light burning. 
 Enter Othello. 
 Oth. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
 Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — 
 It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her hlood ; 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of her's than snow, 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
 
 [Takes off his Sword. 
 Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
 Put out the light, and then put out the light : ' 
 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again thy former light restore, 
 Should I repent me : — but once put out thine, 
 Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, 
 I know not where is that Promethean heat, 
 That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd 
 
 thy rose, 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, 
 It needs must wither : — I'll smell it on the tree. — 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one more. — 
 Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee, 
 And love thee after: — One more, and this the last: 
 So sweet was n«'er so fatal. I must weep, 
 
 But they are cruel tears: This sorrow's heavenly; 
 It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes — 
 
 Des. Who's there ? Othello ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, Desdemona. 
 
 Des. Will you come to bed, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Have you pray'd to-nigbt, Desdemona ? 
 
 Des. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Oth. If you bethink yourself of any crime, 
 Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace, 
 Solicit for it straight. 
 
 Des. Alas, my lord, what may you mean by that ? 
 
 Oth. Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by ; 
 
 1 would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; 
 
 No, — Heaven forfend ! 8 — I would not kill thy soul. 
 
 Des. Talk you of killing ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, I do. 
 
 Des. Then, heaven 
 
 Have mercy on me ! 
 
 Oth. Amen, with all my heart ! 
 
 Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill me. 
 
 Oth. Humph! 
 
 Des. And yet I fear you : for you are fatal then, 
 When your eyes roll so : Why I should fear, I know 
 
 not, 
 Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet, I feel, I fear. 
 
 Oth. Think on thy sins. 
 
 Des. They are loves I bear to you. 
 
 Oth. Ay, and for that thou diest. 
 
 Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for lov- 
 ing.— 
 Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip ? 
 Some bloody passion shakes your very frame : 
 
 • Undoes. 
 
 • i. e. The light of life. 
 
 This is the punctuation of the folio of 1 623, and of Pope, 
 fiteevens, &c, but some editors point it thus : — 
 
 Put out the light, and then: Put out the light: 
 
 • Forbid 
 
 These are portents ; but yet, I hope, I hope, 
 They do not point on me. 
 
 Oth. Peace, and be still ! 
 
 Des. I will so : What's the matter ? 
 
 Oth. That handkerchief which I so lov'd and 
 gave thee, 
 Thou gav'st to Cassio. 
 
 Des. No, by my life and soul ; 
 
 Send for the man and ask him. 
 
 Oth. Sweet soul, take heed. 
 
 Take heed of perjury ; thou art on thy death-bed 
 
 Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 
 
 Oth. Yes, presently : 
 
 Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
 For to deny each article with oath, 
 Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception 
 That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 
 
 Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me ! 
 
 Oth. I say, amen 
 
 Des. And have you mercy too ! — I never did 
 Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio, 
 But with such general warranty of heaven 
 As I might love: I never gave him token. 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in hi» 
 hand. 
 
 perjur'd woman ! thou dost stone my heart, 
 And mak'st me call what I intend to do, — 
 
 A murder, which I thought a sacrifice: 
 
 1 saw the handkerchief. 
 
 Des. He found it then; 
 
 I never gave it him : — Send for him hither, 
 Let him confess a truth. 
 
 Oth. He hath confess'd. 
 
 Des. What, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. That he hath — used thee. 
 
 Des. How? unlawfully! 
 
 Oth. Ay. 
 
 Des. He'll not say so. 
 
 Oth. No, his mouth is stopp'd, 
 
 Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't. 
 
 Des. My fear interprets then, — What, is he dead* 
 
 Oth. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
 Had stomach for them all. 
 
 Des. Alas ! he is betray'd, and I undone. 
 
 Oth. Out, strumpet ! Weep'st thou for him to 
 my face? 
 
 Des. O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 
 
 Oth. Down, strumpet! 
 
 Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. 
 
 Oth. Nay, if you strive, 
 
 Des. But half an hour. 
 
 Oth. Being done, 
 
 There is no pause. 
 
 Des. But while I say one prayer. 
 
 Oth. It is too late. [He smothers her. 
 
 Emit. [Within.'] My loid, my lord! what ho! 
 my lord ! my lord ! 
 
 Oth. "What noise is this? — Not dead! not yet 
 quite dead? 
 I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ; 
 I would not have thee linger in thy pain. — 
 So, so. 
 
 Emit. [ Within.] What ho ! my lord, my lord ! 
 
 Oth. Who's there? 
 
 Emit. [ Within.] O, good my lord, I would speak 
 a word with you. 
 
 Oth. Yes ; — 'tis Emilia : — by and by. — She's 
 dead. 
 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death : 
 The noise was high. — Ha! no more moving? 
 Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Wore't 
 
 good? 
 I think, she stirs again : — No. — What's the best * 
 
Scene II. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife: 
 
 My wife! my wife ! what wife? — I have no wife: 
 
 0, insupportable! O heavy hour! 
 
 Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
 
 Of sun and moon ; and that the affrighted globe 
 
 Should yawn at alteration. 
 
 Emit. [ Within.'] I do beseech you I may speak 
 with you. 
 0, good my lord! 
 
 Oth. I had forgot thee: 0, come in, Emilia: — 
 Soft, — by and by : — Let me the curtains draw. — 
 Where art thou ? What's the matter with thee now? 
 [Unloclcs the Door. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Emil. 0, good my lord, yonder's foul murder done. 
 
 Oth. What? now? 
 
 Emil. But now, my lord! 
 
 Oth. It is the very error of the moon ; 
 She comes more near the earth than she was wont ; 
 And makes men mad. 
 
 Emil. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Vene- 
 tian, 
 Call'd — Roderigo. 
 
 Oth. Roderigo kill'd! 
 
 And Cassio kill'd ! 
 
 Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 
 
 Oth. Not Cassio kill'd? then murder's out of tune, 
 And sweet revenge grows harsh. 
 
 Des. 0, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 
 
 Emil. Alas ! what cry is that ? 
 
 Oth. That! what? 
 
 Emil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice. — 
 Help ! help, ho ! help ! — O lady, speak again ! 
 Sweet Desdemona ! 0, sweet mistress, spealt ! 
 
 Des- A guiltless death I die. 
 
 Emil. 0, who hath done 
 
 This deed? 
 
 Des. Nobody; I myself ; farewell: 
 
 Commend me to my kind lord ; O, farewell. [Dies. 
 
 Oth. Why, how should she be murder'd ? 
 
 Emil. Alas, who knows? 
 
 Oth. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 
 
 Emil. She said so, I must needs report the truth. 
 
 Oth. She's like a Har, gonje to burning hell ; 
 'Twas I that kill'd her. 
 
 Emil. 0, the more angel she, 
 
 And you the blacker devil ! 
 
 Oth. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 
 
 Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil ! 
 
 Oth. She was false as water. 
 
 Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 
 
 That she was false ; 0, she was heavenly true ! 
 
 Oth. Cassio did tap her; ask thy husband else, 
 O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, 
 But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
 To this extremity; Thy husband knew it all. 
 
 Emil. My husband? ' 
 
 Oth. Thy husband. 
 
 Emil. That she was false to wedlock? 
 
 Oth. Ay, with Cassio. 
 
 Nay, had she been true, 
 If heaven would make me such another world 
 Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 9 
 I'd not have sold her for it. 
 
 Emil. My husband ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told me first; 
 
 An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
 That sticks on filthy deeds. 
 
 Emil. My husband? 
 
 Oth. What needs this iterance,' woman? I say, 
 thy husband. 
 ■ A preciops stone. l Repetition. 
 
 Emil. mistress, villany hath made mocks with 
 love ! — 
 My husband say, that she was false ? 
 
 Oth. He, woman ; 
 
 I say, thy husband; Dost understand the word 7 
 My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago. 
 
 Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
 Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart; 
 She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 
 
 Oth. Ha! 
 
 Emil. Do thy worst: 
 
 This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, 
 Than thou wast worthy her. 
 
 Oth. Peace, you were best 
 
 Emil. Thou hast not half the power to do me 
 harm, 
 As I have to be hurt. 3 O gull ! O dolt ! 
 As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed, — 
 I care not for thy sword ; I'll make thee known, 
 Though I lost twenty lives : — Help ! help, ho ! help! 
 The Moor has kill'd my mistress ; Murder ! murder ! 
 
 Enter Montano, Gbatiano, and Iago. 
 
 Mon. What is the matter ? — How now, general ? 
 
 Emil. 0, are you come, Iago? you have done well, 
 That men must lay their murders on your neck. 
 
 Gra. What is the matter? 
 
 Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man. 
 He says, thou told'st him, that his wife was false : 
 I know, thou did'st not, thou art not such a villain; 
 Speak, for my heart is full. 
 
 Iago. I told him what I thought; and told no 
 more 
 Than what he found himself was apt and true. 
 
 Emil. But did you ever tell him she was false? 
 
 Iago. I did. 
 
 Emil. You told a lie; an odious, damned lie, 
 Upon my soul, a lie : a wicked lie : — 
 She false with Cassio! — Did you say with Cassio? 
 
 Iago. With Cassio, mistress; Go to, charm your 
 tongue. 
 
 Emil. I will not charm my tongue ; I am bound 
 to speak; 
 My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed. 
 
 All. heavens forfend ! a 
 
 Emil. And your reports have set the mutder on. 
 
 Oth. Nay, stare not, masters ; it is true, indeed. 
 
 Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. 
 
 Mon. O monstrous act ! 
 
 Emil. Yillany, villany, villany ! — 
 
 I think upon't, — I think, — I smell't; — villany ! 
 I thought so then; — I'll kill myself for grief. — 
 
 villany, villany ! 
 
 Iago. What, are you mad? I charge you, gel 
 
 you home. 
 Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to 
 speak: 
 'Tis proper I obey him, but not now :— 
 Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home. 
 
 Oth. O ! O ! ! [Hanging over his Wife. 
 
 Emil. Nay, lay thee down, and roar, 
 
 For thou hast killed the sweetest innocent, 
 That e'er did lift up eye. 
 
 Oth. O, she was foul ! — 
 
 [Rising. 
 
 1 scarce did know you, uncle : There lies your niece, 
 Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly 
 
 stopp'd : 
 I know, this act shows horrible and grim. 
 
 Gra. Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy fathc/'» 
 dead; 
 Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief ' 
 » " More can I bear than yon Hare execute." * Forbid 
 
924 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Act V 
 
 Whore his old thread in twain: did he live now, 
 This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
 Yea, curse his better angel from his side, 
 And fall to reprobation. 
 
 Oth. 'Tis pitiful : but yet Iago knows, 
 That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
 A thousand times committed ; Cassio confess'd it : 
 And she did gratify his amorous works 
 With that recognizance and pledge of love 
 Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand ; 
 It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
 My father gave my mother. 
 
 Emil. O heaven ! heavenly powers ! 
 
 Iago. Come, hold your peace. 
 
 Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out ; — I hold my peace, 
 sir? no; 
 No, I will speak as liberal 4 as the air; 
 Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all, 
 All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. 
 
 Iago. Be wise, and get you home. 
 
 Emil. I will not. 
 
 [Iago offers to stab his Wife. 
 
 Gra. Fye ! 
 
 i our sword upon a woman ! 
 
 Emil. thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou 
 speak'st of, 
 I found by fortune, and did give my husband; 
 For often, with a solemn earnestness, 
 (More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,) 
 He begg'd of me to steal it. 
 
 Iago. Villanous whore ! 
 
 Emil. She give it Cassio! no, alas; I found it, 
 And I did give't my husband. 
 
 Iago. Filth, thou liest, 
 
 Emil. By heaven, I do not: I do not, gentlemen : 
 O murd'rous coxcomb! what should such a fool 
 Do with so good a wife? 
 
 [Iago slabs Emilia, then runs out. 
 
 Oth. Are there no stones in heaven, 
 
 But what serve for the thunder? — Precious villain ! 
 
 Gra. The woman falls ! sure, he has kill'd his wife. 
 
 Emil. Ay, ay ; 0, lay me by my mistress' side ! 
 
 Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd. 
 
 Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this 
 weapon, 
 Which I have here recover'd from the Moor: 
 Come, guard the door without; let him not pass, 
 But kill him rather; I'll after that same villain, 
 For 'tis a damned slave. 
 
 [Exeunt Montano and Gratiano. 
 
 Oth. I am not valiant neither, 
 But every puny whipster gets my sword: — 
 But why should honor outlive honesty? 
 Let it go all. 
 
 Emil. What did thy song bode, lady? 
 
 Hark, canst thou hear me! I will play the swan, 
 And die in music; — Willow, willow, willow. — 
 Moor, she was chaste; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor; 
 So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; 
 So speaking as I think, I die, — I die. [Dies. 
 
 Oth. I have another weapon in this chamber, 
 It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper;' — 
 O, here it is: — Uncle, I must come forth. 
 
 Gra. [Within.'] If thou attempt it, it will cost 
 thee dear; 
 Thou bast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 
 
 Oth. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, 
 Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 
 
 Gra. 
 
 Re-enter Gratiano. 
 What is the matter? 
 
 .« Free. 
 
 • Steel is hardened by being put red-hot into very cold 
 rater 
 
 Oth. Behold ! I have a weapon ; 
 
 A better never did itself sustain 
 Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day, 
 That, with this little arm, and this good sword, 
 I have made my way through more impediment* 
 Than twenty times your stop : — But, O vain boast! 
 Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now. — 
 Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd ; 
 Here is my journey's end, here is my butt, 
 And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
 Do you go back dismay 'd ? 'tis a lost fear; 
 Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 
 And he retires ; — Where should Othello go ? — 
 Now, how dost thou look now ? ill-stan-'d 
 
 wench ! 
 Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt' 
 This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, 
 And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl 1 
 Even like thy chastity. — 
 cursed, cursed slave ! — Whip me, ye devils, 
 From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 
 Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur! 
 Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! — 
 Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ? 
 Dead ? ! O ! ! 
 
 Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cassio carried in n 
 Chair, and Officers, with Iago, prisoner. 
 
 Lod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate 
 man ? 
 
 Oth. That's he, that was Othello; here I am. 
 
 Lod. Where is that viper? bring the villain forth. 
 
 Oth. I look down towards his feet ; '■ — but that's 
 a fable : 
 If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 
 
 [Othello wounds Iago. 
 
 Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 
 
 Iago. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd. 
 
 Oth. I am not sorry neither; I'd have thee live ; 
 For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 
 
 Lod. O thou Othello, that was once so good, 
 Fall'n in the practice 9 of a cursed slave, 
 What shall be said to thee ? 
 
 Oth. Why, any thing. 
 
 An honorable murderer, if you will ; 
 For nought I did in hate, but all in honor. 
 
 Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his villany . 
 Did you and he consent in Cassio's death ? 
 
 Oth. Ay. 
 
 Cas. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 
 
 Oth. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon 
 Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil, 
 Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body ? 
 
 Iago. Demand me nothing : What you know, 
 you know: 
 From this time forth I never will speak word. 
 
 Lod. What ? not to pray ? • 
 
 Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 
 
 Oth. Well, thou dost best. 
 
 Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n, 
 Which, as I think, you know not: Here is a 
 
 letter, 
 Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo; 
 And here, another : the one of them imports 
 The death of Cassio to be undertook 
 By Roderigo. 
 
 Oth. O villain ! 
 
 Cas. Most heathenish, and most gross ! 
 
 Lod. Now here's another discontented paper, 
 Found in his pocket too : and this it seems. 
 Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain, 
 
 Account. 
 1 Stratagem. 
 
 i To see \f bin feet be cloven. 
 
Scene II. 
 
 THE MOOR OF VENICE. 
 
 95 
 
 But that, belike, Iago in the interim 
 Came in and satisfied him. 
 
 Oth. O the pernicious caitiff! — 
 
 How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
 That was my wife's? 
 
 Cos. I found it in my chamber: 
 
 And he himself confess'd, but even now, 
 That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose, 
 Which wrought to his desire. 
 
 Oth. Ofool! fool! fool! 
 
 Cos. There is besides, in Roderigo's letter, — 
 How he upbraids Iago, that he made him 
 Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came 
 That I was cast: And even but now he-spake, 
 After long seeming dead, — Iago hurt him, 
 Iago set him on. 
 
 hod. You must forsake this room and go with us; 
 Your power and your command is taken off, 
 And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, — 
 If there be any cunning cruelty, 
 That can torment him much, and hold him long, 
 It shall be his : You shall close prisoner rest, 
 Till that the nature of your fault be known 
 fo the Venetian state : — Come, bring away. 
 
 Oth. Soft you ; a word or two before you go. 
 I have done the state some service, and they know it; 
 No more of that: — I pray you, in your letters, 
 When you shall these unlucky deeda relate, 
 Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
 Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak 
 Of one, that iov'd not wisely, but too well; 
 Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought, 
 
 Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hana, 
 Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away, 
 Richer than all his tribe ; of one, whose subdued 
 
 eyes, 
 Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
 Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
 Their medicinal gum : Set you down this : 
 And say, besides, — that in Aleppo once, 
 Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
 Beat a Venetian, and traduced the state, 
 I took by the throat the circumcised dog, 
 And smote him — thus. [Stabs himself. 
 
 hod. O bloody period ! 
 
 Gra. All, that's spoke, is marr'd. 
 
 Oth. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd thee ; — No way 
 
 but this, [Falling upon Desdemon l. 
 
 Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies. 
 
 Cos. This did I fear, but thought he had no 
 weapon : 
 For he was great of heart. 
 
 hod. O Spartan dog, 
 
 More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea ! 
 Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; [To Iabo. 
 This is thy work: the object poisons sight; — 
 Let it be hid. — Gratiano, keep the house, 
 And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
 For they succeed to you. — To you, lord govern 31, 
 Remains the censure of this hellish villain; 
 The time, the place, the torture, — enlorce it ! 
 Myself will straight aboard ; and, to the state, 
 This heavy act with heavy heart relate. 
 
 [Exeunt 
 
POEMS. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY 
 
 Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Titchfield. 
 Right Hojtoraule, 
 
 I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your Lordship, nor how 
 6»o world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burthen: only if youi 
 honor seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, 
 silt I have honored you with some graver labor. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, 
 I ehall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield m« 
 •till so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honorable survey, and your honor to your heart's content 
 which I wish may always answer your own wish, and the world's hopeful expectation. 
 
 Your Honor's in all duty, 
 
 William Shakspeabx 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 Vilia mlretur vulgus mihi flavus Apollo 
 Poculo Castalia plena ministrat aqua. — 9vn> 
 
 Even as the sun with purple-color'd face 
 Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn, 
 Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase; 
 Hunting he loved, but love he laugh 'd to scorn; 
 Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, 
 And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins'to woo him. 
 
 Thrice fairer than myself, (thus she began,) 
 The field's chief flower, sweet above compare, 
 Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man, 
 More white and red than doves or roses are ; 
 Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, 
 Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 
 
 Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
 And reign his proud head to the saddle-bow; 
 If thou wilt deign this favor, for thy meed 
 A thousand honey-secrets shalt thou know: 
 Here come and sit, where serpent never hisses, 
 And, being set, I'll smother thee with kisses: 
 
 And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety, 
 But rather famish them amid their plenty, 
 Making Aem red and pale with fresh variety ; 
 Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty : 
 A summer's day v/ill seem an hour but short, 
 Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport 
 T9271 
 
 With this, she seizeth on his sweating palm, 
 The precedent of pith and livelihood, 
 And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm, 
 Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good: 
 Being so enraged, desire doth lend her forct 
 Courageously to pluck him from his horse 
 
 Over one arm the lusty courser's rein, 
 
 Under her other was the tender boy, 
 
 Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain. 
 
 With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ; 
 
 She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, 
 He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 
 
 The studded bridle on a ragged bough 
 Nimbly she fastens; (O how quick is love!) 
 The steed is stalled up, and even now 
 To tie the rider she begins to prove: 
 
 Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust, 
 And govern'd nun in strength, though not in lust 
 
 So soon was she along, at- he was down, 
 Each leaning on their elbows and their hips : 
 Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, 
 And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips; 
 And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken, 
 "If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open." 
 
92ft 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 tie burns with bashful shame ; she with her tears 
 Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks : 
 Then with her windy sighs, and golden hairs, 
 To fan and blow them dry again she seeks: 
 
 He saith, she is immodest, blames her 'miss; 
 
 What follows more, she smothers with a kiss. 
 
 Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, 
 Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone, 
 Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste, 
 Till either gorge be stuff 'd, or prey be gone ; 
 Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin, 
 And where she ends, she doth anew begin. 
 
 Forced to content, but never to obey, 
 Panting he lies, and breathing in her face; 
 She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey, 
 And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace, 
 Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, 
 So they were dew'd with such distilling showers. 
 
 Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, 
 
 So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies ; 
 
 Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret, 
 
 Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: 
 Rain added to a river that is rank, 
 Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 
 
 Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 
 For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale; 
 Still is he sullen, still he low'rs and frets, 
 'Twixt crimson shame and anger, ashy pale ; 
 Being red, she loves him best ; and being white, 
 Her best is better'd with a more delight. 
 
 Look how he can, she cannot choose but love; 
 And by her fair immortal hand she swears 
 From his soft bosom never to remove, 
 Till he take truce with her contending tears, 
 
 Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all 
 wet; 
 
 And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt. 
 
 Upon this promise did he raise his chin, 
 Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave, 
 Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in; 
 So offers he to give what she did crave; 
 But when her lips were ready for his pay, 
 He winks, and turns his lips another way. 
 
 Never did passenger in summer's heat 
 More thirst for drink, than she for this good tun: : 
 Her help she sees, but help she cannot get; 
 She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn: 
 
 " Oh pity," 'gan she cry, " flint-hearted boy ; 
 
 'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy ? 
 
 I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, 
 Even by the stern and direful god of war, 
 Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, 
 Who conquers where he comes, in every jar; 
 Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, 
 And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt 
 have. 
 
 Over my altars hath he hung his lance, 
 His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest, 
 And for my sake hath learned to sport and dance, 
 To coy, to wanton, daHy, smile, and jest; 
 Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red, 
 Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 
 
 Thus he that overrul'd, I oversway'd, 
 Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : 
 Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd 
 
 Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 
 
 O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, 
 For mast'ring her that foil'd the god of fight ! 
 
 Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, 
 (Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,) 
 The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine : — ■ 
 What see'st thou in the ground ? hold up thy head 
 Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies: 
 Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes* 
 
 Art thou ashamed to kiss ? then wink again, 
 And I will wink, so shall the day seem night: 
 Love keeps his revels where there are but twain, 
 Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight: 
 These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean, 
 Never can blab, nor know not what we mean. 
 
 The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 
 
 Shows thee unripe ; yet mayst thou well be tasted ; 
 
 Make use of time, let not advantage slip; 
 
 Beauty within itself should not be wasted: 
 
 Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime, 
 Rot and consume themselves in little time. 
 
 Were I hard-favor'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, 
 Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
 O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold, 
 Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 
 
 Then might'st thou pause, for then I were noi 
 for thee; 
 
 But having no defects, why dost abhor me? 
 
 Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow; 
 
 Mine eyes are grey,' and bright, and quick in turn- 
 ing; 
 
 My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, 
 
 My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning; 
 My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt. 
 Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 
 
 Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 
 Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green, 
 Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair, 
 Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen : 
 Love is a spirit all compact of fire, 
 Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 
 
 Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie; 
 These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support 
 
 me; 
 Two strengthless doves will draw me through the 
 
 sky, . 
 From morn till night, even where I list to sport 
 me: 
 Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
 That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee '• 
 
 Is thine own heart to thine own face affected? 
 
 Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? 
 
 Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, 
 
 Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft. 
 Narcissus so, himself himself forsook, 
 And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. 
 
 Torches are made to light, jewels to weai, 
 Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use. 
 Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear; 
 Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse ■ 
 
 Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth 
 beauty, 
 
 Thou wast begot — to get it is thy duty. 
 
 • Grey is said to be here used as blue. We have subs* 
 quently — 
 
 "Her two Hue windows faintly she upbewreth. " 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 92i. 
 
 iJpon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed, 
 Uniess the earth with thy increase be fed ? 
 By law of Nature t.ou art bound to breed, 
 That Ihine may live, when thou thyself art dead; 
 And so in spite of death thou dost survive, 
 In that thy likeness still is left alive." 
 
 By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, 
 For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them, 
 And Titan, 'tired in the mid-day heat, 
 With burning eye did hotly overlook them; 
 Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, 
 So he were like him, and by Venus' side. 
 
 And now Adonis, with a lazy spright, 
 
 And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye, 
 
 His Iow'ring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight, 
 
 Like misty vapors when they blot the sky, 
 
 Souring his cheeks, cries, " Fie ! no more of love ; 
 
 The sun doth burn my face; I must remove." ' 
 
 " Ah me," quoth Venus, " young, and so unkind ! 
 
 What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone ! 
 
 I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind 
 
 Shall cool the heat of this descending sun ; 
 I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs : 
 If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears. 
 
 The sun that shines from heaven, shines but warm, 
 And lo, I lie between that sun and thee ; 
 The heat I have from thence doth little harm, 
 Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me : 
 And were I not immortal, life were done, 
 Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 
 
 Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel, 
 Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth ? 
 Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 
 What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth? 
 O had thy mother borne so hard a mind, 
 She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 
 
 What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this ? 
 
 Or what great danger dwells upon my suit ? 
 
 What wei - thy lips the worse for one poor kiss ? 
 
 Speak, fair ; but speak fair words, or else be mute : 
 Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again, 
 And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 
 
 Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone, 
 Well painted idol, image dull and dead, 
 Statue contenting but the eye alone, 
 Thing like a man, but of no woman bred, 
 
 Thou art no man. though of a man's complexion, 
 For men will kiss even by their own direction." 
 
 This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, 
 And swelling passion doth provoke a pause; 
 Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong; 
 Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause; 
 
 And now she weeps, and now she fain would 
 speak, 
 
 And now her sobs do her intendments break. 
 
 Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand, 
 
 Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground; 
 
 Sometimes her arms infold him like a band ; 
 
 She would, he will not in her arms be bound; 
 And when from thence he struggles to be gone, 
 She locks her lily fingers one in one. 
 
 ' Fondling," she saith, " since I have hemm'd thee 
 
 here, 
 Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 
 
 I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer, 
 Feed where ihou wilt, on mountain or in dale; 
 Graze on ny lips; and if those hills be dry, 
 Stray lowe\ where the pleasant fountains lie. 
 
 Within this limit is relief enough, 
 Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain, 
 Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, 
 To shelter thee from tempest and from rain; 
 
 Then be my deer, since I am such a park ; 
 
 No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark." 
 
 At this Adonis smiles as in disdain, 
 That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple: 
 Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
 He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; 
 Fore-knowing well if there he came to lie, 
 Why there Love liv'd and there he conld not die. 
 
 These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits, 
 Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking: 
 Being mad before, how doth she now for wits? . 
 Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking! 
 Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, 
 To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn! 
 
 Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say ! 
 Her words are done, her woes the more increasing, 
 The time is spent, her object will away, 
 And from her twining arms doth urge releasing: 
 " Pity," she cries, " some favor — some remorse — " 
 Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. 
 
 But lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by, 
 A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 
 Adonis' trampling courser doth espy, 
 And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud: 
 The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, 
 Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 
 
 Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, 
 And now his woven girths he breaks asunder, 
 The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds, 
 Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thun- 
 der; 
 The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth, 
 Controlling what he was controlled with, 
 
 His ears up-prick'd ; his braided hanging mane 
 Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end; 
 His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, 
 As from a furnace, vapors doth he send : 
 His eye, which glisters scornfully like fire, 
 Shows his hot courage and his high desire. 
 
 Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps, 
 With gentle majesty, and modest pride; 
 Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps, 
 As who would say, lo ! thus my strength is tneil ; 
 And this I do to captivate the eye 
 Of the fair breeder that is standing by. 
 
 What recketh he his rider's angry stir. 
 
 His flattering " holla," or his " Stand, 1 say /" 
 
 What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur? 
 
 For rich caparisons, or trapping gay ? 
 
 He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, 
 For nothing else with his proud sight agrees 
 
 Look, when a painter would surpass the Hie, 
 In limning out a well-proportion'd steed, 
 His art with nature's workmanship at strife, 
 As if the dead the living should exceed; 
 So did this horse excel a common one, 
 In shape, in courage, color, pace, and Tone 
 
930 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 Round-hoof d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, 
 Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide, 
 High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing 
 
 strong, 
 Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: 
 Look what a horse should have, he did not lack, 
 Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 
 
 Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares ; 
 Anon he starts at stirring of a feather; 
 To bid the wind a base" he now prepares, 
 And whe'r he run, or fly, they knew not whether; 
 
 For through his mane and tail the high wind 
 sings, 
 
 Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings. 
 
 He looks upon his love and neighs unto her; 
 She answers him as if she knew his mind: 
 Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, 
 She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind; 
 Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, 
 Beating his kind embracements with her heels. 
 
 Then, like a melancholy malecontent, 
 He vails his tail, that, like a falling plume, 
 Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent; 
 He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume : 
 His love, perceiving how he is enraged, 
 Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged. 
 
 His testy master goeth about to take him ; 
 
 When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 
 
 Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him; 
 
 With her the horse, and left Adonis there : 
 
 As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, 
 Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 
 
 All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits, 
 Banning his boisterous and unruly beast; 
 And now the happy season once more fits, 
 That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest ; 
 For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong, 
 When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 
 
 An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, 
 
 Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: 
 
 So of concealed sorrow may be said ; 
 
 Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ; 
 But when the heart's attorney 3 once is mute, 
 The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 
 
 He sees her coming, and begins to glow, 
 Even as a dying coal revives with wind, 
 And with his bonnet hides his angry brow; 
 Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind; 
 Taking no notice that she is so nigh, 
 For all askaunce he holds her in his eye. 
 
 what a sight it was, wistly to view 
 
 How she came stealing to the wayward boy ! 
 
 To note the fighting conflict of her hue ! 
 
 How white and red each other did destroy ! 
 But now her cheek was pale, and by and by 
 It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky 
 
 Now was she just before him as he sat, 
 And like a lowly lover down she kneels; 
 With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, 
 Her other tender hand his fair cheek fe«ls: 
 
 His tender cheek receives her soft hand's print, 
 
 As apt as new-faller. snow takes any dint. 
 
 »Tu tbe game of base, or prison base, one runs and chal- 
 lengcB another to pursue. "To bid the wind a base," is 
 therefore to challenge the wind to speed. 
 
 »Xhe tongue. 
 
 O what a war of looks was then between them ! 
 
 Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing; 
 
 His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them 
 
 Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing; 
 And all this dumb play had his* acts made plain 
 With te&rs, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. 
 
 Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 
 
 A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, 
 
 Or ivory in an alabaster band ; 
 
 So white a friend engirts so white a foe : 
 
 This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
 Show'd like two silver doves that sit a billing 
 
 Once more the engine of her thoughts began: 
 " O fairest mover on this mortal round, 
 Would thou wert as I am, and I a man, 
 My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound; 
 For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee, 
 Tho' nothing but my body's bane would cure 
 thee." 
 
 " Give me my hand," saith he, " why dost thou feel 
 
 it]" 
 " Give me my heart," saith she, " and thou shah 
 
 have it ; 
 
 give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, 
 And being steel'd, soft sighs can never 'grave it: 
 
 Then love's deep groans I never shall regard, 
 Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard." 
 
 " For shame," he cries, "let go, and let me go; 
 My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 
 And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so; 
 
 1 pray you hence, and leave me here alone: 
 For all my mind, my thought, my busy care, 
 Is how to get my palfrey from the mare." 
 
 Thus she replies: "Thy palfrey, as he should, 
 
 Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire. 
 
 Affection is a coal that must be cool'd; 
 
 Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire : 
 
 The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none, 
 Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. 
 
 How like a jade he stood, tied to a tree, 
 Servilely master'd with a leathern rein ! 
 But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee, 
 He held such petty bondage in disdain ; 
 
 Throwing the base thong from his bending ciest 
 Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast. 
 
 Who sees his true love in her naked bed, 
 Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white, 
 But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed, 
 His other agents aim at like delight 1 
 Who is so faint that dare not be so bold 
 To touch the fire, the weather being cold ' 
 
 Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy; 
 
 And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee, 
 
 To take advantage on presented joy ; 
 
 Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings tea' h 
 thee. 
 learn to love ; the lesson is but plain, 
 And, once made perfect, never lost again." 
 
 "I know not love," quoth he, "nor will not know it. 
 
 Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it ; 
 
 'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it; 
 
 My love to love is love but to disgrace it ; 
 For I have heard it is a life in death, 
 That laughs, and weeps, and all but with a breath 
 'Bti for its. 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 931 
 
 Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd ? 
 
 Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth? 
 
 If springing things be any jot diminish'd, 
 
 They w : ther in their prime, prove nothing worth : 
 The colt that's back'd and burthen'd being young, 
 Loseth his pride, and never waxeth strong. 
 
 5fou hurt my hand with wringing ; let us part, 
 And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat; 
 Remove your siege from my unyielding heart; 
 To love's alarm it will not ope the gate. 
 
 Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your 
 flattery ; 
 
 For where a heart is hard, they make no battery." 
 
 "What! canst thou talk," quoth she, "hast thou a 
 tongue ? 
 
 would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing! 
 Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong ; 
 
 1 had my load before, now press'd with bearing : 
 
 Melodious discord, heavenly tune harsh sound- 
 ing, 
 
 Earth's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore 
 wounding. 
 
 Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love 
 
 That inward beauty and invisible: 
 
 Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 
 
 Each part in me that were but sensible: 
 Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, 
 Yet should I be in love, by touching thee. 
 
 Say that the sense of feeling were bereft me, 
 And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 
 And nothing but the very smell were left me, 
 Yet would my love to thee be still as much; 
 For from the still'tory of thy face excelling 
 Homes breath perfum'd, that breedeth love by 
 smelling. 
 
 But O, what banquet wert thou to the taste, 
 Being nurse and feeder of the other four! 
 Would they not wish the feast might ever last, 
 \nd bid Suspicion double-lock the door? 
 Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, 
 Should, by his stealing in. disturb the feast." 
 
 Once more the ruby-color'd portal open'd, 
 Which to his speech did honey passage yield; 
 Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd 
 Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, 
 Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds, 
 Gust and foul flaws to herdsmen and to herds. 
 
 This ill presage advisedly she marketh : 
 Even as the wind is hushed before it raineth, 
 Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, 
 Or as the berry breaks before it staineth, 
 Or like the deadly bullet of a gun, 
 His meaning struck her ere his words begun : 
 
 And at his look she flatly falleth down. 
 For looks kill love, and love by looks reviveth: 
 A smile recures the wounding of a frown, 
 But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth ! 
 The silly boy believing she is dead, 
 Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red; 
 
 And all amaz'd brake off his late intent, 
 For sharply he did think to reprehend her, 
 Which cunning love did wittily prevent: 
 Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her ! 
 For on the grass she lies as she were slain, 
 Till his breath breatheth life in her again. 
 
 He wrings her nose, he strikes her on »he cheek* 
 He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard ; 
 He chafes her lips, a thousand ways he seeks 
 To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd ; 
 He kisses her; and she, by her good will, 
 Will never rise, so he will kiss her still. 
 
 The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day: 
 Her two blue windows faintly she upheaveth, 
 Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array 
 He cheers the morn, and all the world relieveth: 
 And as the bright sun glorifies the sky, 
 So is her face illumin'd with her eye, 
 
 Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd, 
 As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine. 
 Were never four such lamps together mix'd, 
 Had not his clouded with his brows' repine; 
 
 But hers, which through the crystal tears gave 
 light, 
 
 Shone like the moon in water seen by night. 
 
 "0 where am I," quoth she, "in earth or heaven, 
 Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire? 
 What hour is this? or morn, or weary even ? 
 Do I delight to die, or life desire? 
 
 But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy; 
 
 But now I died, and death was lively joy. 
 
 thou did'st kill me : — kill me once again ; 
 Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine, 
 Hath taught them scornful tricks, and such disdain 
 That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine; 
 And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen. 
 But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 
 
 Long may they kiss each other, for this cure ! 
 
 Oh never let their crimson liveries wear ! 
 
 And as they last, their verdure still endure, 
 
 To drive infection from the dangerous year! 
 That the star-gazers, having writ on death, 
 May say the plague is banish'd by thy breath. 
 
 Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted, 
 What bargains may I make, still to be sealing ? 
 To sell myself I can be well contented, 
 So thou wilt buy, and pay, and use good dealing ; 
 Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips, 
 Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips. 
 
 A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; 
 
 And pay them at thy leisure, one by one. 
 
 What is ten hundred touches unto thee ? 
 
 Are they not quickly told, and quickly gone ? 
 Say, for non-payment that the debt should double, 
 Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble ?" 
 
 " Fair queen," quoth he," if any love you owe me, 
 
 Measure my strangeness with my unripe years ; 
 
 Before I know myself seek not to know me ; 
 
 No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears : 
 
 The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast, 
 Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste. 
 
 Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, 
 His day's hot task hath ended in the west : 
 The owl, night's herald, shrieks, — 'tis very late ; 
 The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest; 
 The coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light 
 Do summon us to part, and bid good night. 
 
 Now let me say, good night, and so say yon ; 
 
 If you will say so, you shall have a kiss." 
 
 " Good night," quoth she ; and, ere he savs adieu 
 
932 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 The honey fee of parting tender'd is: 
 
 Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace ; 
 Incorporate then they seem ; face grows to face. 
 
 Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew 
 The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth, 
 Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew, 
 Whereon they surfeit yet complain on drouth ; 
 He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth, 
 (Their lips together glued,) fall to the earth. 
 
 Now quick Desire hath caught the yielding prey, 
 And glutton-like she feeds yet never filleth ; 
 Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, 
 Paying what ransom the insulter willeth ; 
 
 Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so 
 high, 
 
 That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry. 
 
 And having felt the sweetness of the spoil, 
 With blind-fold fury she begins to forage ; 
 Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil, 
 And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage ; 
 Planting oblivion, beating reason back, 
 Forgetting shame's pure blush, and honor's 
 wrack. 
 
 Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, 
 Like a wild bird being tamed with too much han- 
 dling, 
 Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing, 
 Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling, 
 He now obeys, and now no more resisteth, 
 While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 
 
 What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering, 
 And yields at last to every light impression ? 
 Things out of hope arecompass'd oft with venturing, 
 Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission : 
 Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, 
 But then woos best when most his choice is 
 froward. 
 
 When he did frown, 0, had she then gave over, 
 
 Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd. 
 
 Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover ; 
 
 What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd : 
 Were Beauty under twenty locks kept fast, 
 Yet Love breaks through, and picks them all at 
 last. 
 
 For pity now she can no more detain him ; 
 
 The poor fool prays her that he may depart : 
 
 She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him ; 
 
 Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart, 
 The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest, 
 He carries thence incaged in his breast. 
 
 "Sweet boy," she says, "this night I'll waste in 
 sorrow, 
 
 For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 
 
 Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-morrow ? 
 
 Say, shall we? shall we! wilt thou make the match?" 
 He tells her, no ; to-morrow he intends 
 To hunt the boar with certain of his friends. 
 
 u The boar ! " quoth she ; whereat a sudden pale, 
 Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose, 
 Usurps her cheeks ; she trembles at his tale, 
 And on his neck her yoking arms she throws : 
 She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck, 
 He on her belly falls, she on her back. 
 
 Now is she in the very lists of love, 
 
 Hor champion mounted for the hot encounter 
 
 All is imaginary she doth prove, 
 
 He will not manage her, although he mount her, 
 That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, 
 To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy. 
 
 Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes. 
 Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw, 
 Even so she languisheth in her mishaps, 
 As those poor birds that helpless berries saw : 
 The warm effects which she in him finds missing 
 She seeks to kindle with continual kissing 
 
 But all in vain ; good queen, it will not be : 
 
 She hath assay'd as much as may be proved ; 
 
 Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee ; 
 
 She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd. 
 "Fie, fie," he says, " you crush me ; let me so • 
 You have no reason to withhold me so." 
 
 "Thou had'st been gone," quoth she, "sweet bov 
 ere this, 
 
 But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. 
 
 O be advis'd ! thou know'st not what it is 
 
 With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, 
 Whose tushes never sheath'd he whetteth still, 
 Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill. 
 
 On his bow-back he hath a battle set 
 Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; 
 His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth frei , 
 His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ; 
 Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way, 
 And whom he strikes Iris cruel tushes slay. 
 
 His brawny side, with hairy bristles arm'd, 
 Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter 
 His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd ; 
 Being ireful, on the lion he will venture : 
 The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, 
 As fearful of him, part ; through whom he rushes 
 
 Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, 
 To which Love's eye pays tributary gazes ; 
 Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, 
 Whose full perfection all the world amazes ; 
 But having thee at vantage (wondrous dread !) 
 Would root these beauties as he roots the mead 
 
 0, let him keep his loathsome cabin still ! 
 
 Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends ; 
 
 Come not within his danger by thy will ; 
 
 They that thrive well, take counsel of their friends. 
 When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble* 
 I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble. 
 
 Did'st thou not mark my face ? Was it not white ! 
 
 Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye ? 
 
 Grew I not faint! And fell I not downright? 
 
 Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie, 
 
 My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest, 
 But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast 
 
 For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy 
 Doth call himself Affection's sentinel ; 
 Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny, 
 And in a peaceful hour doth cry, kill, kill ,- 
 
 Distempering gentle Love with his desire, 
 
 As air and water do abate the fire. 
 
 This sour informer, this bate-breeding* spy, 
 This canker that eats up love's tender spring, 5 
 This carry-tale, dissentious jealousy, 
 That sometime true news, sometime false dotfc 
 bring, 
 • Strife breeding. « Bud, or young shoot 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 933 
 
 Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear, 
 That if I love thee I thy death should fear : 
 
 And, more than so, presenteth to mine eye 
 The picture of an angry-chafing boar, 
 Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie 
 \n image like thyself, all stain'd with gore ; 
 Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed 
 Doth make them droop with grief, and hang the 
 head. 
 
 What should I do, seeing thee so indeed, 
 
 That tremble at the imagination ? 
 
 The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, 
 
 And fear doth teach it divination : 
 
 I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow, 
 If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow. 
 
 But if thou needs will hunt, be rul'd by me; 
 
 Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, 
 
 Or at the fox, which lives by subtilty, 
 
 Or at the roe, which no encounter dare ; 
 
 Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, 
 And on thy well-breath 'd horse keep with thy 
 hounds. 
 
 And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, 
 Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles, 
 How he outruns the wind, and with what care 
 He cranks and crosses, with a thousand doubles : 
 The many musits through the which he goes, 
 Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes. 
 
 Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, 
 To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, 
 And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, 
 To stop the loud pursuers in their yell ; 
 
 And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer ; 
 
 Danger deviseth shifts ; wit waits on fear : 
 
 For there his smell with others being mingled, 
 The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, 
 Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled 
 With much ado the cold fault cleanly out ; 
 
 Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, 
 As if another chase were in the skies. 
 
 By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, 
 Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, 
 To hearken if his foes pursue him still ; 
 Anon their loud alarums he doth hear ; 
 And now his grief may be compared well 
 To one sore-sick, that hears the passing bell. 
 
 Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch 
 Turn, and return, indenting with the way ; 
 Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch, 
 Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: 
 For misery is trodden on by many, 
 And being low, never reliev'd by any. 
 
 Lie quietly, and hear a little more ; 
 Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise : 
 To make thee hate the hunting of the boar, 
 Unlike myself thou hcar'st me moralize, 
 
 Applying this to that, and so to so; 
 
 For love can comment upon every woe. 
 
 " Where did I leave 1" — " No matter where," quoth 
 
 he; 
 " Leave me, and then the story apt.y ends : 
 The night is spent." " Why, what of that !" quoth 
 
 ■he. 
 '* I iint," quoth he, " expected of my friends ; 
 
 And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall. 
 
 " In night," quoth she, " Desire sees best of all 
 
 But if thou fall, O then imagine this, 
 
 The earth in love with thee thy footing trips, 
 
 And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 
 
 Rich preys make true men thieves ; so do thy lips 
 Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn, 
 Lest she should steal a kiss, and die forsworn. 
 
 Now of this dark night I perceive the reason : 
 Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, 
 Till forging nature be condemn'd of treason, 
 For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine, 
 Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's despite, 
 To shame the sun by day, and her by night. 
 
 And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies, 
 To cross the curious workmanship of nature, 
 To mingle beauty with infirmities, 
 And pure perfection with impure defeature ; 
 Making it subject to the tyranny 
 Of mad mischances and much misery ; 
 
 As burning fevers, agues pale and faint, 
 Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood,' 
 The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint 
 Disorder breeds by heating of the blood : 
 
 Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, anddamn'd despair 
 Swear Nature's death for framing thee so fair. 
 
 And not the least of all these maladies, 
 But in one minute's fight brings beauty under: 
 Both favor, savor, hue, and qualities, 
 Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder, 
 Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done, 
 As mountain snow melts with the mid-day sun 
 
 Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity, 
 Love-lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns, 
 That on the earth would breed a scarcity 
 And barren dearth of daughters and of sonr, 
 Be prodigal : the lamp that burns by night, 
 Dries up his oil, to lend the world his light. 
 
 What is thy body but a swallowing gra re, 
 
 Seeming to bury that posterity 
 
 Which by the rights of time thou needs must have, 
 
 If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity 1 
 If so, the world will hold thee in disdain, 
 Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain. 
 
 So in thyself thyself art made away; 
 
 A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife, 
 
 Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do 
 slay, 
 
 Or butcher-sire, that reaves his son of life. 
 
 Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets. 
 But gold that's put to use more gold begets." 
 
 •' Nay then," quoth Adon, " you will fall again 
 
 Into your idle over-handled theme ; 
 
 The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain, 
 
 And all in vain you strive against the stream; 
 For by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse, 
 Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse. 
 
 If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues, 
 And every tongue more moving than your own, 
 Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs, 
 Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown; 
 For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear, 
 And will not let a false sound enter there ; 
 
 Lest the deceiving harmony shall run 
 Into the quiet closure of my breast; 
 
934 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 And then my little heart were quite undone, 
 
 In his bed-chamber to be barr'd of rest. 
 No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan, 
 But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone. 
 
 What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove? 
 The path is smooth that leadeth unto danger ; 
 I hate not love, but your d.vice in love, 
 That lends embracements unto every stranger. 
 
 You do it for increase ; O strange excuse ! 
 
 When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse. 
 
 Call it not love, for love to heaven is fled, 
 Since sweating lust on earth usurp'd his name; 
 Under whose simple semblance he hath fed 
 Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame ; 
 
 Which the hot tyrant stains, and soon bereaves, 
 
 As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 
 
 Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, 
 But lust's effect is tempest after sun ; 
 Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, 
 Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. 
 
 Love surfeits not; lust like a glutton dies . 
 
 Love is all truth ; lust full of forged lies. 
 
 More I could tell, but more I dare not say ; 
 
 The text is old, the orator too green. 
 
 Therefore, in sadness, now I will away; 
 
 My face is full of shame, my heart of teen ; ' 
 Mine ears that to your wanton talk attended, 
 Do burn themselves for having so offended." 
 
 With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace 
 Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast, 
 And homeward through the dark laund runs apace; 
 Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd. 
 Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky, 
 So glides he in the night from Venus' eye ; 
 
 Which after him she darts, as one on shore 
 Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, 
 Till the wild waves will have him seen no more, 
 Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend; 
 So did the merciless and pitchy night 
 Fold in the object that did feed her sight. 
 
 Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware 
 Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood, 
 Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are., 
 Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood; 
 Even so confounded in the dark she lay, 
 Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 
 
 And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans, 
 That all the neighbor-caves, as seeming troubled, 
 Make verbal repetition of her moans; 
 Passiun on passion deeply is redoubled : 
 
 "Ah me.'" she cries, and twenty times, "woe, 
 woe!'''' 
 
 And twenty echoes twenty times cry so. 
 
 She, marking them, begins a .vailing note, 
 
 And sings extemp'rally a woeful ditty; 
 
 How love makes young men thrall, and old men 
 dote; 
 
 How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty : 
 Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe, 
 And still the choir of echoes answer so. 
 
 Her song was tedious, and outwore the night, 
 For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short: 
 If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight 
 In such likfl circumstance, with such like sport: 
 • Sorrow. 
 
 Their copious stories, oftentimes begun, 
 End without audience, and are never done. 
 
 For who hath she to spend the night withal, 
 
 But idle sounds, resembling parasites, 
 
 Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call, 
 
 Soothing the humor of fantastic wits'? 
 
 She says, "'tis so;" they answer all, "'tis so:" 
 And would say after her, if she said " no." 
 
 Lo ! here the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
 From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, 
 And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast 
 The sun ariseth in his majesty ; 
 
 Who doth the world so gloriously behold, 
 The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 
 
 Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow : 
 " thou clear god, and patron of all light, 
 From whom each lamp and shining star doth boi« 
 
 row 
 The beauteous influence that makes him bright, 
 There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mothe* 
 May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other 1 * 
 
 This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove, 
 Musing the morning is so much o'erworn, 
 And yet she hears no tidings of her love : 
 She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horn . 
 Anon she hears them chant it lustily, 
 And all in haste she coasteth to the cry. 
 
 And as she runs, the bushes in the way 
 Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face, 
 Some twine about her thigh to make her stay; 
 She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace, 
 Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache, 
 Hasting to feed her fawn, hid in some brake. 
 
 By this she hears the hounds are at a bay, 
 Whereat she starts, like one that spies aTi adder 
 Wreath'd up in fatal folds, just in his way, 
 The fear whereof doth make him shake and shu«t 
 der : 
 Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds 
 Appals her senses, and her spright confound* 
 
 For now she knows it is no gentle chase, 
 But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 
 Because the cry remaineth in one place, 
 Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud : 
 Finding their enemy to be so curst, 
 They all strain court'sy who shall cope him first. 
 
 This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear, 
 Through which it enters to surprise her beart, 
 Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear. 
 With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part: 
 Like soldiers, when their captain once doth vield, 
 They basely fly, and dare not stay the field. 
 
 Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy ; 
 Till, cheering up her senses sore dismay'd, 
 She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy, 
 And childish error that they are afraid ; 
 
 Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no 
 more ; — 
 
 And with that word she spied the hunteil boar; 
 
 Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red, 
 Like milk and blood being mingled both together, 
 A second fear through all her sinews spread, 
 Which madly hurries her she knows not whither. 
 This way she runs, and now she will no further 
 But back retires, to rate the boar for raurther- 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 93b 
 
 A. thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways; 
 
 She tre-ads the path that she untreads again ; 
 
 He.r more than haste is mated with delays, 
 
 Like the proceedings! of a drunken brain ; 
 Full of respect, yet not at all respecting, 
 In hand with all things, nought at all effecting. 
 
 Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound, 
 And asks the weary caitiff for his master ; 
 And there another licking of his wound, 
 'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plasteT: 
 And here she meets another sadly scowling, 
 To whom she speaks, and he replies with howl- 
 ing. 
 
 When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise, 
 Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim, 
 Against the welkin volleys out his voice; 
 Another and another answer him, 
 
 Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, 
 Shaking. their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. 
 
 Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd 
 
 A t apparitions, signs, and prodigies, 
 
 Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz'd, 
 
 Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ; 
 So she at these sad signs draws up her breath, 
 And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death. 
 
 " Hard-favor'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean, 
 Hateful divorce of love," (thus chides she Death,) 
 " Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what, dost thou 
 
 mean 
 To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath, 
 
 Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set 
 Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet 1 
 
 If he be dead, — O no, it cannot be, 
 Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it — 
 O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see, 
 But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 
 
 Thy mark is feeble age ; — but thy false dart 
 Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart. 
 
 Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, 
 
 And hearing him thy power had lost his' power. 
 
 The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke ; 
 
 They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'sta flower: 
 Love's golden arrow at him should have fled, 
 And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 
 
 Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such 
 
 weeping'? 
 What may a heavy groan advantage thee 1 
 Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping 
 Those eyes that taught all other eyes to seel 
 Nc v Nature cares not for thy mortal vigor, 
 Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigor." 
 
 Here overcome, as one full of despair, 
 She veil'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd 
 The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair 
 In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd ; 
 
 But through the flood gates breaks the silver 
 rain, 
 
 And wiih his strong course opens them again. 
 
 O how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! 
 Her eves seen in her tears, tears in her eye ; 
 Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sor- 
 row, 
 Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry ; 
 But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain, 
 Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. 
 »Tt«. 
 
 Variable passions throng her constant woe, 
 As striving who should best become her grief; 
 All entertain'd, each passion labors so 
 That every present sorrow seemeth chief, 
 
 But none is best ; then join they all together, 
 Like many clouds consulting for foul weather 
 
 By this, far off she hears some huntsmen hollo • 
 A nurse's song ne'er pleased hei babe so well ; 
 The dire imagination she did follow 
 This sound of hope doth labor to expel ; 
 For now reviving joy bids her rejoice, 
 And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice. 
 
 Whereat her tears began to turn their tide, 
 Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ; 
 Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, 
 Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass 
 To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, 
 Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd 
 
 hard-believing love, how strange it seems 
 Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! 
 
 Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes, 
 Despair and hope make thee ridiculous : 
 
 The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely, 
 With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly 
 
 Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought , 
 Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame ; 
 It was not she that call'd him all-to nought; 
 Now she adds honors to his hateful name; 
 
 She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings ; 
 
 Imperious supreme of all mortal things. 
 
 " No, no," quoth she, " Sweet Death, I did but jsst ; 
 Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear, 
 Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast, 
 Which knows no pity, but is still severe; 
 Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess,) 
 I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 
 
 'Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue; 
 
 Be wreak' d on him, invisible commander; 
 
 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong 
 
 1 did but act, he's author of thy slander: 
 
 Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 
 Could rule them both, without ten women's wit. 
 
 Thus, hoping that Adonis is alive, 
 Her rash suspect she doth extenuate; 
 And that his beauty may the better thrive, 
 With Death she humbly doth insinuate; 
 Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs ; and stones 
 His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. 
 
 "0 Jove," quoth she, "how much a fool was I. 
 To be of such a weak and silly mind, 
 To wail his death who lives, and must not die, 
 Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 
 
 For he being dead, with him is beauty slain, 
 And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again 
 
 " Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear 
 As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves 
 Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, 
 Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. 
 Even at this word she hears a merry horn, 
 Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn 
 
 As falcon to the lure away she flies; 
 
 The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; 
 
 And in her haste unfortunately spies 
 
 The foul boar's conquest on hei lair delight; 
 
936 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view, 
 Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew. 
 
 Or, as the snail, whose tender hor.is being hit, 
 Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain, 
 And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit, 
 Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 
 So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled 
 Into the deep dark cabins of her head; 
 
 Where they resign their office and their light 
 To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 
 Who bids them still consort with ugly night, 
 A&I .iever wound the heart with looks again; 
 Who, like a king perplexed in his throne, 
 By their suggestion gives a deadly groan, 
 
 Whereat each tributary subject quakes 
 As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground, 
 Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes, 
 Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound, 
 The mutiny each part doth so surprise, 
 That from their dark beds once more leap her 
 eyes; 
 
 And, being open'd, threw unwilling light 
 Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd 
 In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white 
 With purple tears, that his wound wept, was 
 drench'd : 
 No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed, 
 But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed. 
 
 This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth ; 
 Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ; 
 Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth; 
 She thinks he could not die, he is not dead. 
 
 Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow; 
 
 Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. 
 
 Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly 
 
 That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem 
 
 three ; 
 And then she reprehends her mangling eye, 
 That makes more gashes where no breach should be: 
 His face seems twain, each several limb is 
 
 doubled, 
 For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. 
 
 " My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 
 And yet," quoth she, "behold two Adons dead! 
 My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, 
 Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead : 
 
 Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes' red fire! 
 
 So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 
 
 Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! 
 What face remains alive that's worth the view?ng] 
 Whose tongue is music now 7 what canst thou boast 
 Of things long since, or anything ensuing? 
 
 The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and 
 trim ; 
 
 But true-sweet beauty liv'd and died with him. 
 
 Bonnet nor veil henceforth tio creature wear ! 
 
 Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you: 
 
 Having no fair' to lose, you need not fear; 
 
 The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss 
 you: 
 But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air 
 Lurk'd like two thieves, to roH him of his faij - ; 
 
 And therefore would he put his bonnet on, 
 Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 
 1 Beauty 
 
 The wind would blow it off, and, being gone, 
 Play with his locks; then would Adonis weep - 
 And straight, in pity of his tender years, 
 They both would strive who first should dry ha 
 tears. 
 
 To see his face, the lion walk'd along 
 Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him * 
 To recreate himself, when he hath sung, 
 The tiger would be tame and gently hear him ; 
 If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey 
 And never fright the silly lamb that day 
 
 When he beheld his shadow in the brook 
 The fishes spread on it their golden gills; 
 When he was by the birds such pleasure took 
 That some would sing, some other in their bills 
 
 Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cher- 
 ries; 
 
 He fed them with his sight, they him with berries. 
 
 But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar, 
 Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave. 
 Ne'er sa\y the beauteous livery that he wore; 
 Witness the entertainment that he gave ; 
 If he did see his face, why then I know 
 He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so. 
 
 'Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain; 
 He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 
 Who did not whet his teeth at him again, 
 But by a kiss thought to persuade him there; 
 And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine 
 Sheath'd, unaware, the tusk in his soft groin. 
 
 Had I been tooth'd like him I must confess 
 With kissing him I should have kill'd him first, 
 But he is dead, and never did he bless 
 My youth with his; the more am I accurst." 
 With this she falleth in the place she stood, 
 And stains her face with his congealed blood. 
 
 She looks upon his lips, and they are pale; 
 
 She takes him by the hand, and that is cold; 
 
 She#vhispers in his ears a heavy tale, 
 
 As if they heard the woeful words she told: 
 She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes, 
 Where, lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkneM 
 lies. 
 
 Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 
 A thousand times, and now no more reflect; 
 Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, 
 And every beauty robb'd of his effect : 
 
 "Wonder of time," quoth she, " this is my spite, 
 That you being dead the day should yet be light 
 
 Since thou art dead, lo ! here I prophesy, 
 Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend ; 
 It shall be waited on with jealousy, 
 Find sweet beginning but unsavory end ; 
 
 Ne'er settled equally, but high or low; 
 
 That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe 
 
 It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud ; 
 
 Bud and be blasted in a breathing while; 
 
 The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd 
 
 With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile: 
 The strongest body shall it make most weak, 
 Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fool to speak 
 
 It shall be sparing, and too full of riot, 
 Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 
 The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, 
 Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures ■ 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 03? 
 
 n 
 
 It shall be raging mad, and silly mild, 
 Make the young old, the old become a child. 
 
 It shall suspect where is no cause of fear ; 
 
 It shall not fear where it should most mistrust; 
 
 It shall be merciful, and too severe, 
 
 And most deceiving when it seems most just; 
 Perverse it shall be when it seems most toward, 
 Put fear to valor, courage to the coward. 
 
 3t shall be cause of war and dire events, 
 
 And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire; 
 
 Subject and servile to all discontents, 
 
 As dry combustious matter is to fire; 
 
 Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy, 
 They that love best their love shall not enjoy." 
 
 By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd 
 Was melted like a vapor from her sight, 
 And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, 
 A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white, 
 Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood 
 Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 
 
 She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell, 
 Comparing it to her Adonis' breafc; 
 
 And says, within her bosom it shaH dweli, 
 Since he himself is reft from her hy death ■ 
 She crops the stalk, and in the breach nppeara 
 Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. 
 
 " Poor flower," quoth she, " this was thy father «s 
 guise, 
 
 (Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire,) 
 
 For every little grief to wet his eyes : 
 
 To grow unto himself was his desire, 
 
 And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good 
 To wither in my breast as in his blood. 
 
 Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast; 
 Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right : 
 Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, 
 My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night: 
 There shall not be one minute in an hour 
 Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower." 
 
 Thus weary of the world, away she hies, 
 And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid 
 Their mistress mounted, through the empty skiet 
 In her light chariot quickly is convey'd, 
 
 Holding their course to Paphos, where their queee 
 Means to immure herself, and not be seen. 
 3M 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 
 
 Earl of Southampton - , and Baron of Titchfield. 
 
 The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, u 
 but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honorable disposition, not the worth of my 
 untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do ia 
 yours ; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater: 
 meantime, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all 
 happiness. 
 
 Your Lordship's in all duty, 
 
 William Shakspeam. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive pride sumamed Superbus) after he had caased his own father-in-law, ServiM 
 Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's 
 suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom; went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, t« 
 besiege Ardea. During which siege, the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tai 
 quinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper, every one commended the virtues of his own wife ; among whom 
 Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humor they all posted to Rome; 
 and intending, by their secret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only 
 Collatinus finds his wife (though it were late in the night) spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all 
 found dancing and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his 
 Wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for 
 the present, departed with the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was 
 (according to his estate) royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night, he treacherously 
 stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamen- 
 table plight, hastily despatched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another tothecampforCollatine. They came, 
 the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius; and, finding Lucrece attired in mourning 
 habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and 
 whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent they all vowed to 
 root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins; and, bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people 
 with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith tin 
 people were so moved, that witb one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins were all exiled, and the eUU 
 government changed from kings to consuls. 
 
 From the besieg'd Ardea all in post, 
 Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, 
 Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, 
 And to Collatium bears the lightless fire 
 Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, 
 And girdle with embracing flames the waist 
 Of Collating's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. 
 
 Haply that name of chaste unhapp'ly set 
 This bateless edge on his keen appetite ; 
 When Collatine unwisely did not let 
 To praise the clear unmatched red and white 
 Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight, 
 
 Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beau- 
 ties, 
 
 With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 
 
 For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 
 Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state ; 
 Vvnai priceless wealth the heavens had him lent 
 T9381 
 
 In the possession of his beauteous mate; 
 
 Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud ratt>, 
 That kings might be espoused to more famOj 
 But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 
 
 O happiness enjoy'd but of a few! 
 And, if possess'd, as soon decayed and done 
 As is the morning's silver-melting dew 
 Against the golden splendor of the sun ! 
 An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun. 
 Honor and beauty in the owner's arms, 
 Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. 
 
 Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 
 The eyes of men without an orator; 
 What needeth then apologies be made 
 To set forth that which is so singular? 
 Or why is Collatine the publisher 
 
 Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown 
 From thievish ears, because it ia his own ? 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECL. 
 
 93fl 
 
 Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty 
 Suggested' this proud issue of a king; 
 For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be: 
 Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, 
 Braving compare, disdainfully did sting 
 
 His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men 
 should vaunt 
 
 That golden hap which their superiors want. 
 
 But some untimely thought did instigate 
 His all-too-timeless speed', if none of those: 
 His honor, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
 Neglected all, with swift intent he goes 
 To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
 O rash-false heat, wrapt in repentant cold, 
 Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old ! 
 
 When at Collatium this false lord arrived, 
 Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame, 
 Within whose face beauty and virtue strived 
 Which of them both should underprop her fame : 
 When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for 
 shame; 
 When beauty boasted blushes, in despite 
 Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. 
 
 But beauty, in that white intituled, 
 From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field : 
 Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 
 Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild 
 Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield; 
 Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, — 
 When shame assail'd, the red should fence the 
 white. 
 
 This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, 
 Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white : 
 Of either's color was the other queen, 
 Proving from world's minority their right: 
 Yet their ambition makes them still to fight; 
 The sovereignty of either being so great, 
 That oft they interchange each other's seat. 
 
 This silent war of lilies and of roses 
 Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field, 
 In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses; 
 Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, 
 The coward captive vanquished dolh yield 
 To those two armies that would let him go, 
 Rather than triumph in so false a foe. 
 
 Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue 
 (The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) 
 In that high task hath done her beauty wrong, 
 Which far exceeds his barren skill to show : 
 Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe, 
 Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, 
 In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 
 
 This earthly saint, adored by this devil, 
 Little suspecteth the false worshipper ; 
 For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil ; 
 Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear : 
 So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
 And reverend welcome to her princely guest, 
 Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd : 
 
 For that he color'd with his high estate, 
 Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ; 
 That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, 
 Save sometime too much wonder of his eye, 
 Which, having aH, all could not satisfy ; 
 But, poor:y rich, so wanteth in his store 
 That cloy'd with much he pineth still for more. 
 ' 'Tempted. 
 
 But she, that never cop'd with stranger eyes, 
 Could pick no meaning from their parling 9 looks, 
 Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies 
 Writ in the glassy margents of such books ; 
 She touch 'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks 
 Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, 
 More than his eyes were open'd to the light. 
 
 He stories to her ears her husband's fame, 
 
 Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ; 
 
 And decks with praises Collatine's high name, 
 
 Made glorioi" jby his manly chivalry, 
 
 With bruised arms and wreaths of victory : 
 
 Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express, 
 And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. 
 
 Far from the purpose of his coming thither, 
 He makes excuses for his being there. 
 No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 
 Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear ; 
 Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, 
 Upon the world dim darkness doth display, 
 And in her vaulty prison stows the day. 
 
 For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed, 
 Intending 3 weariness with heavy spright ; 
 For, after supper, long he questioned 
 With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : 
 Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight 
 And every one to rest himself betakes, 
 Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, thai 
 wakes. 
 
 As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 
 The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ; 
 Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, * 
 Though weak-built hopes persuade him to attain- 
 ing; 
 Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining; 
 
 And when great treasure is the meed proposed 
 Tho' death be adjunct, there's no death supposed 
 
 Those that much covet are with gain so fond 
 That what they have not, that which they possess 
 They scatter and unloose it from their bond, 
 And so, by hoping more, they have but less ; 
 Or, gaining more, the profit of excess 
 Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, 
 That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gnin 
 
 The aim of all is but to nurse the life 
 With honor, wealth, and ease, in waning age ; 
 And in this aim there is such thwarting strife, 
 That one for all, or all for one we gage ; 
 As life for honor, in fell battle's rage ; 
 
 Honor for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth co»t 
 The death of all, and all together lost. 
 
 So that in vent'ring ill we leave to be 
 
 The things we are, for that which we expect; 
 
 And this ambitious foul infirmity. 
 
 In having much, torments us with defect 
 
 Of that we have ; so then we do neglect 
 
 The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, 
 Make something nothing, by augmenting it. 
 
 Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, 
 Pawning his honor to obtain his lust ; 
 And for himself himself he must forsake : 
 Then where is truth if there be no self-trust ! 
 When shall he think to find a stranger just, 
 When he himself himself confounds, betrays 
 To slanderous tongues, ana wretched hatefin 
 days? 
 » Speaking. • Pretendinsr 
 
940 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Now stole upon the time the dead of night, 
 When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ; 
 No comfortable star did lend his light, 
 No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries : 
 Now serves the season that they may surprise 
 The silly lambs ; pure thoughts are dead and still, 
 While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. 
 
 And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, 
 
 Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm ; 
 
 Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ; 
 
 Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm ; 
 
 But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm, 
 Doth too too oft betake him to retire, 
 Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. 
 
 His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, 
 That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, 
 Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth, 
 Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye ; 
 And to the flame thus speaks advisedly ; 
 " As from this cold flint I enforced this fire, 
 So Lucrece must I force to my desire." 
 
 Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 
 The clangers of his loathsome enterprise, 
 And in his inward mind he doth debate 
 What following sorrow may on this arise : 
 Then looking scornfully, he doth despise 
 His naked armor of still-slaughter'd lust, 
 And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust: 
 
 "Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not 
 To darken her whose light excelleth thine ! 
 And die unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot 
 With your uncleanness that which is divine ! 
 Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine : 
 
 Let fair humanity abhor the deed 
 
 That spots and stains love's modest snow-white 
 weed.' 
 
 O shame to knighthood and to shining arms! 
 
 O foul dishonor to my household's grave ! 
 
 impious act, including all foul harms ! 
 
 A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! 
 
 True valor still a true respect should have ; 
 Then my digression is so vile, so base, 
 That it will live engraven in my face. 
 
 Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, 
 And be an eye-sore in my golden coat ; 
 Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive, 
 To cipher me how fondly I did dote , 
 That my posterity, shamed with the note, 
 Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin 
 To wish that I their father had not been. 
 
 What win I if I gain the thing I seek ? 
 
 A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy : 
 
 Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week ? 
 
 Or sells eternity, to get a toy ? 
 
 For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy ? 
 Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, 
 Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down? 
 
 If Collatinus dream of my intent 
 Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
 Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent? 
 This siege that hath engirt his marriage, 
 This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, 
 This dying virtue, this surviving shame, 
 Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? 
 
 what excuse can my invention make 
 When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed 1 
 * Garment. 
 
 Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shaka ' 
 
 Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed 
 
 The guilt being great the fear doth still exceed ; 
 
 And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly. 
 
 But coward-like with trembling terror di* 
 
 Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire, 
 Or lain in ambush to betray my life, 
 Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
 Might have excuse to work upon his wife ; 
 As in revenge or quittal of such strife : 
 But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend, 
 The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end 
 
 Shameful it is,- — ay, if the fact be known : 
 Hateful it is,- — there is no hate in loving : 
 I'll beg her love; — but she is not her own ,• 
 The worst is but denial, and reproving : 
 My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. 
 Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw 
 Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe." 
 
 Thus, graceless, holds he disputation 
 'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will, 
 And with good thoughts makes dispensation, 
 Urging the worser sense for vantage still ; 
 Which in a moment doth confound and kill 
 All pure effects, and doth so far proceed, 
 That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed. 
 
 Quoth he, " She took me kindly by the hand, 
 And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes, 
 Fearing some hard news from the warlike band 
 Where her beloved Collatinus lies. 
 how her fear did make her color rise ! 
 First red as roses that on lawn we lay, 
 Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 
 
 And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd, 
 Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear ! 
 Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, 
 Until her husband's welfare she did hear; 
 Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 
 That had Narcissus seen her as she stood, 
 Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 
 
 Why hunt I then for color or excuses? 
 
 All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth ; 
 
 Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; 
 
 Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth, 
 
 Affection is my captain, and he leadeth ; 
 And when his gaudy banner is display'd, 
 The coward fights, and will not be dismay'd. 
 
 Then, childish fear, avaunt ! debating, die ! 
 Respect and reason wait on wrinkled age! 
 My heart shall never countermand mine eye . 
 Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage; 
 My part is youth, and beats these from the stage . 
 
 Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize ; 
 
 Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?* 
 
 As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 
 Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. 
 Away he steals with open listening ear, 
 Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust, 
 Both which, as servitors to the unjust, 
 
 So cross him with their opposite persuasion, 
 That now he vows a league, and now invasion 
 
 Within his thought her heavenly image sits, 
 And in the self-same seat sits Collatine : 
 That eye which looks on her confounds his wits 
 That eye which him beholds, as more iivine. 
 Unto a view so false will not incline ; 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 941 
 
 But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, 
 Which once corrupted takes the worser part ; 
 
 And therein heartens up his servile powers, 
 Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show, 
 Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; 
 And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, 
 Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
 By reprobate desire thus madly led, 
 The Roman lord marchef u to Lucrece' bed. 
 
 The locks between her chamber and his will, 
 Each one by him enforced, retires his ward ; 
 But as they open they all rate his ill, 
 Which drives the. creeping thief to some regard ; 
 The threshold grates the door to have him heard ; 
 
 Night-wand'ring weasels shriek to see him there ; 
 
 They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. 
 
 As each unwilling portal yields him way, 
 Through little vents and crannies of the place 
 The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay, 
 And blows the smoke of it into his face, 
 Extinguishing his conduct 5 in this case ; 
 
 But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, 
 Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch : 
 
 And being lighted, by the light he spies 
 Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks ; 
 He takes it from the rushes where it lies ; 
 And griping it, the neeld' his finger pricks : 
 As who should'say, this glove to wanton tricks 
 
 Is not inur'd ; return again in haste ; 
 
 Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste. 
 
 But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him ; 
 
 He in the worst sense construes their denial; 
 
 The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him, 
 
 He takes for accidental things of trial ; 
 
 O-- as those bars which stop the hourly dial, 
 Who with a ling' ring stay his course doth let, 
 Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 
 
 " So, so," quoth he, " these lets attend the time, 
 Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring, 
 To add a more rejoicing to the prime, 
 And give the sneaped 1 birds more cause to sing. 
 Pain pays, the income of each precious thing ; 
 
 Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves 
 and sands, 
 
 The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands." 
 
 Now is he come unto the chamber door 
 That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, 
 Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, 
 Hath barr'd hip from the blessed thing he sought. 
 ■ So from himself impiety hath wrought, 
 That for his prey to pray he doth begin, 
 As if the heaven should countenance his sin. 
 
 But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, 
 Having solicited the eternal power, 
 That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair, 
 And they would stand auspicious to the hour, 
 Even there he starts : — quoth he, " I must deflower ; 
 The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, 
 How can they then assist me in the act 1 
 
 Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide ! 
 My will is back'd with resolution ; 
 Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried, 
 The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ; 
 Against love's fire, fear's frost hath dissolution. 
 • Conducts- 'Needle. ' Checked. 
 
 The eye of heaven is out, and misty night 
 Covers the shame that fohows sweet delight." 
 
 This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, 
 And with his knee the door he opens wide : 
 The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch. 
 Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. 
 Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside ; 
 
 But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing. 
 
 Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 
 
 Into the chamber wickedly he stalks, 
 And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. 
 The curtains being close, about he walks. 
 Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head : 
 By their high treason is his heart misled; 
 
 Which gives the watch-word to his hand lull 
 soon, 
 
 To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon. 
 
 Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun, 
 Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ; 
 Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
 To wink, being blinded with a greater light: 
 Whether it is that she reflects so bright, 
 
 That dazzleth them, or else some shame sup- 
 posed ; 
 
 But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed 
 
 O, had they in that darksome prison died, 
 Then had they seen the period of their ill ! 
 Then Collatine again by Lucrece' side 
 In his clear bed might have reposed still : 
 But they must ope, this blessed league to kill ; 
 And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
 Must sell her joy, her life, her world's deligtl. 
 
 Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, 
 
 Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss; 
 
 Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, 
 
 Swelling on either side to want his bliss; 
 
 Between whose hills her head entombed is: 
 Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies, 
 To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes. 
 
 Without the bed her other fair hand was, 
 On the green coverlet; whose perfect white 
 Show'd like an April daisy on the grass, 
 With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. 
 Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light, 
 And canopied in darkness sweetly lay, 
 Till they might open to adorn the day. 
 
 Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with he! 
 
 breath ; 
 modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 
 Showing life's triumph in the map of death, 
 And death's dim look in life's mortality: 
 Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, 
 
 As if between them twain there were no strue» 
 But that life liv'd in death, and death in life. 
 
 Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, 
 A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, 
 Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew, 
 And him by oath they truly honored. 
 These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred: 
 Who like a foul usurper went about 
 From this fair throne to heave the owner out 
 
 What could he see but mightily he noted! 
 What did he note but strongly he desired 1 
 What he beheld on that he firmly doted, 
 And in his will his wilful eye he tired. 
 With more than admiration he admired 
 
942 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, 
 
 Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. 
 
 As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey, 
 Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, 
 So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, 
 His rage of lust by gazing qualified; 
 Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her side, 
 His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, 
 Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins. 
 
 And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting, 
 Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting, 
 In bloody death and ravishment delighting, 
 Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respect- 
 ing, 
 Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting : 
 Anon his beating heart, alarum striking, 
 Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their 
 liking. 
 
 His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, 
 His eye commends the leading to his hand; 
 His hand, as proud of such a dignity, 
 Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand 
 On her bare breast, the heart of all her land; 
 Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale, 
 Left their round turrets destitute and pale. 
 
 They, mustering to the quiet cabinet 
 Where their dear governess and lady lies, 
 Do tell her she is dreadfully beset, 
 And fright her with confusion of their cries : 
 She, much amaz'd, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes, 
 Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, 
 Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd. 
 
 Imagine her as one in dead of night 
 From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking, 
 That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite, 
 Whose grim aspe'ct sets every joint a shaking; 
 What tenor 'tis ! but she, in worser taking, 
 From sleep disturbed, hecdfully doth view 
 The sight which makes supposed terror true. 
 
 Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, 
 Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies; 
 She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears 
 Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes: 
 Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries ; 
 Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, 
 In darkness daunts them with more dreadful 
 sights. 
 
 His hand, that yet remains upon her breast, 
 (Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall !) 
 May feel her heart, poor citizen! distress'd, 
 Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, 
 Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 
 This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity, 
 To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. 
 
 First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 
 To sound a parley to his heartless foe, 
 Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin, 
 The reason of this rash alarm to know, 
 Which he by dumb demeanor seeks to show; 
 But she with vehement prayers urgeth still 
 Under what color he commits this ill. 
 
 Thus he replies : " The color in thy face 
 ^That even for anger makes the lily pale, 
 And the red rose blush at her own disgrace) 
 Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale ; 
 
 Under that color am I come to scale 
 
 Thy never-conquer'd fort; the fault is thine, 
 For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 
 
 Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide; 
 Thy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night, 
 Where thou with patience must my will abide, 
 My will -that marks thee for my earth's delight, 
 Which I to conquer sought with all my might; 
 But as reproof and reason beat it dead, 
 By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. 
 
 I see what crosses my attempt will bring ; 
 
 I know what thorns the growing rose defends; 
 
 I think the honey guarded with a sting; 
 
 All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends , 
 
 But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends. 
 Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty, 
 And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty 
 
 I have debated, even in my soul, 
 
 What wrong, what shame, what sonow I shall 
 
 breed ; 
 But nothing can Affection's course control, 
 Or stop the headlong fury of his speed. 
 I know repentant tears ensue the deed, 
 
 Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity ; 
 
 Yet strive I to einbiace mine infamy." 
 
 This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade, 
 Which, like a falcon towering in the skies, 
 Coucheth the fowl below, with his wings' shade, 
 Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies: 
 So under his insulting falchion lie3 
 
 Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells, 
 With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcons' bells. 
 
 "Lucrece," quoth he, "this night I must enjoy 
 
 thee: 
 If thou deny, then force must work my way, 
 For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee; 
 That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay 
 To kill thine honor with thy life's decay ; 
 
 And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him, 
 Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him 
 
 So thy surviving husband shall remain 
 • The scornful mark of every open eye; ' 
 Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain, 
 Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy: 
 And thou, the author of their obloquy, 
 
 Shall have thy trespass cited up in rhymes, 
 And sung by children in succeeding times. 
 
 But if thou yield I rest thy secret friend: 
 The fault unknown is as a thought -unacted; 
 A little harm, done to a great good end, 
 For lawful policy remains enacted. 
 The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 
 
 In a pure compound; being so applied, 
 
 His venom in effect is purified. 
 
 Then for thy husband and thy children's sake, 
 Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot 
 The shame that from them no device can take, 
 The blemish that will never be forgot; 
 Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot: 
 For marks descried in men's nativity 
 Are nature's faults, not their own infamy." 
 
 Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye, 
 
 He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause, 
 
 While she, the picture of pure piety, 
 
 Like a white hind under the grype's sharp claw* 
 
 Pleads in a wilderness, where are no lawa. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 i)48 
 
 T'» the rough beast that knows no gentle right, 
 Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite : 
 
 Look, when a black-faced cloud the world doth 
 
 threat, 
 »n his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding, 
 From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, 
 Which blows these pitchy vapors from their biding, 
 Hindering their present fall by this dividing; 
 So his unhallow'd haste her words delays, 
 And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. 
 
 ITet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, 
 While in his holdfast foot the weak mouse panteth ; 
 Her sad behavior feeds his vulture folly, 
 A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth: 
 His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth 
 No penetrable entrance to her plaining: 
 Tears harden lust, though marble weai with 
 raining. 
 
 Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed 
 In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ; 
 Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed, 
 Which to her oratory adds more grace. 
 She puts the period often from his place, 
 
 And 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks, 
 That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. 
 
 She conjures him by high almighty Jove, 
 By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath, 
 By her untimely tears, her husband's love, 
 By holy human laws, and common troth, 
 By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, 
 That to his borrow'd bed he make retire, 
 And stoop to honor, not to foul desire. 
 
 Quoth she, "reward not hospitality 
 With such black payment as thou hast pretended; 
 Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee ; 
 Mar not the thing that cannot be amended; 
 End thy ill aim, before thy shoot be ended: 
 
 He is no woodman that doth bend his bow 
 
 To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 
 
 My husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me; 
 
 Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave me ; 
 
 Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me ; 
 
 Thou look'st not like deceit ; do not deceive me : 
 
 My sighs, like whirlwinds, labor hence to heave 
 thee. 
 If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans, 
 Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans: 
 
 All which together, like a troubled ocean, 
 Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart, 
 To soften it with their continual motion; 
 For stones dissolv'd to water do convert. 
 0, if no harder than a stone thou art, 
 
 Melt at my tears and be compassionate! 
 
 Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 
 
 In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee: 
 Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame? 
 To all the host of heaven I complain me, 
 Thou wrong'st his honor, wound'st his princely 
 
 name. 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st ; and if the same 
 
 Thou see-m'st not what thou art, a god, a lung ; 
 
 For kings like gods should govern every thing. 
 
 Flow will thy shame be seeded in thine age, 
 When thus thy vices bud before thy spring ! 
 , f in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage, 
 What dar'st thou not when once thou art a king ! 
 
 be remember'd no outrageous thing 
 From vassal actors can be wiped away; 
 Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 
 
 This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear. 
 But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love 
 With foul offenders thou perforce must hear, 
 When they in thee the like, offences prove • 
 If but for fear of this thy will remove; 
 
 For princes are the glass, the .ihool, the book, 
 Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look. 
 
 And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learns 
 Must he in thee read lectures of such shame f 
 Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern 
 Authority for sin, warrant for blame, 
 To privilege dishonor in thy name ? 
 
 Thou back'st reproach against long-lived laud, 
 And mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. 
 
 Hast thou command 1 by him that gave it thee, 
 From a pure heart command thy rebel will: 
 Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity, 
 For it was lent thee all that brood to kill. 
 Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil, 
 
 When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul Sin may say, 
 He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way 1 
 
 Think but how vile a spectacle it were 
 To view thy present trespass in another 
 Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear; 
 Their own transgressions partially they smother: 
 This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. 
 O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies, 
 That frpm their own misdeeds askaunce ttieii 
 eyes! 
 
 To thee, to thee, my heav'd-up hands appeal, 
 
 Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier ; 
 
 I sue for exil'd majesty's repeal ; 
 
 Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire : 
 
 His true respect will 'prison false desire, 
 
 And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne, 
 That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine." 
 
 " Have done," quoth he ; " my uncontrolled tide 
 Turns not, but swells the higher by this let. 
 Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide, 
 And with the wind in greater fury fret : 
 The petty streams that pay a daily debt 
 
 To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste, 
 Add to his flow, but alter not his taste." 
 
 " Thou art," quoth she, "a sea, a sovereign king; 
 And lo, there falls into thy boundless flood 
 Black lust, dishonor, shame, misgoverning, 
 Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood. 
 If all these petty ills shall change thy good, 
 Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hersed, 
 And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed. 
 
 So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave 
 
 Thou nobly base, they basely dignified ; 
 
 Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave ; 
 
 Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride ; 
 
 The lesser thing should not the greater hide ; 
 The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, 
 But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root. 
 
 So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state" — 
 " No more," quoth he, " by heaven, I will not hea* 
 
 thee : 
 Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate, 
 Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee 
 That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee 
 
944 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Unto the base bed of some rascal groom, 
 To be thy partner in this shameful doom." 
 
 Thus said, he sets the foot upon the light, 
 For light and lust are deadly enemies : 
 Shame folded up in blind concealing night, 
 When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize. 
 The wolf hath seiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries, 
 Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd 
 Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold : 
 
 For with the nightly linen that she wears 
 He pens her piteous clamors in her head ; 
 Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears 
 That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed. 
 0, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed ! 
 The spots whereof could weeping purify, 
 Her tears should drop on them perpetually. 
 
 But she hath lost a dearer thing than life, 
 And he hath won what he would lose again. 
 This forced league doth force a further strife, 
 This momentary joy breeds months of pain, 
 This hot desire converts to cold disdain : 
 Pure Chastity is rifled of her store, 
 And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before. 
 
 Look as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
 Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight, 
 Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk 
 The prey wherein by nature they delight ; 
 So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night : 
 His taste delicious, in digestion souring, 
 Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring. 
 
 O deeper sin than bottomless conceit 
 
 Can comprehend in still imagination ! 
 
 Drunken desire must vomit his receipt, 
 
 Ere he can see his own abomination. 
 
 While lust is in his pride, no exclamation- 
 Can curb his heat, or rein his rash desire, 
 Till, like a jade, self-will himself doth tire. 
 
 And then with lank and lean discolor'd cheek, 
 With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, 
 Feeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek, 
 Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case : 
 The flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace, 
 For there it revels ; and when that decays, 
 The guilty rebel for remission prays. 
 
 So fares ft with this faultful lord of Rome, 
 Who this accomplishment so hotly chased; 
 For now against himself he sounds this doom, 
 That through the length of times he stands dis- 
 graced : 
 Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced; 
 To whose weak ruin muster troops of cares, 
 To ask the spotted princess how she fares. 
 
 She says, her subjects with foul insurrection 
 Have batter'd down her consecrated wall, 
 And by their mortal fault brought in subjection 
 Her immortality, and make her thrall 
 To living death, and pain perpetual : 
 
 Which in her prescience she controlled still, 
 But her foresight could not forestall their will. 
 
 Even in this thought through the dark night he 
 
 stealeth, 
 A captive victor that hath lost in gain ; 
 Bearing away the wound that nothing healcth, 
 The scar that will, despite of cure, remain, 
 Leaving his spoil perp*ex'd in greater pain. 
 
 She bears the load of lust he left behind, 
 And he the burthen of a guilty mind. 
 
 He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence; 
 She like a wearied lamb lies panting there : 
 He scowls, and hates himself for his offence, 
 She, desperate, wiih her nails her flesh doth tear ; 
 He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear ; 
 
 She stays exclaiming on the direful night ; 
 
 He runs, and chides hisvanish'd, loath'd delight 
 
 He thence departs a heavy convertite, 
 She there remains a hopeless castaway ; 
 He in his speed looks for the morning light ; 
 She prays she never may behold the day : 
 " For day," quoth she, " night's scapes doth open lay 
 And my true eyes have never practis'd how 
 To cloak offences with a cunning brow. 
 
 They think not but that every eye can see 
 The same disgrace which they themselves behold 
 And therefore would they still in darkness be, 
 To have their unseen sin remain untold ; 
 For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 
 And grave, like water, that doth eat in steel, 
 Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel." 
 
 Here she exclaims against repose and rest, 
 And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. 
 She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, 
 And bids it leap from thence, where it may find 
 Some purer chest, to close so pure a mind. 
 
 Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite 
 Against the unseen secrecy of night : 
 
 " O comfort-killing night, image of hell ! 
 
 Dim register and notary of shame ! 
 
 Black stage for tragedies and murders fell ! 
 
 Vast sin-concealing chaos ! nurse of blame ! 
 
 Blind muffled bawd ! dark harbor for defame ! 
 Grim cave of death, whispering conspirator 
 With close-tongued treason and the ravisher 
 
 O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night, 
 Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime, 
 Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light, 
 Make war against proportion'd course of time ! 
 Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb 
 His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, 
 Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 
 
 With rotten damps ravish the morning air; 
 
 Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick 
 
 The life of purity, the supreme fair, 
 
 Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick ;* 
 
 And let thy misty vapors march so thick, 
 
 That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light 
 May set at noon, and make perpetual night. 
 
 Were Tarquin night, (as he is but night's child,) 
 The silver-shining queen he would distain ; 
 Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defil'd, 
 Through night's black bosom should not peep again, 
 So should I have copartners in my pain : 
 And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, 
 As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 
 
 Where 9 now I have no one to blush with me, 
 To cross their arms, and hang their heads with mine, 
 To mask their brows, and hide their infamy; 
 But I alone alone must sit and pine. 
 Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, 
 Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans. 
 Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 
 •Tho point of not tn. ' Whereas. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 946 
 
 night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 
 Let not the jealous clay behold that face 
 Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak 
 Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace! 
 Keep still possession of thy gloomy place, 
 
 That all the faults which in thy reign are made 
 May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade ! 
 
 Make me not object to the tale-tell day ! 
 The night will show, character'd in my brow, 
 The story of sweet chastity's decay, 
 The impious breach of holy wedlock vow : 
 Yea, the illiterate, that know not how 
 To 'cipher what is writ in learned books, 
 Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. 
 
 The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, 
 And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name ; 
 The orator, to deck his oratory, 
 Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame : 
 Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, 
 Will tie the hearers to attend each line, 
 How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 
 
 Let my good name, that senseless reputation, 
 For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted : 
 If that be made a theme for disputation, 
 The branches of another root are rotted, 
 And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted, 
 That is as clear from this attaint of mine, 
 As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. 
 
 O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace ! 
 unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar ! 
 Reproach is stamn'd in Collatinus' face, 
 And Tar^mn's eye may read the mot 1 afar, 
 How he in peace is wounded, not in war. 
 Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, 
 Which not themselves but he that gives them 
 knows ! 
 
 If, Collatine, thine honor lay in me, 
 From me hy strong assault it is bereft. 
 My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, 
 Have no perfection of my summer left, 
 But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft: 
 In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, 
 And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept. 
 
 Yet I am guilty of thy honor's wrack ; 
 Yet for thy honor did I entertain him ; 
 Coming from thee, I could not put him back, 
 For it had been dishonor to disdain him : 
 Besides of weariness he did complain him, 
 And talk'd of virtue : — O, unlook'd for evil, 
 When virtue is profan'd in such a devil ! 
 
 Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud * 
 Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests ? 
 Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud 1 
 Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts 1 
 Or kings be breakers of their own behests 1 
 But no perfection is so absolute, 
 That some impurity doth not pollute. 
 
 ' r he aged man that coffers up his gold, 
 .s plagued with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits, 
 And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, 
 But like still-pining Tantalus he sits, 
 And useless barns the harvest of his wits ; 
 Having no other pleasure of his gain 
 But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 
 
 So then he hath it when he cannot use it, 
 And leaves it to be master'd by his young, 
 'Motto. 
 
 Who in their pride do presently abuse it : 
 Their father was too weak, and they too strong, 
 To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. 
 
 The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours, 
 Even in the moment that we call them ours.* 
 
 Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ; 
 Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flow. 
 
 ers ; 
 The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing ■ 
 What virtue breeds iniquity devours : 
 We have no good that we can say is ours, 
 
 But ill-annexed Opportunity 
 
 Or kills his life, or else his quality. 
 
 Opportunity ! thy guilt is great : 
 'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason, 
 Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get , 
 Whoever plots the sin, thou point'st the season ; 
 'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason ; 
 And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, 
 Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. 
 
 Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath ; 
 
 Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd; 
 
 Thou smother'st honesty, thou murther'st troth ; 
 
 Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! 
 
 Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud : 
 Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief, 
 Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief ! 
 
 Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 
 
 Thy private feasting to a public fast ; 
 
 Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name ; 
 
 Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste . 
 
 Thy violent vanities can never last. 
 How comes it, then, vile Opportunity 
 Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee 1 
 
 When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend, 
 And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd 7 
 When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to endt 
 Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd 1 
 Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd 1 
 
 The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee 
 But they ne'er meet with Opportunity. 
 
 The patient dies while the physician sleeps ; 
 
 The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds , 
 
 Justice is feasting while the wklow weeps ; 
 
 Advice is sporting while infection breeds; 
 
 Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds : 
 Wratk, envy, treason, rape, and murder's ragesj 
 Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pagea 
 
 When truth and virtue have to do with tl.ee 
 A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid ; 
 They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee, 
 He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd 
 As well to hear as grant what he hath said. 
 My Collatine would else have come to me 
 When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee 
 
 Guilty thou art of murder and of theft; 
 
 Guilty of perjury and subornation; 
 
 Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift; 
 
 Guilty of incest, that abomination : 
 
 An accessary by thine inclination 
 
 To all sins past, and all that are to come, 
 From the creation to the general doom. 
 
 Misshapen Time, copesmate of ugly night, 
 Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care ; 
 Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, 
 Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snart 
 
Mb 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Thou nursest all, and murtherest all that are. 
 O hear me then, injurious, shifting Time ! 
 Be guilty of my death, since of my crime. 
 
 Why hath thy servant, Opportunity, 
 Belray'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose! 
 Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me 
 To endless date of never-ending woes? 
 Time' s office is to fine 2 the hate of foes ; 
 To eat up errors by opinion bred, 
 Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. 
 
 Time's glory is to calm contending kings, 
 To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, 
 To stamp the seal of time in aged things, 
 To wake the mom, and sentinel the night, 
 To wrong the wronger till he render right; 
 To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
 And smear with dust their glittering golden 
 towers : 
 
 To fill with worm-holes stately monuments, 
 To feed oblivion with decay of things, 
 To blot old books, and alter their contents, 
 To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
 To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs ; * 
 To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, 
 And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel : 
 
 To show the beldame daughters of her daughter, 
 To make the child a man, the man a child, 
 To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, 
 To tame the unicorn and lion wild; 
 To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd ; 
 To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, 
 And waste huge stone.* with little water-drops. 
 
 Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, 
 Unless thou could'st return to make amends'? 
 One poor retiring minute in an age 
 Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends, 
 Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends: 
 
 0, this dread night, wouWst thou one hour come 
 back, 
 
 I could prevent this storm, and shun this wrack! 
 
 Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity, 
 With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight: 
 Devise extremes beyond extremity, 
 To make him curse this cursed crimeful night: 
 Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright, 
 And the dire thought of his committed evil 
 Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. 
 
 Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 
 Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ; 
 Let there bechance him pitiful mischances, 
 To make him moan, but pity not his moans : 
 Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones ; 
 And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 
 Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 
 
 Let him have time to tear his curled hair, 
 Let him have time against himself to rave, 
 Let him have time of Time's help to despair; 
 Let him have time to live a loathed slave, 
 Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave ; 
 And time to see one that by alms doth live 
 Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. 
 
 Let him have time to see his friends his foes, 
 And merry fools to mock at him resort ; 
 Let him have time to mark how slow time goes 
 > To bring an end- » Shoots, saplings. 
 
 In time of sorrow, and how swift and short 
 His time of folly and his time of sport" 
 And ever let his unrecalling crime 
 Have time to wail the abusing of his time 
 
 O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, 
 Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill ! 
 At his own shadow let the thief run mad, 
 Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! 
 Such wretched hands such wretched blood should 
 spill : 
 For who so base would such an office have 
 As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave! 
 
 The baser is he, coming from a king, 
 To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. 
 The mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
 That makes him honor'd, or begets him hate : 
 For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
 The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, 
 But little stars may hide them when they list. 
 
 The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, 
 And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away, 
 But if the like the snow-white swan desire, 
 The stain upon his silver down will stay. 
 Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day. 
 Gnats are unnoted whereso'er they fly, 
 But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. 
 
 Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools ! 
 
 Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators ! 
 
 Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools, 
 
 Debate where leisure serves with dull debators ; 
 
 To trembling clients be you mediators : 
 For me, I force not argument a straw, 
 Since that my case is past the help of law. 
 
 In vain I rail at Opportunity, 
 At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful night ; 
 In vain I cavil with my infamy, 
 In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite : 
 This helpless smoke of words doth me no right 
 The remedy indeed to do me good, 
 Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood. 
 
 Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree * 
 Honor thyself to rid me of this shame ; 
 For if I die my honor lives in thee, 
 But if I live, thou liv'st in my defame: 
 Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame, 
 And was afeard to scratch her wicked foe, 
 Kill both thyself and her for yielding so." 
 
 This said, from her betumbled couch she starteth, 
 To find some desperate instrument of death : 
 But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth, 
 To make more vent for passage of her breath, 
 Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth 
 As smoke from iEtna, that in air consumes, 
 Or that which from discharged cannon fumes 
 
 "In vain," quoth she, "I live, and seek in vain 
 Some happy mean to end a hapless life. 
 I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain, 
 Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife : 
 But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife; 
 
 So am I now: — no, that cannot be; 
 
 Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 
 
 O ! that is gone for which I sought to live, 
 And therefore now I need not fear to die. 
 To clear this spot by death, at least I give 
 A badge of fame to slander's livery ; 
 A dying life to living infamy ; 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 94? 
 
 Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away, 
 To burn the guiltless casket where it lay ! 
 
 Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know 
 
 The stained taste of violated troth ; 
 
 I will not wrong thy true affection so 
 
 To flatter thee with an infringed oath; 
 
 This bastard graff shall never come to growth : 
 He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute 
 That thou art doting father of his fruit. 
 
 Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought, 
 Nor laugh with his companions at thy state; 
 But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought 
 Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gate. 
 For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 
 
 And with my trespass never will dispense, 
 Till life to death acquit my forced offence. 
 
 I will not poison thee with my attaint, 
 Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses; 
 My sable ground of sin I will not paint, 
 To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : 
 My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes like sluices, 
 As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, 
 Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure 
 tale." 
 
 By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
 The well-tun'd warble of her nightly sorrow, 
 And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended 
 To ugly hell ; when lo, the blushing morrow 
 Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow: 
 But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, 
 And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. 
 
 Revealing day through every cranny spies, 
 And seems to point her out where she sits weeping ; 
 To whom she sobbing speaks : " eye of eyes, 
 Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy 
 
 peeping; 
 Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleep- 
 ing : 
 Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light, 
 For day hath nought to do what's done by night." 
 
 Thus cavils she with every thing she sees : 
 True grief is fond and testy as a child, 
 Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees. 
 Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild; 
 Continuance tames the one; the other wild, 
 Like an unpractis'd swimmer, plunging still 
 With too much labor, drowns for want of skill. 
 
 So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, 
 Holds disputation with each thing she views, 
 And to herself all sorrow doth compare ; 
 No object but her passion's strength renews ; 
 And as one shifts, another straight ensues: 
 
 Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words ; 
 
 Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords. 
 
 The little birds that tune their morning's joy 
 
 Make her moans mad with their sweet melody. 
 
 For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ; 
 
 Sad souls are slain in merry company; 
 
 Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society : 
 True sorrow then is feelingly suffie'd, 
 When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. 
 
 Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ; 
 He ten times pines that pines beholding food ; 
 To see the salve doth make the wound ache more; 
 Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ; 
 Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood, 
 
 Who, being stopj'l, the bounding banks out- 
 flows : 
 Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. 
 
 "You mocking birds," quoth she, "your tunes en 
 
 tomb 
 Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts, 
 And in my hearing be you mute and dumb! 
 (My restless discord loves no stops nor rests; 
 A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:) 
 Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ; 
 Distress likes dumps 4 when time is kept with 
 tears. 
 
 Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment, 
 Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair. 
 As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, 
 So I at each sad strain will strain a tear, 
 And with deep groans the diapason bear: 
 For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, 
 While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill. 
 
 And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part, 
 To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, 
 To imitate thee well, against my heart 
 Will fix a sharp knife, to affright mine eye ; 
 Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 
 These means, as frets upon an instrument, 
 Shall tune our heart-strings to true languish- 
 ment. 
 
 And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day, 
 As shaming any eye should thee behold, 
 Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, 
 That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold, 
 We will find out; and there we will unfold 
 
 To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their 
 
 kinds : 
 Since men prove beasts let beasts bear gentle 
 minds." 
 
 As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, 
 Wildly determining which way to fly, 
 Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, 
 That cannot tread the way out readily ; 
 So with herself is she in mutiny, 
 
 To live or die which of the twain were better, 
 When life is shamed, and death Reproach's 
 debtor. 
 
 " To kill myself," quoth she, " alack ! what were it, 
 But with my body my poor soul's pollution? 
 They that lose half, with greater patience bear it 
 Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
 That mother tries a merciless conclusion 
 
 Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes 
 one, 
 
 Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. 
 
 My body or my soul, which was the dearer ! 
 When the one pure, the other made divine. 
 Whose love of either to myself was nearer? 
 When both were kept for heaven and Collatine. 
 Ah me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, 
 
 His leaves will wither, and his sap decay ; 
 
 So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 
 
 Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted, 
 
 Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; 
 
 Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted, 
 
 Grossly engirt with daring infamy : 
 
 Then let it not be call'd impiety. 
 
 If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole, 
 Through which I may convey this troubled soul 
 4 Melancholy airs. 
 
948 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 !fet die I will not till my Collatine 
 Have heard the- cause of my untimely death; 
 That he miy vow, in that sad houi of mine, 
 Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. 
 My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath, 
 Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent, 
 And as his due, writ in my testament. 
 
 My honor I'll bequeath unto the knife 
 
 That wounds my body so dishonored. 
 
 'Tis honor to deprive dishonor'd life ; 
 
 The one will live, the other being dead: 
 
 So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ; 
 For in my death I murther shameful scorn : 
 My shame so dead, mine honor is new-born. ' 
 
 Deav lord of that dear jewel I have lost, 
 
 What legacy shall I bequeath to thee? 
 
 My resolution, Love, shall be thy boast, 
 
 By whose example thou reveng'd mayst be. 
 
 How Tarquin must be used, read it in me : 
 Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe, 
 And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so 
 
 This brief abridgment of my will I make : 
 
 My soul and body to the skies and ground; 
 
 My resolution, husband, do thou take; 
 
 Mine honor be the knife's that makes my wound ; 
 
 My shame be his that did my fame confound; 
 And all my fame that lives disbursed be 
 To those that live, and think no shame of me. 
 
 Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will ; 
 How was I overseen that thou shalt see it ! 
 My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill; 
 My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. 
 Faint not faint heart, but stoutly say, 'so be it.' 
 
 Yield to my hand ; my hand shall conquer thee ; 
 
 Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be." 
 
 This plot of death when sadly she had laid, 
 And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes, 
 With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid, 
 Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies; 
 For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies. 
 Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so 
 As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. 
 
 Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow, 
 With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty, 
 And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, 
 (For why? her face wore sorrow's livery,) 
 But durst not ask of her audaciously 
 
 Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, 
 Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. 
 
 But as t^he earth doth weep, the sun being set, 
 Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye; 
 Even so the maid with swelling'drops 'gan wet 
 Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy 
 Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky, 
 Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light, 
 Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. 
 
 A pretty while these pretty creatures stand, 
 Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling: 
 One justly weeps; the other takes in hand 
 No cause, but company, of her drops spilling: 
 Their gentle sex to weep are often willing; 
 Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts, 
 And then the)' drown their eyes, or brrak their 
 hearts. 
 
 Toi men have marble, women waxen minds, 
 And therefore are they form'd as marble will : 
 
 The weak oppress'd, the impression of Strang* 
 kinds 
 
 Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill . 
 
 Then call them not the authors of their ill, 
 No more than wax shall be accounted evil, 
 Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 
 
 Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain. 
 Lays open all the little worms that creep: 
 In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
 Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep: 
 Through crystal walls each little mote will peep. 
 
 Though men can cover crimes with bold stern 
 looks, 
 
 Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. 
 
 No man inveigh against the wither'd flower, 
 But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd! 
 Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour 
 Is worthy blame. 0, let it not be hild ' 
 Poor women's faults that they are so fulfill'*!' 
 With men's abuses ! those proud lords, to blame, 
 Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. 
 
 The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, 
 Assail'd by night with circumstances strong 
 Of present death, and shame that might ensue 
 By that her death, to do her husband wrong: 
 Such danger to resistance did belong, 
 
 That dying fear through all her body spread ; 
 
 And who cannot abuse a body dead? 
 
 By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak 
 To the poor counterfeit of her complaining ; 
 " My girl," quoth she, " on what occasion break 
 Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are 
 
 raining ? 
 If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining, 
 Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood : 
 If tears could help, mine own would do me good. 
 
 But tell me, girl, when went" — (and there she 
 
 stayed 
 Till after a deep groan) "Tarquin from hence?" 
 "Madam, ere I was up," replied the maid, 
 "The more to blame my sluggard negligence: 
 Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense; 
 Myself was stirring ere the break of day, 
 And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. 
 
 But, lady, if your maid may be so bold. 
 She would request to know your heaviness." 
 "O peace!" quoth Lucrece; "if it should be told, 
 The repetition cannot make it less; 
 For more it is than I can well express: 
 And that deep torture may be call'd a hell, 
 When more is felt than one hath power to tell. 
 
 Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen — 
 Yet save that labor, for I have them here. 
 What should I say? — One of my husband's men 
 Bid thou be ready, by and by, to hear 
 A letter to my lord, my love, my dear; 
 Bid him with speed prepare to carry it: 
 The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ. 
 
 Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write, 
 First hovering o'er the paper with her quill: 
 Conceit and grief an eager combat fight; 
 What wit sets down is blotted straight witn will 
 This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill : 
 Much like a press of people at a door, 
 Throng her inventions, which shall be before. 
 
 - » Held. • Completely filled 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 i>49 
 
 At tast she thus begins: "Thou worthy lord 
 Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee, 
 Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe to afford 
 (If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see) 
 Some present speed to come and visit me: 
 
 So I commend me from our house in grief; 
 
 My woes are tedious, though my words are brief." 
 
 Here folds she up the tenor of her woe, 
 
 Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. 
 
 By this short schedule Collatine may know 
 
 Her grief, but not her grief's true quality; 
 
 She dares not thereof make discovery, 
 
 Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse, 
 Ere she with blood hath stain'd her slain'd ex- 
 
 Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 
 
 She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ; 
 
 When sighs and groans and tears may grace the 
 
 fashion 
 Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 
 From that suspicion which the world might bear 
 her. 
 To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter 
 With words, till action might become them better. 
 
 To see sad sights moves more than hear them told ; 
 For then the eye interprets to the ear 
 The heavy motion that it doth behold, 
 When every part a part of woe doth bear. 
 'Tis but a part of sorrow that We hear : 
 
 Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow 
 
 fords, 
 And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of 
 words. 
 
 Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ, 
 "At Ardea to my lord with more than haste :" 
 The post attends, and she delivers it, 
 Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast 
 As lagging fowls before the northern blast. 
 
 Speed more 4han speed but dull and slow she 
 deems : 
 
 Extremity still urgeth such extremes. 
 
 The homely villein court'sies to her low; 
 And blushing on her, with a steadfast eye 
 Receives the scroll, without or yea or no, 
 And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. 
 But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie, 
 
 Imagine every eye beholds their blame ; 
 
 For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame ; 
 
 When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect 
 
 Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. 
 
 Such harmless creatures have a true respect 
 
 To talk in deeds, while others saucily 
 
 Promise more speed, but do it leisurely : 
 Even so, this pattern of the worn-out age 
 Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. 
 
 His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, 
 That two red fires in both their faces blazed; 
 She thought he blush'd as knowing Tarquin's lust, 
 And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed; 
 Her earnest eye did make him more amazed : 
 The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish, 
 The more she thought he spied in her some 
 blemish. 
 
 But long she thinks till he return again, 
 \nd yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 
 The weary time she cannot entertain, 
 For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan : 
 
 So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, 
 That she her plaints a little while doth stay, 
 Pausing for means to mourn some newer way- 
 
 At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 
 Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy; 
 Before the which is drawn the power of Greece, 
 For Helen's rape the city to destroy, 
 Threat'ning cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy; 
 Which the conceited painter drew so proud, 
 As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets tow'd 
 
 A thousand lamentable objects there, 
 In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life : 
 Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear, 
 Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife: 
 The red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife; 
 And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, 
 Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. 
 
 There might you see the laboring pioneer 
 Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust; 
 And from the towers of Troy there would appear ■ 
 The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust, 
 Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust: 
 
 Such sweet observance in this work was had, 
 That one might see those far-off eyes look sad. 
 
 In great commanders grace and majesty 
 You might behold, triumphing in their faces ; 
 In youth, quick bearing and dexterity; 
 And here and there the painter interlaces 
 Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces; 
 Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, 
 That one would swear he saw them quake and 
 tremble. 
 
 In Ajax and Ulysses, what art 
 
 Of physiognomy might one behold! 
 
 The face of either 'cipher'd either's heart; 
 
 Their face their manners most expressly told : 
 
 In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roll'd ; 
 But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent 
 Show'd deep regard and smiling government 
 
 There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand, 
 As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight; 
 Making such sober action with his hand 
 That it beguil'd attention, charm'd the sight : 
 In speech, it seem'd, his beard all silver white, 
 Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly 
 Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. 
 
 About him were a press of gaping faces, 
 Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice; 
 All jointly listening, but with several graces, 
 As if some mermaid did their ears entice; 
 Some high, some low, the painter was so nice : 
 The scalps of many, almost hid behind, 
 To jump up higher seem'd to mock the mind. 
 
 Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, 
 
 His nose being shadow 'd by his neighbor's ear; 
 
 Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n ' and 
 red; 
 
 Another, smother'd, seems to pelt and swear; 
 
 And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 
 As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words, 
 It seem'd they would debate with angry sword*. 
 
 For much imaginary work was there; 
 Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind/ 
 That for Achilles' image stood his spear, 
 Grip'd in an armed hand ; himself, behind, 
 1 Swollen. Natural 
 
350 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind : 
 A hanf\ a foot, a face, a leg, a head, 
 Stood for the whole to be imagined. 
 
 4nd from the walls of strong-besieged Troy, 
 When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to 
 
 field, 
 Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy 
 To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield; 
 And to their hope they such add action yield, 
 That through their light joy seemed to appear 
 (Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear. 
 
 And, from the strond of Dardan where they fought, 
 To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran, 
 Whose waves to imitate the battle sought 
 With swelling ridges; and their ranks began 
 To break upon the galled shore, and than 9 
 Retire again, till meeting greater ranks 
 They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks. 
 
 To this well-painted piece is Lucrece -come, 
 To find a face where all distress is stel'd. 
 Many she sees where cares have carved some, 
 But none where all distress and dolor dwell'd, 
 Till she despairing Hecuba beheld 
 
 Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes, 
 Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. 
 
 In her the painter had anatomiz'd 
 Time's ruin, beauty's wrack, and grim care's reign; 
 Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguis'd ; 
 Of what she was no semblance did remain : 
 Her blue blood, chang'd to black in every vein, 
 
 Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had 
 fed, 
 
 Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead. 
 
 On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, 
 And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes, 
 Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, 
 The bitter words to ban her cruel foes: 
 The painter was no god to lend her those; 
 
 And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong, 
 To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. 
 
 •* Poor instrument," quoth she, " without a sound, 
 I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue : 
 And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, 
 And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong, 
 And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long; 
 And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
 Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 
 
 Shew me the strumpet that began this stir, 
 That with my nails her beauty I may tear. 
 Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
 This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear; 
 Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here: 
 And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye, 
 The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter, die. 
 
 Why should the private pleasure of some one 
 Become the public plague of many mo ? ' 
 Let sin, alone committed, light alone 
 Upon his head that hath transgressed so. 
 Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe : 
 For one's offence why should so many fall, 
 To plague a private sin in general 1 
 
 Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies, 
 Here manly Hector faints, hereTroilus swounds; 
 Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, 
 And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds, 
 • Then. « More. 
 
 And one man's lust these many lives confounds: 
 Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 
 Troy had been bright with fame, and not with 
 fire." 
 
 Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes : 
 For sorrow, like a heavy hanging bell, 
 Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes; 
 Then little strength rings out the doleful knell : 
 So Lucrece set a-work sad tales doth tell 
 
 To pencill'd pensiveness and color'd sorrow: 
 She lends them words, and she their looks dot! 
 borrow. 
 
 She throws her eyes about the painting, round, 
 And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament: 
 At last she sees a wretched image bound, 
 That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent; 
 His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content : 
 Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, 
 So mild that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. 
 
 In him the painter labor'd with his skill 
 To hide deceit, and give the harmless show 
 An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still, 
 A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe; 
 Checks neither red nor pale, but mingled so 
 That blushing red no guilty instance gave, 
 Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 
 
 But, like a constant and confirmed devil, 
 He entertain'd a show so seeming just, 
 And therein so ensconced his secret evil, 
 That jealousy itself could not mistrust 
 False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust 
 Into so bright a day such black-faced storms, 
 Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms 
 
 The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew 
 For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story 
 The credulous old Priam after slew ; 
 Whose words, like wildfire, burnt the shining glory 
 Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, 
 And little stars shut from their* fixed places, 
 When their glass fell wherein they view'd theii 
 faces. 
 
 This picture she advisedly perus'd, 
 And chid the painter for his wondrous skill; 
 Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd, 
 So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill ; 
 And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still, 
 Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied, 
 That she concludes the picture was belied. 
 
 "It cannot be," quoth she, "that so much guile"- 
 (She would have said) " can lurk in such a look ;" 
 But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while 
 And from her tongue " can lurk" from " cannot" 
 
 took; 
 " It cannot be" she in that sense forsook, 
 And turn'd it thus : " It cannot be, I find, 
 But such a face should bear a wicked mind: 
 
 For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, 
 So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, 
 (As if with grief or travail he had fainted,) 
 To me came Tarquin armed ; so beguil'd 
 With outward honesty, but yet defil'd 
 
 With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish, 
 So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish. 
 
 Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, 
 To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds 
 Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise? 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 951 
 
 For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds; 
 
 His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds: 
 Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity 
 \re balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 
 
 Such devils steal effects from lightless hell; 
 For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, 
 And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell; 
 These contraries such unity do hold 
 Only to flatter fools , and make them bold : 
 
 So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter, 
 That he finds means to burn his Troy with water." 
 
 Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails, 
 That'patience is quite beaten from her breast. 
 She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, 
 Comparing him to that unhappy guest 
 Whose deed hath made herself herself detest ; 
 
 At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ; 
 
 " Fool ! fool !" quoth she, " his wounds will not 
 be sore." 
 
 Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, 
 And time doth weary time with her complaining. 
 She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, 
 And both she thinks too long with her remaining : 
 Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining. 
 
 Though woe be heavy yet it seldom sleeps ; 
 
 And they that watch see time how slow it creeps. 
 
 Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought, 
 That she with painted images hath spent ; 
 Being from the feeling of her own grief brought 
 By deep surmise of others' detriment ; 
 Losing her woes in shows of discontent, 
 It easeth some, though none it ever cured, 
 To think their dolor others have endur'd. 
 
 But now the mindful messenger, come back, 
 Brings home his lord and other company ; 
 Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black; 
 And round about her tear-distained eye, 
 Blue circles stream'd, like rainbows in the sky. 
 These water-galls in her dim element 
 Foretell new storms to those already spent. 
 
 Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 
 
 Amazedly in her sad face he stares: 
 
 Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw, 
 
 Her lively color kill'd with deadly cares. 
 
 He hath no power to ask her how she fares, 
 But stood like old acquaintance in a trance, 
 Met far from home, wondering each other's 
 chance. 
 
 At last he takes her by the bloodless hand, 
 And thus begins : " What uncouth ill event 
 Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling stand? 
 Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair color spent 1 
 Why art thou thus altir'd in discontent] 
 Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, 
 And tell thy grief, that we may give redress." 
 
 Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire 
 Ere once she can discharge one word of woe : 
 At length address'd to answer his desire, 
 She modestly prepares to let them know 
 Her honor is ta'cn prisoner by the foe ; 
 While Collatine and his consorted lords 
 With sad attention long to hear her words. 
 
 And now this pale swan in her watery nest 
 Begin? the sad dirge of her certain ending : 
 "Ffw words" ouoth she, "shall fit the trespass 
 best, 
 
 Where no excuse can give the fault amending ; 
 
 In me more woes than words are now depending , 
 And my laments would be drawn out too long 
 To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. 
 
 Then be this all the task it hath to say : — 
 Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 
 A stranger came, and on that pillow lay 
 Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head 
 And what wrong else may be imagined 
 By foul enforcement might be done to me, 
 From that, alas ! thy Lucrece is not free. 
 
 For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 
 With shining falchion in my chamber came 
 A creeping creature, with a flaming light, 
 And softly cried, Awake, thou Roman dame, 
 .t nd entertain my love ; else lasting shame 
 ~>n thee and thine this night I will inflict, 
 If thou my love's desire do contradict. 
 
 For some hard-favor'd groom of thine, quoth he, 
 Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 
 I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee, 
 And swear I found you where you did fulfil 
 The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 
 The lechers in their deed : this act will be 
 My fame, and thy perpetual infamy. 
 
 With this I did begin to start and cry, 
 And then against my heart he set his sword, 
 Swearing, unless I took all patiently 
 I should not live to speak another word : 
 So should my shame still rest upon record, 
 And never be forgot in mighty Rome 
 The adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom 
 
 Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 
 And far the weaker with so strong a fear ; 
 My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak; 
 No rightful plea might plead for justice there : 
 His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 
 
 That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes, 
 And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner dies. 
 
 teach me how to make mine own excuse ! 
 
 Or, at the least, this refuge let me find ; 
 
 Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse 
 
 Immaculate and spotless is my mind ; 
 
 That was not forced ; that never was inclin'd 
 To accessary yieldings, but still pure 
 Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure." 
 
 Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss, 
 With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe, 
 With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across, 
 From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow 
 The grief away that stops his answer so ; 
 
 But wretched as he is he strives in vain ; 
 
 What he breathes out his breath drinks up agauv 
 
 As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
 Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste : 
 Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
 Back to the strait that forced him on so fast ; 
 In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past : 
 Even so he sighs, his sorrows make a saw, 
 To push grief on, and back the same grief draw 
 
 Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth. 
 And his untimely frenzy thus »waketh : 
 " Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
 Another power; no flood by raining slaketh 
 My woe too sensible thy passion makett 
 
J52 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 More feeling-painful : let it then suffice 
 
 fa drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 
 
 •vnd for my sake, when I might charm thee so, 
 For she that was thy Lucrece — now attend me ; 
 Be suddenly revenged on my_ foe, 
 Thine, mine, his own ; suppose thou dost defend me 
 From what is past: the help that thou shaltlend me 
 
 Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; 
 
 For sparing justice feeds iniquity. 
 
 But ere I name him, you, fair lords," quoth she, 
 (Speaking to those that -came with Collatine,) 
 " Shall plight your honorable faiths to me, 
 With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine ; 
 For 'tis a meritorious fair design 
 
 To chase injustice with revengeful arms: 
 Knights, by their oaths, should right poor la- 
 dies' harms." 
 
 At this request, with noble disposition 
 Each present lord began to promise aid, 
 As bound in knighthood to her imposition, 
 Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd. 
 But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, 
 The protestation stops. " O speak," quoth she, 
 " How may this forced stain be wiped from me ? 
 
 What is the quality of mine offence, 
 
 Being constiain'd with dreadful circumstance ? 
 
 May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, 
 
 My low-declined honor to advance ? 
 
 May any terms acquit me from this chance ? 
 
 The poison'd fountain clears itself again ; 
 
 And why not I from this compelled stain?" 
 
 With this, they all at once began to say, 
 Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ; 
 While with a joyless smile she turns away 
 The face, that map which deep impression bears 
 Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears. 
 
 " No, no," quoth she, " no dame, hereafter living, 
 By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving." 
 
 Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, 
 She throws forth Tarquin's name ; " He, he," she 
 
 says, 
 But more than "he" her poor tongue could not 
 
 speak ; 
 Till after many accents and delays, 
 Untimely breathings, sick and short assays, 
 She utters this: "He, he, fair lords, 'tis he, 
 That guides this hand to give this wound to me." 
 
 Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
 A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheath'd ; 
 That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
 Of that polluted prison where it breath'd : 
 Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd 
 
 Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth 
 fly 
 
 Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. 
 
 Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed, 
 Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew; 
 Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed, 
 Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw ; 
 And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
 The murderous knife, and as it left the place 
 Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase ; 
 
 And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
 In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood 
 Oucles her body in on every aide, 
 
 Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood 
 Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. 
 
 Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd, 
 And some look'd black, and that false Tarquiu 
 stain'd. 
 
 About the mourning and congealed face 
 Of that black blood, a watery rigol" goes, 
 Which seems to weep upon the tainted place : 
 And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes, 
 Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 
 And blood untainted still doth red abide, 
 Blushing at that which is so putrefied. 
 
 " Daughter, dear daughter," old Lucretius cries, 
 " That life was mine which thou hast here depnv'd, 
 If in the child the father's image lies, 
 Where shall I live now Lucrece is unliv'd? 
 Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd. 
 If children predecease progenitors, 
 We are their offspring, and they none of ours. 
 
 Poor broken glass, I often did behold 
 In thy sweet semblance my old age new born; 
 But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, 
 Shows me a barebon'd death by time outworn ; 
 0, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn ! 
 And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, 
 That I no more can see what once I was. 
 
 O time, cease thou thy course, and last no longer, 
 If they surcease to be that should survive. 
 Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, 
 And leave the faltering feeble souls alive? 
 The old bees die, the young possess their hive : 
 Then live sweet Lucrece, live again, and see 
 Thy father die, and not thy father thee !" 
 
 By this starts Collatine as from a dream, 
 And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place; 
 And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
 He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face, 
 And counterfeits to die with her a space; 
 
 Till manly shame bids him possess his breath, 
 And live, to be revenged on her death. 
 
 The deep vexation of his inward soul 
 Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue; 
 Who, mad that sorrow should his use control, 
 Or keep him from heart-easing words so long, 
 Begins to talk ; but through his lips do throng 
 
 Weak words, so thick come, in his poor heart'i 
 aid, 
 
 That no man could distinguish what he said. 
 
 Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain, 
 But through his teeth, as if the name he tore. 
 This windy tempest, till it blow up rain, 
 Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more: 
 At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er : 
 The son and father weep with equal strife, 
 Who should weep most for daughter or for wife. 
 
 The one doth call her his, the other his, 
 Yet neither may possess, the claim they lay. 
 The father says, "she's mine:" "O mine she is," 
 Replies her husband : " Do not take away 
 My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say 
 He weeps for her, for she was only mine, 
 And only must be wail'd by Collatine." 
 
 "O," quoth Lucretius, "I did give that life 
 Which she too early and too late hath spill'd." 
 "Woe, woe," quoth Collatine, "she was my wifc 
 » Circle. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 0«f~| 
 
 [ ow'd her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd." 
 "My daughter" and "my wife" with clamors fill'd 
 The dispers'd air, who, holding Lucrece' life, 
 Answer'd their cries, " my daughter" and " my 
 wife." 
 
 Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side, 
 Seeing such emulation in their woe, 
 Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, 
 Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. 
 He with the Romans was esteem'd so 
 As silly jeering idiots are with kings, 
 For sportive words, and uttering foolish things. 
 
 But now he throws that shallow habit by, 
 Wherein deep policy did him disguise ; 
 And aim'd his long-hid wits advisedly, 
 To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. 
 "Thou wronged lord of Rome," quoth he, "arise; 
 Let my unsounded self, suppos'd a fool, 
 Now set thy long experienced wit to school. 
 
 Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe 1 
 
 Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous 
 
 deeds ! 
 Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, 
 For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds 1 
 Such childish humor from weak minds proceeds: 
 Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so, 
 To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. 
 
 Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
 In attch relenting dew of lamentations, 
 
 But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part, 
 To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, 
 That they will suffer these abominations, 
 
 (Since Rome herself in them doth stand dis- 
 graced,) 
 By our strong arms from forth her fair streets 
 chased. 
 
 Now, by the Capitol that we adore, 
 And by this chaste blood'so unjustly stain'd, 
 By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store, 
 By all our country rights in Rome rnaintain'd, 
 And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd 
 Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, 
 We will revenge the death of this true wife." 
 
 This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 
 And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow ; 
 And to his protestation urged the rest, 
 Who, wondering at him, did his words allow ■ 
 Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow 
 And that deep vow which Brutus made befoie, 
 He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 
 
 When they had sworn to this advised doom, 
 They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence 
 To show her bleeding body thorough Rome, 
 And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence: 
 Which being done with speedy diligence, 
 The Romans plausibly 3 did give consent 
 To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 
 
 8 With expressions of applause. 
 3N 
 
SONNETS 
 
 1. 
 
 From fairest creatures we desire increase, 
 That thereby beauty's rose might never die, 
 But as the riper should by time decease, 
 His tender heir might bear his memory : 
 But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 
 Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, 
 Making a famine where abundance lies, 
 Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. 
 Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, 
 And only herald to the gaudy spring, 
 Within thine own bud buriest thy content, 
 And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding. 
 Pity the world, or else this glutton be, 
 To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 
 
 II. 
 
 When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, 
 And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, 
 Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, 
 Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held: 
 Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, 
 Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; 
 To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, 
 Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. 
 How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, 
 If thou couldst answer — " This fair child of mine 
 Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse — " 
 Proving his beauty by succession thine ! 
 
 This were to be new-made when thou art old, 
 And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. 
 
 III. 
 
 Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest, 
 Now is the time that face should form another; 
 Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, 
 Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. 
 For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb 
 Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry! 
 Or who is he so fond will be the tomb 
 Of his self-love, to stop posterity ? 
 Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
 Calls back the lovely April of her prime : 
 So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, 
 Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. 
 But if thou live, remember'd not to be, 
 Die single, and thine image, dies with thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend 
 Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy ? 
 Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, 
 And being frank she lends to those are free. 
 Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse 
 The bounteous largess given thee to givel 
 Profitless usurer, why dost thou use 
 So great a sum of sums, yet canst not livel 
 For having traffic with thyself alone, 
 Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. 
 Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, 
 [*64] 
 
 What acceptable audit canst thou leave T 
 
 The unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with tnee, 
 Which, used, lives thy executor to be. 
 
 Those hours that with gentle work did frame 
 The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, 
 Will play the tyrants to the very same, 
 And that unfair which fairly doth excel; 
 For never-resting time leads summer on 
 To hideous winter, and confounds him there ; 
 Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone. 
 Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness everywhere: 
 Then, were not summer's distillation left, 
 A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, 
 Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, 
 Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was. 
 
 But flowers distill'd, though they with winter 
 
 meet, 
 Leese l but their show ; their substance still live* 
 
 sweet. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then let not winter's ragged hand deface 
 
 In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd : 
 
 Make sweet some phial; treasure thou some place 
 
 With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. 
 
 That use is not forbidden usury, 
 
 Which happies those that pay the willing loan ; 
 
 That's for thyself to breed another thee, 
 
 Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; 
 
 Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, 
 
 If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee: 
 
 Then what could death do if thou should'st <Je* 
 
 part, 
 Leaving thee living in posterity 1 
 
 Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair 
 To be Death's .conquest, and make worm3 thine 
 heir. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lo, in the orient when the gracious light 
 Lifts up his burning head, each under eye 
 Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, 
 Serving with looks his sacred majesty ; 
 And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, 
 Resembling strong youth in his middle age, 
 Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, 
 Attending on his golden pilgrimage ; 
 But when from high-most pitch, with weary car, 
 Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, 
 The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are 
 From his low tract, and look another way: 
 So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon, 
 Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly 1 
 Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. 
 « Lose. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 955 
 
 Wh* lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not 
 
 gladly ': 
 0> else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy ? 
 If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, 
 By unions married, do offend thine ear, 
 They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds 
 In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear. 
 Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, 
 Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; 
 Resembling sire and child and happy mother, 
 Who all in ons, one pleasing note do sing: 
 
 Whose speechless song, beit.g many, seeming 
 
 one, 
 Sings this to thee, " thou single wilt prove none." 
 
 IX. 
 
 [s it for fear to wet a widow's eye 
 That thou consum'st thyself in single life T 
 Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die, 
 The world will wail thee, like a mateless wife; 
 The world will be thy widow, and still weep 
 That thou no form of thee hast left behind, 
 When every private widow well may keep, 
 By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. 
 Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend 
 Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; 
 But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, 
 And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it. 
 No love toward others in that bosom sits, 
 That on himself such murderous shame commits. 
 
 X. 
 
 For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any, 
 Who for thyself art so unprovident. 
 Grant if thou wilt thou art belov'd of many, 
 But. that thou none lov'st is most evident; 
 For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate, 
 That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire, 
 Seeking that beauteous roqf to ruinate, 
 Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 
 O change thy thought, that I may change my mind ! 
 Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love'? 
 Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, 
 Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove; 
 Make thee another self, for love of me, 
 That beauty still may live in thine or thee. 
 
 XI. 
 
 As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st 
 In one of thine, from that which thou departest; 
 And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, 
 Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth con- 
 
 vertest. 
 Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; 
 Without this, folly, age, and cold decay : 
 If all were minded so the times should cease, 
 And threescore years would make the world away. 
 Let those whom Nature hath not made for store, 
 Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: 
 Look whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more ; 
 Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty 
 cherish ; 
 She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby 
 Thou shouldst print more, nor let that copy die. 
 
 XII. 
 
 When I do count the clock that tells the time, 
 And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; 
 When I behold the violet past prime, 
 A.nd sable curls all silver'J o'er with white - 
 
 When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 
 Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, 
 And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, 
 Borne on the bier with white and bristly beaia, 
 Then of thy beauty do I question make, 
 That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, 
 And die as fast as they see others grow; 
 
 And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make de 
 fence, 
 
 Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee henco 
 
 XIII. 
 
 O that you were yourself! but, love, you are 
 No longer yours, than you yourself here live: 
 Against this coming end you should prepare, 
 And your sweet semblance to some other give. 
 So should that beauty which you hold in lease 
 Find no determination: then you were 
 Yourself again, after yourself 's decease, 
 When your sweet issue your sweet form shall bean. 
 Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, 
 Which husbandry in honor might uphold 
 Against the stormy gusts of winter's day, 
 And barren rage of death's eternal cold? 
 
 O ! none but unthrifts : — Dear my love, you know 
 You had a father; let your son say so. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck, 
 And yet methinks I have astronomy, 
 But not to tell of good or evil luck, 
 Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality. 
 Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, 
 Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind, 
 Or say with princes if it shall go well, 
 By oft predict that I in heaven find : 
 But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, 
 And (constant stars) in them I read such art, 
 As truth and beauty shall together thrive, 
 If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert: 
 Or else of thee this I prognosticate, 
 Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 
 
 XV. 
 
 When I consider everything that grows 
 Holds in perfection but a little moment, 
 That this huge stale presenteth nought but shows 
 Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; 
 When I perceive that men as plants increase, 
 Cheer'd and check'd even by the self-same sky ; 
 Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, 
 And wear their brave state out of memory ; 
 Then the conceit of this inconstant stay 
 Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, 
 Where wasteful time debateth with decay, 
 To change your day of youth to sullied night; 
 And, all in war with Time, for love of you, 
 As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But wherefore do not you a mightier way 
 
 Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? 
 
 And fortify yourself in your decay 
 
 With means more blessed than my barren rhyme' 
 
 Now stand you on the top of happy hours; 
 
 And many maiden gardens, yet unset, 
 
 With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers 
 
 Much liker than your painted counterfeit : 
 
 So should the lines of life that life rcwju. 
 
950 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, 
 Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair, 5 
 Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. 
 
 To give away yourself keeps yourself still; 
 
 And you must live, drawn by your own sweet 
 skill. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Who will believe my verse in time to come, 
 If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?, 
 'Though yet, Heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
 Which hides your life, and shows not half your 
 
 parts. 
 If I could write the beauty of your eyes, 
 And in fresh numbers number all your graces, 
 The age to come would say, this poet lies, 
 Such heavenly touches, ne'er touch'd earthly faces. 
 So should my papers, yellow'd with their age, 
 Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue ; 
 And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage, 
 And stretched metre of an antique song : 
 
 But were some child of yours alive that time, 
 You should live twice ; — in it, and in my rhyme. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
 Sometime too hot the eye of Heaven shines, 
 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ; 
 And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
 By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd ; 
 But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; 
 Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
 tVhen in eternal lines to time thou growest ; 
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can sec, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, 
 And make the earth devour her own sweet brood ; 
 Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, 
 And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood ; 
 Make glad and sorry seasons, as thou fleet'st, 
 And do vvhate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, 
 To the wide world, and all her fading sweets ; 
 But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: 
 O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, 
 Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; 
 Him in thy course untainted do allow, 
 For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 
 
 Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong, 
 My love shall in my verse ever live young. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, 
 Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; 
 A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted 
 With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; 
 An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, 
 Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ; 
 i man in hue, all hues in his controlling, 
 Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls 
 
 amazeth. 
 And for a woman wert thou first created ; 
 Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a'-doting, 
 \nd v ;' addition me of thee defeated, 
 Uy adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 
 > Beauty. 
 
 But since she prick'd thee out for women't 
 
 pleasure, 
 Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure 
 
 XXI. 
 
 So is it not with me as with that muse, 
 
 Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse ; 
 
 Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, 
 
 And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ; 
 
 Making a couplement of proud compare, 
 
 With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich 
 
 gems, 
 With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare 
 That heaven's air in his huge rondure 3 hems. 
 let me, true in love, but truly write, 
 And then believe me, my love is as fair 
 As any mother's child, though not so bright 
 As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air : 
 l^et them say more that like of hearsay well 
 I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 My glass shall not persuade me I am old, 
 So long as youth and thou are of one date ; 
 But when in thee time's furrows I behold, 
 Then look I death my days should expiate. 
 For all that beauty that doth cover thee 
 Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, 
 Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me; 
 How can I then be elder than thou art? 
 therefore, love, be of thyself so wary, 
 As I not for myself but for thee will ; 
 Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
 As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 
 
 Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain j 
 Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 As an unperfect actor on the stage, 
 
 Who with his fear is put beside his part, 
 
 Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, 
 
 Whose strength's abundance wtakens his own 
 
 heart; 
 So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
 The perfect ceremony of "love's rite, 
 And in mine own love's strength seem to decay 
 O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's might. 
 let my books be then the eloquence 
 And dumb presagers of my speaking breast; 
 Who plead for love, and look for recompence 
 More than that tongue that more hath more ex- 
 press'd, 
 O learn to read what silent love hath writ: 
 To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stell'd 
 Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; 
 My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, 
 And perspective it is best painter's art. 
 For through the painter you must see his skill, 
 To find where your true image pictur'd lies, 
 Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, 
 That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. 
 Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done; 
 Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me 
 Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun 
 Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ; 
 
 Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, 
 They draw but what they see, know not the heart 
 a Circumference 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 051 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Let those who are in favor with their stars, 
 Of public honor and proud titles boast, 
 Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
 Unlook'd-for joy in that I honor most. 
 Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread 
 But as the marigold at the sun's eye ; 
 And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
 For at a frown they in their glory die. 
 The painful warrior famoused for fight, 
 After a thousand victories once foil'd, 
 [s from the book of honor razed quite, 
 And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd : 
 Then happy I, that love and am beloved, 
 Where I may not remove, nor be removed. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 
 Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, 
 To thee [ send this written embassage, 
 To witness duty, not to show my wit. 
 Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 
 May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it ; 
 But that I hope some good conceit of thine 
 In my soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it : 
 Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, 
 Points on me graciously with fair aspe'et, 
 And puts apparel on my tattered loving, 
 To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: 
 Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, 
 'nil then, not show my head where thou mayst 
 prove me. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, 
 The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ; 
 But then begins a journey in my head, 
 To work my mind, when body's work 's expir'd : 
 For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) 
 Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, 
 And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide, 
 Looking on darkness which the blind do see: 
 Save that my soul's imaginary sight 
 Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, 
 Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, 
 Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. 
 Lo, thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, 
 For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 How can I then return in happy plight, 
 That am debarr'd the benefit of rest] 
 When day's oppression is not eas'd by night. 
 But day by night and night by day oppress'd? 
 And each, though enemies to either's reign, 
 Do in consent shake hands to torture me, 
 The one by toil, the other to complain 
 How far I toil, still farther off from thee. 
 [ tell the day, to please him, thou art bright, 
 And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: 
 So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night; 
 When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the 
 even. 
 But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, 
 And night doth nightly make grief's length seem 
 stronger. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
 
 And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, 
 Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on thee, — and then my state 
 (Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate, 
 
 Fbr thy sweet love remember'd such wealth 
 brings, 
 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: 
 Then can I drown an eye unus'd to flow, 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 
 And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe, 
 And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregonej 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 Which I new pay as if not paid before. 
 But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 
 All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, 
 Which I by lacking have supposed dead ; 
 And there reigns love, and all love's loving parts 
 And all those friends which I thought buried. 
 How many a holy and obsequious tear 
 Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, 
 As interest of the dead, which now appear 
 But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie! 
 Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, 
 Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
 Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; 
 That due of many now is thine alone : 
 Their images I lov'd I view in thee, 
 And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 If thou survive my well-contented day, 
 
 When that churl Death my bones with dust shall 
 
 cover, 
 And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
 These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, 
 Compare them with the bettering of the time ; 
 And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, 
 Reserve them for my love, not for their rhymse, 
 Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
 O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought ! 
 " Had my friend's muse grown with this growing 
 
 age, 
 A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 
 To march in ranks of better equipage : 
 But since he died, and poets better prove, 
 Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love/ 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
 Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, 
 Kissing with golden *ace the meadows green, 
 Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymv 
 Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face. 
 
958 
 
 SONNETb. 
 
 And from the forlorn world his visage hide, 
 Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : 
 Even so my sun one early morn did shine, 
 With all triumphant splendor on my brow ; 
 But out! alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
 The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 
 
 Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 
 
 Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's 
 sun staineth. 
 
 XXXIV. * 
 
 Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, 
 And make me travel forth without my cloak, 
 To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, 
 Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke 1 
 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, 
 To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, 
 For no man well of such a salve can speak, 
 That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace : 
 Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief: 
 Though thou repent, yet I have still the loas : 
 The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
 To him that bears the strong offence's cross. 
 
 Ah ! but those tears are pearl which thy love 
 sheds, 
 
 And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 No more be gviev'd at that which thou hast done : 
 Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ; 
 Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, 
 And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
 All men make faults, and even I in this, 
 Authorizing thy trespass with compare, 
 Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,' 
 Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are : 
 For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, 
 (Thy adverse party is thy advocate,) 
 And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence : 
 Such civil war is in my love and hate, 
 
 That I an accessory needs must be 
 
 To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Let me confess that we two must be twain, 
 
 Although our undivided loves are one : 
 
 So shall those blots that do with me remain, 
 
 Vithout thy help, by me be borne alone. 
 In our two loves there is but one respect, 
 Though in our lives a separable spite, 
 Which though it alter not love's sole effect, 
 Vet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. 
 I may not evermore acknowledge thee, 
 Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame : 
 Nor thou with public kindness honor me, 
 Unless thou take that honor from thy name : 
 But do not so; I love thee in such sort, 
 As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 As a decrepit father takes delight 
 To see his active child do deeds of youth, 
 So, I made lame by fortune's dearest spite, 
 Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth ; 
 v or whether beauty, birth, or wealth or wit, 
 Or any of these all, or all, or more, 
 Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, 
 I make my love engrafted to this store : 
 So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, 
 Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, 
 « Fault 
 
 That I in thy abundance am suffie'd, 
 And by a part of all thy glory live. 
 
 Look what is best, that best I wish in thee ; 
 
 This wish I have ; then ten times happy me 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 How can my muse want subject to invent, 
 While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into raj 
 
 verse 
 Thine own sweet argument, too excellent 
 For every vulgar paper to rehearse 1 
 O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me 
 Worthy perusal stand against thy sight; 
 For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, 
 When thou thyself dost give invention light? 
 Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth 
 Than those old nine, which rhymers invocate ; 
 And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth 
 Eternal numbers to outlive long date. 
 
 If my slight muse do please these curious days, 
 The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, 
 
 When thou art all the better part of me ? 
 
 What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? 
 
 And what is't but mine own when I praise thee 1 
 
 Even for this let us divided live, 
 
 And our dear love lose name of single one, 
 
 That by this separation I may give 
 
 That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone. 
 
 absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove, 
 Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave 
 To entertain the time with thoughts of love, 
 (Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,) 
 
 And that thou teachest how to make one twain, 
 By praising him here, who doth hence remain .' 
 
 XL. 
 
 Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all ; 
 What hast thou then more than thou hadst 
 
 before 1 
 No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call ; ' 
 All mine whs thine, before thou hadst this more. 
 Then if for my love thou my love receivest, 
 
 1 cannot blame thee for 5 my love thou usest; 
 But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest 
 By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. 
 
 I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, 
 Although thou steal thee all my poverty; 
 And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief 
 To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury. 
 Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, 
 Kill me with spites ; yet we must not be foes. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits 
 When I am sometime absent from thy heart, 
 Thy beauty and thy fears full well befits, 
 For still temptation follows where thou art. 
 Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, 
 Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd ; 
 And when a woman woos, what woman's son 
 Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd ? 
 Ah me ! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, 
 And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, 
 Who lead thee in their riot even there 
 Where thou art forced to break a two-fold truth 
 Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee, 
 Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. 
 • Became 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 959 
 
 XLII. 
 
 That thou hast her. it is not all my grief, 
 And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly ; 
 That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 
 A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 
 Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye : — 
 Thou dost love her, because thou knew'st I love 
 
 her; 
 And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, 
 Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. 
 If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, 
 And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss ; 
 Both find each other, and I lose both twain, 
 And both for my sake lay on me this cross ; 
 
 But here's the joy ; my friend and I are one ; 
 
 Sweet flattery ! then she loves but me alone. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, 
 For all the day they view things unrespected ; 
 But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, 
 And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed ; 
 Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make 
 
 bright, 
 How would thy shadow's form form happy show 
 To the clear day, with thy much clearer light, 
 When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so ! 
 How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made 
 By looking on thee in the living day, 
 When in dead night thy fjjir fmperfect shade 
 Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay 1 
 All days are nights to see, till I see thee, 
 And nights, bright days, when dreams do show 
 thee me. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 [f the dull substance of my flesh were thought, 
 Injurious distance should not stop my way; 
 For then, despite of space, I would be brought 
 From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. 
 No matter then although my foot did stand 
 Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee, 
 For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, 
 As soon as think the place where he would be. 
 But ah! thought kills me, that I am not thought, 
 To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, 
 But that, so much of earth and water wrought, 
 I must attend time's leisure with my moan; 
 Receiving nought by elements so slow 
 But heavy tears, badges of either's woe : 
 
 XLV. 
 
 The other two, slight air and purging fire, 
 Are both with thee, wherever I abide; 
 The first my thought, the other my desire, 
 These present-absent with swift motion slide. 
 For when these quicker elements are gone 
 In tender embassy of love to thee, 
 My life, being made of four, with two alone 
 Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy; 
 Until life's composition be recured 
 By those swift messengers return'd from thee, 
 Who even but now come back again, assured 
 Of thy fair health, recounting it to me : 
 This told, I joy ; but then no longer glad, 
 I send them back again, and straight grow sad. 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, 
 How to divide the conquest of thy sight ; 
 
 Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, 
 My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
 My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, 
 (A closet never piere'd with crystal eyes,) 
 But the defendant doth that plea deny, 
 And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
 To 'cide this title is impannelled 
 A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; 
 And by their verdict is determined 
 The clear eye's mojety, and the dear heart's part: 
 As thus; mine eye's due is thine outward part, 
 And my heart's right thine inward love of 
 heart. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Betwixt mine eye and Heart a league is took, 
 And each doth good turns now unto the other: 
 When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, 
 Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother 
 With my love's picture than my eye doth feast, 
 And to the painted banquet bids my heart: 
 Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, 
 And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: 
 So, either by thy picture or my love, 
 Thyself away art present still with me ; 
 For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, 
 And I am still with them, and they with thee ; 
 Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight 
 Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 How careful was I when I took my way, 
 Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, 
 That, to my use, it might unused stay 
 From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust. 
 But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, 
 Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, 
 Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care, 
 Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. 
 Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, 
 Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, 
 Within the gentle closure of my breast, 
 From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and 
 part; 
 And even thence thou wilt be stolen I feai, 
 For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Against that time, if ever that time come, 
 When I shall see thee frown on my defects, 
 Whenas thy love hath cast its utmost sum, 
 Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects; 
 Against that time, when thou shalt strangely pass. 
 And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, 
 When love, converted from the thing it was, 
 Shall reasons find of settled gravity ; 
 Against that time do I ensconce me here 
 Within the knowledge of mine own desert, 
 And this my hand against myself uprear, 
 To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: 
 
 To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, 
 Since, why to love, I can allege no cause. 
 
 L. 
 
 How heavy do I journey on the way, 
 When what I seek — my weary travel's end-- 
 Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, 
 " Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend '" 
 The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, 
 Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me. 
 
960 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 As" if by some instinct the wretch did know 
 His ridf- Iov'd not speed, being made from thee: 
 To bloody spur cannot provoke him on 
 That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, 
 Which heavily he answers with a groan, 
 More sharp to me than spurring to his side; 
 For that same groan doth put this in my mind, 
 My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. 
 
 LI. . 
 
 Thus can my love excuse the slow offence 
 Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed: 
 From where thou art why should I haste me 
 
 thence ? 
 Till I return, of posting is no need. 
 what excuse will my poor beast then find, 
 When swift extremity can seem but slow? 
 Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind; 
 In winged speed no motion shall I know : 
 Then can no horse with my desire keep pace ; 
 Therefore desire, of perfect love being made, 
 Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race; 
 But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade; 
 Since from thee going he went wilful slow, 
 Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. 
 
 LII. 
 
 So am I as the rich, whose blessed key 
 Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, 
 The which he will not every hour survey, 
 For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. 
 Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, 
 Since seldom coming, in the long year set, 
 Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, 
 Or captain 6 jewels in the carcanet. 
 So is the time that keeps you, as my chest, 
 Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, . 
 To make some special instant special-blest, 
 By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. 
 
 Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, 
 Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, t* hope. 
 
 Lin. 
 
 What is your substance, whereof are you made, 
 That millions of strange shadows on you tend ? 
 Since every one hath, every one, one's shade, 
 And you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
 Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit 
 I.s poorly imitated after you ; 
 On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
 And you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
 Speak of the spring, and foizon of the year ; 
 The one doth shadow of your beauty show, 
 The other as your bounty doth appear, , 
 And you in every blessed shape we know. 
 In all external grace you have some part, 
 But you like none, none you, for constant heart. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 low much more doth beauty beauteous seem, 
 By that sweet ornament which truth doth give ! 
 The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
 For that sweet odor which doth in it live. 
 The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 
 As the perfumed tincture of the roses, 
 Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
 When summer's breath their masked buds dis- 
 closes 
 But, for their virtue only is their show, 
 They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade 
 « Chief. 
 
 Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; 
 
 Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors made 
 And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, 
 When that shall fade, by verse distils yn\\r trutt 
 
 LV. 
 
 Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
 
 Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; 
 
 But you shall shine more bright in these contents 
 
 Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. 
 
 When wasteful war shall statues overturn, 
 
 And broils root out the work of masonry, 
 
 Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shal. 
 
 burn 
 The living record of your memory. 
 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 
 Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find 
 
 room, 
 Even in the eyes of all posterity 
 That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
 So, till the judgment that yourself arise, 
 You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said, 
 Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, 
 Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, 
 To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might: 
 So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill 
 Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, 
 To-morrow see again, aVid do not kill 
 The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. 
 Let this sad interim like the ocean be 
 Which parts the shore, where two contracted-new 
 Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 
 Return of love, more blest may be the view ; 
 Or call it winter, which, being full of care, 
 Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish d, 
 more rare. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
 Upon the hours and times of your desire 1 
 I have no precious time at all to spend, 
 Nor services to do, till you require. 
 Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, 
 Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
 Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, 
 When you have bid your servuit once adieu ; 
 Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
 Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
 But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought, 
 Save, where you are how happy you make those; 
 So true a fool is love, that in your will 
 (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 That God forbid, that made me first your slave, 
 I should in thought control your times of pleasure, 
 Or at your hand the account of hours to cravo, 
 Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! 
 0, let me suffer (being at your beck) 
 The imprison'd absence of your liberty, 
 And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check 
 Without accusing you of injury. 
 Be where you list; your charter is so strong, 
 That you yourself may privilege your time: 
 Do what you will, to you it doth belong 
 Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. 
 
 I am to wait, though waiting so be hell; 
 
 Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or welL 
 
SONNETS 
 
 96 
 
 LIX. 
 
 If there he nothing new, but that which is 
 Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, 
 Which laboring for invention bears amiss 
 The second burthen of a former child! 
 O, that record could with a backward look, 
 Even of five hundred courses of the sun, 
 Show me your image in some antique book, 
 Since mind at first in character was done ! 
 That I might see what the old world could say 
 To this composed wonder of your frame ; 
 Whether we are mended, or whe'r better they, 
 Or whether revolution be the same. 
 ! sure I am, the wits of former days 
 To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, 
 So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
 Each changing place with that which goes before, 
 In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
 Nativity, once in the main of light, 
 Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, 
 Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, 
 And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound. 
 Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 
 And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; 
 Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, 
 And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. 
 And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand, 
 Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Is it thy will thy image should keep open 
 
 My heavy eyelids to the weary night? 
 
 Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, 
 
 While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight ? 
 
 Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 
 
 So far from home, into my deeds to pry ; 
 
 To find out shames and idle hours in me, 
 
 The scope and tenor of thy jealousy ? 
 
 O no! thy love, though much, is not so great; 
 
 It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, 
 
 Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, 
 
 To play the watchman ever for thy sake: 
 
 For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake else- 
 where, 
 
 From me far off, with others all-too-near. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, 
 And all my soul, and all my every part; 
 And for this sin there is no remedy, 
 It is so grounded inward in my heart. 
 Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, 
 No shape so true, no truth of such account, 
 And for myself mine own worth do define, 
 As I all other in all worths surmount. 
 But when my glass shows me myself indeed, 
 Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, 
 Mine own self-love quite contrary I read, 
 Self so self-loving were iniquity. 
 
 'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise, 
 Painting my age with beauty of thy days. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Against my love shall be, as I am now, 
 With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn ; 
 When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his 
 brow 
 
 With lines and wrinkles ; when his youthful mott 
 Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night, 
 And all those beauties, whereof now he's king, 
 Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, 
 Stealing away the treasure of his spring 
 For such a time do I now fortify 
 Against confounding age's cruel knife, 
 That he shall never cut from memory 
 My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life 
 His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, 
 And they shall live, and he in them, still greea 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
 The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; 
 When sometime lofty towers I see down-ra^il 
 And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage; 
 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
 And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main, 
 Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; 
 When I have seen such interchange of state, 
 Or state itself confounded to decay; 
 Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
 That time will come and take my love away. 
 This thought is as a death, which cannot choost 
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 
 But sad mortality o'ersways their power, 
 How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
 Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 
 O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
 Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stout, 
 Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? 
 O fearful meditation! where, alack! 
 Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid 1 
 Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back 1 
 Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? 
 O none, unless this miracle have might, 
 That in black ink my love may still shine bright 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, — 
 As, to behold desert a beggar born, 
 And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, 
 And purest faith unhappily foresworn, 
 And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, 
 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
 And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, 
 And strength by limping sway disabled. 
 And art made tongue-tied by authority, 
 And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, 
 And simple truth miscall'd simplicity. 
 And captive good attending captain ill: 
 
 Tired of all these, from these would I be gone 
 Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 Ah! wherefore with infection should he live, 
 And with his presence grace impiety, 
 That sin by him advantage should achieve, 
 And lace itself with his society? 
 Why should false painting imitate his cheek, 
 And steal dead seeing of his living hue ? 
 Why should poor beauty indirectly seek, 
 Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? 
 W r hy should he live now Nature bankrupt is, 
 Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins? 
 
962 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 For she hath no exchequer now but his, 
 And, proud of many, lives upon his gains. 
 
 0, him she stores, to show what wealth she had 
 In days long since, before these last so bad. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, 
 When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, 
 Before these bastard signs of fair 1 were borne, 
 Or durst inhabit on a living brow; - 
 Before the golden tresses of the dead, 
 The light of sepulchres, were shorn away, 
 To live a second life on second head, 
 Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: 
 In him those holy antique hours are seen, 
 Without all ornament, itself, and true, 
 Making no summer of another's green, 
 Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; 
 And him as for a map doth nature store, 
 To show false Art what beauty was of yore. 
 
 Lxrx. 
 
 Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view 
 Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend : 
 All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, 
 Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. 
 Thine outward thus with outward praise is crown'd ; 
 But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, 
 In other accents do this praise confound, 
 By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. 
 They look into the beauty of thy mind, 
 And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; 
 Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes 
 
 were kind, 
 To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: 
 But why thy odor matcheth not thy show, 
 The solve 8 is this, — that thou dost common grow. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect, 
 For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; 
 The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
 A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
 So thou be good, slander doth but approve 
 Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time; 
 For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, 
 And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. 
 Thou hast past by the ambush of young days, 
 Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd ; 
 Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, 
 To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd : 
 
 If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, 
 Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst 
 owe. 9 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it; for I love you so, 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 O if (I say) you look upon this verse, 
 When I perhaps '■ompounded am with clay, 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; 
 3ut let your love even with my life decay: 
 
 Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 Beaut?. •• Solution. 9 Own. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 O, lest the world should task you to recite 
 What merit lived in me, that you should low 
 After my death, — dear love, forget me quite, 
 For you in me can nothing worthy prove; 
 Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, 
 To do more for me than mine own desert, 
 And hang more praise upon deceased I 
 Than niggard truth would willingly impart: 
 0, lest your true love may seem false in this, 
 That you for love speak well of me untrue, 
 My name be buried where my body is, 
 And live no more to shame nor me nor you. 
 For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, 
 And so should you, to love things nothing worth, 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me behold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
 Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang 
 In me thou secst the twilight of such day, 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
 Which by and by black night doth take away, 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 In me thou seest the glowing of such ftre, 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by, 
 
 This thou perceiv'st which makes thy love mors 
 strong, 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ero 
 long: 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 But be contented : when that fell arrest 
 Without all bail shall carry me away, 
 My life hath in this line some interest, 
 Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. 
 When thou reviewest this, thou dost review 
 The very part was consecrate to thee. 
 The earth can have but earth, which is his due ; 
 My spirit is thine, the better part of me: 
 So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, 
 The prey of worms, my body being dead ; 
 The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, 
 Too base of thee to be remembered. 
 
 The worth of that, is that "which it contains, 
 And that is this, and this with thee remains. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 So are you to my thoughts, as food to life, 
 
 Or as sweet season'd showers are to the ground" 
 
 And for the peace of you I hold such strife 
 
 As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found ; 
 
 Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon 
 
 Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure: 
 
 Now counting best to be with you alone, 
 
 Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure 
 
 Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, 
 
 And by and by clean starved for a look ; 
 
 Possessing or pursuing no delight, 
 
 Save what is had or must from you be took 
 
 Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, 
 
 Or gluttoning ?n all, or all away. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Why is my verse so barren of new pride ? 
 So far from variation or quick change? 
 Why, with the time, do I not glance asioV 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 96* 
 
 To new-found methods and to compounds strange] 
 Why write I still all one, ever the same, 
 And keep invention in a noted weed, ' 
 That every word doth almost tell my name, 
 Showing their birth, and where they did proceed] 
 
 know, sweet love, I always write of you, 
 And you and love are still my argument: 
 So all my best is djessing old words new, 
 Spending again what is already spent; 
 
 For as the sun is daily new and old, 
 So is my love still telling what is told. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, 
 Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ; 
 The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, 
 And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. 
 The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, 
 Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; 
 Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know 
 Time's thievish progress to eternity. 
 Look what thy memory cannot contain, 
 Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
 Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, 
 To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
 These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, 
 Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse, 
 And found such fair assistance in my verse, 
 As every alien pen hath got my use, 
 And under thee their poesy disperse. 
 Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, 
 And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, 
 Have added feathers to the learned's wing, 
 A id given grace a double majesty. 
 Yet be most proud of that which I compile, 
 Whose influence is thine, and born of thee: 
 In others' works thou dost but mend the style, 
 And aits with thy sweet graces graced be ; 
 But thou art all my art, and dost advance 
 As high as learning my rude ignorance. 
 
 • lxxix. 
 
 Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, 
 My verse alone had all thy gentle grace; 
 But now my gracious numbers are decay'd, 
 \nd my sick muse doth give another place. 
 
 1 grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
 Deserves the travail of a worthier pen ; 
 Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, 
 He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. 
 
 He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
 From thy behavior; beauty doth he give, 
 .\nd found it in thy cheek ; he can afford 
 No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. 
 Then thank him not for that which he doth say, 
 Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 "), how I faint when I of you do write, 
 vCnowing a better spirit doth use your name, 
 /ind in the praise thereof spends all his might, 
 To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame ! 
 But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) 
 The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 
 My saucy bark, inferior far to his, 
 On your broad main doth wilfully appear. 
 Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, 
 ' A dress known find familiar. 
 
 Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride : 
 Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, 
 He of tall building, and of goodly pride : 
 Then if he thrive, and I be cast away, 
 The worst was this ; — my love was my decay. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Or I shall live your epitaph to make, 
 Or you survive when I in earth am rotten ; 
 From hence your memory death cannot take, 
 Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
 Your name from hence immortal life shall have, 
 Though I, once gone, to all the world must die ■ 
 The earth can yield me but a common grave, 
 When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
 Your monument shall be my gentle verse, 
 Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ; 
 And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, 
 When all the breathers of this world are dead; 
 You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen) 
 Where breath most breathes, — even in the mouthi 
 of men. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 I grant thou wert not married to my muse, 
 And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook 
 The dedicated words which writers use 
 Of their fair subject, blessing every book. 
 Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, 
 Finding thy worth a limit past my praise ; 
 And therefore art enfore'd to seek anew 
 Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
 And do so, love ; yet when they have devis'd 
 What strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
 Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd 
 In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend ; 
 And their gross painting might be better us'd 
 Where cheeks need blood ; in thee it is abus'd. 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 I never saw that you did painting need, 
 And therefore to your fair no painting set. 
 I found, or thought I found, you did exceed 
 The barren tender of a poet's debt : 
 And therefore have I slept in your report, 
 That you yourself, being extant, well might show 
 How far a modern quill doth come too short 
 Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow 
 This silence for my sin you did impute, 
 Which shall be most my glory, , being dumb; 
 For I impair not beauty being mute, 
 When others would give life, and bring a tomb. 
 There lives more life in one of your fair eyes 
 Than both your poets can in praise devise. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Who is it that says most] which can say more 
 Than this rich praise, — that you alone are you ] 
 In whose confine immured is the store 
 Which should example where your equal grew'' 
 Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, 
 That to his subject lends not some small glory, 
 But he that writes of you, if he can tell 
 That you are you, so dignifies his story, 
 Let him but copy what in you is writ, 
 Not making worse what nature made so clear, 
 And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, 
 Making his style admired every where. > 
 
 You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, 
 Being fond on praise, which mu* your Diaisee 
 worse. 
 
964 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 1 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 My tongue-tied muse in nLanners holds her still, 
 
 While comments of your praise, richly compil'd, 
 
 Reserve their character with golden quill, 
 
 And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd. 
 
 I think good thoughts, while others write good 
 
 words, 
 And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry "Amen" 
 To every hymn that able spirit affords, 
 In polish' d form of well-refined pen. 
 Hearing you prais'd, I say, " 'tis so, 'tis true," 
 And to the most of praise add something more ; 
 But that is in my thought, whose love to you, 
 Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before. 
 Then others for the breath of words respect, 
 Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, 
 Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you, 
 That bid my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, 
 Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? 
 Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 
 Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? 
 No, neither he, nor' his compeers by night 
 Giving him aid, my verse astonished. 
 He, nor that affable familiar ghost 
 Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, 
 As victors, of my silence cannot boast; 
 I was not sick of any fear from thence. 
 
 But when your countenance fil'd 3 up his line, 
 Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine. 
 
 lxxxvu. 
 
 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
 And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: 
 The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; 
 My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? 
 And for that riches where is my deserving? 
 The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not know- 
 ing, 
 Oi me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; 
 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
 Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
 Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, 
 In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, 
 And place my merit in the eye of scorn, 
 Upon thy side against myself I'll fight, 
 And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. 
 With mine own weakness being best acquainted, 
 Upon thy part I can set down a story 
 Of" faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted ; 
 That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory: 
 And I by this will be a gainer too; 
 For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, 
 The injuries that to myself I da 
 Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. 
 Such is my love, to thee I so belong, 
 That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, 
 \nd I will comment upon that offence: 
 ' Polished. 
 
 Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt 
 Against thy reasons making no defence. 
 Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill. 
 To set a form upon desired change, 
 As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will, 
 I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange 
 Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue 
 Thy sweet-beloved name no more shall dwell; 
 Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong, 
 And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
 For thee, against myself I'll vow debate, 
 For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate 
 
 XC. 
 
 Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; 
 Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
 Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, 
 And do not drop in for an after-loss: 
 Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scap'd this sorrow- 
 Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 
 Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, 
 To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. 
 If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, 
 When other petty griefs have done their spite, 
 But in the onset come; so shall I taste 
 At first the very worst of fortune's might ; 
 
 And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
 Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so 
 
 XCI. 
 
 Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, 
 Some in their wealth, some in their body's force; 
 Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill ; 
 Some in their hawks and hounds, some in then 
 
 horse ; 
 And every humor hath his adjunct pleasure, 
 Wherein it finds a joy above the rest; 
 But these particulars are not my measure, 
 All these I better in one general best. 
 Thy love is better than high birth to me, 
 Richer than weal tli^ prouder than garments' cost, 
 Of more delight than hawks or horses be ; 
 And, having thee, of all men's pride I boast. 
 Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take 
 All this away, and me most wretched make. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 But do thy worst to steal thyself away, 
 For term of life thou art assured mine ; 
 And life no longer than thy love will stay, 
 For it depends upon that love of thine. 
 Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, 
 When in the least of them my life hath end. 
 I see a better state to me belongs 
 Than that which on thy humor doth depend. 
 Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, 
 Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. 
 O what a happy title do I find, 
 Happy to have thy love, happy to die ! 
 
 But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?— 
 Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not: 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 So shall I live, supposing thou art true, 
 
 Like a deceived husband ; so love's face 
 
 May still seem love to me, though alter'd-new; 
 
 Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place : 
 
 For there can live no hatred in thine eye, 
 
 Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. 
 
 In many's looks the false heart's history 
 
 Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange; 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 965 
 
 Bat Heaven in thy creation did decree 
 
 That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ; 
 Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings 
 
 be, 
 Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness 
 tell. 
 How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, 
 If thy swee* virtue answer not thy show ! 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 Thoy that have power to hurt and will do none, 
 That do not do the thing they most do show, 
 Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
 Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow; 
 They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces, 
 And husband nature's riches from expense; 
 They are the lords and owners of their faces, 
 Others but stewards of their excellence. 
 The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 
 Though to itself it only live and die ; 
 But if that flower with base infection meet, 
 The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 
 
 For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds: 
 Lilies that fester smetl far worse than weeds. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame 
 Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, 
 Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name ! 
 0, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose ! 
 That tongue that tells the story of thy days, 
 Making lascivious comments on thy sport, 
 Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; 
 Naming thy name blesses an ill report. 
 O, what a mansion have those vices got 
 Which for their habitation chose out thee ! 
 Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, 
 And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see ! 
 
 Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; 
 
 The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness ; 
 Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; 
 Both grace and faults are Iov'd of more and less: 
 Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. 
 As on the finger of a throned queen 
 The basest jewel will be well esteem'd ; 
 So are those errors that in thee are seen, 
 To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. 
 How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
 If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! 
 How many gazers mightst thou lead away, 
 If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state! 
 But do not so; I love thee in such sort, 
 As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 • XCVII. 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ! 
 What old December's bareness everywhere ! 
 And yet this time remov'd 3 w»s summer's time; 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
 Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, 
 Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: 
 Yet this abundant issue seem'd to mc 
 But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
 And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
 
 * Time of absence. 
 
 Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter '* 
 near. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 From you have I been absent in the spring, 
 
 When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, 
 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, 
 
 That heavy Saturn Iaugh'd and leap'd with him. 
 
 Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
 
 Of different flowers in odor and in hue, 
 
 Could make me any summer's story tell, 
 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they 
 
 grew : 
 Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
 They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
 Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, 
 As with your shadow I with these did play : 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 The forward violet thus did I chide ; 
 
 Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that 
 
 smells, 
 If not from my love's breath ? The purple pride 
 Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, 
 In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd. 
 The lily I condemned for thy hand, 
 And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair: 
 The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 
 One blushing shame, another white despair; 
 A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, 
 And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath; 
 But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
 A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
 More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
 But sweet or color it had stolen from thee. 
 
 C. 
 
 Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long 
 To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? 
 Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, 
 Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light' 
 Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
 In gentle numbers time so idly spent; 
 Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem 
 And gives thy pen both skill and argument 
 Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face survey, 
 If Time have any wrinkle graven there ; 
 If any, be a satire to decay, 
 And make Time's spoils despised every where. 
 Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life , 
 So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. 
 
 CI. 
 
 truant Muse, what shall be thy amends, 
 For thy neglect of truth in" beauty dy'd? 
 Both truth and beauty on my love depends; 
 So dost thou too, and therein dignified. 
 Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say, 
 " Truth needs no color with his color fix'd, 
 Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay : 
 But best is best, if never intermix'd? — " 
 Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb* 
 Excuse not silence so ; for it lies in thee 
 To make him much outlive a gilded tomb, 
 And to be prais'd of ages yet to be. 
 
 Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how 
 To make him seem long hence as he show* 
 now 
 
906 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CII 
 
 My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in 
 
 seeming; 
 1 love not less, though less the show appear; 
 That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming 
 The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere. 
 Our love was new, and then but in the spring, 
 When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; 
 As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, 
 And stops his pipe in growth of riper days: 
 Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
 Than when her mournful hymns did hush tne 
 
 night, 
 But that wild music burthens every bough, 
 \nd sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
 Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue, 
 Because I would not dull you with my song. 
 
 cm. 
 
 Alack ! what poverty my muse brings forth, 
 That having such a scope to show her pride, 
 The argument, all bare, is of more worth, 
 Than when it hath my added praise beside. 
 O blame me not if I no more can write ! 
 Look in your glass, and there appears a face 
 That over-goes my blunt invention quite, 
 Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. 
 Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, 
 To mar the subject that before was well ? 
 For to no other pass my verses tend, 
 Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; 
 
 And more, much more, than in my verse can sit, 
 Your own glass shows you, when you look in it. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 
 For as you were when first your eye I eyed, 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 
 In process of the seasons have I seen ; 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
 Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
 Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand, 
 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd ; 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd. 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, 
 Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 CV. 
 
 Let not my love be call'd idolatry, 
 Nor my beloved as an idol show, 
 Since all alike my songs and praises be, 
 To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
 Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 
 Still constant in a wondrous excellence; 
 Therefore my verse, to constancy confin'd, 
 One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
 Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, 
 Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words; 
 And in this change is my invention spent, 
 Three themes in one, which wondrous scope af- 
 fords. 
 Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone, 
 Which three- ' ; .ll now, never kept seat in one. 
 
 CVI. 
 
 When in tne cnronicle of wasted time 
 [ see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, 
 In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have express'd 
 Even such a beauty as you master now. 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
 And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing: 
 For we, which now behold these present days, 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
 
 CVII. 
 
 Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
 Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, 
 Can yet thfe lease of my true love control, 
 Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. 
 The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd, 
 And the sad augurs mock their own presage; 
 Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd, 
 And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
 Now with the drops of this most balmy time 
 My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, 4 
 Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme, 
 While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. 
 And thou in this shalt find thy monument, 
 When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are 
 spent. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 What's in the brain that ink may character, 
 Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit? 
 What's new to speak, what now to register, 
 That may express my love, or thy dear merit 1 
 Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine, 
 I must each day say o'er the very same; 
 Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 
 Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. 
 So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
 Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 
 Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, 
 But makes antiquity for aye his page; 
 
 Finding the first conceit of love there bred, 
 Where time and outward form would show ii 
 dead. 
 
 CIX. 
 
 0, never say that I was false of heart, 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify' 
 As easy might I from myself depart, 
 As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie. 
 That is my home of love : if I have rang'd, 
 Like him that travels, I return again ; 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd, — 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
 That it could so preposterously be stain'd, 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
 For nothing this wide universe I call, 
 Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 
 
 CX. 
 
 Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there, 
 
 And made myself a motley to the view, 
 
 Gor'd' mine own thoughts, sold cheap what ii 
 
 most dear, 
 Made old offences of affections new. 
 Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth 
 4 Submits. » Wounded. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 967 
 
 Askance and strangely ; but, by all above, 
 These blenches gave my heart another youth, 
 \nd worst essays prov'd thee my best of love. 
 Now all is done, save what shall have no end: 
 Mine appetite I never more will grind 
 On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
 A god in love, to whom I am confin'd. 
 
 Then give me welcome, next my heaven the 
 best, 
 
 Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 
 
 CXI. 
 
 O for my sake do you with Fortune chide, 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
 That did not better for my life provide, 
 Than public means, which public manners breeds. 
 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 And almost thence my nature is subdued • • 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: 
 Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd; 
 Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
 Potions of eysell, 6 'gainst my strong infection ; 
 No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
 Nor double penance, to correct correction. 
 Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye, 
 Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
 Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; 
 For what care I who calls me well or ill, 
 So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow] 
 You are my all-the-world, and I must strive 
 To know my shames and praises from your tongue ; 
 None else to me, nor I to none alive, 
 That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. 
 In so profound abysm I throw all care 
 Of others' voices, that my adder's sense 
 To critic and to flatterer stopped are. 
 Mark how with my neglect I do dispense: — 
 You are so strongly in my purpose bred, 
 That all the world besides methinks are dead. 
 
 CXIII. 
 
 Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind ; 
 And that which governs me to go about 
 Doth part his function, and is partly blind, 
 Seems seeing, but effectually is out; 
 For it no form delivers to the heart 
 Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth lack; 
 Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, 
 Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch ; 
 For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, 
 The most sweet favor, or deformed'st creature, 
 The mountain or the sea, the day or night, 
 The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. 
 Incapable of more, replete with you, 
 My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. 
 
 CXIV. 
 
 Or whether doth my rrrind, being crown'd with you, 
 Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery, 
 Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true, 
 And that your love taught it this alchymy, 
 To make of monsters and things indigest, 
 Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, 
 Creating every bad a perfect best, 
 As fast as objects to his beams assemble? 
 O, 'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing, 
 And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: 
 • Vinegar. 
 
 Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeiug. 
 And to his palate ctoth prepare the cup: 
 If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin 
 That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. 
 
 cxv. 
 
 Those lines that I before have writ, do lie, 
 Even those that said I could not love you dearer 
 Yet then my judgment knew no reason why 
 My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. 
 But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents 
 Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, 
 Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, 
 Divert strong minds to the course of aHering things; 
 Alas! why, fearing of Time's tyranny, 
 Might I not then say, " Now I love you best," 
 When I was certain o'er incertainty, 
 Crowning the present, doubting of the rest] 
 Love is a babe ; then might I not say so, 
 To give full growth to that which still doth grow ' 
 
 CXVI. 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 
 Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 
 Or bends with the remover to remove: 
 
 O no ; it is an ever-fixed mark, 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be 
 
 taken. 
 Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lip? ind cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 If this be error, and upon me prov'd, 
 I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all 
 Wherein I should your great deserts repay; 
 Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 
 Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ; 
 That I have frequent been with unknown minds, 
 And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right; 
 That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
 Which should transport me farthest from your 
 
 sight. 
 Book both my wilfulness and errors down, 
 And on just proof surmise accumulate, 
 Bring me within the level of your frown, 
 But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate: 
 Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove 
 The constancy and virtue of your love. 
 
 CXVIII. 
 
 Like as, to make our appetites more keen, 
 With eager compounds we our palate <urge: 
 As, to prevent our maladies unseen, 
 We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge; 
 Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweel 
 
 ness, 
 To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding, 
 And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness 
 To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. 
 Thus policy in love, to anticipate 
 The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, 
 And brought to medicine a healthful state, 
 Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured 
 
 But thence I ltarn, and find the lesson true. 
 
 Drugs uoison hin. that so fell sick of you 
 
$68 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, 
 Distill'd from limbecs foul as hell within, 
 Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, 
 Still losing when I saw myself to win ! 
 What wretched errors hath my heart committed, 
 Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! 
 How have mine eyes out of their spheres been 
 
 fitted; 
 In the distraction of this madding fever ! 
 O benefit of ill ! now I find true 
 That better is by evil still made better; 
 And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, 
 Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
 So Preturn rebuk'd to my content, 
 And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. 
 
 cxx. 
 
 That you were once unkind, befriends me now, 
 And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, 
 Needs must I under my transgression bow, 
 Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. 
 For if you were by my unkindness shaken, 
 As I by yours, you have passed a hell of time ; 
 And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
 To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 
 
 that our night of woe might have remember'd 
 My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, 
 And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd 
 The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits! 
 
 But that your trespass now becomes a fee: 
 Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. 
 
 CXXI. 
 
 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd, 
 When not to be receives reproach of being, 
 And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd 
 Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. 
 For why should others' false adulterate eyes 
 (live salutation to my sportive blood ? 
 Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, ^ 
 Which in their wills count bad what I think good? 
 No. — I am that I am ; and they that level 
 At my abuses, reckon up their own : 
 
 1 may be straight, though they themselves be bevel ; 
 By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be 
 
 shown ; 
 Unless this general evil they maintain, — 
 All men are bad, and in their hadness reign. 
 
 exxir. 
 
 Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain 
 Full character'd with lasting memory, 
 Which shall above that idle rank remain, 
 Beyond all date, even to eternity: 
 Or at the least so long as brain and heart 
 Have faculty by nature to subsist; 
 Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part 
 Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. 
 That poor retention could not so much hold, 
 Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score ; 
 Therefore to give them from me was I bold, 
 To trust those tables that receive thee more: 
 To keep an adjunct to remember thee, 
 Were to import forgetfulness in me. 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 \o ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change : 
 Thy pyramids built up with newer might 
 ' Subjected to fits. 
 
 To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; 
 They are but dressings of a former sight. 
 Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire 
 What thou dost foist upon us that is old ; 
 And rather make them born to our desire. 
 Than think that we before have heard them ti»ld 
 Thy registers and thee I both defy, 
 Not wondering at the present nor the pasi^ 
 For thy records and what we see do lie, 
 Made more or less by thy continual haste: 
 This I do vow, and this shall ever be, 
 I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 If my dear love were but the child of state, 
 It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd, 
 As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate, 
 Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flower* 
 
 gather'd. 
 No, it was builded far from accident ; 
 It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls 
 Under the blow of thralled discontent, 
 Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls: 
 It fears not policy, that heretic, 
 Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, 
 But all alone stands hugely politic, 
 That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with 
 showers. 
 To this I witness call the fools of time, 
 Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime 
 
 exxv. 
 
 Were it aught to mt I bore the canopy, 
 With my extern the outward honoring, 
 Or laid great bases for eternity, 
 Which prove more short than waste or ruining 1 ? 
 Have I not seen dwellers on form and favor 
 Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, 
 For compound sweet forgoing simple savor, 
 Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? 
 No; — let me be obsequious in thy heart, 
 And take thou my oblation, poor but free, 
 Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no ail, 
 But mutual render, only me for thee. 
 
 Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a true soul, 
 When most impeach'd, stands least in thy con 
 trol. 
 
 CXXVI. 
 
 thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power 
 Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; 
 Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st 
 Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st! 
 If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, 
 As thou go'st onwards, still will pluck thee back. 
 She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill 
 May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. 
 Yet fear her, thou minion of her pleasure ; 
 She may detain, but not still keep her treasure: 
 
 Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, 
 
 And her quietus is to render thee. 
 
 CXXVII. 
 
 In the old age black was not counted fair, 
 Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; 
 But now is black beauty's successive heir, 
 And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame: 
 For since each hand hath put on nature's power, 
 Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face, 
 Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour, 
 But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 96i) 
 
 Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, 
 Her eyes so suited ; and they mourners seem 
 At such, who, not born fair, no beauty lack, 
 Slandering creation with a false esteem : 
 Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, 
 That every tongue says, beauty should look so. 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, 
 Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
 With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st 
 The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, 
 Do I envy' those jacks, 8 that nimble leap 
 To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, 
 Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest 
 
 reap, 
 At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! 
 To be so tickled, they would change their state 
 And situation with those dancing chips, 
 O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, 
 Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. 
 Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, 
 Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 
 
 CXXIX. 
 
 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
 Is lust in action; and till action, lust 
 Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, 
 Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; 
 Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight; 
 Past reason hunted ; and no sooner had, 
 Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait, 
 On purpose laid to make the taker mad: 
 Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; 
 Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; 
 A bliss in proof, — and prov'd, a very woe ; 
 Before, a joy propos'd ; behind, a dream : 
 
 All this the world well knows; yet none knows 
 well 
 
 To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 
 
 exxx. 
 
 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ; 
 Coral is far more red than her lips' red : 
 If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun ; 
 If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. 
 I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, 
 But no such loses see I in her cheeks; 
 And in some pertumes is there more delight 
 Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. 
 I love to hear her speak, — yet well I know 
 That music hath a far more pleasing sound ; 
 I grant I never saw a goddess go, — 
 My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground ; 
 And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare 
 As any she belied with false compare. 
 
 CXXXI. 
 
 Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, 
 
 As those whose beauties proudly make them 
 
 cruel ; 
 For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart 
 Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. 
 Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, 
 Thy face hath not the power to make love groan : 
 To say they err, I dare not be so bold, 
 Although I swear it to myself alone. 
 And, to be sure that is not false I swear, 
 A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, 
 
 • Small hammers, moved by keys, whick strike the 
 itrJDKB of a virgin*' 
 
 One on another's neck, do witness bear 
 Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. 
 In nothing art thou black, save in tly deeds, 
 And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. 
 
 OXXXII. 
 
 Thine eyes I love, and tl $y, as pitying me, 
 
 Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain; 
 
 Have put on black, and loving mourners be, 
 
 Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 
 
 And truly not the morning sun of heaven 
 
 Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, 
 
 Nor that full star that ushers in the even, 
 
 Doth half that glory to the sober west, 
 
 As those two mourning eyes become thy face; 
 
 O, let it then as well beseem thy heart 
 
 To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee 
 
 grace, 
 And suit thy pity like in every part. 
 
 Then will I swear beauty herself is black, 
 And all they foul that thy complexion lack. 
 
 CXXXIII 
 
 Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan 
 
 For that deep wound it gives my friend and me ! 
 
 Is 't not enough to torture me alone, 
 
 But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be1 
 
 Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, 
 
 And my next self thou harder hast engross'd; 
 
 Of him, myself, and ;hee, I am forsaken; 
 
 A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd. 
 
 Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, 
 
 But then my friend's heart let my poor heart 
 
 bail; 
 Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; 
 Thou canst not then use rigor in my gaol: 
 A&:i yet thou wilt ; for I, being pent in thee, 
 Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 
 
 CXXXIV. 
 
 So now I have confess'd that he is thine, 
 And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will; 
 Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine 
 Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: 
 But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, 
 For thou art covetous, and he is kind; 
 He lcarn'd but, surety-like, to write for me, 
 Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. 
 The statute 9 of thy beauty thou wilt take, 
 Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use, 
 And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake; 
 So him I lose through my unkind abuse. 
 
 Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me „ 
 He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. 
 
 exxxv. 
 
 Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, 
 And will to boot, and will in over-plus; 
 More than enough am I that vex thee still, 
 To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
 Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, 
 Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ! 
 Shall will in others seem right gracious. 
 And in my will no fair acceptance shine? 
 The sea, all water, yet receives rain still. 
 And in abundance addeth to his store; 
 So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will 
 One will of mine, to make thy large will more. 
 Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill* 
 Think all but one, and me in that one WitL 
 
 30 
 
 Obligation. 
 
U70 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 CXXXVI. 
 
 !f thy soul check thee that I come 30 near, 
 Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, 
 And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; 
 Thus tar for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. 
 Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, 
 Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. 
 In things of great receipt with ease we prove; 
 Among a number one is reckon'd none. 
 Then in the number let me pass untold, 
 Though in thy stores' account I one must be; 
 For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
 That nothing me, a something sweet to thee : 
 Make but my name thy love, and love that .t'll, 
 And then thou lov'st me, — for my name is Witt. 
 
 CXXXVII. 
 
 Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, 
 That they behold, and see not what they see? 
 They know what beauty is, see where it lies, 
 Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. 
 [f eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks 
 Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride, 
 Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, 
 Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? 
 Why should my heart think that a several plot, 
 Which my heart knows the wide world's common 
 
 place ? 
 Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not, 
 To put fair truth upon so foul a face; 
 In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd. 
 And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. 
 
 CXXXVIII. 
 
 When my love swears that she is made of truth, 
 I do believe her, though ] know she lies ; 
 That she might think me some untutor'd youth, 
 Unlearned in the world's false subtilties. 
 Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
 Although she knows my days are past the best, 
 Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue, 
 On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. 
 But wherefore says she not she is unjust? 
 And wherefore say not I that I am old? 
 0, love's best habit is in seeming trust, 
 \nd age in love loves not to have years told: 
 Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, 
 Asd in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 
 
 CXXXIX. 
 
 0, call not me to justify the wrong 
 That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; 
 Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue ; 
 Use power with power, and slay me not by art. 
 Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight, 
 Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. 
 What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy 
 
 might 
 Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide? 
 Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows 
 Her pretty looks have been mine enemies; 
 And therefore from my face she turns my foes, 
 That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: 
 Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, 
 Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. 
 
 CXL. 
 
 Be wisr as thou art cruel ; do not press 
 
 My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; 
 
 '■est sorrow lend me words, and words express 
 
 The mannei of my pity-wanting pain. 
 If I might teach thee wit, better it weie, 
 Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; 
 (As testy sick men, when their deaths be neai, 
 No news but health from their physicians know ^ 
 For, if I should despair, I should grow mad. 
 And in my madness might speak ill of thee: 
 Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, 
 M»d slanderers by mad ears believed be. 
 That I may not be so, nor thou belied, 
 Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart 
 go wide. 
 
 CXLT. 
 
 In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, 
 For they in thee a thousand errors note; 
 But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, 
 Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote. 
 Nor are my ears with thy tongue's tune delighl>- 
 Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, 
 Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited 
 To any sensual feast with thee alone : 
 But my five wits, nor my five senses can 
 Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, 
 Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, 
 Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: 
 Only my plague thus far I count my gain, 
 That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. 
 
 CXLII. 
 
 Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, 
 Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: 
 but with mine compare thou thine own state, 
 And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; 
 Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, 
 That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments, 
 And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine; 
 Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents. 
 Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those 
 Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee 
 Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows, 
 Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. 
 
 If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, 
 By self-example mayst thou be denied ! 
 
 CXLIII. 
 
 Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch 
 One of her feather'd creatures broke away, 
 Sets down her babe, and makes all swift despatch 
 In pursuit of the thing she would have stay ; 
 Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, 
 Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent 
 To follow that which flies before her face, 
 Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; 
 So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, 
 Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; 
 But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, 
 And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind: 
 So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Wit% 
 If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 
 
 CXLIV. 
 
 Two loves I have of comfort and despair, 
 Which like two spirits do .suggest me still; 
 The better angel is a man right fair, 
 The worser spirit a woman, color'd ill. 
 To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
 Tempteth my better angel from my side, 
 And would corrupt my saint to be a devil. 
 Wooing his purity with her foul pride. 
 And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 971 
 
 Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ; 
 
 But, being both from me, both to each friend, 
 
 I guess one angel in other's hell. 
 
 Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, 
 Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 
 
 CXLV. 
 
 Those li,>s that Love's own hand did make, 
 
 Breath'd forth the sound that said, "I hate," 
 
 To me that languish'd for her sake: 
 
 But when she saw my woeful state, 
 
 Straight in heart did mercy come, 
 
 Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet 
 
 Was used in giving gentle doom ; 
 
 And taught it thus anew to greet: 
 
 " I hate" she alter'd with an end, 
 
 That follow'*! it as gentle day 
 
 Doth follow night, who like a fiend 
 
 From heaven to hell is flown away. 
 " I hate" from hate away she threw, 
 And s^v'd my life, saying — " not you." 
 
 CXLVI. 
 
 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
 Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, 
 Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, 
 Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend 1 
 Shall worms, inheritors of tins excess, 
 Eat up thy charge ? Is this thy body's end ? 
 Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy store; 
 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more : 
 So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, 
 And, Death once dead, there's no more dying then. 
 
 CXLVII. 
 
 My love is as a fever, longing still 
 
 For that which longer nurseth the disease; 
 
 Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, 
 
 The uncertain sickly appetite to please. 
 
 My reason, the physician to my love, 
 
 Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, 
 
 Hath left me, and I desperate now approve 
 
 Desire is death, which physic did except. 
 
 Past cure I am, now reason is past cure, . 
 
 And frantic mad with evermore unrest; 
 
 Mv thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, 
 
 At random from the truth vainly express'd; 
 
 For I have sworn thee fair, a.id thought thee 
 bright, 
 
 Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 
 
 CXLVIII. 
 
 O me ! what eyes hath love put in my head, 
 Which have no correspondence with true sight ! 
 Oi y if they have, where is my judgment fled, 
 That censures falsely what they see aright] 
 If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
 What means the world to say it is not so ? 
 If it be rot, then love doth well denote 
 Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no, 
 How can it ■ how can Love's eye be true, 
 That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? 
 No maivel then though I mistake my view; 
 The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. 
 
 O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me 
 blind, 
 
 Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 
 
 CXLIX. 
 
 Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not, 
 When I, against myself, with thee partake? 
 Do I not think on thee, when I forgot 
 Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake? 
 Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? 
 On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ' 
 Nay if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend 
 Revenge upon myself with present moan ? 
 What merit do I in myself respect, 
 That is so proud thy service to despise, 
 When all my best doth worship thy defect, 
 Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ? 
 
 But, love, hate on, for now I know thy miad; 
 
 Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind 
 
 CL. 
 
 0, from what power hast thou this powerful might 
 With insufficiency my heart to sway? 
 To make me give the lie to my true sight, 
 And swear that brightness doth not grace the day ? 
 Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill. 
 That in the very refuse of thy deeds 
 There is such strength and warrantise of skill, 
 That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? 
 Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, 
 The more I hear and see just cause of hate? 
 O, though I love what others do abhor, 
 With others thou shouldst not abhor my state; 
 If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, 
 More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. 
 
 CLI. 
 
 Love is too young to know what conscience is; 
 Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love? 
 Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, 
 Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove 
 For thou betraying me, I do betray 
 My nobler part to my gross body's treason, 
 My soul doth tell my body that he may 
 Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason 
 But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
 As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, 
 He is contented thy poor drudge to be, 
 To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. 
 No want of conscience hold it that I call 
 Her — love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. 
 
 CLII. 
 
 In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, 
 But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing, 
 In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, 
 In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
 But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
 When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most; 
 For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, 
 And all my honest faith in thee is lost: 
 For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindneaa 
 Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy ; 
 And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, 
 Or made them swear against the thing they see - 
 For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd I, 
 To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie. 
 
 CLIII. 
 
 Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep: 
 A maid of Dian's this advantage foutid, 
 And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep 
 In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; 
 Which borrow 'd from this holy fire of love 
 
972 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 A dateless lively heat, still to endure, 
 And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove 
 Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
 But at my mistress' eye, Love's brand new-fired, 
 The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; 
 I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, 
 And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest, 
 But found no cure ; the bath for my help lies 
 "Where Cupid got new fire, — my mistress' eyes. 
 
 CLIV. 
 
 The little love-god, lying once asleep, 
 Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, 
 
 Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to 
 
 keep, 
 Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand 
 The fairest votary took up that fire 
 Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd : 
 And so the general of hot desire 
 Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. 
 This brand she quenched in a cool well by, 
 Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, 
 Growing a bath and healthful remedy 
 For men diseas'd ; but L, my mistress' thral, 
 Came there for cure, and this by that I provQ 
 Love'a fire heats water, water cools not love. 
 
 — in- — n — r 
 
 ■■--■ . -.l----:-^- :■„ 
 
 - - - '• ■■'■ ■ ' '■ ■■- '■ — 
 
PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 I. 
 
 DiL> not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
 'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument, 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 
 Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
 A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: 
 My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
 Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me. 
 My vow was breath, and breath a vapor is ; 
 Then, thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine, 
 Exhale this vapor vow ; in thee it is : 
 If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 
 
 If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
 
 To lose an oath to win a paradise? 
 
 II. 
 
 Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brooK, 
 
 With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, 
 
 Did court the lad with many a lovely look, 
 
 Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. 
 
 She told him stories to delight his ear; 
 
 She show'd him favors to allure his eye; 
 
 To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there: 
 
 Touches so soft still conquer chastity. 
 
 But whether unripe years did want conceit, 
 
 Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer, 
 
 The tender nibbler would not touch the bait, 
 
 But smile and jest at every gentle offer: 
 
 Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward ; 
 
 He rose and ran away ; ah, fool too froward ! 
 
 III. 
 
 If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? 
 
 O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd: 
 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant 
 prove ; 
 
 Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers 
 bow'd. 
 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine 
 eyes, 
 
 Where all those pleasures live that art can com- 
 prehend. 
 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suf- 
 fice; 
 
 Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 
 commend ; 
 
 All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder; 
 
 Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts ad- 
 mire: 
 
 Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his 
 dreadful thunder, 
 
 Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire ; 
 Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong, 
 To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly 
 tongue. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, 
 And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, 
 [973] 
 
 When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, 
 A longing tarriance for Adonis made, 
 Under an osier growing by a brook, 
 A brook where Adon used to cool his spleen. 
 Hot was the day ; she hotter that did look 
 For his approach, that often there had been. 
 Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by, 
 And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim 
 The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye, 
 Yet not so wistly as this queen on him : 
 
 He, spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood ; 
 
 Oh Jove, quoth she, why was not I a flood ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle ; 
 
 Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; 
 
 Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle. 
 
 Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty: 
 A lily pale, with damask die to grace her. 
 None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 
 
 Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, 
 Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing! 
 How many tales to please me hath she coin'd, 
 Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing! 
 Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings, 
 Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were 
 jestings. 
 
 She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth, 
 She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burneth, 
 She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing, 
 She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning. 
 
 Was this a lover, or a lecher whether ? 
 
 Bad in the best, though excellent in neither. 
 
 VI. 
 
 If music and sweet poetry agree, 
 As they must needs, the sister and the brother, 
 Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, 
 Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. 
 Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
 Upon the lute doth ravish human sense; 
 Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such, 
 As, passing all conceit, needs no defence. 
 Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound 
 That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes; 
 And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, 
 Whenas himself to singing he betakes. 
 
 One god is god of both, as poets feign; 
 
 One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love,' 
 
 Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, 
 For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild : 
 Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill: 
 Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds: 
 She, silly queen, with more than love's good will, 
 1 The second line is lost. 
 
974 
 
 PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds ; 
 Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth 
 Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar, 
 Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth ! 
 See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore : 
 
 She showed hers; he saw more wounds than 
 one, 
 
 And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon 
 faded, 
 
 Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring ! 
 
 Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded! 
 
 Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting ! 
 Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, 
 And falls, through wind, before the fall should be. 
 
 I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ; 
 For why 1 thou left'st me nothing in thy will. 
 And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave ; 
 For why ? I craved nothing of thee still : 
 
 yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee ; 
 
 Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Venus, with Adonis sitting by her, 
 
 Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him : 
 
 She told the youngling how god Mars did try her, 
 
 And as he fell to her, she fell to him. 
 
 Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embraced 
 
 me; 
 And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms: 
 Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlaced me ; 
 As if the boy should use like loving charms. 
 Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips, 
 And with her lips on his did act the seizure; 
 And as she fetched breath, away he skips; 
 \nd would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. 
 Ah! that I had my lady at this bay, 
 To kiss and clip me till I run away ! 
 
 Crabbed age and youth 
 
 Cannot live together; 
 Youth is full of plcasance, 
 
 Age is full of care: 
 Youth like summer morn, 
 
 Age like winter weather; 
 Youth like summer brave, 
 
 Age like winter bare. 
 Youth is full of sport, 
 Age's breath is short, 
 
 Youth is nimble, age is lame: 
 Youth is hot and bold, 
 Age is weak and cold ; 
 
 Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
 \ge, I do abhor thee, 
 i r outh, I do adore thee; 
 
 O, my love, my love is young ! 
 Age, I do defy thee; 
 O sweet shepherd, hie thee, 
 
 For methinks thou stay'st too long 
 
 XI. 
 
 Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, 
 
 A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly ; 
 
 A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud ; 
 
 \ brittle glass, that's broken presently : 
 A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, 
 Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour. 
 
 And as goods lost are seld or never found, 
 As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh, 
 As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground. 
 As broken glass no cement can redress, 
 So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, 
 In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost 
 
 XII. 
 
 Good night, good rest. Ah ! neither be my share- 
 She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; 
 And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care, 
 To descant on the doubts of my decay. 
 
 Farewell, quoth she, and come again to-morrow 
 Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. 
 
 Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, 
 In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: 
 'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 
 'T may be, again to make me wander thither: 
 Wander, a word for shadows like myself, 
 As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east! 
 My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise 
 Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest, 
 Not daring trust the office of mine eyes. 
 
 While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, 
 And wish her lays were tuned like the lark; 
 
 For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty, 
 And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: 
 The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ; 
 Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight, 
 Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with sor- 
 row ; 
 For why? she sigh'd, and bade me come to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Were I with her, the night would post too soon ; 
 But now are minutes added to the hours ; 
 To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ; 
 Yet not for me, shine sun to succor flowers ! 
 
 Pack night, peep day : good day, of night now 
 borrow ; 
 
 Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-mor- 
 
 XIV. 
 
 It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three, 
 That liked of her master as well as well might be, 
 Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that 
 
 eye could see, 
 Her fancy fell a turning. 
 Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love 
 
 did fight, 
 To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant 
 
 knight : 
 To put in practice either, alas it was a spite 
 
 Unto the silly damsel. 
 But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain, 
 That nothing could be us<tl, to turn them both to 
 
 gain, 
 For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with 
 
 disdain : 
 Alas, she could not help it ! 
 Thus art, with arms contending, was victor of the 
 
 day, 
 Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; 
 Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady 
 
 gay; 
 
 For now my song is ended. 
 
PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 975 
 
 XV. 
 
 On a day (alack the day !), 
 Love, whose month was ever May, 
 Spied a blossom passing fair, 
 Playing in the wanton air: 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find; 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 
 Air, would I might triumph so ! 
 But alas, my hand hath sworn 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, 
 Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet 
 Do not call it sin in me, 
 That I am forsworn for thee ; 
 Thou for whom Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 My flocks feed not, 
 My ewes bred not, 
 My rams speed not, 
 
 All is amiss: 
 Love is dying, 
 Faith's defying, 
 Heart's denying, 
 Causer of this. 
 
 All my merry jigs are quite forgot, 
 All my lady's love is lost, God wot : 
 Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love, 
 There a nay is placed without remove. 
 One silly cross 
 Wrought all my loss; 
 
 frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame ! 
 For now I see, 
 Inconstancy 
 
 More in women than in men remain. 
 
 In black mourn I, 
 All fears scorn I, 
 Love hath forlorn me, 
 
 Living in thrall : 
 Heart is bleeding, 
 All help needing, 
 (0 cruel speeding!) 
 
 Fraughted with gall. 
 My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,' 
 My wether's bell rings doleful knell ; 
 My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd, 
 Plays not at all, but seems afraid; 
 With sighs so deep, 
 Procures to weep, 
 
 In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. 
 How sighs resound 
 Through heartless ground, 
 
 Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody 
 fight! 
 
 Clear wells spring not, 
 Sweet birds sing not, 
 Green plants bring not 
 
 Forth; they die: 
 Herds stand weeping, 
 Flocks all sleeping, 
 Nymphs back peeping 
 
 Fearfully. 
 
 4 In no degree. 
 
 All our pleasure known to us poor swains. 
 All our merry meetings on the plains, 
 All our evening sport from us is fled, 
 All our love is lost, for Love is dead. 
 Farewell, sweet love, 
 Thy like ne'er was 
 
 For a sweet content, the cause of all my 
 moan: 
 Poor Coridon 
 Must live alone, 
 
 Other help for him I see that there i» none 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame, 
 And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike, 
 Let reason rule things worthy blame, 
 As well as fancy, partial might: 
 Take counsel of some wiser head, 
 Neither too young, nor yet unwed. 
 
 And when thou com'st thy tale to tell, 
 Smooth not thy tougue with filed talk. 
 Lest she some subtle practice smell ; 
 (A cripple soon can find a halt:) 
 
 But plainly say thou lov'st her well, 
 
 And set her person forth to sell. 
 
 What though her frowning brows be bent, 
 
 Her cloudy looks will calm ere night; 
 
 And then too late she will repent, 
 
 That thus dissembled her delight; 
 And twice desire, ere it be day, 
 That which with scorn she put away. 
 
 What though she strive to try her strengtli, 
 And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, 
 Her feeble force will yield at length, 
 When craft hath taught her thus to say: 
 
 " Had women been so strong as men, 
 
 In faith you had not had it then." 
 
 And to her will frame all thy ways; 
 Spare not to spend, — and chiefly there 
 Where thy desert may merit praise, 
 By ringing in thy lady's ear: 
 
 The strongest castle, tower, and town, 
 
 The golden bullet beats it down. 
 
 Serve always with assured trust, 
 
 And in thy suit be humble, true; 
 
 Unless thy lady prove unjust, 
 
 Press never thou to choose anew: 
 
 When time shall serve, be thou not slack 
 To proffer, though she put thee back. 
 
 The wiles and guiles that women work, 
 Dissembled with an outward show, 
 The tricks and toys that in them lurk, 
 The cock that treads them shall not know. 
 Have you not heard it said full oft, 
 A woman's nay doth stand for nought 7 
 
 Think women still to strive with men, 
 To sin, and never for to saint: 
 There is no heaven, by holy then, 
 When time with age shall them attaint. 
 
 Were kisses all the joys in bed, 
 
 One woman would another wed. 
 
 But soft; enough, — too much I fear, 
 Lest that my mistress hear my song, 
 She'll not stick to round me i' th' ear, 
 To teach my tongue to be so long: 
 
 Yet will she blush, here be it said, 
 
 To hear her secrets so bewrav'd. 
 
976 
 
 PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Live with me, and be my love, 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dales, and fields, 
 And all the craggy mountains yields. 
 
 There will we sit upon the rocks, 
 And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
 By shallow rivers, by whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 There will I make thee a bed of roses, 
 With a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers and a kirtle 
 Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy buds, 
 With coral clasps and amber studs ; 
 And if these pleasures may thee move, 
 Then live with me, and be my love. 
 
 Love's Answer. 
 
 If that the world and love were young, 
 And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
 These pretty pleasures might me move 
 To live with thee and be thy love. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 As it fell upon a day, 
 
 In the merry month of May, 
 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade, 
 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 
 Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, 
 
 Trees did grow, and plants did spring: 
 
 Every thing did banish moan, 
 
 Save the nightingale alone: 
 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 
 
 And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, 
 
 That to hear it was great pity : 
 
 Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, 
 
 Teru, Teru, by and by : 
 
 That to hear her so complain, 
 
 Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 
 
 For her griefs so lively shown, 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain ; 
 
 None take pity on thy pain : 
 
 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 
 
 Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee; 
 
 King Pandion, he is dead ; 
 
 All thy friends are lapp'd in lead: 
 
 All thy fellow-birds do sing, 
 
 Careless of thy sorrowing, 
 
 Even so, poor bird, like thee, 
 
 None alive will pity me. 
 
 Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd, 
 
 Thou and I were both beguil'd. 
 
 Every one that flatters thee, 
 
 Is no friend in misery. 
 
 Words are easy like the wind; 
 
 Faithful friends are hard to find. 
 
 Every man will be thy friend, 
 
 Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 
 
 But if store of crowns be scant, 
 
 No man will supply thy want. 
 
 If that one be prodigal, 
 
 Bountiful they will him call ; 
 
 And with such like flattering, 
 
 •' Pity but he were a king." 
 
 [f he be addict to vice, 
 
 Quickly him they will entice ; 
 
 If to women he be bent, 
 They have him at commandement 
 But if fortune once do frown, 
 Then farewell his great renown : 
 They that fawn'd on him before, 
 Use his company no more. 
 He that is thy friend indeed, 
 He will help thee in thy need; 
 If thou sorrow, he will weep : 
 If thou wake, he cannot sleep : 
 Thus of every grief in heart 
 He with thee doth bear a part 
 These are certain signs to know 
 Faithful friend from flattering foe. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Take, oh, take those lips away, 
 That so sweetly were forsworn; 
 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 Lights that do mislead the morn . 
 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. 
 
 Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow 
 Which thy frozen bosom bears, 
 
 On whose tops the pinks that grow, 
 Are of those that April wears, 
 
 But first set my poor heart free, 
 
 Bound in those icy chains by thee 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Let the bird of loudest lay, 
 
 On the sole Arabian tree, 
 
 Herald sad and trumpet be, 
 
 To whose sound chaste wings obey , 
 
 But thou, shrieking harbinger, 
 Foul pre-currer of the fiend, 
 Augur of the fever's end, 
 To this troop come thou not near. 
 
 From this session interdict 
 Every fowl of tyrant wing, 
 Save the eagle, feather'd king: 
 Keep the obsequy so strict. 
 
 Let the priest in surplice white, 
 That defunctive music can," 
 Be the death-divining swan, 
 Lest the requiem lack his right. 
 
 And thou, treble-dated crow, 
 That thy sable gender mak'st 
 With the breath thou givest and tak st, 
 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 
 
 Here the anthem doth commence : 
 Love and constancy is dead; 
 Phoenix and the turtle fled 
 In a mutual flame from hence. 
 
 So they lov'd, as love in twain 
 Had the essence but in one ; 
 Two distincts, division none: 
 Number there in love was slain. 
 
 Hearts remote, yet not asunder ; 
 Distance, and no space was seen 
 'Twixt the turtle and his queen : 
 But in them it were a wonder. 
 
 So between them love did shine, 
 That the turtle saw his right 
 > Know*. 
 
PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 901 
 
 Flaming in the phoenix' sight : 
 Either was the other's mine. 
 
 Property was thus appall'd, 
 That the self was not the same; 
 Suigle nature's double name 
 Neither two nor one was call'd. 
 
 Reason, in itself confounded, 
 Saw division grow together; 
 To themselves yet either-neither, 
 Simple were so well compounded: 
 
 That it cried how true a twain 
 Seemeth this concordant one ! 
 Love hath reason, reason none, 
 If what parts can so remain. 
 
 Whereupon it made this threne* 
 To the phoenix and the dove, 
 Co-supremes and stars of love; 
 As chorus to their tragic scene. 
 • VvaenJ Soag. 
 
 Threnos. 
 
 Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
 Grace in all simplicity, 
 Here inclos'd in cinders lie. 
 
 Death is now the phoenix' neat; 
 And the turtle's loyal breast 
 To eternity doth rest, 
 
 Leaving no posterity : — 
 'Twas not their infirmity, 
 It was married chastity. 
 
 Truth may seem, but cannot be. 
 Beauty brag, but 'tis not she- ; 
 Truth and beauty buried be. 
 
 To this urn let those repair, 
 That are either true or fair; 
 For these dead birds sigh a pr»y«r. 
 
 ~,iywiff-'^w.- > .-».-- 
 
 I-ST"- 
 
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 Fho m off a hill whose concave womb re-worded 
 A plaintful ytory from a sisteving vale, 
 My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, 
 And down I lay to list the sad tun'd tale: 
 Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, 
 Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain, 
 Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 
 
 Upon her head a platted hive a straw, 
 
 Which fortified her visage from the sun, 
 
 Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw 
 
 The carcase of a beauty spent and done. 
 
 Time had not scythed all that youth begun, 
 
 Nor youth all quit; but, spite of Heaven's fell rage, 
 
 Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age. 
 
 Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, 
 Which on it had conceited characters, 
 Laund'ring* the silken figures in the brine 
 That season'd woe had pelleted 9 in tears, 
 And often reading what contents it bears; 
 As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe, 
 In clamors of all size, both high and low. 
 
 Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride, 
 As they did battery to the spheres intend; 
 Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied 
 To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend 
 Their view right on; anon their gazes letid 
 To every place at once, and no where fix'd, 
 The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. 
 
 Her hair, nor loose, nor tied in formal plat, 
 
 Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ; 
 
 For some, untuck'd, descended her sheav'd 3 hat, 
 
 Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside; 
 
 Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, 
 
 And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, 
 
 Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 
 
 A thousand favors from a maund 4 she drew 
 
 Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, 
 
 Which one by one she in a river threw, 
 
 Upon whose weeping margent she was set; 
 
 Like usury, applying wet to wet, 
 
 Or monarch's hands, that let not bounty fall 
 
 Where want cries "some." but where excess oegs all. 
 
 Of folded schedules had sne many a one, 
 Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood; 
 Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone, 
 Bidding them find tVieir sepulcnres in mud; 
 Found yet more letters sadly penn'd in blood, 
 With sleided silk feat and affectedly 
 Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy. 
 
 These often bath'd she in her fluxhe eyes, 
 And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear; 
 Cried, "O false blood! thou register of lies, 
 What unapproved witness dost thou bear! 
 Ink would have seem'd more black and damned 
 here!" 
 
 * Wishing. » Formed into pellets, or small balls. 
 
 • Made «' straw. * Basket. 
 
 f978| 
 
 This said, in top of rage the lines she rentu 
 Big discontent so breaking their contents. 
 
 A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh v 
 
 Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 
 
 Of court, of city, and had let go by 
 
 The swiftest hours, observed as they flew, 
 
 Towards this afflicted fancy ' fastly drew ; 
 
 And, privileg'd by age, desires to know 
 
 In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe 
 
 So slides he down upon his grained bat,' 
 And comely-distant sits he by her side; 
 When he again desires her, being sat, 
 Her grievance with his hearing to divide: 
 If that from h ; m there may be aught applied 
 Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 
 'Tis promis'd in the charity of age. 
 
 "Father," she says, "though in me you behoio 
 The injury of many a blasting hour, 
 Let it not tell your judgment I am old; 
 Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power: 
 I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 
 Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied 
 Love to myself, and to no love beside. 
 
 But woe is me ! too early I attended 
 A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace) 
 Of one by nature's outwards so commendeJ, 
 That maiden's eyes stuck over all his face: 
 Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her plat* 
 And when in his fair parts she did abide, 
 Sue was new lodg'd, and newly deified. 
 
 His browny locks did hang in crooked curl*; 
 And every light occasion of the wind 
 Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
 What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find : 
 Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind ; 
 For on his visage was in little drawn, 
 What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn. 
 
 Small show of man was yet upon his chin; 
 His phoenix down began but to appear, 
 Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, 
 Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to 
 
 wear ; 
 Yet show'd his visage by that cost most dear ; 
 And nice affections wavering stood in doubt 
 If best 'twere as it ? - as, or best without. 
 
 His qualities were beauteous ua ;■.•» iunn, 
 
 For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; 
 
 Yet, if men mov'd him, was he such a storm 
 
 As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, 
 
 When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they bft 
 
 His rudeness so with his authoriz'd youth, 
 
 Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 
 
 Well could he ride, and often men would say 
 'That horse his mettle from his rider takes: 
 Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, 
 
 ' One oossessed by fancy. « Crab 
 
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 979 
 
 What rounds, what bounds, what course, what 
 
 stop he makes!' 
 \nd controversy hence a question takes, 
 Whether the horse by him became his deed, 
 Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. 
 
 But quickly on his side the verdict went; 
 His real habitude gave life and grace 
 To appertainings and to ornament, 
 Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case: 1 
 All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, 
 Came tor additions; yet their purpos'd trim 
 Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him. 
 
 So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
 All kind of arguments and question deep, 
 All replication prompt, and reason strong, 
 For his advantage still did wake and sleep: 
 To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, 
 He had the dialect and different skill, 
 Catching all passions in his craft of will; 
 
 That he did in the general bosom reign 
 Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted, 
 To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
 In personal duty, following where he haunted : 
 Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted; 
 And dialogued for him what he would say, 
 Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. 
 
 Many there were that did his picture get, 
 
 To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; 
 
 Like fools that in the imagination set 
 
 The goodly objects which abroad they find 
 
 Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd; 
 
 And laboring in more pleasures to bestow them, 
 
 Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them: 
 
 So man^ have, that never touch'd his hand, 
 Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart. 
 My woeful self, that did in freedom stand. 
 And was my own fee simple, (not in part,) 
 What with his art in youth, and youth in art, 
 Threw my affections in his charmed power, 
 Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower. 
 
 Yet did I not, as some my equals did, 
 
 Demand of him, nor being desired, yielded; 
 
 Finding myself in honor so forbid, 
 
 With safest distance I mine honor shielded : 
 
 Experience for me many bulwarks builded 
 
 Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil 
 
 Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 
 
 But ah! who ever shunn'd by precedent 
 
 The destin'd ill she must herself assay 1 
 
 Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content, 
 
 To put the by-pass'd perils in her way 1 
 
 Counsel may stop a while what will not stay ; 
 
 For when we rage, advice is often seen 
 
 By blunting us to make our wits more keen. 
 
 Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, 
 That we must curb it upon others' proof, 
 To be forbid the sweets that seem so good, 
 For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. 
 O appetite, from judgment stand aloof! 
 The one a palate hath that needs will taste, 
 Though reason weep, and cry ' it is thy last.' 
 
 For further I could say, ' this man's untrue,' 
 And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; 
 Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew. 
 Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; 
 * Outward show- 
 
 Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; 
 Thought characters, and words, merely but art, 
 And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. 
 
 And long upon these terms I held my city, 
 Till thus he 'gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid, 
 Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, 
 And be not of my holy vows afraid : 
 That's to you sworn, to none was ever said; 
 For feasts of love I have been call'd unto, 
 Till now did ne'er invite, nor never vow. 
 
 All my offences that abroad you see, 
 Are errors of the blood, none of the mind : 
 Love made them not; with acture they may be, 
 Where neither party is nor true nor kind : 
 They sought their shame that so their shame did 
 
 find; 
 And so much less of shame in me remains, 
 By how much of me their reproach contains. 
 
 Among the many that mine eyes have seen, 
 
 Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd 
 
 Or my affection put to the smallest teen, 
 
 Or any of my leisures ever charm 'd: 
 
 Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was haraa'd 
 
 Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, 
 
 And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy. 
 
 Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me, 
 
 Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood ; 
 
 Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me 
 
 Of grief and blushes, aptly understood 
 
 In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood; 
 
 Effects of terror and dear modesty, 
 
 Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. 
 
 And lo! behold these talents of their hair, 
 With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, 8 
 I have receiv'd from many a several fair, 
 (Their kind acceptance weepingly boseecli'd,) 
 With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd, 
 And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify 
 Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality. 
 
 The diamond, why 'twas beautiful and hard, 
 Whereto his invis'd' properties did tend; 
 The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard 
 Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend ; 
 The hcaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 
 With objects manifold ; each several stone. 
 With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some moan 
 
 Lo! all these trophies of affections hot, 
 Of pensive and subdued desires the tender, 
 Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not, 
 But yield them up where I myself must render, 
 That is, to you, my origin and ender: 
 For these, of force, must your oblations be, 
 Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 
 
 O then advance of yours that phraseless hand. 
 Whose white weighs down the airy scale of piaist 
 Take all these similes to your own command, 
 Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did rawe 
 What me your minister, for you obeys, 
 Works under you ; and to your audit comes 
 Their distract parcels in combined sums. 
 
 Lo ! this device was sent me from a nun 
 Or sister sanctified of holiest note; 
 Which late her noble suit in court did shun, 
 Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dole; 
 For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, 
 • Interwoven. s Invisible. 
 
080 
 
 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 But kept cold distance, and did thence remove, 
 To spend her living in eternal love. 
 
 But 0, my sweet, what labor is't to leave 
 
 The thing we have not, mastering what not strives? 
 
 Paling the place which did no form receive, 
 
 Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves: 
 
 She that her fame so to herself contrives, 
 
 The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight, 
 
 And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 
 
 pardon me, in that my boast is true ; 
 The accident which brought me to her eye, 
 Upon the moment did her force subdue, 
 And now she would the caged cloister fly: 
 Religious love put out religion's eye : 
 
 Not to be tempted, would she be immur'd, 
 And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd. 
 
 How mighty then you are, hear me tell ; 
 The broken bosoms that to me belong 
 Have emptied all their fountains in my well, 
 And mine I pour your ocean all among: 
 
 1 strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong, 
 Must for your victory us all congest, 
 
 As compound love to physic your cold breast. 
 
 My parts had power to charm a sacred nun, 
 Who, disciplin'd and dieted in grace, 
 Behev'd her eyes when they to assail begun, 
 All vows and consecrations giving place. 
 O most potential love ! vow, bond, nor space, 
 In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, 
 For thou art all, and all things else are thine. 
 
 When thou impressest, what are precepts worth 
 Of stale example 1 When thou wilt inflame, 
 How coldly those impediments stand forth 
 Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame ! 
 Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 
 
 'gainst shame, 
 And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, 
 The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 
 
 Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, 
 Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine, 
 And supplicant their sighs to you extend, 
 To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine, 
 Lending soft audience to my sweet design, 
 And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath, 
 That shall prefer and undertake my troth.' 
 
 This said, his watery eye& he did dismount, 
 Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face, 
 F<ica cheeK a rivei running ft cm a fount 
 
 With brinish current downward flaw d apace: 
 O how the channel to the stream gave grace! 
 Who, glaz'd with crystal, gate' the glowing roaog 
 That flame through water which their hue incloaea. 
 
 O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 
 
 In the small orb of one particular tear ! 
 
 But with the inundation of the eyes 
 
 What rocky heart to water will not wear] 
 
 What breast so cold that is not warmed here? 
 
 cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath, 
 
 Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath ! 
 
 For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft, 
 
 Even there resolv'd my reason into tears; 
 
 There my white stole of chastity I daff 'd, 
 
 Shook off my sober guard, and civil 3 fears; 
 
 Appear to him, as he to me appears, 
 
 All melting ; though our drops this difference bore, 
 
 His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. 
 
 In him a plenitude of subtle matter, 
 
 Applied to cautels,' all strange forms receiTes, 
 
 Of burning blushes, or of weeping water, 
 
 Or swooning paleness ; and he takes and leaves, 
 
 In either's aptness, as it best deceives, 
 
 To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, 
 
 Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows; 
 
 That not a heart which in his level came, 
 Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, 
 Showing fair nature is both kind and tame , 
 And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would 
 
 maim: 
 Against the thing he sought he would exclaim ; 
 When he most brun'd in heart-wish'd luxury, 
 He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity 
 
 Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 
 The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd, 
 That the unexperiene'd gave the tempter place, 
 Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd. 
 Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd 
 Ah me! I fell; and yet do question mate 
 What I should do again for such a sake. 
 
 O, that infected moisture of his eye, 
 O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd, 
 O, that fore'd thunder from his heart did fly, 
 O, that sad breath his spungy lungs bestow'd, 
 0, all that borrow'd motion, seeming ow'd, 
 Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, 
 And new pervert a reconciled maid ! " 
 
 « Got, procured. * DeeorwM. 
 
 » Deceitful purposes. 
 
 THE END. 
 
s. 
 


S3fc^ 
 
 <7v 
 
 *5 
 
 ^; 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 014 067 083 2 
 
 
 wiffllr